Aetherbound - E.K. Johnston Page 0,26
darklight shift. Fisher nodded to the officers on duty. They were all Brannick-born, and Ned was reasonably sure they were loyal, but Fisher maintained some distance from them all the same. Not having to be the Brannick people liked had its advantages, and Fisher enjoyed the privacy.
Fisher took the lift down, bypassing the colonnade entirely. At this time, the daylight shift would be arriving in the bars and restaurants, and the shops would be crammed full of people on their way back to their apartments. The lift cruised through the habitation levels, changing direction to accommodate for the less-than-logical station layout.
Brannick Station was the last part of the relay to be constructed. The Stavenger Empire hadn’t ever intended for the relays to be long-term habitation centres. They’d thought of them as mere layover stations to the Maritech system. By the time they built Brannick, they had it down to an art. The oldest part of the station was blocky and graceless; a huge cylinder of mooring points supported by a refinery, power-generation facility, and carbon scrubbers. As the station expanded to include areas for people to actually live, separate power sources had been built, allowing the sections of the station to function independently. This was theoretically for safety, but it opened up opportunities as well.
Fisher’s lift was for station personnel only, and Ned has used his override codes to make sure Fisher’s trip was not interrupted, so it didn’t take too long to arrive in the docking area. Fisher went over to the Cleland’s off-loading area, and waited until someone who looked like they were in a place of authority showed up.
“Excuse me?” Fisher said to the woman who seemed to be telling everyone else what to do. “I’m Fisher Brannick, station operations. Do you have everything you need?”
The woman looked at Fisher in a measuring sort of way, probably trying to figure out how much she could trust anyone on Brannick Station. She was short and her skin had a golden glow to it that wasn’t common in a spacer. Skin tended to wash out in the void. She was either someone who spent most of her time station-side or she had an amazing skincare regimen. Fisher’s face was open, if neutral, and the woman relaxed a bit after a few seconds.
“My name is Choria,” she said. She gave no further identification. “And we have everything we require, thank you.”
Fisher took a moment to look over the ship’s manifest and made sure not to smile when the rebels’ plan became clear. It was fairly simple, all told, but it would be enough. Fisher drew on the mantle that Ned wore sometimes to give orders. It made speaking in public a bit easier.
“I’m sorry to tell you that our station is not currently equipped to take on the volume of oglasa you have on board,” Fisher said calmly. “We are primarily an ore-processing station.”
“Yes,” Choria said. “I am aware. We had planned to take the oglasa on to Katla Station, if we can reach some agreement for use of the Well.”
That was smooth. The station relays had run on oglasa for centuries, but Brannick had never been the centre of operations for calorie extraction from them. They were fish—as much as anything could be a fish in deep space—and had been a primary food source for all space-going vessels until the stock was depleted from overharvesting. Now there were strict rules about collecting and transporting anything related to the oglasa harvest, and Brannick Station mostly stayed out of it by virtue of not having been involved in the first place. Sending the catch through the relay to Katla was the perfect excuse.
“I am sure we can reach some sort of arrangement,” Fisher said. “We have another ore ship coming in behind you, so I am sure my brother will want to send you on your way as speedily as possible.”
Choria smiled, her eyes brightening as if she and Fisher had shared a joke. In a way, they did. Everything had worked out perfectly for both of them.
“I appreciate that,” Choria said. “Please convey my greetings to Brannick the Younger and tell him I look forward to working with him again.”
She held out her hand for him to shake, and Fisher was not entirely surprised when a small datacrystal was pressed against his palm. The rebels had to keep in contact somehow. He would give it to Ned to decrypt, since it was probably for him anyway.
Fisher nodded, slid the crystal