Free Penumbra by Eric Brown

reacquaint himself with the interior of a void-going vessel. He left the tower and walked across the tarmac to the damaged Petrograd. A ramp gave access to a foul-smelling interior. More than just the drive had failed: the air system and ventilation had laboured to keep the atmosphere clean and breathable.
     
    He made his way to the flight-deck and watched Frazer and the team at work, sensing their unease at his presence. He touched the back of the worn command couch, his gaze moving over the control console. Technology had moved on a lot over the years, since he had piloted the scout ship away from Homefall to Madrigal. He would be unable to pilot these more modern vessels, though he daily dreamed of returning to the planet of his birth, of appropriating a void-ship and heading away from the corruption and filth that was the Expansion.
     
    He smiled to himself. A man needed his dreams.
     
    ‘Frazer?’
     
    The officer turned from examining the ship’s flight program, saluted. ‘Sir.’
     
    ‘Your findings?’
     
    ‘The system shows a routine Earth-Mars run, sir. Nothing untoward at all. There was a main drive dysfunction picked up by the on-board computers on initial orbital approach. The main drive shut down and they came in on the auxiliary system.’
     
    Klien nodded. ‘Contact Cosmoflot for credit rating and have the crew transferred to temporary lodging.’
     
    Klien left his team and crossed the tarmac to the security tower. Once back in his office he went through the flight programs of the many other ships occupying the holding berths and blast-pads across the port. Shortly after his appointment as chief of security, he had ordered the installation of a computer system that would enable him to check on the flight programs of every ship that used the port; he had also arranged a reciprocal facility with Security at Los Angeles spaceport, so that he could check on their ships too.
     
    There was always the chance that his home planet had sent another ship after his own. He had to be ready for his fellow colonists in the event of their arrival, either to eliminate the crew should they be from the opposition, or to greet fellow members of the Council of Elders.
     
    He had been waiting for such a long time now that he had almost given up hope. He had come to accept that he was stranded on Earth, an Earth corrupt beyond his ability to accept or to change.
     
    For the rest of the afternoon, Klien processed routine security matters and studied Frazer’s report on the Petrograd. The ship was given a clean status and engineers were assigned to make the repairs. He filed a report to the director of the spaceport and considered his meeting with Ali Bhakor that night.
     
    At four he got through to Bhakor, using the voice-only facility on his com-screen.
     
    ‘Smith here,’ Klien said. ‘I’m calling to finalise the arrangements.’
     
    The screen showed Bhakor’s big face, beaded with perspiration in the heat of the day. ‘Why can’t I see you?’ he rapped.
     
    ‘I’m calling from a public kiosk,’ Klien said. ‘It’s been vandalised.’
     
    He had only ever met Bhakor once in the flesh, to give him the sample of the drug called slash in the hope that the dealer would want more. Then Klien had been effectively disguised.
     
    Bhakor said, ‘Have you got the stuff?’
     
    ‘A kilo of prime grade,’ Klien assured him.
     
    ‘Ah-cha. Where and when?’
     
    ‘Tonight at eight. I’ve booked a room in your name at the Hindustan Plaza hotel. I’ll see you then.’
     
    Bhakor nodded. ‘Ah-cha, Smith. I’ll be there.’
     
    Klien cut the connection and sat back, exhaling with relief. He realised that his hands were shaking. His mouth was dry. He poured himself a glass of iced water and worked to control his breathing.
     
    Days like today - and there had been many others in the past - were what made his life on Earth worthwhile - along with opera, of course. This evening, after he had dealt