“We have each other,” Fisher said, and began to run the pre-clearance so that the approaching ships could land.
10.
THE CLELAND MADE BERTH just as the station’s darklight shift took over. It couldn’t have been better if Ned had planned it, but Fisher knew they’d been lucky. Well-ships came in on schedule, ready for the Net the instant they predicted. Sublight ships arrived whenever they arrived. Any manner of things could go wrong in space, and a rocket misfire at any point in the trip could speed up or slow down a ship as the star-sense-led captains wrestled their vessels along a true course.
“You can’t go down and help,” Fisher said as Ned cleared the last docking regulations with his gene-print and prepared to leave the office.
“Why not?” Ned asked, already half out of his chair. “I’m in charge.”
“You never off-load mining ships,” Fisher pointed out. “It has to be the same as any other especially because this ship is not the same as any other.”
Ned made a face. It made him look younger, but Fisher knew this was not the time to point that out.
“Fine,” Ned grumbled, slumping back. “You can go down, though. You do this sort of thing all the time.”
“I do,” Fisher admitted. “Is there anything I should be on the lookout for?”
“I have no idea,” Ned said. “I just coordinated their arrival here and made sure they’ll be able to leave through the Well.”
He sounded so morose about it that Fisher felt a swell of pity. Ned had been raised to lead, but not so soon, and losing their parents on top of all the new responsibilities was not going well for either of them. At least no one had ever really needed Fisher.
“I know you want to do more,” Fisher said. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and Ned reached up to squeeze it. “But you are literally the only person in the galaxy who can do this.”
Ned sat up a bit straighter at his terminal. They never talked about Fisher’s genetics, having decided years before that they’d arrived on Brannick Station as twins for a reason: They were a pair. They each filled in for the other where they could and made sure the Hegemony didn’t understand how reliant they were on each other.
“All right,” Ned said. “Go check on our new mine transfers. Make sure they’re equipped for their jump to Katla.”
Fisher nodded and left the office. There was no point in asking who the contact on Katla Station was. Ned probably didn’t know, and it was much safer for everyone if Fisher didn’t. Someday, Fisher reflected, they were going to have to sit down and talk about everything they ran separately from each other, but there was no place on the station that was entirely secure. The control office was swept, of course, but if they spent all their time there, it would look equally suspicious.
Main operations was running at half staff for the darklight shift. Fisher nodded to the officers on duty. They were all Brannick-born, and Ned was reasonably sure they were loyal, but Fisher maintained some distance from them all the same. Not having to be the Brannick people liked had its advantages, and Fisher enjoyed the privacy.
Fisher took the lift down, bypassing the colonnade entirely. At this time, the daylight shift would be arriving in the bars and restaurants, and the shops would be crammed full of people on their way back to their apartments. The lift cruised through the habitation levels, changing direction to accommodate for the less-than-logical station layout.
Brannick Station was the last part of the relay to be constructed. The Stavenger Empire hadn’t ever intended for the relays to be long-term habitation centres. They’d thought of them as mere layover stations to the Maritech system. By the time they built Brannick, they had it down to an art. The oldest part of the station was blocky and graceless; a huge cylinder of mooring points supported by a refinery, power-generation facility, and carbon scrubbers. As the station expanded to include areas for people to actually live, separate power sources had been built, allowing the sections of the station to function independently. This was theoretically for safety, but it opened up opportunities as well.
Fisher’s lift was for station personnel only, and Ned has used his override codes to make sure Fisher’s trip was not interrupted, so it didn’t take too long to arrive in the docking area. Fisher went over to the Cleland’s off-loading area, and waited until someone who looked like they were in a place of authority showed up.
“Excuse me?” Fisher said to the woman who seemed to be telling everyone else what to do. “I’m Fisher Brannick, station operations. Do you have everything you need?”
The woman looked at Fisher in a measuring sort of way, probably trying to figure out how much she could trust anyone on Brannick Station. She was short and her skin had a golden glow to it that wasn’t common in a spacer. Skin tended to wash out in the void. She was either someone who spent most of her time station-side or she had an amazing skincare regimen. Fisher’s face was open, if neutral, and the woman relaxed a bit after a few seconds.
“My name is Choria,” she said. She gave no further identification. “And we have everything we require, thank you.”
Fisher took a moment to look over the ship’s manifest and made sure not to smile when the rebels’ plan became clear. It was fairly simple, all told, but it would be enough. Fisher drew on the mantle that Ned wore sometimes to give orders. It made speaking in public a bit easier.
“I’m sorry to tell you that our station is not currently equipped to take on the volume of oglasa you have on board,” Fisher said calmly. “We are primarily an ore-processing station.”
“Yes,” Choria said. “I am aware. We had planned to take the oglasa on to Katla Station, if we can reach some agreement for use of the Well.”
That was smooth. The station relays had run on oglasa for centuries, but Brannick had never been the centre of operations for calorie extraction from them. They were fish—as much as anything could be a fish in deep space—and had been a primary food source for all space-going vessels until the stock was depleted from overharvesting. Now there were strict rules about collecting and transporting anything related to the oglasa harvest, and Brannick Station mostly stayed out of it by virtue of not having been involved in the first place. Sending the catch through the relay to Katla was the perfect excuse.
“I am sure we can reach some sort of arrangement,” Fisher said. “We have another ore ship coming in behind you, so I am sure my brother will want to send you on your way as speedily as possible.”
Choria smiled, her eyes brightening as if she and Fisher had shared a joke. In a way, they did. Everything had worked out perfectly for both of them.
“I appreciate that,” Choria said. “Please convey my greetings to Brannick the Younger and tell him I look forward to working with him again.”