Kairon Rees
Smuggler
Callidora Aholt
The Quintessence complained all the way in to the hangar bar. The thrust nozzles on the port side had to bea
Kairon felt it in the soles of his boots. A shudder under the deck plates. A delayed answer as he pulled left. The old girl had made worse landings, but she had also made better ones.
"Easy," he muttered, as if she might take the hint.
Traffic stacked above the station in slow, glittering rings. The place was huge. There were hab rings for peoples staying and cargo spines for the bulk freoghters that could not doc.
He brought her in on manual for the last stretch because he did not trust the automatic handshake when the ship was in this mood. He set the Quin down on the docking bay floor. For a moment he sat there with one hand on the yoke and listened to the hull tick as it settled.
Mai was already gone.
He had not seen her leave. Sometimes she made it known by flicking a crude hand gesture on the way. One moment she was a smear of gold and red in the companionway, complaining about the docking fee, and the next the ramp light was green and the Cathar had vanished into the station. Kairon pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Try not to start a war," he said to no one.
Jarrick would hold the ship. The twins could sulk in the hold and wait for new cargo. That left the captain to go and find a mechanic who wouldn't rob them blind or take one look at the Quintessence and walk the other way.
He thought of Asmus on the walk down the ramp. The boy had grown into a man while Kairon was still trying to remember when that had happened. Kaile was his anchor. Bix had spent three nights aboard while they had been on the ground on Eriadu. Kairon had pretended to grumble, but looking after his grand niece had become a rare bright note in dreary months.
Getting soft, he told himself.
The scent of the station hit him. It was heat, spice, coolant and something being fried. A dozen languages layered over the announcement system. There were Humans, Twi'leks, and a pair of Duros arguing with a droid. There was a family of Chadra-Fan towing a crate on a squealing repulsor. He kept his hair tied back and his coat respectable enough for a place that still asked for identification. He had to being coreward manners, even as his eyes turned rimward.
The recruitment centre sat off a wide concourse with a glass front and a holoboard cycling trades. There welders and drive techs. Kairon paused outside long enough to check the Quintessence's berth on his datapad, then went in.
The centre looked more like a bar than anything. It would be busy soon. Lots of crews arriving and trying to find the cheapest labour. He needed a generalist, not a specialist. He needed someone willing to go on the next trip with them.
A clerk looked up, already tired.
"Looking for a mechanic," Kairon said. "Day rate if that is all I can get. Longer if they can stand an old freighter."
He let his gaze travel the waiting benches. There were a few hopefuls. There was a droid mechanic.
"Pilf," the clerk called. She handed kairon a data pad to fill out. A young man came up and took the pad back from Kairon. "Pilf will go and ask around. Have a drink while you wait."