Free Beyond Asimios - Part 4 by Martin Fossum

 
     
     
    It
was early evening when the ship lifted out of Orpheus’s Rift, and as it rose above
the canyon light streamed through the windows and into the flight deck. Stelos
Alpha had not set its vivid eye.
    Oreg
piloted them slowly and at low altitude over Camp Heyerdahl and then along the
Great Asimios Freeway, above the desolate landscape’s long stretching shadows, for
one last look at the remains of Asimios Station. Graf gazed down upon the scene
with nostalgia and indignation as he reflected on the sacrifice that lay buried
beneath the blackened scar. Then Oreg, his leathery hands shuttling through the
warp and weft of the holo display, aimed the bow of the ship heavenward. The
silver planet gradually receded behind them.
    It
took just under seven standard sols to reach the Vernigan portal. When they
arrived the ring emerged from the black of space like a metallic maw, its myriad
lights winking along the edge of its gaping circumference. The edifice hovered
in quiet gloom as Oreg and his companions learned through an info squirt that
they had missed the last opening by a matter of hours. They would have to wait two
standard sols for the next activation.
    —What
do we do now? Graf asked from his chair on the bridge. He had just woken up and
was struggling to appear alert. Do we have to sign papers or something? Pay
some sort of toll?
    Oreg
waved away the holo display and stood. He moved to the center of the bridge and
paused, his large almond eyes peering out of the flight deck windows. A pulse
of light drilled into the bridge. It oscillated at a high frequency and then rolled
into a single white beam. Graf gripped at the arms of his chair as the ship shuddered
like it had been taken hold by a giant hand. A few seconds later, the sound of
tapping permeated the hull.
    —What
the hell is that? Graf said.
    —They’re
scanning the ship, Oreg chirruped.
    —For
what? asked Graf.
    —I
do not know.
    —Security
measures, I would assume, Miranda said.
    A
swarm of bots descended onto the windows. Small and spider-like, they scampered
over the front of the craft and then moved swiftly toward the tail. Soon the
tapping ceased and the powerful light dropped away. The ship was released.
    —What’s
the verdict? Graf said. Are we cleared?
    —I
believe so, Oreg said. His brown eyes squinting as he teased his fine beard
between his fingers. I’m surprised, he continued. Either they were careless or
they weren’t scanning for identifiers. If they had, you would have been arrested
and interrogated by the Consortium.
    Graf
stood up stiffly and steadied himself against his chair. Well, he said dismissively,
it wouldn’t be the first consortium to interrogate me.
    Oreg
returned to his seat and drew up the holo. The ship turned away from the great torus
as a number of other lights came into view through the bridge windows.
    —We
are among many, Miranda said.
    —Portal
facilities, Oreg said. Some of the lights are , while
others are hotels and refueling stations. There are several freight routes that
begin and end here. Ships in the system while they await
further instruction. Confederation merchants, pilgrims, refugees, Consortium security
forces, miners, and freighters…they are all to be found at the portal.
    —And
us, Graf added.
    —Your
planet lies on the other side? Miranda asked.
    Oreg
wagged his head back and forth, which was his gesture of the affirmative. Another
moment and the ship fired its alignment thrusters and came to a stop and Oreg dissolved
the holo display once more. Through the windows the torus was visible again, its
outline distant and vague. Small ships darted back and forth, their navigation lights
tracing the velvet of space like ghostly candles.
    —Now
what do we do? Graf asked as he stared thoughtfully out of the window.
    —We
wait, said Oreg.
    —Of
course we wait, Graf said.
    The
three stood silently for a moment.
    —Another
game of zawtek, Doctor? Oreg