Chapter 40

Dave stood alone, hand outstretched, a warm and open smile on his broad face. There were no guards with assault rifles behind him. Rotfold shook Dave's hand and then started laughing. Dave smiled and looked confused but let Rotfold keep a grip on his hand, waiting for Rotfold to explain what was so funny.

"I'm sorry, but you have no idea how pleasant this is," Rotfold said. "This is literally the first time in over a month that I've gotten off a ship without it blowing up behind me."

Dave laughed with him now, an honest laugh that seemed to originate somewhere in his belly.

After a moment the man said, "You're quite safe here. We are the most protected station in the outer planets."

"Because you're OPA?" Rotfold asked.

Dave shook his head.

"No. We make campaign contributions to Earth and Mars politicians in amounts that would make a Hilton blush," he said. "If anyone blows us up, half the UN assembly and all of the Martian Congress will be howling for blood. It's the problem with politics. Your enemies are often your allies. And vice versa."

Dave gestured to a doorway behind him and motioned for everyone to follow. The ride was short, but halfway through, gravity reappeared, shifting in a disorienting swoop. Rotfold stumbled. Dave looked chagrined.

"I'm sorry. I should have warned you about that. The central hub's null g. Moving into the ring's rotational gravity can be awkward the first time."

"I'm fine," Rotfold said. Olivia's brief smile might only have been his imagination.

A moment later the elevator door opened onto a wide carpeted corridor with walls of pale green. It had the reassuring smell of air scrubbers and fresh carpet glue. Rotfold wouldn't have been surprised to find they were piping 'new space station' scent into the air. The doors that led off the corridor were made of faux wood distinguishable from the real thing only because nobody had that much money. Of all his crew, Rotfold was almost certainly the only one who had grown up in a house with real wooden furniture and fixtures. Kellan had grown up in Baltimore. They hadn't seen a tree there in more than a century.

Rotfold pulled off his helmet and turned around to tell his crew to do the same, but theirs were already off. Kellan looked up and down the corridor and whistled.

"Nice digs, Dave," he said.

"Follow me, I'll get you settled in," Dave replied, leading them down the corridor. As he walked, he spoke. "Century Station has undergone a number of refurbishments over the last hundred years, as you might guess, but the basics haven't changed much. It was a brilliant design to begin with; Matt Century was an engineering genius. His grandson, Billy, runs the company now. He isn't on station at the moment. Down the well at Luna negotiating the next big deal."

Rotfold said, "Seems like you have a lot on your plate already, with that monster parked outside. And, you know, a war going on."

A group of people in jumpsuits of various colors walked past, talking animatedly. The corridor was so wide that no one had to give way. Fred gestured at them as they went by.

"First shift's just ending, so this is rush hour," he said. "It's actually time to start drumming up new work. The Newo is almost done. They'll be loading colonists on her in six months. Always have to have the next project lined up. The Tycho spends eleven million UN dollars every day she's in operation, whether we make money that day or not. It's a big nut to cover. And the war... well, we're hoping that's temporary."

"And now you're taking in refugees. That won't help," Rotfold said.

Dave just laughed and said, "Four more people won't put us in the poorhouse anytime soon."

Rotfold stopped, forcing the others to pull up short behind him. It was several steps before Dave noticed, then turned around with a confused look.

"You're dodging," Rotfold said. "Other than a couple billion dollars' worth of stolen Martian warship, we haven't got anything of value. Everyone thinks we're dead. Any access of our accounts ruins that, and I just don't live in a universe where Daddy Warbucks swoops in and makes everything okay out of the goodness of his heart. So either tell us why you're taking the risk of putting us up, or we go get back on our ship and try our hand at piracy."

"Scourge of the Martian merchant fleet, they'll call us," Kellan growled from somewhere behind him. He sounded pleased.

Dave held up his hands. There was a hardness in his eyes, but also an amused respect.

"Nothing underhanded, you have my word," he said. "You're armed, and station security will allow you to carry guns whenever you like. That alone should reassure you that I'm not planning foul play. But let me get you settled in before we do much more talking, okay?"

Rotfold didn't move. Another group of returning workers was going by in the corridor, and they watched the scene curiously as they passed. Someone from the knot of people called out, "Everything okay, Dave?"

Dave nodded and waved them by impatiently. "Let's get out of the corridor at least."

"We aren't unpacking until we get some answers," Rotfold replied.

"Fine. We're almost there," Dave said, and then led them off again at a somewhat faster pace. He stopped at a small inset in the corridor wall with two doors in it. Opening one with the swipe of a card, he led the four of them into a large residential suite with a roomy living space and lots of seating.

"Bathroom is that door back there on the left. The bedroom is the one on the right. There's even a small kitchen space over here," Dave said, pointing to each thing as he spoke.

Rotfold sat down in a large brown faux-leather recliner and leaned it back. A remote control was in a pocket of the armrest. He assumed it controlled the impressively large screen that took up most of one wall. Olivia and Kellan sat on a couch that matched his chair, and Austin draped himself over a loveseat in a nice contrasting cream color.

"Comfortable?" Dave asked, pulling a chair away from the six-seat dining area and sitting down across from Rotfold.

"It's all right," Rotfold said defensively. "My ship has a really nice coffeemaker."

"I suppose bribes won't work. You are all comfortable, though? We have two suites set aside for you, both this basic layout, though the other suite has two rooms. I wasn't sure of the, ah, sleeping arrangements... " Dave trailed off uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, Boss, you can bunk with me," Kellan said with a wink at Olivia.

Olivia just smiled faintly.

"Okay, Dave, we're off the street," she said. "Now answer the captain's questions."

Dave nodded, then stood up and cleared his throat. He seemed to review something. When he spoke, the conversational facade was gone. His voice carried a grim authority.

"War between the Train and Mars is suicide. Even if every rock hopper in the Train were armed, we still couldn't compete with the Martian navy. We might kill a few with tricks and suicide runs. Mars might feel forced to nuke one of our stations to prove a point. But we can strap chemical rockets onto a couple hundred rocks the size of bunk beds and rain Armageddon down on Martian dome cities."

Dave paused, as if looking for words, then sat back down on his chair.