An early surveyor, tongue firmly in cheek, named it Styx--a river of molten lava running from near Altair V's north pole all the way down to its equator. It carved its way around jagged spires of obsidian, meandered across plains of rough, pitted basalt, sent glowing, fractal tributaries sprawling across half the planet. The first time I saw it, coming down fast out of the bottom cloud layer on approach to North Station, I felt like I was locking on to a landing beacon from Hell.
Which would not have been a bad name for Altair V itself. Its rocky surface tortured by volcanic activity, constantly bathed in an actinic, ultraviolet glare from its blue-white primary, cloaked in a wispy atmosphere of sulfur, ash, and carbon dioxide, it was one of the last places you would expect humans to try and carve out a foothold. But it had mineral riches beyond imagining--single crystals of emerald and sapphire the size of a jumpship, shimmering pools of molten gold, superconducting metglass splashed across the lava plains like spilled milk.
There were two mining stations on Altair V. The main station near the north pole served as the planet's spaceport, such as it was. The finicky mag-fields of the planet were weakest there and the location made for cleaner navcom. Follow Styx's spidery sprawl down to the equator and you'd hit Deep Station, clinging like a flea onto a landscape that made Earth's Dakota Badlands look like Avalon.
There was a skeleton crew of humans at both posts, a handful of andys, and a lot of expensive hardware. The mineral shipments from the planet had broken records at first, then dwindled down to a trickle in recent months. It was my job to find out why.
A yellow light was blinking on my nav-panel, indicating that I was receiving a carrier for a landing beacon but it was rejecting handshaking protocol for lock-in. I tongued my radio on.
"North Station, this is the jumpship Conrad. North Station, this is Martin, jumpship Conrad. I need a lock. Repeat, I need lock."
Nothing except the hissing whisper of background static in my mastoid speakers and the rushing sound of my own blood in my ears.
"North Station, I need a lock. Goddamnit, wake up down there."
Crackle, hiss. "Conrad." Very weak signal. I boosted the gain. I could barely make out the words beneath the roar of static. It sounded like two voices. "...no ... Schwartz ... beacon."
"Please repeat, North Station. Please repeat."
Hiss, crackle. "...turn ... Schwartz ... No!..."
What the hell was going on down there?
"North Sta--"
There was a sharp click in my ears and the panel light went green.
"Conrad, you are locked. You are locked." Signal sharp and clear.
About time, I thought. "Affirmative, North Station."
I tongued on the three-sixty display, saw a brief sparkle as the induction field wrapped around my optic nerve, then I was sitting on empty space, streaking down into a glowing hellscape.
I followed the river Styx upstream. It flowed quickly in the middle, glowing bright yellow and fading to orange and red near the banks. Patches of black crust seemed to grow out from the banks into the main flow and break off, careening downstream. Billowing clouds obscured parts of the river, glowing red and yellow as if with an inner light.
North Station was a sprawl of domes, blockhouses, and heavy equipment, scattered across a flat plain of black glass on the high side of the river. A crude landing field was marked off by an 'X' of blue lights. Beneath the faint shimmer of an environment-field, I saw a crew of black-skinned andys crawling like ants around a large, treaded vehicle.
I tongued back into realspace just as I landed with a slight bump. I powered down the drive, unstrapped myself, and removed my helmet. I felt cold all of a sudden, naked and exposed. I had been augmented for so long, it was like removing a limb.
I got my gear and strapped a portable environment-field generator to my belt. My ears popped as I walked out the port and the ship's e-field merged briefly with my own. The sky was red in the direction of the river, fading to deep purple on either side, framed by jagged cliffs and spires. Straight overhead, blue and green auroras rippled across the black sky, peeking out from behind an inconstant curtain of shredded cloud.
There were two men waiting for me at the bottom of the ramp. One of them was tall and lean, with long blonde hair pulled back in a braid and a slight Asian cast to his features. His companion was almost as big around as he was tall, and it looked like solid muscle. Definitely enhanced--hormones for sure, maybe surgery. The skin on his scalp was sculpted in an elaborate series of ridges. His lip was split and swollen, glistening in the light of the landing floods.
I raised my hand in the Company salute.
"Gentlemen." Raspy buzz of enhanced subvocalization.
"You're Martin," the blonde said. My jaw tingled faintly with the vibration of my mastoid speakers. "I'm Flint. This here's Drake." He nodded towards his companion.
I looked at Drake. "That lip looks nasty."
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