Night Song (The Guild Wars Book 9) by Mark Wandrey (best management books of all time .txt) 📗

companies in the region finally got CASA to respond and authorize Silent Night to use their private orbital class facility to service ships under 1,000 tons. Since they had a small fusion plant that had been serviced just before the war, they had plenty of power to make hydrogen.

Alan looked up through the building’s roof as a rumble rolled across the complex. “Something will come along. It always has before.” The compound vibrated as a shuttle’s landing motors roared; the first shuttle was landing for service.

“Ripley is excited to visit the shuttles as they go through,” Dana said.

“I’m sure she is.” Alan made a face. The money they would make from selling fuel would hardly pay for the F11 being slowly consumed in the reactor. Still, it was better than nothing. “Still no sign of Rex.”

* * *

Ripley shielded her eyes against the shuttle’s bright descent motors. She marveled at the design, unlike anything used by Humans. When it came to shuttles, Humans preferred shuttles with aerodynamic surfaces, which would approach in a glide path, then use rockets or jets to slow their landing, more of a STOL. This alien shuttle was a flattened sphere and only used rockets to plummet straight down.

“Wouldn’t want to be around that thing if a motor fails,” one of the ground staff said, eyeing the descending shuttle skeptically.

“Union tech is more reliable than Earth tech,” she said. He nodded but seemed unconvinced.

The engines’ sound changed from a roar to an ear-splitting scream. Ripley turned up the feedback on her ear protection, specially designed for the shape of her head and exceptionally sharp hearing. Turbofans were particularly hard on her ears because they had dangerous sound spikes in the ultrasonic that Humans couldn’t register.

The shuttle waited until the last second to increase power and slow before dropping six pairs of spider-like landing legs. With a thump and groan, it settled to the ground like a big fat cane toad. The rockets cut as soon as it was all the way down. The ground crew, professionals that they were, waited a long 10 count before moving in.

The shuttle had a pair of heavy loading ramps, one on each side, which were lowered by powerful hydraulics. Ripley could tell the ship had been designed for heavy hauling and fast landing. It wasn’t efficient at all. Ripley took her slate and walked over as the ramp began to lower. When a Jeha slithered out, she was a little surprised.

“I was not expecting a Zuul,” the alien said, its clicking language rendered into English by Ripley’s translator.

“I wasn’t expecting a talking millipede,” Ripley countered. The Jeha reared up a bit, massive segmented antenna waving in surprise. “You’re requesting 120 tons of hydrogen?”

“Correct,” the alien said.

“Our rate agreed upon is 100 credits per ton, and a 50-credit ground service fee.”

“I am aware of the charge,” the Jeha said. “It is outrageous.”

“You are welcome to go elsewhere for your fuel.”

“There is no elsewhere,” the Jeha countered, “as you are well aware. If my ship in orbit does not get the fuel, we are stuck in this backwater hell-hole of a planet.” Ripley waited and stared at the bug. “Fine,” it said finally and held out its Universal Account Access Card, or Yack, as most Humans called them.

Ripley took the card and slid it into her slate, triggering a transaction of 12,050 credits. She held the slate out to the alien, who touched the screen with its antenna, verifying identity. The credits were debited. “Thank you,” she said and handed back the card. The alien clicked something that didn’t translate and went around Ripley to watch the fuel transfer.

Ripley waved to the ground crew, who immediately began attaching the hydrogen transfer umbilical. In only a minute the fuel was being pumped aboard the shuttle. While the transfer was taking place, she walked around and studied the craft. It lacked any aesthetic touches at all. The rounded hull was carefully formed in segments and welded together with precision. According to the GalNet, the Jeha were a non-merc race, ship builders of some renown.

She ran into the Jeha—whom she assumed was the pilot—near one of the engine pylons. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose,” the Jeha replied.

“Why does your shuttle design have no aerodynamic surfaces?”

“Some worlds don’t have atmosphere,” it explained. “Why bother?”

“Because some worlds do,” she replied. “Having a lifting body or wings won’t detract much from a shuttle’s function, and it will decrease operating costs in an atmosphere.” The Jeha turned its black beady eyes on her. “It looks nicer, too.”

“Looks nicer?” the Jeha asked. “Who cares how it looks?”

“Fueling complete, Ripley!” the crew chief called out.

She turned to ask another question of the Jeha, but it was already heading for the boarding ramp, its legs propelling it in a constant wave-like undulation. “Rude bug,” she said, and followed the ground crew to help them secure the fueling cables in their underground storage. They barely got the blast shielding in place and had cleared the area before the Jeha fired the ascent engines, and the shuttle lumbered back into the sky.

Ripley touched her radio transmit button. “Did that Jeha request clearance to take off?” she asked.

“No,” the traffic controller replied. “Is the crew okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Should I file a complaint with the government?”

“The Terran Federation is still getting its act together down here,” Ripley said. “By the time anyone can do anything about it, the bug will be long gone.” She made a note from now on to have the ground crew tie down each shuttle so the craft’s crew knew they couldn’t simply blast off when they felt like it.

Word had gotten out, and she was busy all afternoon as a parade of various shuttles flitted in and out of Silent Night’s mini-starport. She had her hands