The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy

The Iron Admiral: Conspiracy - Chapter three

Allysha hung the last of her shirts in the decidedly un-Ptorix, pale-grey polyplast wardrobe in the bedroom. It was so incongruous, so out of place in this quintessentially Ptorix room. Now what? Back to the bar? She better tell Sean about the living arrangements, at least. Besides, a walk would do her good.

She strode along the road, grateful to pierce the bubble into cooler, drier air. The sweat dried on her face, a welcome relief from the enervating atmosphere. The tavern’s music provided her with an audio-beacon. She followed her ears to the ‘Miner’s Refuge’.

She paused at the doorway for a few moments. A few men sat at tables scattered around a stone floor and a pretty girl leaned on the well-stocked bar in the corner, flashing her generous cleavage to the male patrons perched on bar stools. To one side, two potball tables had attracted a group playing or watching play. No sign of Sean. Oh, well; she might as well have a drink, maybe meet some of the locals.

She headed for the bar, trying to ignore the stares, despite the flutters in her stomach. There were hardly any females here, of course they’d look. The barmaid, busy talking to a man on a stool, straightened up when Allysha arrived. “What can I get you?”

“A citrose, please.”

“Sure.” She placed a brimming glass on the bartop. “My name’s Trina. There aren’t many women here, nice to meet you.”

“Allysha. Nice to meet you, too. Have you been here long?”

Trina shook her head and leant her elbows on the bar, large breasts only just contained in a low-cut top. “A few weeks. It’s been good.”

“Where are you from?”

“Chollarc—do you know it?” When Allysha shook her head she continued, “It’s the closest inhabited world. They advertised positions here; short term contracts, good money, so I thought it would be worthwhile.” A huge grin threatened to split her face. “And of course, with all these men here… I ignored the stories and gave it a go. It’s been great.”

Allysha sipped the citrose, cold and tangy and perfect after her walk from the mine. “Stories? What sort of stories?”

“Well, see, Tisyphor is part of Chollarc’s history.” Trina looked around her, and leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. “This place is really old. The toe rags used to mine jewels here and then take them back to Chollarc for processing. But thirty years ago, something happened and they closed it all down. It was empty until about five months ago, when they set up this new settlement and said they were going to reopen the mine.”

“What was it that happened?”

“My dad said they found something in the mine and it killed everybody,” Trina whispered, round eyed. “Some strange jewel that glowed and radiated everyone.”

The man on the stool snorted. “Strange jewel my arse. There’s this other story that the karteks broke down the fences and killed ‘em all. Just fantasy. The mine ran out, is all.” He stood, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and walked out.

Allysha kept her face straight.

Trina sniffed. “What would he know?” She flounced around the bar and went to collect empty glasses from the tables.

Sure, there were radioactive minerals like uranium but strange jewels? The most likely explanation for why the place was deserted was the boring one—the mine was no longer viable. And yet. A tremor of disquiet trailed down her spine. Silly. Why should she care? She’d be here for a few weeks and then she’d go home.

“Hello, darlin’, c’n I buy you a drink?” The fellow leaned on the bar beside her, stinking of sweat and beer, still in his grubby working clothes. He tried to put an arm around her.