The Descent

Chapter 44 - Anticipation

Tanner's idea of how to quickly make it to the surface wasn't what Denton had imagined.

"You need to reach the surface before the shuttle, right?" Tanner said after Denton's initial objections to his idea.

"That's what I said. But really, a smuggler? We don't have anything in our own hangars that can do the trick?"

"Remember, Denton, our agency isn't exactly one that advertises its existence. It's the same with ships. We have a few, purpose-built ships, like The Panther, but they're all on assignment. At least, those that could take you to the surface are."

"Still, shouldn't I be arresting these guys anyway instead of hitching a ride?"

"On a normal day, perhaps. Technically, he's outside of our jurisdiction anyway, unless he's involved with some conspiracy involving national security. Let me remind you, we don't have a lot of options here, Denton. Do you want to get to the surface or not?"

After grudgingly agreeing to Tanner's suggestion, Denton was guided to the cargo area of the orbital hub. This was where the less glamorous aspects of the orbital operations on Proxima b took place. It was a gritty, dark and dirty, far removed from the clean and well maintained public use areas of the hub. Supplies were received and dispatched, recycled trash was processed to be sent for reprocessing into new products. Few people thought about its existence, even fewer ventured down there. It was, in other words, the perfect place for those less legitimate businessmen looking to make a quick buck beyond the watchful eye of the law.

Tanner gave Denton the name of the pilot. He would be easy to spot, impossible to miss. For once, Tanner was right. Styles was waiting next to a cargo pallet in a back corner of the cargo hub, his attention on a portable electronic device in his hand. His shoulder-length hair, bright purple on the left side of his head, black on the right, with a bright white stripe running down the middle was impossible to miss. Dressed in a black trench coat, black leather pants, and steel-tipped boots, he fit the image Denton had in his mind of a smuggler. The words that came out of his mouth, not so much.

"You need a lift, bud?" Styles said as Denton had approached.

"Yes, I do. When-"

"Follow me. We're leavin' right now."

Denton followed Styles through a dimly lit corridor that took them directly to a loading dock. Cargo containers were stacked floor to ceiling throughout the square hangar, the ship resting on its landing gear in the center. Denton froze in his tracks as he laid eyes on his transportation to the surface. Styles seemed to sense Denton's hesitation, stopped and turned to face Denton, a smirk on his face.

"Not to worry, bud, she's perfectly safe. No beauty contest winner, I agree, but she'll take us down there in one piece, bud, that'll promise you, before that little shuttle of yours."

"If you say so."

Styles threw his head back and laughed out loud, purple and white strands of hair flying into the air. "You're funny, bud," he said when he calmed down. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be getting everythin' ready." Styles turned and disappeared up the loading ramp.

"Where did you find this character again?"

"There's a record of all flights within the Proxima b system, even the not so official ones. I just picked the one that seemed to be the most advantageous. The pilot himself is originally from Earth."

This was news to Denton. "You mean the smugglers operate with our permission?"

"In a roundabout way. We look the other way while they go about their business. Most of their customers are residents that can afford what they peddle, residents that also can afford to grease the palms of the officials that-"