Chapter One
Korbot Maka scanned the bays of his space port with a keen and stern eye as he strode toward the damaged bay door. The arsenal of tools on his wide leather utility belt clinked together, warning the unwary of his approach.
The scathing temperature of Sinnet spawned waves of heat that undulated above the tarmac, stirred only by Korbot’s passage. The normally hot temperature had risen to barely tolerable in the summer season. Only the natives of the small, red, barren planet were anywhere near comfortable.
Korbot dragged the sleeve of his work shirt across his dampened forehead, ducked through the eight-foot bay door, and coaxed the controls of the cooling system down to a more comfortable level in which to work. He inspected the damaged door, mumbling irately to himself about the scorch marks and dents caused by the blazer battle the previous night.
Near the outer boundaries of Galaxy End, Sinnet appeared on approach to be just another peaceful, sparsely populated planet. It was, in fact, the most notorious haven for rogue star pilots, smugglers, and other unsavory characters seeking refuge to recuperate from run-ins with the Intergalactic Corporation, the questionable galactic government, and their ruthless Corporate Police who patrolled the galaxy in pretense of keeping law and order. Sinnet was hands off to the Corporation by some obscure private agreement with the self-appointed local government run by Baquar Starka, a native of the planet and enterprising being of means best not studied too closely.
Korbot spied two of Baquar’s henchmen hanging around the opposite bay. He yanked on a dent in the bay door, the metal popping loudly. The noise caused the unwelcomed creatures to jump and turn to find the Portmaster’s black eyes glaring in their direction. They scurried away. A small smile of satisfaction tugged at Korbot’s lips as he returned to his work.
Baquar had been warned to keep his men away from Corbia Spaceport, the only part of the isolated city Baquar did not own. The unpleasant syndicate boss bore an uncanny resemblance to a rodent in human form and had a personality to match. He kept his variety of humanoid and alien henchmen scattered about to keep some semblance of order, an eye on the docking bays, and hopefully out of eyesight and arm’s reach of the ten-foot Tendrite Portmaster.
Korbot, during his younger days, had been one of the wildest star pilots in the galaxy, a member of the nomadic Tendrite tribes who wandered the stars as traders and star merchants. He knew little about the Tendrites, as his father and mother determined their family not be without firm roots and a solid foundation. The concept was an oddity among their people, but there were no protests against the independence.
The elder Maka, a master mechanic and technician, built Corbia Spaceport into a prosperous business, fighting anyone who attempted to interfere or take over his business. He gathered the best mechanics, technicians, engineers, and pilots in the galaxy to work in the port, luring many out of Baquar’s clutches. This caused friction that escalated more than once into violent confrontations. Baquar eventually learned that Elia Maka, and Tendrites in general, were forces not to be reckoned with.
Korbot had grown into the height and strength of his people, his skin sunbaked to a mahogany hue, his helmet of thick black hair worn to his broad shoulders, and broad-mustached face stern in countenance, especially when confronting Baquar’s men.
He gave the door another powerful yank forcing a stubborn dent straight.
There were days, especially during the summer season, Korbot missed being a star pilot. His successful running days had come to an abrupt halt after his father was killed in a suspicious accident. Elia left the as his only legacy to his son.
That, and the fact that Korbot’s Rhadurian partner had been injured in a confrontation with the Corporate Police, planted him firmly in the role of Portmaster.
Korbot maneuvered the weight of the bay door into the frame, then used the plasma torch to repair the ragged gashes rent through the thick metal. He worked in silence, sweating despite the cooling system working overtime. He would have a stern discussion with the technician assigned to the repairs the night before. Korbot wondered vaguely where the man had disappeared to. That thought gave him pause. If the technician were still absent, a visit to Baquar would be the next step, and that thought didn’t please Korbot.
Korbot’s men were generally trustworthy, loyal to him and to their jobs. They were the best at what they did, paid well, and treated with the respect they deserved. None of them dared cross him. When he bellowed an order, there was no hesitation in carrying it out. They respected him because they knew, despite his fierce appearance and looming height, Korbot was a quiet-spoken, reserved, and normally good-natured individual. His main dislike was people, human or otherwise, such as Baquar and anyone who worked for the Sinnetian.
A grinding, squealing, clanking racket assaulted Korbot’s ears. He straightened and frowned into the glare of the summer sky to watch a battered, scorched Denovan freighter settle into bay slot four directly across from where he worked. By the look of the outer hull, the old freighter had just managed to escape a run-in with the Police cruisers patrolling the space outside of Sinnet’s jurisdiction.
Korbot made it a point to memorize the ships that came to his port and get to know as much as was available about the assorted pilots. He had seen the old freighter a few times but knew little about its occupant. He stopped working and watched with interest as the protesting main hatch lowered and thumped to the ground.
The fact that the freighter and its pilot were Denovan was enough to raise Korbot’s interest. Denovans had an aversion to their offspring taking to the stars. As far as Korbot was aware, this pilot was the only one to break with that tradition in existence. Korbot suppressed his amusement as the human pilot climbed out of his ship, looking in worse shape than it did. If Korbot’s information was correct, the man’s name was Sneighd Arkon, around age twenty-four human years, young for a Denovan, barely an adult by Tendrite reckoning.
Arkon kicked the landing gear in obvious disgust and walked somewhat unsteadily through the port probably heading to the nearest canteen. He glanced briefly as he passed toward Korbot
An unsettling feeling swept over Korbot. He watched until Arkon was out of sight. A skirmish with a Police Cruiser was never good. However, when a pilot reached the safety of Sinnet with a Police Cruiser in pursuit, the result was normally jubilant bragging, whistling, and shouting. Arkon just looked exhausted; his eyes hooded, his face haggard and pale, his gait sluggish as he made his way through the bay.
Korbot hadn’t seen any evidence of injury, but that was a possibility. If Arkon was injured, Korbot hoped he had sense enough to go to a medical center to be cleared for flight before leaving. He would have to keep an eye out for Arkon. If the younger man seemed little better when he returned to his freighter, Korbot would ground him, until he was cleared by a physician.
Stretching his shoulders and neck, Korbot returned to his work. It was usually best not to get too interested in the pilots who landed in the port, but he wasn’t about to let one of them crash into his docking bays.
He gathered his tools and started to exit the bay when he heard the growl of the turbo-ion engine of an old Rhadurian space hauler. The old hauler landed expertly into slot five. Korbot took a deep breath, shaking his head in amusement. He knew all too well the history and identity of the old hauler and its pilot.
The main hatch slid upward with a slight hiss. A medium-sized girl, wearing the tight black britches, off white utility work tunic, and knee-high black boots of a Rhadurian pilot, jumped lithely to the ground. She adjusted the low-slung holster on her slender hips as she lit.
Haunalyn was known to every star pilot and Portmaster in this part of the galaxy. Working for her father, she made frequent parts and supply runs to most of the planets in the Corporation jurisdiction, and a few to places Korbot was sure her father knew nothing about.
He knew she was eighteen, and had heard she was hot-tempered, stubborn, and reputed to be better than most at handling a ship. As the saying went, the moon didn't travel out of its home planet's orbit. This reputation, Korbot suspected, was earned more by her coming to Sinnet and hanging around the canteen crowded with rogues and villains from the multitude of planets, moons, and asteroids scattered about the universe.
He kept a close, but discreet eye on her when she was in port, a favor to her father. Deacon was Korbot’s oldest and dearest friend, and the Rhadurian shipmate injured in the battle with the Corporation so many years before. He suspected Deacon didn’t know of his daughter’s visits to Sinnet. Deacon was well acquainted with the type of riffraff who frequented the planet. He had once been one of them. After being injured, Deacon gave up flying. He returned to Rhaduri. Shortly after, his wife died, leaving him with a five-year-old daughter. Deacon had determined to raise the little girl properly. Korbot knew Deacon would never approve of Haunalyn coming to the worst planet, nor of some associations she had made there.
Haunalyn flicked her long brown hair away from her face with a characteristic toss of her head. She caught sight of Korbot watching her, offered a quick grin and short wave before she disappeared through the bay. Korbot returned her greeting with a slight nod of his head. Once she was out of sight, he crossed the port to the main building to log in the new arrivals.
