Shaman's Fortune

[Chronicron]

Out of all Liberty’s major planets, Houston was relatively the worst place to live on. Some settlements were outdated, with rusty plating and old-school cargo elevators. Nevertheless, the infrastructure was decent - no energy shortages, no cuts of water, almost no issues at all.

Nothing could be better after such a long week as home comfort. With an exhausted squeak, an old iron door has welcomed him into his hearth.

- Honey, I’m home!

No response. Hanging his coat and a fedora in the drawer, he walked into the kitchen. It was filled with a cold-war aesthetic - wooden chairs and a semi-circular table with vintage-looking kitchen lockers and a round fridge. Resting on the windowsill, a small TV box was broadcasting some kind of a sitcom. He went into the guest room. It had the same appearance - a big white carpet, leather couches, a TV screen on a table.
He was getting worried. She was nowhere to be seen. Then, suddenly, he heard how something silently exhaled into his right ear. In fear, he swiftly turned around and jumped back, only to see his loving wife.

- God in Heaven, Cynthia!

She was a fit blonde of regular height with big green eyes. With a beaming smile, she jumped at him and embraced him in a tight hug, sharing a kiss.

- I missed you.

They finally let go of each other. A sensation of meeting his wife after two weeks of absence was nothing if pleasing, same was for her.

- I missed you too, sweetheart.

She rushed towards the kitchen, making sure that his dinner was properly cooked.

- Must’ve been ages since you had a proper meal.

He plopped down into a wooden chair. The furniture was surely outdated, yet he could think of nothing else that would reach this degree of comfort.

- Yeah, one can only count on this synthetic garbage when you’re doing long hauls.

The pan was already simmering with oil. She dropped in some fine sliced potatoes, sprayed them with salt, spices and pepper.

- How was Gallia?

He took a sip out of a mug of tea. The tea itself was sweet, but it had that small tender accent to it.

- Apart from a bit of unwelcoming local lawfuls? The systems are gorgeous. I think we should go for a vacay next month, see some Taus and maybe even core Gallia systems.

She chuckled.

-- You know that I don’t like space. It's cold, it has no air, no sound… I’m always on edge when you’re out there, in abyss.
- Oh, come on. It’s been making us money, keeping us under a roof, in this very… Old-school designed apartment. I would’ve changed it any moment if you didn’t like it.
- That’s not the point, Nick. I moved all the way from Denver, just to live here, with you. And you know I’m worried about you.

The meal was ready. Steaming batch of roasted potatoes, carefully organized on a ceramic plate.

- Bon appetit.

She kissed him on a forehead and went into the guest room. The TV screen was transmitting some latest news about piracy activity in Bering and a growing tension between Liberty and Kusari. Nick still remembered his days of Liberty-Rheinland war, when he used to pilot a heavy bomber and destroy rheinland ships. But launching torpedoes at long range wasn’t his specialty. He was trained and proficient in boarding enemy capital ships, to disable them from the inside. Now, as many others after that war, he was retired, dumped, disposed of. With no pension or government-secured home. He was forced to find a solid way to make income. Coordinating smugglers wasn’t the best thing he thought of, but it was the only opportunity.

***

His office was as devoid of light as his room at Buffalo - dark, full of bookshelves, with a wooden table and a single desk lamp serving as the only source of light. He was going through the dossiers given him by Bleak Ben earlier. The ships, their crewmembers, their captains, equipment, everything. He wanted to make sure that every ship fulfills its role without any issues. Two liners he was already familiar with - Athena’s Reach and Meredith - were first on the list. Their captains had something in common - calculated, cold and reckless slavers, who were ready to go through the roughest of places to make some profit. He marked their dossiers with a tiny cross - a group that’s meant to go through Bering, Rheinland and Sigmas.
The other two - El Dorado and Midas’ Touch - had shady and unreliable captains, known to deviate from course and take their cargo elsewhere. He needed a good, reliable route, which would eliminate every temptation. Upper independent worlds and kusari were a good option. Marking their dossiers with a circle, he took the last two remaining. Eve’s Sin and Shaman’s Fortune. “Huh.” He said to himself as he searched for Eve’s Sin’s captain dossier, but it wasn’t there. Maybe Bleak Ben forgot to include it. Flipping through the folder once again, Nick gave up and put Eve’s Sin’s file on the desk. Shaman’s Fortune, however, had a familiar face in her charge - Bleak Ben himself. “Taking it into your own hands, huh?” He marked the last two ships with a single stroke, assigning them to the most dangerous, yet fastest route - through California, Cortez, Coronado and Taus.

***

A fresh shower is all he needed after weeks spent in Buffalo’s stench. Luckily, the infrastructure in his apartment wasn’t as outdated. The bathroom itself had everything a modern libertonian could require, including a sizable bath with very good water pressure.

She was already in bed, reading some kind of romance book, just to keep herself awake for a small talk with her husband. Giving in to fatigue, he dropped into the bed, enveloping himself in a warm, comfy blanket. For once, he gets to rest. Or so he thought.

- Honey, I… Wanted to have a chat.

Being half-way into the dream land, her concerned voice served as a shot of adrenaline.

- Hm?

She closed the book, carefully placing it onto a small nightstand.

- I’m really, really worried about you. I saw the news about these… Monsters. The Nomads, they call them.
- Yeah, so?
- What if one day they find you?

He sighed. Never once in his life he got to see a Nomad alive, not to mention their infected thralls. But he heard stories from smugglers, from captains, that sometimes ships with scrambled IFFs serve as a bad omen.

- Darling, I never stray off the trade lanes. These are the safest routes, even in dangerous systems, like Sigmas or Taus. Maybe God is smiling upon me, because I had never once seen a Nomad in my life. I heard stories of them, but nothing like it.
- Nick, I… I know it’s a lot to ask but, can you please consider a different job? - Her breath got shallow, with some tears surfacing on her cheeks. - I just… I can’t imagine losing you to this cold, empty nothingness.

He gently grabbed her by a shoulder, rolling her over, closer to himself.

- Hey. It’s alright. I have a huge haul next week, after that - I’ll try to find something different. I promise.

She dropped her head onto his chest, holding him in a gentle embrace.
There was no need for words. In her husband’s comfort, Cynthia fell asleep very swiftly. But he was still pondering. He really wanted to stop living like a criminal, to cut his deals with the smugglers and to be closer to his wife. If only he knew how.