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01 - Spaceship market

 

 

Brendan had imagined the start of his self-employment to be completely different. But by now he was at least aware that he himself was to blame for his currently very limited finances. The second-hand market for spaceships took place every year on the smallest orbital station that followed Little Silence in its rotation. It was neither spectacular nor popular. The truly good ships were not offered for sale there. The station once served as quarantine quarters for potential immigrants. That was at a time when Little Silence was still attracting land speculators and local medicine had nothing at its disposal against many infectious germs. It has since been leased privately and used for a wide variety of purposes. The gravity wheel with its numerous dock bridges looked correspondingly battered and in need of maintenance. 

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"You can always agree on the price," said the stubbly bearded and unkempt salesman to Brendan, trying to look as innocent as possible, which he found difficult to do with his three gaps in his teeth and soiled clothes. Brendan was already annoyed that he had approached this stall and stopped. It was his first ship and he had correspondingly little experience of the negotiations. He tried not to let it show, because the purchase was long overdue. Not only because the money came from Chrysanthemia, but also because he had promised it to her before she died. He was to fulfill this dream, that had been her great wish. But a dream looked different. What Brendan got to see from the live transmission probes outside the station was puny. But it was pretty much the last chance to get a ship at all. All the other ships that had initially interested him were absolutely beyond any affordability.

There was a lot of hustle and bustle around them. Brendan was surprised that, despite the market's bad reputation, the aisles were full and people had to push their way past the many stalls. He put one hand to his chin and looked at the screens, which showed the object of his subdued desire from several angles. He grimaced and ran his other hand through his thick, dark curly hair. Then he looked at the oddball salesman. Was his own hair that greasy? His last date in Consumpia had liked it when it fell loose in his forehead.

​"How many people go in there, you said?" he asked, glancing doubtfully at the screens again and again. Although the salesman considered himself lucky that he had found a prospective buyer at all, he was impatient and felt uncomfortable in the role of a trustworthy man.

"Boy," he said, scratching his belly. "Like I said, usually two, four tops. If you expand the cargo holds, even more."

"My name is Brendan, Mr. Tallow," Brendan insisted. He really hadn't been a boy for a long time and, despite his inexperience, the condescending manner of the sales clerk annoyed him.

"Huh?" Tallow would never win the first prize for intelligent facial expressions.

"You want to sell the ship, don't you? What was it called...?" Brendan now tried to express disinterest, which wasn't even difficult for him.

"Harry!" replied Tallow, now trying to remain friendly again. This young snob had no need to suspect that he was up to his neck in gambling debts and that the old room plane was the last thing in his possession that he could convert into cash. Even his wife had already had to help out several times to satisfy creditors in the truest sense of the word. "Harry 8, named after the previous long-term owner."

"So you're the second owner, are you?" Brendan said confidently. But Tallow fumbled and mumbled, "The thirteenth." But before Brendan could say anything in reply, he hastily suggested: "Would you like to take a little tour on board?"

"The thirteenth?", Brendan managed to get out. He shook his head. "Why does a ship change hands so often? No, well, I don't think All is well with that, Mr. Tallow."

"People are volatile, you know," Tallow tried to explain. He looked awkward and miserable in his gestures, but behind his eyes flashed a slyness that had been practiced for years, but which escaped Brendan's notice. He invited Brendan further into his small booth and spread out some faded plans in front of him.

"I know it's paper," he said, acting as if that wasn't unusual at all. "But sometimes it's really helpful to have an overview. And I like paper. Yes, I like paper."

Brendan looked at him in confusion. He was only familiar with paper plans of technical devices or even spaceships from movies. "Can't you show it to me on one of the screens?" he asked, ignoring the crumpled rolls on the table.

Tallow rolled his eyes. "It's not scanned..." 

​

That was the moment when Brendan decided to give up the ship and look elsewhere. There was simply too much against this ship, and even more against this salesman. Shaking his head, he turned away and tried to find space in the passing crowd. Why was this second-rate market so crowded? He had never seen so many representatives of different cultures before.

"Now wait a minute, young man...erm, Mr. Brendan. Wait!" Tallow stumbled awkwardly after him. Several passers-by watched curiously as what happened next. "All this can be counted towards the price, of course. Listen to me! I'll give you another ten percent discount and a free test flight. Well, what do you think of the offer?" Just two stands away, Brendan turned back to . In principle, he couldn't even afford the Harry 8. And this ship was guaranteed to get him into a lot of trouble. But he finally had to get on with his life. He vacillated between the desire to finally buy a ship and the good sense not to take that particular one.

"Twenty percent and a full tank of gas," he replied firmly. He saw Tallow doing the math in shock. The people looked dismayed.

"Fifteen — and not a tank of gas." The man's smile matched his whole manner. Brendan turned around again: "Forget it!" He hoped by now that the deal wouldn't go through. He no longer wanted the ship. Chrysanthemia's inheritance would have been enough to buy the latest model from the Meier shipyard. But he absolutely had to buy this incredibly large estate with the old manor house. Admittedly, the house and the vast green spaces were indeed a dream — but not one he could have used to earn money.

"All right, all right!" he heard Tallow snort behind him. He couldn't believe his ears.

"All right?" He stared incredulously at Tallow across the crowd.

"Come on, you cutthroat," Tallow said grimly. "We'll sort the rest out at the stand."

Why had he got involved with this guy? Reluctantly, he walked back to Tallow's stall, unintentionally bumping into the people coming towards him — and bought the ship.

 

When the formalities were completed, the visibly relieved Tallow grinned broadly and checked one of his screens several times to make sure that the money transfer had actually taken place. Then he handed Brendan the ship's code and showed him where the Harry was docked.

"In two days, when the market is over, the docks have to be cleared," Tallow said as he gathered his documents and headed for the exit. "After that, it'll be really expensive. They take quite a bit of dock rent here. But the Harry is atmospheric. You can take her with you if you want."

"And the tank?" Brendan wanted to know. He felt how badly he had been ripped off, but at the same time he felt powerless to do anything about it. Business was business.

"It's full to the brim anyway," Tallow said rather casually. "You know that. It's part of the deal, kid! Have a good day." He started to leave.

"One more question, Mr. Tallow!" He simply held him by the sleeve, from which Tallow immediately freed himself with a grim expression. "What else?" he barked.

"What are all these people doing here? The station is packed and very few of them are from Little Silence."

"Boy, you really never got off your little planet, did you?" said Tallow. He had now lost his money and with it the last vestige of respect. "Not only are you a complete loser at negotiating and have no idea about prices, but you also don’t seem to know much about your surroundings either. Didn't you say you were Pegats?" Tallow couldn't help a short grunt of amusement. "These here are almost all Pegats. Come from all over our damn spiral arm to attend the great Orion Festival of Pegats in Consumpia. Hasn't been held for ages. Some of the birds have been in cryogenic hibernation for decades just to socialize here. I'd like to be that stupid. Well, now I have to go. Oh, and if there's anything wrong with the Harry, it's best to sort it out with your insurance. I don't have any," he said and disappeared into the crowd. Brendan couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so stupid and taken for a ride. Of course, he hadn't taken out insurance for a spaceship and hadn't informed himself enough. But who could he have asked? His party buddies from Consumpia? The various love interests, most of whose names he didn't even know? He stood on the stand for a while and looked at the many strange figures. In fact, most of them must have come from very distant worlds. Surely there were only a few who had their home outside the Uma system, but he didn't want to rule that out either. Some of them seemed so alien that he hardly wanted to call them human. There were planets on which the humans had had to adapt to such an extent that they now moved around the station wearing appropriate protective and support suits in order to cope with the local standard gravity or even the general composition of the air. In some solar systems, high-level genetic manipulation was perfectly permissible and legal, while in others, nanotechnology had long since made its contribution to external and internal help with former adaptation difficulties. The old methods of adapting the respective planet to humans had often given way to the newer possibilities of adapting the human anatomy to the given environment. He looked after a group of women who actually had a third eye on their foreheads. A real eye! They were wearing bright red make-up, but perhaps their skin pigments had also been altered. In any case, they showed quite a lot of it, as they wore nothing on their bodies apart from a metal breast and pubic protector. Their hair was piled high, interwoven with wires and artfully tied up. And they obviously enjoyed standing out, because Brendan wasn't the only one looking after them. Then he looked back down at the piece of paper with the ship's code and the plans, which he held rolled up in his hands, and sighed.

"Well, let's have a look at this little darling."