Atalan Adventure Pack: Books 4-6 by R.M. Hamrick

Author:R.M. Hamrick [Hamrick, R.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-20T22:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Quaja hadn’t known Beramuda’s relative position to a relatively active star lent itself to severe radiation belts, else she would have recommended further precautions taken to distance or protect the ship. Had Frankie been on board, she would have been able to identify the dangers and direct the ship from them. Course, had Frankie been on board, they wouldn’t have had to go deep into Microlutions territory...

From the hadn’t knowns, Quaja knew their ship wouldn’t have been the first to emergency land, and guessed there’d be a market for aftermarket or after-landing parts—or at least a junkyard.

Stepping from the metal grates to the planet’s grass with soft blades and prickly edges sent a sensory burst up her tentacles. The root system was dense, intricate fibers intertwining. The rebound of the grass played with each tentillum. She stood in front of the ship’s open cargo bay for more than a few moments before remembering she wasn’t born in an outbuilding. She secured the ship and chose the route with the most textures toward her goal.

Many tactile adventures later, Quaja found the after-landing junkyard behind one of the larger active volcanoes, as if they’d adopted an out of sight, out of mind policy for their cosmic Bermuda Triangle. And there was much out of sight—a wonderful collection of previously space-faring spacecraft of all different eras from many planets. Before Quaja could decide there was absolutely no organization to the place, a pale bipedal figure emerged from a particularly stationary space vehicle. By leaving the vehicle’s door ajar, the human indicated he’d been raised in a barn.

“Wow, a Kieron,” said the human, speeding up to normal human-walking speed. He had removed much of the hair on his face, and what grew on the top of his head had been cut short. His sleek khakis and white polo shirt were in sharp contrast to his location—a greasy junkyard. “My name’s Brian.”

“Hey Brian, I’m looking for navigational, weapons, and main board controllers for an Xavier-class ship.”

Brian responded by grooming himself. He ran his hand through his hair to see if anything had fallen into it. He brushed non-existent wrinkles off his Aeon No-DOW™ polo shirt, an expensive brand of dirt-, odor-, and wrinkle-proof polos which had priced itself out of the market for those required to wear polo shirts as work attire. This outfit had been custom-tailored, and the khakis were no doubt equipped with Anti-Crack™, Muffin Top Elimination™, and Never-Show-Midriff™ technologies. Whether he had purchased the clothing or had murdered someone of his exact bodily dimensions and stolen his clothing—one such incident had forced Aeon to ditch the tag line Outlasts the Toughest Murders™ if only to avoid additional grand juries determining culpability—the man seemed fairly well-to-do. Under his non-grooming arm, he’d tucked the half-open housing case for a Class8-a3, gyroscopic coupler with humidity and compression sensors.

“You’re on a Xavier-class ship,” he stated, stressing his differing pronunciation of the name. “I thought all Kieron were corporate employees. What courier ship could afford you?”

“Oh you’ve never heard of it, and they don’t even pay me.

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