Galaxy's End: Book One LeRoy Clary (dark books to read TXT) 📖

You know what that is. The more a ship weighs, the larger the engine must be, and therefore the more fuel it uses.” At my nod of such a basic concept, she went on, “The more fuel, the more it costs me to operate. That means it costs shippers more to send products or people. If I charge more, shippers send their goods on cheaper ships. So, by necessity, traders are tiny ships with small crews and economical engines. They move small, expensive items, or items in critical need from world to world.”

“That makes sense. But there’s more you’re going to tell me. I can see it in your smile.”

She nodded and leaned closer. “My father owned one of the thousands of traders in the human sphere that hop from planet to planet. One day he came across a ship for sale in a boneyard—that’s a place where old ships go to die or be sold cheap. He found the Guardia, although that was several names ago.”

“I thought he already had a ship.”

“He did. That’s where weight, mass, economy, and roominess come into play. The ship he stumbled on was due to be scrapped because nobody wanted it. It was three times the size of ships that traders use, too small for use as a transport like the one we’re on, and there it sat for years because nobody saw the value in it or a use for it. Too small for many operations, not large enough for others. The Guardia spent almost a decade in orbit around a moon for a dealer that bought and sold old ships.”

“Your father bought it?”

“Yes. Traded for it. He was a good trader. He convinced the dealer that he could sell my father’s old ship easily, and for more money, which was true. My father offered more than the scrap prices that had been offered for the Guardia. So, my father got the ship. Back then it was called the William Bisset, the name of a war hero I’d never heard of, and he got a few credits deposited in his account for the deal.”

I waited for more. She settled back and poured the rest of my wine into her glass because hers was empty. She was waiting for me to either figure it out or ask her. It was a test.

I was failing it. Her father had traded a perfectly good small ship for one nobody wanted, and she felt good about it. Twice, she’d mentioned weight and mass, which seemed the same thing to me. However, the double mention was a clue, intentional or not.

I gave in. “The answer had to do with how much it weighs, right?”

She smiled again. “Sort of. An exceptionally good guess. Remember I said most traders, the newer ones anyhow, have S6 engines? Reliable, powerful, and fuel-efficient?”

I nodded, still trying to reach the answer before she revealed it.

She said, “The ship he bought had been constructed as a troop transport for a war that never took place. It was built for the military of a small planet and had an S7 engine instead of an S6, which is a little larger and slightly more powerful but uses the same amount of fuel.”

She was not going to trick me that easily. I’d been listening. “You said the ship was three times as big as traders. What about that? Weight and mass and all that.”

Her grin turned to a chuckle.

I’d missed something important.

She said, “Use your mind and try to follow me. The ship is three times as big, so nobody wanted it. Too big for a trader and too small for a transport vessel. But what’s it internally filled with? Not engines, or equipment. It’s mostly air. Empty space that weighs nothing. It was intended to be used as a troop carrier, taking an army from one planet to another.”

I still didn’t get it.

She sighed. “Imagine a ship built with no frills to move an army. The entirety of deck three is an open space where sixty or eighty soldiers were to be housed temporally while sleeping on movable cots. Yes, there is a community bathroom, but all that weighs almost nothing. No mass to speak of. Remove the cots and you have a cargo area almost as large that on a standard trade ship, and a bathroom you can share with all your friends.”

I shrugged and ignored her silly smile. Words wouldn’t help. I had no idea what she was trying to get me to understand.

She went on, “Decks five and six are the same as deck three. Nothing on them. Not even bulkheads or walls. Deck four had been configured to have meeting rooms, the auto kitchen for pre-cooked foods for the troops, and flimsy chairs and tables where the troops were to eat. We ripped out most of it for even more storage room.”

“Again, no weight unless occupied,” I almost shouted. I’d finally managed to understand. “So, it’s three or four times the size of a regular trader but weighs about the same, and the engine is more powerful and cheaper to run.”

“Now, you’re getting it. Don’t go telling spacers about our secret because there are a few wrinkles we haven’t discussed, but you have the basic idea. My father bought a large, empty container with an engine that only had a few hundred hours on it and should be good for tens of thousands.”

“The ship must have sat idle from the beginning.”

“The war was over as the ship was completed. The planet that built it parked the ship in orbit and eventually sold it for scrap to the dealer where my father found it. After all, who but another planet planning a war wants a small troop-carrier?”

I laughed with her.

She took a healthy swig of wine before refilling the glass. “So, I inherited a ship that carries