textfiles/apple/DOCUMENTATION/breakers.2.of.3

pg.25

   "Heard worse."  What was he up to?  A muckraking colum-
nist from a publication like Spiral Arm Today doesn't just
show up on a wreck like the Nimbus Colony for fun. He had to
be after a story.
   Riggs tingled with a newsman's hunch. He knew he was
onto something. Nimbus was an absolute disaster - para-
lyzed, almost. There were more security mutants on board
that miners. The ore had stopped coming up from the planet
quite a while ago, but the United Mining Corporation was still
reporting major yields. He knew that from the SpaceWave
intercepts that Druella scanned for him. Grey had to be lying
to everybody, including the press.
   The mines would be close to shut down, Riggs calculated.
All that expensive machinery would be just sitting down there
on the golden sand, rusting, slowly turing turquoise in the
thick Borgian atmosphere. soon the scavengers would be
orbiting like sharks:  vast junker ships with green three-
armed giants at the controls - Kargons, junkers to the
galaxy. the salvage yards of Karg were famous throughout
the Slug Nebula. There was hardly a working ship that didn't
have at least one part obtained from the Kargons. They had
every kind of ship ever built anywhere, piles of them, a parts
farm. Riggs had been there, but not just to see that. Karg
was also the site of the Gak Academy. Riggs shifted uncom-
fortably in his seat.
   "I guess Riggs is as good a name for a star as
Kangor."  Kangor was Karg's main star. "By the way, who did
that painting?"
   Grey glanced at the painting. It was a lousy painting. Osten-
sibly a landscape of Borg - but the artist had obviously never
seen Borg, only read about it.
   The planet in this painting was covered with silica, decom-
posed from sandstone. The actual Borgian surface was pyrite
and mica, flecks of the stuff in a layer several miles deep.

pg.26

Miners had to put metaplast tubes through it just to reach
the ore-bearing strata, which accounted for most of the
expense of the UMC's Borgian operation. Walking on that sur-
face was like walking through dry soup, Grey remembered.
   The Artist depicted deep, rocky canyons, barren except for
a few thick vines. In fact, the canyons were volcanic rifts, miles
deep, choked with jungle and debris. The debris showed dis-
tinct strata, indicating sudden die-backs approximately 3,000
years apart. All the strata that had been studied, Grey knew,
showed a marked decrease in higher plant forms after each
die-back. Spectrochromatographic test results hinted at
periodic cataclysms of unknown origin.
   The artist must have read about the carnivorous vines.
Sure, there were still vines in places, and Grey had scars to
prove it. But they were dying out. Unfortunately for them, they
tended to grow down cliffs and ravines, dangling in places
where carnous life was scarce. Sometimes a poor Lau would
wander by; then there would be flowers in that spot and the
other Lau would avoid it. Those were the flowers, reflected
Grey, that they used to manufacture their sacred narcotic.
They called it Magic. Grey had experienced it, once....

   The intellegence cringes; its luminosity writhes away from
the colony hull. The elder Terran is thinking thoughts he
has no right to think, recalling memories that are forbidden
all but the Lau. But in the wide universe, indignation and
anger are inconsequential. The great eyes widen. The mind
again peers into the small office.

   "I think a machine did that painting, to tell the truth", said
Nathan Grey.

pg.27

   The other guy laughed, rubbing a ring on his left hand.
Grey noticed the inlaid insignia, which could have held a
printed circuit, or maybe a chip. What device did it operate?
Abruptly, he asked, "When are you leaving us?"
   The guy stopped laughing and shrugged. "I haven't made
any plans", he said, meeting Grey's eyes. "I take it you've been
reading my columns?"
   "No I haven't had time", said Grey blandly. "Have you writ-
ten about Nimbus Colony already?  I thought you roving cor-
respondents filed on SpaceWave twice a day. I haven't noticed
any transmissions to Spiral Arm Today on our log."
   "I've been slipping them in", said the guy a bit to quickly.
"Those little columns only take a half-second burst."
   But Grey was suspicious now. He glanced at the ring. A
shielded transmitter?
   "Anyway", the guy continued, "Mr. Gibbons wants me to stay,
see what UMC might be up to out here. As a matter of fact, I
might want to get down to Borg. Would you mind arranging
that?"
   Grey almost snorted. "Impossible, of course. As you are
aware, Borg is a Class IV planet."
   "Why?"
   "I'd have to be a Federation agent to know that," said
Grey with a soft laugh that sounded like a loose rock sliding
downhill.
   "Or a smuggler", said the guy, and Grey's mind registered a
thought that sent the eavesdropping entity reeling...

   The gaseous eyes drift outside the hull. the intelligence
watches a the young Terran woman stroll jauntily out of the office,
but doesn't follow. The Nate Grey Terran intrests it more.
The cloud hovers outside the colony dome as the aware-
ness watches Grey punch a button on his desk.

pg.31

   "Grgla! Hey - stop filling your face and get in here!"
Nate Grey had to avoid looking at his receptionist when it
appeared in the doorway. Why couldn't he have had a Terran
female for a secretary?  Unfortunately, the UMC was an Equal
Enitity Employer...
   "Have you been saving those SpaceWave tabloids?  I want
to see the current issues of Spiral Arm Today."
   "Certainly Mr. Grey", honked Grgla, flouncing out. The floor
shook. In a few moments Grey had a stack of the cheesy
publications on his desk. He flipped through the top one,
started reading a groaned. The latest edition of the beam-
published newspaper carried stories in many languages. One
of several in Terran was a popular column called Be Here
Now, by award-winning reporter-at-large J.Delbert Riggs.

BE HERE NOW
By J.Delbert Riggs
------------------

No Silver Lining on Nimbus
(part one)

DATELINE:  UMC Nimbus Colony,
Slug Nebula


   As you read these words, a bizarre drama is
being played out in this forsaken corner of


pg.32

nowhere, on a sleazy industrial satellite and the
mysterious desert planet it orbits. The cast of
characters includes intergalactic dropouts,
smugglers, murderers, at least one Federation
agent, and an ancient civilization of mystical
beings called the Lau.
   Just to make the plot a little thicker, the star
player - a powerful Lau shaman known by the
name Garbo - may not even exist.
   The scenario is convoluted, to say the least.
And there's only one reporter who has managed
to gain an overview of the whole sordid mess:
Yours truly, J.Delbert Riggs. I'm here now.
   Still reading?  Good. Here's what I have so far:
   A band of space pirates - "Breakers" in Slug
Nebula Standard Received (SNSR) has estab-
lished a headquarters in deep volcanic rifts on
this Class IV desert orb called Borg. For some
time now, according to Federation sources, the
Breakers on Borg have been using Nimbus Colony
as a base for Galaxy-wide smuggling operations.
   This orbiting junkpile is allegedly owned and
operated byt the omni-present United Mining Cor-
poration (UMC), which ostensibly uses it as an
operational base for mineral recovery on Borg.
(The astute reader will recall that UMC recently
acquired exclusive mineral rights to Borg follow-
ing a protracted legal power-playa directed by UMC
executive Nathan Grey. See my column, Where
the Heck is Borg? in SAT # 449681-B.)
   I say ostensibly, because quite frankly it is
rather hard to believe anybody owns this colony
- or "klink" in SNSR - and harder to imagine it's
actually being operated at all. Token work crews
do shuttle down and back regularly, but no ore
has been shipped out for months. According to
the company's own geological projections, the
latvium deposit they were working should have
been exhausted by now.
   So why does Nimbus Colony remain in fixed
orbit?  More to the point, why is the klink deserted
except for a skeleton workforce, and oversize
departement of fierce mutant security cops -
known as "Gaks" in SNSR - and of dropouts,
drifters, adventurers and other deep-space
detritus - "Breakers" in SNSR - confined in a
wrecked bar on the utility level of a deserted
residential module?
   Why, indeed.
   Having been assigned to quarters in that very
module - and yes, it is quite deserted - I unavoid-
ably made contact with these Breakers in my first
few hours here. They are most certainly a motley

pg.33

and a dangerous bunch. But I can assure you that
the Breakers are a far better company that their
adversary, the Gaks.
   At last, I can appreciate the recent rash of "Gak
jokes" (How many Gaks does it take to catch a
red ball, etc.) - although I now know I wasn't
missing much. They are stupid, sadistic, scum-
bags, and I've said as much to their visors. You
can't ever see their faces - which is probably just
as well.

(Tomorrow: Breakers - the Entities your Mother
Warned You About)

   "Damn!" howled Nathan Grey. "That wulla-brain! Why now?
Why him?  Damn!"  Angrily, he grabbed the next issue on the
pile and continued reading.


BE HERE NOW
By J.Delbert Riggs
------------------

No Silver Lining on Nimbus
(part two)

DATELINE:  UMC NIMBUS COLONY,
SLUG NEBULA


   In the last column, I sketched the particulars
of a bizarre drama now playing on the UMC colony,
Nimbus. I'm here now.

pg.34

  There is a species of spacefarer known as a
Breaker. That's a loose synonym for adventurer,
shuttlebum, pirate, outlaw, loser, and any other
kind of misfit one might care to avoid mention-
ing - or associating with.
   For reason or reasons unknown, virtually all
the Breakers in the Slug Nebula are now on Borg.
Most of them have been trapped on Nimbus
Colony, but a fair number seem to be making it
down to the planet, where they join up with a
band of smugglers headquartered in Borg's deep
volcanic rifts.
   The Breakers on Borg are lead by a former
Federation agent, professional ballet dancer
and convicted murderer named Vulkos Mulcahy.
Little is known about Mulcahy except that he's
fast, smart and treacherous. His sidekick is a
wicked punk who currently goes by the name
Don. Mulcahy's mistress is Minnie Markarova, the
one-time pride of Sector X's Paris Colony and
Mulcahy's ballet instructor until she fell under
his spell. Minnie dropped out of sight after help-
ing him extort virtually every cent in the Paris
Colony Ballet's operating fund. (See my column,
Minnie Makarova, Bad Girl or Pawn? in SAT
# 4449677-B.)
   This unsavory trio, and a bunch of their closer
friends, are now working out of Borgian Rifts.
They reportedly deal in some especially unsa-
vory contraband: slaves and narcotics.
   It seems that some of the Lau - a particularly
gentle folk said to possess unique telekinetc
poweres - have been turning up in chains on other
worlds. Pets of the rich?  I'm told by my close
personal friend Druella Comstock, the glamor-
ous shuttle-set ingenue, that having your own
Lau is the height of the current top-drawer chic.
Immoral?  Certainly. Illegal?  Of course. In fact, it
stinks - but that's the rich for you (close personal
friends excepted, Druella, and I mean that).
   Mulcahy's contact on Nimbus Colony is a vet-
eran bootlegger whose name is known to shcool-
kids in every system from here to Andromeda:
the legendary, nearly mythical Casey Jones
himself, another former Federation agent turned
smuggler, killer, and thief. But before we start
inquiring into the basic nature of Federtation
agents, let's get to the crux of the matter.
   Jones and Mulcahy are duking it out. it seems
that the two master criminals - one controlling
the source of contraband, the other its distri-
bution - are now going for each other's throats
in an all-out war over the proceeds of their
nefarious trade.

pg.35

   Enter the mysterious Federation agent.
Nobody, not even inside sources who have never
before let me dowwn - at any price - will reveal who
this agent is, but all concur that he or she is the
best they have. The agent is allegedly on Nimbus
Colony even as I write this. In fact, it's quite likely
that I spoke with the agent in the Breaker bar, but
I would have know way of knowing. Keep in mind
that Mulcahy and Jones were both Federation
agents at one time. Incredibly, Nathan Grey  was
also a Fed before his early retirement to join UMC.
Confused yet?

pg.35 cont..

   At any rate, the deal seems to be about to go
down here on Nimbus Colony or, more probably,
on Borg itself. Any yours truly, intrepid cor-
respondent that I am, has every intention of
witnessing it.
   Meanwhile, mysterious ore freighters continue
to stop here regularly. They take on cargo - but it
sure isn't ore. So far nobody here cares to recall
(for a reporter's benefit, anyway) what the last
one looked like or who was aboard.
   Grey has agreed to give SAT an interview at
some point, but never seems to be in his Adminis-
tration Module office, or anywhere else, when
this reporter shows up to talk.
   That's okey for now. I have other leads to
pursue. Sources in the Breaker bar have told me
that Casey Jones works out of a concealed room
near the shuttle bay on the lower level of this
colony. As soon as I make a final attempt to see
Grey, I'm going down to find Jones and interview
him on the situation. I trust he'll keep his famous
Colt .45 holstered out of respect for the press.
   That's it, I'm on my way.

(Tomorrow:  Casey Jones - the Rat Behind the
Legend)


   "That dirty...Grgla!"  The hideous receptionist slithered into
the office with the flange-file in one limp claw. Grey shouted
at it on his way out. "I'm away from my desk, in a meeting and
with a client until further notice, got it?"
   "Sure thing, sir" said Grgla, already making plans.


pg.39

   The vast intelligence probes the receptionist's mind, but
Grgla has a powerful mental scrambler in place. Turning
into the maze of corridors and pod chutes to locate Nathan
Grey, the intellegence comes across Riggs in his residential
module. Riggs is talking withe someone called Druella. The
intelligence is mystified - it can't locate another function-
ing mind in the module. Nonetheless, it tunes in:

   "Druella", said Riggs, "I'd like to go over that material on
Borg again."
   "Okay, Delbert", responded a perky voice. "Coming right
up."  There was a melodious beep.
   Touching the young Terran's mind, the intellegence read
along with him in a book called All About Borg, by famed
explorer Captain Brumus Dart, Ph.D. The table of contents
listed the chapter headings typical of a scholarly work. Riggs
turned to the one titled, Garbo: Alter-Orb or Legend?  He
began to read:

pg.40

GARBO

Alter-Orb or Legend?

   According to Lau belief, Borg has a shadowy, insubstan-
tial twin that orbits on the same path (see Appendix Q:
Source Mythology, Borg and Garbo). Our instruments have not
been able to detect such an entity, but the Lau believe in it
absolutely. They call this alter-orb Garbo, and have invested
it with a persona which is manifested collectively by a body
of seven Lau shaman. (Note: I was never able to meet a
"Garbo" shaman, and wonder whether they, too, may not
be a figment of the Lau mythology.)
   Moreover, they believe that the mysterious alter-orb is
the wellspring of Lau energy, and the source of all life on
Borg. They say that a kind of balanced polarity exists
between the unique forces emanated by each of Borg's two
suns, the blue and the gold. These forces are held in
dynamic stasis by energy from the Garbo alter-orb. (Note:
This is my interpretation of the various indistinct, incom-
plete, and often incomprehensible versions of the Garbo
myth obtained from individual Lau. It should be treated
as hearsay.)
   Perhaps the most familiar facet of the Garbo myth is its
apocalyptic emphasis. Like so many other deities, this Garbo
creates through destruction. The Lau believe that once
every several thousand years, the orbital paths of the two