Fool's Gold: Carson Lyle's War - Part One (2 page)

Lyle forced the thought out of him mind. He figured he had some time while the low end contracts were auctioned off and decided to see what was happening in the territory today. He retrieved his data pad from his jacket pocket and pulled up the News Net. A list of that day's headlines populated the screen and he began scrolling.

Economic Strife Continues to Pummel the Poor.

Another Ship Lost in EMF Zone.

Air Quality Still A Problem.

Mech Corps Says Missing Equipment Was A 'Clerical Error'.

That one caught Lyle's eye. He tapped on it and skimmed the article.

"...government spin doctors have been hard at work trying to put out public relations fires after another embarrassing report about inefficiencies in the operation of the military. The latest stemming from an audit showing tens of millions in equipment, including combat mech parts, went missing last month.

Authorities are now saying there was a clerical error that misplaced that equipment on inventory spreadsheets, but assures us no equipment is actually missing.

The concern, of course, is making sure no equipment ever makes it into the hands of the Outer Rim settlements, in the asteroid field.

Authorities say this is an impossibility, and also say none of the equipment, in question, were arms or ammunition so there would be no advantage to..."

'A clerical error'
, Lyle thought.
That's some funny shit right there.

Chapter 3

The foremen, on both platforms, continued trying to sell their contracts. Despite the crowd of haulers that Lyle knew needed any work they could get, there were few takers on the milk runs they were selling. But even with some haggling on the payoff terms, the work was slowly getting sold.

He noticed the crowd of haulers was getting larger and elbowed Shorty. "Must be getting close to show time. Do you need me to pick you up so you can see?"

Shorty didn't answer, but his usual scowl had more wrinkles than usual.

The foreman had just finished finalizing a sale when he stood up and looked to his partner on the other platform and mouthed something Lyle couldn't quite see. The other foreman nodded back.

He turned to the crowd. "Gentlemen! I see more of you have gathered here. I know what you're here for and it's time!"

The haulers cheered. Lyle cheered too, anxious to find out if the job was going to live up to the hype. Shorty suddenly looked serious.

Lyle took another look around. There definitely was some good competition for this work. He might have to dig into his bag of tricks to secure this contract.

"I have, in my hand," the foreman continued, "a prime contract from a client that needs a heavy load moved and he needs it done yesterday. The client is offering a prime rate and heavy bonus if this cargo arrived at the destination in thirty-six hours. How does all that sound to you boys?"

More cheers.

"Sounds great! Let's bid, already!" Someone said.

"That is an excellent idea, good sir," The foreman said, tapping keys on his data pad.

"Boys, who wants to go to...El Dorado!"

A picture of a rocky planet against a backdrop of distant asteroids and the second of Twin Suns that made up the territories binary star system appeared on the screen behind him. The crowd of haulers began muttering to each other. Some were shaking their heads. Some threw up their hands, as if to say 'I'm out.'

The foreman laughed. "That's right, boys, El Dorado. That changes things, doesn't it? The faint of heart need not apply." He tapped a button on his data pad and the terms of the contract appeared on the screen. "This is what you're bidding on – if you're still bidding, that is."

Lyle looked carefully. "Holy shit! Grey Corporation!" That was a surprise. It didn't have its hands in any one specific enterprise, but rather did anything that would keep the marketplace - and its profits - moving. In a time when the economy of the entire territory was stagnant, Grey Corporation flourished.

"What did I tell you, son?" Shorty said. "When I get in good with them, I won't have to bid for work no more."

Lyle nodded. One of the occupational hazards of taking on these bid-for-work contracts was the client couldn't actually pay up, but that wasn't going to be an issue with this one.

The contract also specified ships that could handle six of the large G-type containers. Others around him must have read that same line as another three dozen bowed out.

He read the details on the board behind the foreman: Cargo type: Various. Cargo weight: 501673 Kg.

Lyle rubbed his scraggly chin. 'Various' wasn't unusual, but it was for that weight. Jobs in that weight range are usually moving large quantities of one thing. Was Grey moving a whole apartment building of people? Lyle couldn't imagine that many people
wanting
to move to El Dorado…ever! Forced relocation? That was a possibility. The screen clearly showed the Authority Customs chop on it which meant whatever was being moved was legal.

Still, it did seem irregular.

Shorty started moving his way forward through the crowd. Lyle noticed. It wasn't like him to be so anxious.

"Here's the meat and potatoes of the deal, boys." The foreman pointed to the compensation clause. "The client has listed the starting pay bid for this run at nine-hundred-eighty-two thousand credits."

A couple haulers cat-called their approval.

"Ah, you like that, eh? Well, if the cargo reaches the dock in..." He checked the time on the screen. "...thirty-five hours, forty-two minutes from now, that hauler will be paid a handsome two-hundred-thousand bonus. I also feel obliged to point out that bottom line," The foreman pointed to the bottom of the clause on the screen. In bold font, were the words: CONTRACT TO HIRE."

There were collective 'wows' throughout the gathering of haulers. Steady work of any kind, in this these times, was something some people had killed for.

"Let's start the bidding at say...nine-eighty. Anybody? Nine-eighty..."

"Here," someone said.

"Do I hear nine-seventy? Anyone?"

"Yo!"

"This guy at nine-seventy! Who Else?"

A hand raised near the front of the platform. "Nine-sixty!"

"Ho ho! I have nine-sixty to Shorty at the front."

Lyle crossed his arms and thought for a moment.
Not like you, Shorty. Not like you at all.

The bidding continued on in five hundred to a thousand credit increments. The longer the bidding went on, the more palpable the enthusiasm among everyone became.

Lyle had his data pad out and opened a custom written app he used to calculate costs. He keyed in the figures, and shifted them around, running a few different scenarios with different variables. The good thing about a run to El Dorado was there weren't too many variables to worry about.

He looked up to see the current bid. It was down to nine-forty-two-five and it was slowing down. Bids were down to one hundred credits increments with Shorty holding the current bid, with a nervous smile.

"Is that it, boys? Down to hundred cred bids? I think it's time to wrap this up." The foreman held up the electronic gavel with his thumb on the button. "I got nine-forty-two-five going once...nine-forty-two-five going twice...No more bidders?"

Time to make some money. "Nine-twenty!"

About two dozen heads snapped to look at who called that bid.

"Holy smokes! There's the man, himself! Nine-twenty to Mr. Lyle."

Shorty didn't have a poker face to speak of. He shot his hand up. "Nine-ten!"

Lyle gave him a golf clap as he walked to the platform and stood next to Shorty.

"What the hell are you doing?" Shorty said, as more of a statement than a question.

"Nine-o-five," Lyle said.

The crowd was almost in a frenzy. Out of the corner of his eye, Lyle could see side bets being made among the onlookers.

The foreman was egging Shorty on. "That's nine-o-five, son. You're not going to let this one get away, are you?"

Lyle figured Shorty was done. There were only two other guys he knew of that had ships that could make that run with a chance at the bonus and Shorty wasn't one of them. He estimated Shorty would clear just a few thousand profit after expenses. Not really worth it out to the Outer Rim. It was the bonus Lyle was hanging his hat on and he still had plenty of bidding room to go.

A slender, olive-skinned man with a goatee had an arm on Shorty's shoulder. "Come on, man! You can't let this one go! It's your job!

"Nine...nine-o-two." Shorty didn't sound the least bit happy with that number.

"Nine-o-two to you, Mr. Lyle. Talk to me."

Carson Lyle crossed his arms and sarcastically tugged at the scruff of hair on his chin. "Gee, I don't know. Nine-o-two is pretty strong. Hmmm...Let me think a sec..."

Shorty exploded. "Nine-hundred, dammit! You know you can't do nine-hundred. Just give it to me now! This job is meant for me!"

Lyle was surprised. Shorty was a hothead, but he knew how this game was played and Shorty must have forgotten Lyle learned from the best; his mentor, Mad Jack.

"Don't take too long. I might just call it," the foreman said, teasing Lyle with the gavel.

I can't say I'm sorry to do this, Shorty. "Let's put this one to bed...Eight-eighty."

The uproar, from the other haulers, got the attention of security. Half a dozen marines ran in from all directions. The two foremen had to wave them off.

No one could believe Lyle undercut an already bare bones bid by thousands. Some even started exchanging the money from the side bets, even though the foreman hadn't banged the gavel.

"Geez-Louise! Eight-eighty...going once..." The foreman held a hand out to Shorty, as if to plead for another bid.

Some of the others tried to get him to bid again. Most of all, the guy hanging on Shorty's shoulder. The back and forth bidding exchanges like this were Lyle's favorite part and he was having a blast...especially since he had the upper hand.

"Going twice…"

Shorty's face had turned red and sweat had started to form along the wrinkles on his forehead formed by his furrowed eyebrows. He was fuming more than Lyle had seen since Mad Jack bluffed him in a game of Botchi with only a low pair, a few years ago, that cost him another sweet contract.

"That's my job. That's my job! I need to be the one to do that job!"

"Sold!"

There was another round of cheers and applause. More side bet money was exchanged. The foreman had stepped in front of Lyle to complete the transaction.

Shorty lunged at him, grabbing at the chop token around his neck. "It's mine! It has to be mine! It has to—"

Lyle firmed his stance, ready to fight, but it wasn't necessary.

The other haulers didn't take too kindly to the outburst. It was a violation of an unspoken code among haulers. One didn't whine about losing a bid for work, especially if there was nothing squirrelly about it. Everyone had to fight for the same work, but there was respect for the risks they each took for their livelihood.

There were just a few rules that they all followed, but they were the cornerstone of what they regarded as something of a brotherhood: Bid honestly, and accept the result. Don't mess with another man's work. Never leave another hauler stranded in space. And always keep a promise. It was a loose brotherhood, but one that Lyle appreciated…probably more than most.

Two of the men had grabbed Shorty - one was the guy with the goatee - each taking an arm, and escorted him away from the platform and tossed him out into the open concourse like garbage.

He jumped up and instinctively reached to his right hip, forgetting his gun had been taken at the security checkpoint. He faced the unyielding stares of twenty-plus grizzled freight haulers.

Shorty knew he'd messed up.

He scoffed at the entire crowd, turned, tried to wave them off as he was the one done with them.

There was boisterous laughter, as he walked off and the attention turned back to the platforms.

The foreman kneeled down to Lyle, holding out his data pad.

"Nicely done, sir. Put your chop right there," he said pointing to a round port in the bottom left corner.

Lyle pulled reached into his shirt and pulled out a chain he had around his neck. Hanging from it was a black rectangular data chip, about six centimeters long and two wide, that had one rounded side. He slid the rounded side into the port. After a few seconds, there was a chirp. Lyle saw his hauler registration information appear on the contract and his signature code on the bottom. The deal was done.

The foreman shook his hand. "That was entertaining. Thank you. The load order has been sent and your ship will be ready to boost in six hours."

"Fantastic."

A number of the haulers around him shook his hand and patted him on the back. He caught sight of Shorty standing at the corner of the concourse for a moment, looking back, then disappearing from sight. He figured he could give it a few days and go find Shorty, maybe send some work his way.

No need for the man to carry a grudge, he thought.

He checked the time and looked at the shuttle schedule posted on a nearby wall.

Just enough time to go planetside and take care of some business.

Chapter 4

Atlantia City

Planet Atlantia

Lyle caught a cab at the shuttle port, and directed the driver to head to the East Ward of the city. It was a twenty minute ride and traffic was cooperating. As the cab made its way east, Lyle saw the organized rat race of pedestrians purposefully moving, to and from the shuttle port, gradually give way to clusters of people with hopeless looks on their faces just milling about outside of rundown buildings and homeless destitutes dressed in rags curled up on the ground here and there. The transition of the surrounding cityscape from a dingy metropolis to a depressing piss hole, was a familiar one. The East Ward was one of the lesser maintained areas of the city, populated mostly by the lower working class. They were good people; hard working and honest...mostly. It was also a good place to be if you wanted to drop off Authority radar which is why Lyle called it home.