Town Centre

  Weddle IX

  Grace placed the shuttle back in the bay at the town centre she had hired and disembarked. She watched the door lower closed after Miles stepped out and waited for the indicator light to confirm it had locked. She turned west, heading back to the apartment. It was only a short walk, but Miles appeared to have distracted himself.

  Grace was feeling despondent and didn’t notice exactly when Miles was no longer two steps behind her. Turning back, she passed the first alleyway on her left, which was empty, as was the second. There was no more for at least a dozen metres, and that one was also unoccupied. However, the breeze had not had time to cover the most recent footprints. She followed them and found a bar.

  Good thinking, Miles, she thought to herself.

  The metallic orange door was heavily weathered with years of sandstorms and heat. It slid open, and Grace stepped in and down the half-dozen steps. The fifteen patrons all turned to stare at her. Her eyes, still adjusting from the bright desert sun, took a moment to clock that they were all looking at her. She scanned the bar as it slowly came into focus. At the end stood Miles. A pint of something was in his right hand, his left in the air waving at her.

  She waved back and walked over. Miles took the drinks to a small booth.

  “I thought you were with me,” he said.

  “Huh?” asked Grace.

  “I told you I’d found something interesting and was gonna look,” he replied.

  “Did you?” she asked.

  “I thought you heard me because you said, ‘Okay, be right there,’” he replied nonchalantly with a shrug. “You okay?”

  “Of course I am, Grace Dakota,” said Grace.

  Miles lifted the glass. It was a light ale with a large amount of foam on the surface. He took a sip; his bulging eyes suggested he wasn’t terribly impressed but continued drinking.

  “Even Grace Dakota has bad days.”

  “Grace Dakota has really exceptional days,” she replied in a sulk.

  “Well, you’re not having one now.”

  Grace looked around the bar. It had light cream-painted walls. There were some framed pictures—group photos, possibly sports teams. She didn’t look back closely.

  “We had it, Miles. We put in the work, and they just swanned in and took it,” she spat, and then took a sip of the drink. It was warm. Why would anyone serve warm drinks on a planet like this? She wondered to herself.

  “It’s not an optimal situation, certainly,” said Miles. “But we’re not out of this yet.”

  “We’re not far off,” replied Grace. “Either they found it, or they will find it,” she said.

  “Or we could find it,” replied Miles.

  “Yeah,” said Grace, “and then they’ll swoop in again and take it again. What can I do now?” she asked. “I can’t go back to Mellotte II. It’s a war zone.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Miles.

  Grace looked at him, surprised.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Yes. I still have some contact in the military. I could probably get embedded with the Navy.”

  That didn’t help. She had assumed he’d been thinking on her behalf, but why would he?

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” said Grace. “Plenty of ships.”

  “Not as many as there used to be,” said Miles.

  “That’s true. Say what you will about this place, but it could well be the best place to be right now. Look at it. There’s been no sign of the hostiles anywhere near the systems, and nothing particularly noteworthy, so they’re unlikely to turn up here soon either. It might be the best place to sit this whole thing out.”

  That was a very valid point, Grace thought, but she had come here for a reason, and she wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet.

  “Perhaps you’re right, Miles, but I’m just pissed off,” she said finally.

  “Then be pissed off,” Miles said. “Take a day to be pissed off.”

  “Any chance you could give me a lift to Junction Station?”

  “I haven’t got that far ahead,” said Grace honestly.

  “Do they not have any ships leaving from here?”

  “I’ve looked into it. There’s a weekly shuttle to the next system, and they have a weekly shuttle to Junction.”

  “What’s the connection time like?” asked Grace.

  Miles put down his slate. The schedule was indicated. He pointed at the first line.

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  “If the departure time is kept, then they will line up perfectly.” He slid a finger to the right. “But if it’s missed, then you’ve got to wait a week.”

  “Let me try and work something out,” said Grace, sliding the screen on her tablet slate to a new menu.

  Miles leaned in, trying to see what she was loading. A moment later, a page of job listings appeared.

  “What is it?” asked Miles.

  “People needing things moved.”

  “You wanna be a delivery driver?” he asked.

  “It will pay the bills, and I’ve got a ship. All I’ve gotta worry about is food and fuel. The ship’s paid off,” said Grace. She tried to force a smirk, but it didn’t come.

  She had wanted a life of glamour and archaeology, as unlikely as that seemed. Running things from place to place for what would have amounted to pocket change in her last job did not hold the same appeal. But Miles needed to get somewhere, and she was going to need some income sooner or later.

  “And it is something you wanna do?” asked Miles.

  “To help you out? Sure, It doesn’t have to be for long,” said Grace with a shrug.

  “Might be very much appreciated,” he said.

  Grace pulled up the postings listed under Junction Station. There was a package not far from here that someone wanted taking there, and once they reached Junction, the listings quadrupled. So many people were wanting things moved. She could load her shuttle up and be fine for the next several months.

  Her hopes were suddenly dashed when she maximised the entries. The places people were wanting these things sent were not only not close together—they were very much in the war zone. Miles pointed at the destinations for many of the listings.

  “So much for not going back to Mellotte II,” Miles suggested.

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  “Well, it’s more than you would make delivering things two months ago,” he said, pointing at the amount on offer.

  It was twice what Grace had made in her last job—hardly pocket change.

  “Well, that’s something,” she said.

  There was a motorised buzz as the bar’s door opened at the top of the stairs, and a group of men walked in, laughing. The first had a thick beard and wrinkled skin. He was easily late sixties—not the late sixties you’d find on the capital planets, where access to rejuvenation clinics could let them pass for forty, those who could afford it. This guy looked every year of it.

  They were all guffawing with laughter as they stepped downstairs. The barman eyeballed them.

  “What’s so funny, you?” he asked.

  “Those diggers,” the man replied through a thick local drawl. “We planted those steel plates we took off the old flyer and left ‘em out in the desert.”

  “Why did you do that?” the bartender asked, pouring another mug of the weak ale. “You’d get a round or two with the scrap money.”

  “Well, they’re looking for that ship, aren’t they?” he continued. “The one from a couple hundred years ago with the magic gold.”

  Grace was not aware the gold itself was supposed to be magic. Clearly, the local folklore had taken the story and run with it.

  “And two hundred years ago, what were they making ships out of?” the man behind the ringleader added. “It’s going to set their sensors off like they’ve found the Holy Grail.”

  “What’s the Holy Grail?” the first man asked.

  “Dunno. Some old mug,” the third man added, prompting more laughter.

  Grace did not see what was so funny. Miles, on the other hand, was chuckling to himself.

  “We’re still in the game,” said Miles, slapping her left arm. “These guys set them up. They haven’t found it. The ship’s still out there.”

  Grace blinked, He was right.

  “Then we can find it,” Grace said.

  “If they’ve been leaving false leads...”

  “That explains why we’ve already had so many near misses. If we can find it, their claim isn’t enforceable. It might even be enough to get them off-planet.”

  “That’s too much to ask,” said Grace, smiling back at him.

  “Miles, let’s go and find the missing ship of treasure.”

  She downed the last of her drink, regretting it instantly. Next time, she was just going to stick to the water—the ones in bottles.

  Miles went to do the same, but her sour look stopped him, and he left it on the table.

  They walked purposefully out of the bar, still drawing more attention than they initially intended.

  Once outside, the bright sun overwhelmed Grace for a moment.