The stars above the geodesic translucent dome (one of many dotting the starport, each covering a berth of varying size) were encrusted against a stark black with the sun spilling a dazzling white halo beyond the gray black mountain range on the exposed side of the planet some miles from the starport, made for a spectacular visual, but no amount of pleasant vacuum world scenery could compensate for the fact that Captain Robert Dolton had to pay his crew and then dish out more cash for fuel and life support, not to mention berthing costs. And patiently waiting for a newt to meticulously make payouts for each cargo, sometimes counting each gold imperial coin into Dolton’s hand, tried his otherwise near infinite patience.
The annoyingly glassy green skinned amphibian, whose name he couldn’t recall much less pronounce, counted out each gold Imperial coin into his hand for a delivery of a hodgepodge cargo of entertainment vids, computer parts of all tech levels, seeds, toys, and domestic incidentals from spatulas to toasters to the exceptionally poor and non-strategic Olorna merchants. The amphibian’s accent was a cross between a squeal and a buzz as he went from one set of a thousand to the next. Fortunately, this part of the transaction was only the cash portion, the rest being electronically transfers. But Dolton’s found his famous lack of prejudice being reshaped by his interaction with this creature.
The Schleper’s Dream was an extended type-R merchant, or “merchie” in navyese that had seen better days, but was functional and up to specs. It often reminded Dolton of himself as he watched the Newt pull out yet another set of gold coins for a different portion of the transaction. The Dream, as Dolton liked to call it, was middle aged for a starship having more then a century of service with several captains. The extension apparently was something built into her. Technically on her registration she was listed an RL—L for “lengthened”, but looked like any other type-R regardless. She had a few patches that had been painted over, and more than one recoating of her nose and replacement of various electronics. She was still in her prime, even though long in the tooth and perhaps on the high side in terms of mileage. But she ran, mostly flawlessly, though with a few quirks like any other ship in the merchant fleet.
As for Dolton, neutral brown-blond hair with a few lighter strands that ranged from light yellow to stark white gray., clean shaven, somewhat portly, but otherwise physically sound but not the trim athlete of his college days. As for his temperament Dolton had that unique cross between all business and good natured. As the years wore on he found his patience being tested, like now, but he never lost his cool, and unlike his body which was prone to aches, pains and the occasional spasm or Charlie horse, his mind was fairly stalwartly.
He again impatiently sighed as he tolerated the Newt’s bean counting style of business with another bag of coins metallically sloshed onto another crate from a mobile safe. Dolton didn’t have too many prejudices, if any at all, but as much as he was a stickler for detail when accounting for his cargo, the one thing he really hated was dealing with a Newt in any business matter. Apparently “take my word for it” didn’t register among the amphibians, or if it did, then it came with the qualifying clause of “trust but verify”. And like his ship, which held steadfast during parabolic refueling and the occasional meteor strike, he too steeled himself against the irritation of the amphibian’s stickler for financial detail.
“Any chance we can speed things up?” Dolton asked with a laconic tone that would have had his crew rolling in laughter were they in ear shot. One was, Sharon Patterson, the Terran accountant who doubled as navigator. Her sly reserved smirk spoke volumes for her appraisal of Dolton’s jab. A jab that, like most interspecies communications, was lost on the Bwap as he again started counting from another bag of coins.
“Three-thousand five-hundred ninety-two credits.” The Newt ended with its equally annoying and obligatory grin that was a natural feature of its face, and not some expression of gratification. Or, if it was, then it just sealed Dolton’s opinion of the species.
Dolton shrugged, then poured the latest batch of gold coins into another banker’s bag and passed it off to Sharon who vanished inside the ship to stash it in the ship’s safe. He stared at “the thing”, shrugged his shoulders and finally said, “Now what?”
“You pay us for berthing rights.”
“I already paid for berthing and landing rights, which were already put into your brokerage fee.” Dolton was calm but firm. “Maybe you need to recheck your books and your agreement.” And with that he turned his back on the thing, waving Steve and Quin over with the lifts to pile in the various empty crates for the next shipment.
But the Bwap stood there, his moisture suit dripping with condensation onto the tarmacadam amidst the flood lights above and the ultra bright halo of sunlight beyond the mountains illuminating the ship and pads. He stood there with jet black eyes and goofy grin aimed at Dolton’s back as he watched the human starship captain slowly climb up the ramp, and vanished into the ship’s interior.
The annoyingly glassy green skinned amphibian, whose name he couldn’t recall much less pronounce, counted out each gold Imperial coin into his hand for a delivery of a hodgepodge cargo of entertainment vids, computer parts of all tech levels, seeds, toys, and domestic incidentals from spatulas to toasters to the exceptionally poor and non-strategic Olorna merchants. The amphibian’s accent was a cross between a squeal and a buzz as he went from one set of a thousand to the next. Fortunately, this part of the transaction was only the cash portion, the rest being electronically transfers. But Dolton’s found his famous lack of prejudice being reshaped by his interaction with this creature.
The Schleper’s Dream was an extended type-R merchant, or “merchie” in navyese that had seen better days, but was functional and up to specs. It often reminded Dolton of himself as he watched the Newt pull out yet another set of gold coins for a different portion of the transaction. The Dream, as Dolton liked to call it, was middle aged for a starship having more then a century of service with several captains. The extension apparently was something built into her. Technically on her registration she was listed an RL—L for “lengthened”, but looked like any other type-R regardless. She had a few patches that had been painted over, and more than one recoating of her nose and replacement of various electronics. She was still in her prime, even though long in the tooth and perhaps on the high side in terms of mileage. But she ran, mostly flawlessly, though with a few quirks like any other ship in the merchant fleet.
As for Dolton, neutral brown-blond hair with a few lighter strands that ranged from light yellow to stark white gray., clean shaven, somewhat portly, but otherwise physically sound but not the trim athlete of his college days. As for his temperament Dolton had that unique cross between all business and good natured. As the years wore on he found his patience being tested, like now, but he never lost his cool, and unlike his body which was prone to aches, pains and the occasional spasm or Charlie horse, his mind was fairly stalwartly.
He again impatiently sighed as he tolerated the Newt’s bean counting style of business with another bag of coins metallically sloshed onto another crate from a mobile safe. Dolton didn’t have too many prejudices, if any at all, but as much as he was a stickler for detail when accounting for his cargo, the one thing he really hated was dealing with a Newt in any business matter. Apparently “take my word for it” didn’t register among the amphibians, or if it did, then it came with the qualifying clause of “trust but verify”. And like his ship, which held steadfast during parabolic refueling and the occasional meteor strike, he too steeled himself against the irritation of the amphibian’s stickler for financial detail.
“Any chance we can speed things up?” Dolton asked with a laconic tone that would have had his crew rolling in laughter were they in ear shot. One was, Sharon Patterson, the Terran accountant who doubled as navigator. Her sly reserved smirk spoke volumes for her appraisal of Dolton’s jab. A jab that, like most interspecies communications, was lost on the Bwap as he again started counting from another bag of coins.
“Three-thousand five-hundred ninety-two credits.” The Newt ended with its equally annoying and obligatory grin that was a natural feature of its face, and not some expression of gratification. Or, if it was, then it just sealed Dolton’s opinion of the species.
Dolton shrugged, then poured the latest batch of gold coins into another banker’s bag and passed it off to Sharon who vanished inside the ship to stash it in the ship’s safe. He stared at “the thing”, shrugged his shoulders and finally said, “Now what?”
“You pay us for berthing rights.”
“I already paid for berthing and landing rights, which were already put into your brokerage fee.” Dolton was calm but firm. “Maybe you need to recheck your books and your agreement.” And with that he turned his back on the thing, waving Steve and Quin over with the lifts to pile in the various empty crates for the next shipment.
But the Bwap stood there, his moisture suit dripping with condensation onto the tarmacadam amidst the flood lights above and the ultra bright halo of sunlight beyond the mountains illuminating the ship and pads. He stood there with jet black eyes and goofy grin aimed at Dolton’s back as he watched the human starship captain slowly climb up the ramp, and vanished into the ship’s interior.