As a child, I was restless and unhappy with the life of a wandering accountant, flitting from base to base, performing audits for the tax collectors. We'd land on some far-flung base, and review the trading logs for the previous year, and then we'd be off again, to complete another exciting review of tax expenditure, so that the houses of Sirius could synergistically co-ordinate revenue exemptions or in other words, make sure no-one was squirreling too much away under the mattress. We'd not be bothered by pirates overmuch, as we never carried large amounts of money or cargo in our X-shuttle, and they'd get used to our little ship barrelling through Sirius. Occasionally a young bravo would stop us, and get disappointed at our cargo-hold full of family life. Mum, Dad, my older sister Camila and me.
Oh, I guess it wasnt such a bad life; working for themselves, Mum and Dad were quite happy, well, happier than they had been slaving away for the audit commission, missing meals (and weekends), working for the man. All that was before my time, the only life I knew was in Colin Oakleys Independent Numeration or COIN for short. I didnt know where I was born until I was 33; I had always assumed that it was in the medical bay, en route from one station to another but when I had to register a ship for the first time, my birth certificate was produced, and sure enough, Im a genuine Curacao baby, not even first landfall, but actually born on a planet, in an atmosphere and a pleasure planet at that!
Having an older sister is both good and bad good because she'll make you up a sandwich whenever you want, and look after you when you're toddling around the ship. Later, its bad because she'll be hogging the film-viewer, watching chick-flicks whenever you want to watch action films but at least there was someone to talk to, someone who shared the same experience on board ship. Both me and my sister were bored and frustrated. Bored of the constant travelling with very few distractions, and frustrated at seeing the totals that auditing the trading logs showed. Those guys must be raking it in we'd say to each other. This was probably why Camila accepted the astrogators job on the Interspace Commerce transport - that and the good looking captain.
Apparently that small, defenceless transport was completely outgunned in the Tanusfeld of Frankfurt, and not enough debris was ever found to be able to identify the guns that did it: Unioner, Bundschuh or Red Hessian Army, they're all scum-sucking malcontents as far as I'm concerned, and anyone that shoots 'em down is doing the universe a favour. That idiot captain probably had a rush of blood to the head, and instead of paying the damn tax, was showing off to my red-headed sister about how brave he was. To go trading without an escort, in a flimsy transport, and then start mouthing off to pirates...
After that, the fight seemed to go out of Dad. Overnight, he seemed to age, his mind would wander; he could sit and stare at the wall for hours, and then he'd stand up and walk aimlessly through the ship, mumbling Camila's name. Each audit would take longer than the last, and we started falling behind on our itinerary, and it was looking like we'd lose the audit franchise.
We sat down one evening, and I told them to stop - stop running themselves into the ground, destroying themselves and everything they'd worked for. They knew I didn't want the accountancy franchise, so they sold it to a young couple from Pittsburgh, bought themselves a Spatial with the proceeds, and flew off to explore the borderworlds. They're having a fine old time; with no cargo, pirates leave them alone, and the only things they have to avoid are the assorted terrorists of the omicrons and you have to be either mad or seriously tooled up to go in there.
Me? Well, Mum and Dad (or as I joke with em now Dum and Mad, on account of their age) gifted me a transport from Pittsburgh, and I started out shipping metals between Leeds and New York, dodging the pirates in Magellan. I traded up until I had enough for a Firefly, and Ill probably stick with that Ive watched those giant trains wiggle backwards and forwards trying to undock, Ive zipped past them as theyre beam-on to at trade lane, and I hum Pinball Wizard when I see them bravely struggling with an asteroid field. Mostly those power traders are just comical figures for me yes, you may make a big profit when you get there, but in my slightly smaller, faster, easier-to-dock ship, Im already on the return leg. Occasionally, theyre not just a danger to themselves once, making a run through the Omegas, I picked up a couple of OPG demanding cargo, so I skipped to the nearest jump-hole, only to find a Luxury Liner sideways on, unable to turn, completely blocking the entry point.
Thankfully, he was a more tasty morsel for them, and I got away, my rear-view screen filled with him blasting away at the fighters, like a man trying to kill wasps with a frying-pan.
So, there I was, walking around my new Firefly in the Cambridge ship dealers, using my bodyweight to check the strength of the gun mounts and the flex in the engine mounts, when this girl walked up to me. 5'6", maybe 130 lbs, long dark hair, about 25 years old. She had my attention alright, that and the low-cut jumpsuit.
'Mr Cay-us?' she said.
'It's pronounced "keys", but yes, that's me'.
'I have an offer for you, that only a fool would refuse'.
I merely grinned at this point, which noticeably lowered the temperature of the atmosphere between us.
'When you've finished playing on your new climbing frame, meet me in the bar - I'll be in a booth at the back'.
I nodded without replying; if I can aggravate her without saying anything, what would a snappy comeback do? That, and the fact that I didn't have a snappy comeback to give, didn't improve my mood any.
After washing up and changing out of the old greasy coveralls I wear when crawling around a ship, I stood in the doorway of the Cambridge spaceport bar in a clean T-shirt and jeans, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Truth be told, I wasn't sure if she'd still be waiting. Maybe I did take a little longer with my new 'toy' than I would have done, maybe getting spruced up was a waste of time, but keeping a lady waiting is one thing, but being late and filthy is another.
I crossed the room to the bartender, weaving my way through the crowd that packed the tables and stood four deep at the bar, their eyes glued to the football match on the screen - The Navy Arsenal V London - a big local derby. The bartender was likewise fixated, and poured my beer without taking his eyes off the screen. Dumping my change in a puddle of beer was a nice touch too.
The room was too packed for me to search properly, and as I was casting about for a place to sit and watch the football, I felt a damp hand on my elbow.
'You took your time didn't you? Come on into the back'.
"Interesting", I thought. "Little Miss Confident is as nervous as a virgin at an orgy. What's going on here?".
Wedged into the corner booth, the bulk of his gut straining against the polished steel table, his manner was as brusque as it was imperious. 'Sit down, Mr. Oakley'.
I perched on the steel stool, its pre-formed shape cutting into the backs of my legs. Those 'tractor' type squabs are fairly comfortable if you sit properly, but the stool was bolted to the floor, and I wanted to be able to make a quick getaway into the scrum around the bar - there was something about this man I didn't entirely trust. He was too richly dressed to be a regular patron of a seedy spaceport bar, his fleshy face made him look far younger than the age his grey hair belied - late fifties I would guess.
'Are you the Captain of the new Firefly on the landing pad?' he said.
'Yes I am. Who are you?'
'My name is Alex D'Aubeny, I believe that you have already met my daughter Beatrice'.
I nodded, and looked at each of them in turn. Beatrice looked worried, a far remove from the confidence she had shown earlier, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. No ring I thought. Alex's face gave no hint to his emotional state, and his eyes took in more than they gave away.
'I have a job for you, one that will make you a lot of credits', he said.
I said nothing, merely waited. If I know one thing, its that risk and reward are bosom buddies, and I was waiting for his pitch.
'You are familiar with the Planet Kurile in the Sigma 17 system, I take it?'
I nodded, and opened my mouth to speak. 'But-'
'Good. I wish to travel there with a minimum of fuss, as quickly as possible, avoiding Rhineland space'.
"Ahh" I thought. "This is where the risk comes into the equation" 'And you need someone to sneak you through Omicron Theta?'
'Exactly. Furthermore, I insist on exclusivity'.
'You want to be alone in the cargo hold? No other passengers?' My eyes flicked towards Beatrice.
'No, Mr. Oakley, Beatrice will not be accompanying us. She will be waiting here on Cambridge, as will your payment. I will pay you 25 million credits to charter your ship to Kurile and back, as long as we remain undetected'.
'Undetected-'
'Exactly. I do not wish it to be known that I have visited Kurile. My business rivals would read much into it, and are not above arranging a warm reception in an asteroid field somewhere'.
"O-kay, so, ghost to Kurile and back, avoiding the mercenaries AND the pirates" 'Why not arrange for a fighter wing escort, I have some reliable friends that-'
'No, Mr. Oakley, the less people that know about this the better'.
At this point I was getting nervous too. I didn't like the idea of being the only one who knew he had gone to Kurile. 'I'm thinking this gift horse has got wooden teeth. How do you know that I'll keep your secret?'
Beatrice leaned forward, apparently able to read my emotional state as well as I could hers. 'Relax Caius, you're quite safe. You don't know why he will be going there, nor do you know what business interests you are protecting'.
All this was true, of course. I was completely in the dark here; thinking I had nothing to lose, I fired off the proverbial shot. 'So why are the pair of you so damn nervous then?' Beatrice jumped, but Alex merely smiled.
'Ah, my dear, you have excelled yourself. You have found us an astute captain'.
"Astute? Who talks like that?" 'Sorry?'
'My father means that you have seen more than we wished to reveal. We have been waiting on Cambridge for a suitable pilot for 9 days now, and with each passing day, the more likely it was that the 'business rivals' would send someone. Whilst you are relatively unknown around here, we are confident that you have not contacted anyone since I talked to you in the ship dealer's hangar'.
I was liking this less and less. They were keeping tabs on me? The way she said 'business rivals' was the same as someone referring to pirates as 'legitimate businessmen'. I said sharply, 'How do you know that?', but it was Alex who replied.
'The barman. If he had engaged you in conversation, we would know that you were an employee of one of my rivals. If he had given your change into your hand, we would know that you had contacted someone. As it was, he ignored you and dumped your change on the bar, telling us that you were in the clear. In my line of work, I have to be on my guard against those who would steal industrial secrets. Those who steal secrets and those who guard against such perfidy are well-versed in the tactics of 'tells' and 'counter-tells' The blank expression that you are currently sporting on your face, plus the look of disgust as you were scooping the coins out of the stale beer is a reliable indicator that you are not inured to these strategies.'
This was starting to stink to high heaven. A pretty girl approaches me with an offer of work, and then I discover that I've been weighed and measured without my knowing. As it was, they had played their hand, and I had nothing to trump their bids. They were offering a huge lump of money for a difficult but not impossible job, I already knew the destination, I knew that it was to be kept secret, and I knew that they had resources and skills that were beyond my ken. I didn't know any more about them than that, and they seemed to know far more about me than I deemed as good for the health of one Caius Oakley. Talk about the 'carrot-and-stick' approach. It was looking like it was going to be more dangerous to refuse the offer than dodge pirates and mercenaries in the omegas AND omicron theta. Beatrice was right - only a fool WOULD refuse, but I suspect he wouldn't be around long to regret his decision.
That said, I was in a bit of hole financially, as the purchase of the Firefly had hit my credits hard, and 25 million was a nice comfort zone. The way I saw it, I could refuse and maybe meet some 'legitimate businessmen' in the near future, or I could go through with it and maybe come out the other side 25m to the good. So, this is what they mean by Hobson's Choice? I thought.
'Ok, Ill do it'. As soon as I said this, they both exhaled "Oh-ho-ho! Was that a sigh of relief? Maybe Mr. Alex cool-as-a-cucumber DAubeny isnt as in control of his emotions as I thought".
Wriggling out from behind the table, Alex said 'Excellent Mr. Oakley. Ill have my luggage sent down to the landing pad immediately. I want to take off before the hour'.
'Luggage? How long did you want to stay on Kurile?'
'Oh no, its just some papers. I expect to make landfall and clear the docking ring within an hour.'
"With that fast a turn around, hes either buying or selling information. What does he want with Samura? if it is Samura at all". I turned to Beatrice 'How do I contact you when I return to Cambridge?'
Beatrice smiled, which was worth waiting for. 'There's plenty of time to discuss that on the landing pad while we wait for the luggage. Come on'.
"Ok" I thought. "Still frosty, but not as frosty. Lets get this run done, maybe she'll warm up to a guy better with 25 big ones in the bank."
Of course, when we got to the landing pad, she was ALL business. Chatting was just another way of keeping tabs on me, making sure that I didn't contact any 'business rivals' without me noticing. It worked, too. I was too busy noticing her whilst I finished the pre-launch checks, scanning the news bulletins for recent pirate reports. I was to report to the ship dealer on Cambridge, and ask him about the availability of armour upgrades for my Firefly. He would give the location to meet Beatrice to receive payment.
Alex's luggage arrived on a floating cargo loader. Whatever was inside that battered and dented escape-pod sized container was heavy, judging by the grunts and muffled curses of the dock hands as they loaded it into the cargo hold of the Firefly. "Is that actually papers, or am I shipping someone who doesnt want to go to Kurile?" By contrast, Alex's luxury VIP transporter was brand new - the armoured plexiglass of the life-support control screens were still covered by the scratch resistant plastic films the manufacturers use. "So this is a new experience for him too", I thought.
Compared to his earlier sartorial elegance that conflicted with his surroundings, Alex's clothing now suited the situation perfectly. His dark blue jumpsuit, the battered clipboard with a pen hanging from a string, the bulk of his abdomen pinched by the worn tool belt made him look like just another old-time Flight Engineer. The passing dock hands didn't give him a second look as he walked up the cargo ramp.
The brusque manner was still in evidence, but it seemed just as in character for this 'Flight Engineer' as it was for the 'Shipping Magnate' persona "Which is the real you?" I thought.
'You do know how to operate a VIP transporter, don't you Mr. Oakley?' This task is usually done by the dock hands, but I had seen them enough times to be confident with the equipment.
'You'll be fine in there' I said.
'I know that' he snapped, 'but they're never as comfortable as the manufacturers pretend'.
"So, not your first trip then. But where is your old transporter?" At 5 million a pop and a lifetime guarantee, they're not discarded lightly. I must confess a slight sigh of relief as I closed the entry hatch on him, his 'now do this, now do that' attitude was getting on my nerves. As a commodity, VIP's or 'Self Loading Cargo', make up for the profits by the sheer amount of whingeing. At least Boron doesn't answer back.
I walked down the cargo ramp, activating the close and lock controls, and turned towards the cockpit ladder. Waiting for me at the base of the ladder was a very agitated Beatrice.
'Passenger and luggage safely stowed. Ready to launch', I said. Well, if she could be brisk and business-like, so could I.
Tears welled up in her eyes. 'Please Caius, be careful. I know that Papa can be bossy, but he gets that way when he is nervous'.
'It'll be fine. Don't worry'
She leaned fowards and kissed my cheek. 'Bonne chance', she said, turning on her heel and walking back into the spaceport complex without a backwards glance.
"What the hell IS going on here?" I thought, as I closed the cockpit hatch behind me.
The following is based on actual events. Names have been witheld to protect the relevant person's dignity
The touch of her lips lingered on my cheek throughout the launch sequence. "All frosty as winter, and then she melts in 30 seconds? I just dont get it". Maybe she was playacting at frostiness, maybe she was playacting at melting too.
With long range scanners indicating that the Cambridge system was clear of traffic, I avoided the trade lane to Battleship Norfolk, and instead cruised directly to the Omega 5 jump-hole. If Mr Alex High and Mighty DAubeny wanted ghosting, he'd get ghosting.
As soon as I had cleared the jump-hole in Omega 5, I veered away from Cadiz base. I knew that even if they did manage to scan me, the Corsairs'd let me continue with a small tax as I was basically running empty, but the phrase 'warm reception in an asteroid field' was looping itself through my brain. Once clear past Cadiz, I lined up on the Omega 41 jump-hole and checked the long range scanners for trouble ahead.
Trouble arrived, but in the weirdest form. Fifteen clicks inside Omega 41, I picked up a reading from a Corsair gunboat that had just undocked from Leon. Ten clicks away and she was hailing me, demanding that I stop and pay a tax of 2m. "Hehehe, these arent the tactics of one trained by the OPG" I thought. "Wouldnt like to be in your shoes when they catch up with you". I knew that her weapons, as formidable as they are on a gunboat, wouldnt reach me from 10K away, and so I continued on to the Omicron Theta hole, hoping to lose the larger ship in the asteroid fields ahead.
I suppose we must have made comic figures for all the pirates in Omicron Theta; a Gunboat chasing after a Firefly, wailing that the tax hadnt been paid, and the Firefly carrying on regardless. By the time I'd reached the Sigma 17 hole, I was starting to get nervous the gunboat wasnt gaining, but I wasnt losing her either, and as I raced at full power to the mooring point orbiting Kurile, slamming on the anchors at the last possible second, eliciting a squawk of indignant fury from the landing tower, the gunboat cleared the nebula and entered the gravitational pool that surrounds Kurile. "Okay", I thought, as I locked the ship down onto the landing pad, "getting out will be a lot harder than getting in".
I jumped down from the cockpit, waving away the dock hands approach. Its okay, boys, 'Im here to buy equipment, the cargo bay's empty'. The last thing I wanted was to have ghosted across five systems, just to let any nosey parker poke around my hold as soon as I landed. Activating the cargo ramp to show the (mostly) empty interior, the dock hands lost interest and sauntered off. Thankfully, the VIP transport container was locked down at the back of the hold to balance the ship, and was out of their line-of-sight. Prudence told me to close up the ramp whilst opening Alex's luxury casket.
A hacking cough greeted me, concealed by cloud of smoke that billowed out as soon as the hatchway opened. 'Alex!' I yelled and darted inside, grabbing hold of his jumpsuit and belt, dragging him out onto the cargo bay deck.
'It's... it's okay. My <cough>, my fault. I lit a cigar without thinking, forgetting that those damn things dont have air conditioning, only CO2 scrubbers. Ive been smoking the same cigar now for the last 3 hours'.
I said nothing, and I'm pretty sure I kept my face blank as I crossed the cargo hold to the medical locker for the emergency oxygen. He feebly waved it away. 'You look terrible' I said. 'Take a few breaths of this, we'll get some KP rations inside you, and then when you're feeling better, you can tell me that you were going to get better anyway'. Truth be told, he did look terrible. His face was green and his bloodshot eyes were vacant and unfocused.
The oxygen brought back the colour to his cheeks, enough for him to sit up and wave away the KP rations, which indicated he was coming back to his senses.
'No thank you, I'd prefer some real food later'.
'Heh, I don't blame you, it's only synth paste'.
As I walked around the ship, looking for asteroid damage, Alex, in his Flight Engineer guise, had rustled up a floating cargo loader and a pair of dock hands to load up the luggage. I was bending a radio aerial back into shape - it must have taken a direct blow on the mounting - when Alex said 'Be ready in an hour'.
His officious tone drew puzzled glances from the dock hands. I could tell they were thinking Why is a Flight Engineer ordering a Captain around?" I said nothing, merely nodded once, but I followed their progress across the landing pad towards the spaceport terminal buildings out of the corner of my eye. [i]"Well, nice to know that he's feeling his old self again".
I was ready long before the hour. The equipment shop made short work of the minor damage caused by the loose asteroids, and only a few new pieces of radiation shielding were needed. My shield batteries and nanobot storage compartments were full, as was my countermeasure launcher magazine. With Alex's attempt to turn himself into a kipper, I'd not had time to tell him about the excitement awaiting us outside the atmosphere of this sickly planet, and with Alex's insistence on secrecy, I didn't want to draw attention to myself by asking Samura to make things nice and safe again. Besides that, they'd only chase the gunboat back to Omicron Theta - I didn't like the idea of being ambushed after a worm-hole jump, things are disorientated, you're more often than not upside-down and back-to-front, and it takes a while for the ship to become responsive. Enough time for a shield to be stripped away.
After the second hour passed, I completed the pre-launch checks again, just to have something to do. I was beginning to draw the attention of the dock hands - most ships land and launch pretty soon, not take up residence. I was starting to wonder if I should go look for His Lardship, when he came bouncing across the landing pad, looking flustered.
'How soon can you launch, Mr. Oakley?'
'How soon can you climb inside your casket?'
He fairly scampered up the ramp into the cargo hold, and was almost secured inside the VIP container before I reached the controls.
'We in a hurry to get to back to Cambridge?'
'No. Were in a hurry to leave Sigma 17.'
"Oh great", I thought, "trouble if I stay, trouble if I leave. I guess no point in asking for an escort now".
The unusually rough exit from the docking ring was possibly the smoothest part of the journey back. The corsair gunboat was in orbit around Kurile - how she wasnt being fired upon by the planets defences Ill never know - and to make things worse, she was between us and the Omicron Theta jump hole. "Here goes nothing" I thought, as I engaged cruise engines.
Perhaps it was my tactic of diving towards her that confused her, but the cruise disruptor hit just as I was passing underneath her bows, and the disruption ceased before I'd cleared her stern. I re-engaged cruise, and by the time the gunboat had turned her bulk around, I had cleared the range of her train disruptor missiles. I barrelled towards the Omicron Theta jump-hole, docking at the last second, with the gunboat hot on my tail.
Luck was with me - I emerged first, and some distance away from the jump-hole, closer to Corfu than Freeport 9. Dodging the asteroids with as little margin as I dared, I relied on my smaller ship fitting through spaces that the gunboat could not. As the asteroid field around the Sigma 17 jump-hole fell away behind me, I had opened up a 7k lead, and it looked like I might make it.
The asteroid field around the Omega 41 jump-hole is so sparse that even battleships can cruise through it, and I knew that the next docking sequence had to be perfect, or the lead I had opened up would evaporate. Thankfully, the jump-hole was aligned, and traffic-free, and I jumped through, with the gunboat still on my six. My cruise engines kicked in, and I set a course that passed dangerously close to the neutron star that dominates Omega 41, poisoning the whole system with radiation. I hoped that the new radiation shields would hold up, and that the VIP casket in the hold would filter out the worst radiation. I know that this was a little reckless endangerment of Alex's life, but, hell, he wanted to ghost across the most pirate infested systems in the whole of Sirius.
The density of the asteroids had taken their toll on the gunboat too - my lead had increased to 9K. If it had reached 10k, I would have passed right by the Omega 5 hole and taken my chances with Omega 47. I hate jumping into systems blind, with no knowledge of who or what is waiting for you, but having a clear and present danger behind you is enough to make you choose rashly.
As it was, the lead never increased. In fact, it decreased sharply. I bounced off the smallest of asteroids and began pinballing wildly, watching the Omega 5 jump-hole flash past my viewscreen, and watching the gunboat grind down on me. A lucky bounce and rebound set me back on course, and I barrelled into the Omega 5 hole with the gunboat 5k behind.
My cruise engines whined at this forced high intensity drain, and I took a risk with Cadiz, passing close enough to see the faces of the people in the station bars viewing window. My gamble didn't pay off. A fighter coming out of Cadiz slapped me into an asteroid, which bounced me back onto Cadiz, and before I knew it I was pinballing violently, with my lead over the gunboat down to 1k, who was hailing me.
'Hello little Firefly. I'd like my tax now.'
'Uh Hi, I guess. Ok, Ill pay up, you did catch me after all.'
'4 million.'
'What? You said 2!'
'That was before you started playing hide and seek.'
'Hmm. Ok. But I got to get away from the turrets on Cadiz. I musta slapped into the station hard enough to activate the damage protocols. Follow me.'
'Alright - but no tricks'
"No tricks? Of course there's going to be a trick you half-baked moron". I righted the ship, pointed it at the Cambridge jump-hole, kicked into cruise and weaved my way through the thickest parts of the asteroid field I could find. The gunboat dropped back to 4k within 15 seconds, the jump-hole was clear, I was through and out the other side and feeling pretty damn pleased with myself as I was cruising towards Cambridge, with the gunboat hot on my tail. Right up until the gunboat hailed me on a private channel.
Like a lion escorting a mouse through cat-land.
What? Was he trying to say that he was keeping pirates off my back? In a way, I guess that he did they were all probably laughing too much at this inept and over-equipped rookie pirate chasing one trader across 6 systems. I docked with the mooring fixture in a thoughtful mood, which persisted as the atmosphere of Cambridge slipped past the Firefly's hull. Had Alex arranged for this escort? It would explain why the gunboat tailed me, rather than waited for me to return and ambushed me. It might also explain why he seemed unconcerned about the trip out - so unconcerned that he was ready to dive out into Sigma 17 without asking if the system was clear.
My feet had taken me to the cargo ramp, and I walked straight to the casket. Alex was sat on the bunk with his feet up, a big difference from the last time Id let him out.
'Thank you for the trip, Mr. Oakley'
'No problem. Just one question - the money?'
'I believe you have an appointment with the ship dealership here?' With that, he brushed past me and walked down the cargo ramp.
'Hey!'
He turned around 'Yes, Mr. Oakley?'
'Your luggage, it was left on Kurile.'
'Yes, Mr. Oakley. As I told you, it was just some paperwork.'
'Pretty bulky paperwork.'
'Yes, Mr. Oakley - Goodbye.'
I locked up the cargo hold, and completed the post-flight checks in a dark humour. I began to suspect that I wasnt going to get paid. "What the hell, lets go to the ship dealers anyway".
The dealer behind the counter was the one I'd bought the Firefly from just the day before - only a day? - and he welcomed me with a smile.
'Good afternoon, Sir. I trust that everything with your new ship is satisfactory.'
'Oh yes, I just wanted to enquire about armour upgrades.'
'Oh yes Sir? I believe that the equipment dealer here sells upgrades up to level three at standard prices. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur, but I think that the equipment dealers on planet Gran Canaria may have something far more suitable for you.'
"Gran Canaria? First avoid Rheinland, then go to a Samura base, and now Zoners? Just how many pies are Alex DAubenys fat fingers in?"
Well, that could wait until tomorrow. I needed a shower, a meal and a beer, in that order. Female company during any of these activities would be welcome. As soon as this thought crossed my mind, it was replaced by an image of Beatrice, walking across the landing pad. "Hell, yeah, she can scrub my back any day" I grinned to myself, but I was soon thinking about exactly what Little Miss Confident, who can go from frosty to needy in seconds flat, was doing hiding out in a corner of the universe, and how well was she doing it?
The following extract is based upon real events. Names have been withheld for privacy reasons.
After my shower, I had intended to head down to the fleshpots of Cambridge. However, the maiden voyage of my new firefly had been far less profitable than I had planned, and I consoled myself with the delights of the spaceport bar. The microwaved rubbery chicken, overcooked chips and cold peas were pretty much on a par with every other spaceport bar, but at three times the price that I had grown accustomed to paying. It did have one thing in its favour though: it wasnt synth paste.
I was relieved that it wasnt the same barman as before, unless the master spy had shaven his head and grown a mono-brow in the mean time. At the very least the changing shift meant that he actually acknowledged my presence and didnt dump my change on the bar.
The giant viewscreen was showing Starflier races from Connecticut, but I found my mind drifting back to my own race earlier that day. Had the gunboat been an unofficial escort? I suppose that cruising through the back-lanes of Sirius with a large escort would attract attention, but how much clout and money does someone need to buy off a Corsair for the day, and make sure he stays bought?
I headed back to the ship, wanting an early start in the morning, but my mind was clutching at the straws of Alex DAubenys wheelings and dealings. First up: Avoid Rheinland. Was he avoiding the military or the RHA? Who did he meet on Kurile, and why did we have to leave so suddenly? As I settled into a jury-rigged bunk in the back of the cockpit, I was thinking of the trip to Gran Canaria why did I have to fly there to get paid off? Why not just pay me on the dock here at Cambridge? I hoped that Gran Canaria might provide some answers or at least some money.
Hung-over, tired and cramped from sleeping in the cockpit, I stamped my feet into a pair of flight boots and squelched my way across a landing pad still damp from the mornings dew. Very few flights had launched so far this morning, the smog had yet to settle in, making the hills of Cambridge sharply green against the powder-blue of the sky. I had eyes for none of this; I wanted coffee, something to eat and a shave. Unfortunately, the coffee served at the spaceport bar tasted like someone had used the water to shave in already, but it was hot and sweet, and I was past expecting decent fayre on Cambridge.
Without payment for being a high-risk taxi driver, H-fuel was the only cargo that I could afford to take down to Omega 49. It had the benefit of not being exciting enough for pirates, but the 300K profit wasnt going to make anybody rich. As I supervised the dock hands loading, I reflected that this was more like the journey I had planned for the Fireflys maiden voyage, before being suckered into the DAubenys madcap wild-goose chase. Prelaunch checks completed, I left Cambridge behind me, and settled into the zen-like state of a trader docked with a trade lane: one eye ahead, one eye on the radar, the system-wide radio on, brain, off.
I passed through London without incident maybe everyone else was hung-over too docked with the Dublin jump-gate, and cruised over to the Omega 49 jump-hole. There was a Bounty Hunter over by Battleship Essex, but apart from him, I had Dublin to myself.
The asteroid field inside Omega 49 was lit up with laser fire, as Bounty Hunters and Corsairs battled it out. I skipped through the middle of the battle, and cruised over to Lanzarote, dropping off the H-fuel.
Right, Missy, I hope youve got a suitcase full of cash for me I thought as I docked with Gran Canarias mooring point. I dumped the ship down hard on the landing pad, bringing a few sharp looks from the dock hands theyre the ones who bash out the dents we make and walked quickly to the spaceport terminal.
Inside, I found the equipment dealer, re-wiring a light-fighter class shield.
Its amazing the damage one asteroid can do. Hi, Im Gordon Byrd, my friends call me Gordo, what can I do for you?
Well, Gordo, Im told you have a goodly selection of armour upgrades.
His eyes narrowed. We usually do, but right now Ive only got one class 8, and thats been reserved already.
Oh, well, I guess, never mind then. Inside I was fuming. Had the D'Aubenys sent me down here so that they could clear off from Cambridge without me around? I was also told you might know a friend of mine Beatrice DAubeny?
Ah, yes, I do know her. Are you Caius Oakley?
I am. Did she leave a message for me, I was expecting to meet her here.
She was here yesterday, and she did leave a message for you. And more, in fact
I raised an eyebrow. Oh?
Yes, the armour upgrade that I couldnt sell you, she bought it yesterday and said that youd come to collect it today or tomorrow.
Why didnt she just take it with her?
Youll have to ask her that, I presumed that it wouldnt fit on her ship. Shall I send it out to the landing pad the Firefly wasnt it?
Yes, its on landing pad four. You didnt happen to see which ship she was flying did you?
Im afraid that I spend most of my time in here, fixing up damaged Hessian equipment that the Corsairs bring in.
You said there was a message?
Oh yes, its just three words. She said: Let yourself go.
Let yourself go? Nothing else?
No, that was it. Does that mean anything to you?
It might, but Id havta think a while. As if Im gonna spill my all of my beans like that, Gordo.
While I manhandled the armour reinforcements into their sockets around the edge of the hold well if I was shipping it around for her, I might as well get some use out of it I was racking my brain for clues to the latest puzzle that Beatrice had sent me. The armour-plating in place, and me none the wiser, I headed to the bar to pick up the local gossip and some breakfast.
The coffee was better than Cambridges, but not by much. As I sat alternately sipping it and munching an egg roll, I turned to the Colony News Service, whose rising tone jingle All the news thats fit for you I had always found both irritating and patronising, when my brain, fired up by the second coffee of the day, supplied the answer to the bizarre message from Beatrice. About five years back, Spa & Cruise had run a Sirius-wide advertising campaign extolling the delights of their resorts, one of which was Destination: Curacao. Let yourself go. What a bloody silly message. Why not just TELL me where to go?
I left the remaining half inch of coffee in the cup, and headed for the commodity dealer, determined to find a cargo to Curacao. The only cargo worth considering was Deuterium; oxygen, water, food and spaceship crew were all cheaper on Curacao, but deut showed a healthy profit of 1125 per item. I spent my last red cent on that cargo, almost filling the hold for the first time since I bought her. I cleared the docking ring, and was setting way points and examining long range scanners for trouble, when I noticed a Starflier sat outside Gran Canaria.
Hello little Starflea, how did you get down here?
I dodged all the rogues, mollys and lane hackers.
Thats some tidy flying captain!
Thank you!
My next question is, WHY are you down here?
I was told that I could farm a wreck in this system, and make a pile of cash really quickly. Im only just starting out.
Hmm, that wreck was stripped a long time ago. Someones been yanking your chain. I scanned him, and saw he was fresh out of nanobots and shield batteries. You want some bats and bots? With 450 of each, I wasnt going to miss 10.
Yes please.
I jettisoned them, and watched to see him tractor them in. Listen, do you want an escort up to liberty? Im headed that way anyway.
That would be great, thank you.
He entered formation behind me, and we flew off towards the Dublin jump-hole. As we flew, I suggested a few simple runs that could keep him out of trouble, until he had a ship that could take more than one hit. Ill say this, for a rookie, he was a good pilot. A Molly gunboat was waiting in ambush for us, and had us pinned up against the mine field surrounding Graves station. He skipped that Starflier around the turret fire, and dodged the fighter escorts like a pro, until we were out of their range, and we could cruise away. He stuck to my starboard quarter through London, Manchester and Cortez, and I left him at the California gate.
Thanks a million, I owe you one.
No problem, another time.
My problem is that Im an incredibly suspicious bastard. I probably get this from Dad, who had to deal with people who were trying to hide stuff from him every day. He said to me once I stopped looking for whether people are hiding stuff a long time ago, now I only look to see how much. As I laned it back to Curacao, I was thinking that maybe it was the Starflier that was escorting me, rather than the other way around. By constantly chatting to me, it meant that I couldnt be in private comms with anyone else, and he could hear whatever I said in the system comms radio channel. Have I just led someone to Beatrice, or have I been led to Beatrice? I wondered.
As my ship settled on Curacaos landing pad no body-slam touchdown here I watched with an amused detachment as a pretty girl with short dark hair walked arm-in-arm with a tall blond man towards the landing pad.
Hello, Caius, how are you?
Im good. I couldnt resist a little jibe though: but Im a little tired today, I feel as if Ive flown halfway around Sirius and back.
That was met with a sharp look. Oh well, back to Frosty Beatrice then I thought.
Caius, Id like you to meet my cousin, Benjamin Roland, hes the Commodity trader for Spa & Cruise here on Curacao.
Please, call me Ben.
Hi Ben, good to meet you. Err, I have some deuterium in the hold for you, its not a full load, in fact this is the first trading trip Ive made since I bought the ship.
He cast a quizzical eye over the Firefly. Really, how long have you had her?
This is the second day I was pinballing around the asteroid fields of omega 49 this morning that niobium ore can make a real dent.
It sure can he laughed. Ill send the lads over to unload her. I dont have much in the way of cargo to sell you though.
Thats alright, Im not sure what my plans are for the rest of the day anyway. Oh, Beatrice, I have something of yours in the hold too.
Another warning flash from those green eyes. Have you had lunch yet Caius?
No, in fact, Ive barely had breakfast.
Oh you poor thing, come on, lets feed you up, youre in for a real treat; this place has to be seen to be believed. Benjamin, Ill catch up with you next time.
Okay Bea, take care, Ive got to get back to the office, anyway. Nice to meet you Caius.
I managed a snatched Likewise over my shoulder as Beatrice took my arm and led me off towards the resort. Im not sure if the sympathy for my famished state was a sham or just general feminine motherly instincts after all, no-one looks good on a hangover but it may have been just a way to get me to shut up, as I had been gently goading her. Dammit, I felt I had the right. She skips town, owing me 25 million, makes me chase across Sirius after her, picking up her luggage and only leaves a riddle to tell me where to go next? Who did she think she was? More to the point, who did I think she was?
I was a bit worried that you might not have made the connection between the message and this place. I didn't want to advertise my next move.
"Advertise - Ha!". Well, it was a bit abstract, but I havent exactly been living under a rock for the past 30 years. I must confess that I'm a little confused to find myself here. What was wrong with paying me off on Cambridge?'
'Caius, I do actually have things to do - I couldn't wait for you to return'.
'Well what was wrong with Alex paying me when we got to Cambridge?'
'It must be your low blood sugar that's making you so dense. That would mean that Papa would have been carrying 25 million - in cash - across the 'Oms'. Whilst you had passed our vetting process with flying colours, we deemed it wiser to remove temptation'.
'I see your point. I'm just a little narked at chasing you across the galaxy, picking up your luggage for you'.
'My luggage? What luggage?'
'The armour upgrade you left on Gran Canaria. What do want me to do with it?
That's not my upgrade. Thats yours.
Mine? Why-
If I had been able to meet you as planned, then you would have 25 million sitting in your hand, and you would be standing in one of the few friendly equipment dealers in Sirius that sells the best armour upgrades. Whats your next move, Caius?
Hmm. Damn, damn, bloody damn and damn some more. In one sentence shes tied me in knots and made me look pretty stupid. I suppose youre right, but Ive gotten used to making those decisions for myself.
Beatrice just smiled. Yes, I suppose you have.
Curacao spaceport bar is, in my opinion, the nicest anywhere on Sirius. Sure, the Bier Keller feel of Berlin, with its tiled floor and gentle aroma of peach schnapps sweating out of the golden oak barrels that line the walls beats the painted concrete of Leeds Beer-Barn style any day, but can you tell me another place with an acre of parquet flooring, coloured fountains trickling their accompaniment to the string quartet playing gently in the corner, as you sit sipping champagne in sofas so deep you worry about having to be winched out of them? The only fly in the ointment was the staff.
Good afternoon, Im David Johnson, the ma?tre d of Spa & Cruise, Curacao. Welcome back Monsieur Oakley.
Youve been here before? You didnt tell me complained Beatrice.
You could say that, yes, but I really dont feel that it counts.
Monsieur Oakley is being modest Mademoiselle, he holds the title of First Citizen of Curacao. We are flattered that he has chosen to revisit.
First Citizen?
Yes, a purely honorary title, but Monsieur Oakley was the first person to be born here on Curacao.
She turned to me Is this true?
The high-handed tone of this jumped up bartender was starting to clash with my hangover. Its true I was born here, but I didnt know I was the first. No-one else was born here before me?
Or since. The ma?tre d continued Spa & Cruise have a strict policy regarding all matters obstetrical. Very few of our patrons would elect to give birth here, preferring instead the expertise of a private hospital, and should the occasion arise, we are more than please to transfer the expectant mother to the state of the art facilities we lease on Manhattan at no charge a service we extend to all our employees.
Beatrice said Has Spa & Cruise got something against babies then?
Not at all Mademoiselle, but please understand, this is a holiday resort of sublime quality, and we do everything we can to ensure that our guests are not disturbed by the semi-controlled panic that I understand attends every birth. As it was, Monsieur Oakleys birth was something of a special case, occasioning many reports in the Colony News Service, which redoubled our occupancy rates.
Rather than appear churlish, the upper echelons of the Spa & Cruise management team deemed that it was a simple gesture to offer Monsieur Oakley honorary citizenship of Curacao. Monsieur Oakley, are you planning on staying with us for a long period?
Im not sure what my plans are, actually.
In that case I shall inform the management of your arrival without delay. Im sure that they will be anxious to organise a small ceremony welcoming your return to the place of your birth. You certainly are lhomme de l'heure! I shall send you a wine waiter without delay. If there is nothing else I can help you with? No? Well, in that case, Bon app?tit.
Merci, replied Beatrice.
I turned to Beatrice. Lomdy lure?
Man of the hour murmured Beatrice, sounding preoccupied.
Oh.
As I sat there, contemplating with no small amount of horror the torture that a Welcome Home ceremony would be, I felt Beatrices eyes on me, and they had a calculating look to them. You are full of surprises, arent you Caius?
What do you mean?
Well, you sit calmly at the table in the bar on Cambridge with Papa, picking at the exact same holes in his plan that I had said to him, you blithely skip through the terrors of the Omega systems, staying one step ahead of a Corsairs gunboat yes, we did hear about that you untangle an obscure riddle to arrive here a day sooner than I expected, and now I find myself in the esteemed company of First Citizen of Curacao. Are you aware that if Spa & Cruise leave here, you could lay claim to the whole of the planet?
Thats a nice thought, but its not going to happen. So, tell me Beatrice-
Call me Bea.
Okay, Bea, tell me, why couldnt your father travel to Kurile, hidden in a cargo hold full of other VIPs or even standard passengers? Why travel alone, and draw attention to himself?
As Papa pointed out in Cambridge, theres a whole world that has passed you by, for which you can be grateful. Her voice took on a more sombre tone. Any disguise would not have been able to hide that belly of his.
True, I thought. It does do a good job of hiding his feet from him. So what does Rheinland have against him then?
Thats not-
Another waiter had ghosted up. Dammit, Im trying to get some answers here!
Sir, Mademoiselle, dinner is served. If you would be so kind as to follow me? Mademoiselle, we have your usual table for you.
Usual table? I could get used to it too. We followed the waiter through the restaurant, out onto the terrace, where a large table laden with dishes was shadowed from the slowly setting sun by the leaves of over-hanging palm trees, and the view across the bay was punctuated by triangular white sails in the distance. Ive never been one to worry about which fork to use in my estimation the chattering classes have worse manners than dock hands but I was distinctly worried about how much this was costing. However, I reasoned that if Bea continued to make me dance around for the money, I could stick the bill on her and go back to a quiet life in the trade lanes. Being First Citizen had to be good for one restaurant bill at least.
I shant describe the dishes for you. They were good, very good, in fact, better than very good. As a hangover cure, I thoroughly recommend it. However, if, like me, you went and enjoyed the dishes, knowing that this was probably going to be the last time you were ever going to eat them, well, lets just say that egg rolls are a bit of a step down.
The meal eaten, we wandered down to the seas edge, shoes in hand, and stood watching the sun slowly sink into the sea. Beatrice turned to me,
Im very grateful for what u did for my father he told me about the cigar in the transporter. I know that he probably didnt even thank you for saving him, but I wanted to let you know that Im grateful.
She leant forwards and kissed me properly this time. I kissed back, of course.
She stepped back and pulled slightly away from me. At this point my ego kicked my conscience in the nuts, ganged up with my libido and took a hold of my tongue.
Bea, in my line of work I dont often get to meet girls as beautiful as you. In fact, Ive only met one of you, and I dont want this to slip me by. Where can I meet you again?
Im very flattered Caius, but Im sorry that-
Look sister, spare me the flannel it wont wash. You just have to say I dont date trader captains
No! I wasnt going to say that at all. Caius, Im involved in something very, very dangerous and as much as I want to, I cant get you involved in my life. It wouldnt be fair.'
Her words clashed with the peacefulness of Curacaos twilight. I dont know if you have ever been to Curacao, but I tell ya, sunset there, with a drink in one hand and a pretty girl in another its a goodly slice of heaven. It was like she was trying to tell me that the Easter Bunny had died of myxomatosis.
Well, if you wont tell me what it is, I cant help you with it. If I cant help you with it, and its as dangerous as you say, then Im only going to be getting underfoot, stopping you from dealing with it, putting you in more danger. Unless, of course, you tell me whats going on, and then I can help, and reduce the danger that you're in.
I wish it were that simple Caius, but its late and Im tired. Can we talk about this over breakfast?'
Bloody women. Okay. I promise to listen to reason then. I held my hand up in a parody of someone giving an oath in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it fell flat as the sea behind me.
Goodnight Caius, sleep well.
Night. I watched her walk up the beach to the resort complex. Bloody, bloody, bloody damn. Why is it that I always make the same mistakes around women? The ones who play hard to get are the most interesting ones, and the ones who dont, arent interesting at all?
Waking up in strange surroundings always gives me that panicky moment of existential doubt where the hell am I, what am I doing here before the memories of the night before kick in. Urgh. Did I really say that? I lay in the huge bed, cursing myself with recriminations for a few minutes, before my bladder started making pressing demands.
I crawled to the edge of the bed, and padded across the thick carpet to the bathroom. As I made myself more comfortable, I looked around the room. A wall-to-wall mirror, a pair of deep frosted-glass sinks, a shower with a dozen spray heads, and a tub with multiple jets set into the sides. Nice I thought.
The controls of the shower baffled me. After pressing switches, turning valves for a couple of minutes, I gave up and settled for filling the tub with water. I didnt bother trying to activate the jets; settling back into the water, I contemplated the night before.
Well, she didnt actually slap me away was the most positive thought I had. Her reason gave me mixed feelings the fact that it wasnt her choice to reject my clumsy advances gave me heart, but a woman saying to a man that the situation is too dangerous for you is bad for male pride, which is a fragile thing at the best of times.
As if making decisions about my ship for me wasnt bad enough, now shes mollycoddling me.
Absently, I turned over in my mind the reasons that she would think I needed mollycoddling, and why she thought I needed the armour upgrade so badly that she would buy it without consulting me first. My toes turning pink and wrinkly told me it was time to climb out. Standing naked and dripping wet in possibly the most luxurious bathroom in Sirius, I must have presented a comical sight as I was randomly opening cupboards in search of a towel.
What the hell, I growled, scrubbing myself dry with a dressing gown. When push comes to shove
During my soak in the tub, the bedroom had been tidied, bed made, boots polished, flight suit taken. Dammit, you cant just take someones clothes I complained, and began another random search of cupboards, looking for the wardrobe, which, when I finally located it, was empty. I pulled on the damp dressing gown, and was about to go searching the resort, when the door chimed.
Your uniform, Sir.
Oh, thanks.
Theyd done an impressive job in such a short time. The stain of the coffee that Id dripped on my leg back on Cambridge had gone, a few small rips had been repaired, and the zipper of the map pocket on my left thigh had been replaced.
Hey, nice work. Uh, how do I go about giving you a tip?
Oh thank you, Sir. The bell-boy handed me a small plastic cube. Just press your index finger against one of the sides of the cube for five seconds, and it will automatically be added to your bill.
Neat, I thought. So much easier than carrying cash. Fingers, dont leave home without them. Yep, I DO crack myself up sometimes. Its a character defect that Im too busy laughing to fix. The cube had different amounts printed on each side. I held my finger on the 50 until the cube vibrated, and I handed it back.
Is breakfast still being served?
Yes, Sir. Do you have any special dietary requirements?
I thought about saying no Synth Paste, but that would a complete waste of breath on Curacao. No, none.
I dressed quickly and went straight to the restaurant, where I was met by David Johnson.
Good morning Sir, table for one?
Actually, Im having breakfast with Miss DAubeny.
Ah, Sir, I regret that Miss DAubeny has already checked out. She left earlier this morning.
What the hell? I see, well, in that case, a table for one. I needed some answers from her, and her habit of disappearing was getting really annoying. Did she leave any message for me?
Youll have to ask at the front desk, Sir.
Seething inwardly, I followed the maitre d to a table and sat down. My troubled thoughts meant that I hardly noticed what I ate. As far as I was concerned, Beatrice could go hang. All I wanted now was the 10m that she owed. It can be fun to play around with silly rich girls, but there comes a time when your patience is exhausted.
I fairly marched up to the front desk. Are there any messages for me?
The clerk took in my flight suit, hesitated, and then asked for my name. Ill just check, Sir. Here you are. He passed the envelope over.
I ran my finger down the seal, tearing it open, marvelling at the old-fashioned paper envelope. Inside was a Spa & Cruise bankers draft for the sum of almost 10m. Well, thats a start I thought. As I pulled it out, a smaller piece of paper dropped to the floor. I picked it up and unfolded it. It said Sorry, and was signed with a large B. Hmm, its gonna take more than that, but I appreciate the thought at least.
Can I cash this here, I said, waving the bankers draft at the clerk.
This is highly irregular. Why was the balance not paid directly into your neural net in the usual manner?
Beats me.
Well, I can do this for you, but in order to avoid a 10% handling charge, you will have to settle your bill at the same time.
10%?, no way in hell am I giving you a million credits just to cash a credit note! Can you tell me what my bill stands at please? Yeah, lets see if I picked up dinner last night.
At present, a little under 600,000.
Bloody hellfire. Yes, I think I will settle up.
If you would just place your index finger here, Ill deduct it from your neural net. The cooling of his manner hadnt gone unnoticed. I thought it was time I took me and my newly-repaired flight suit outa here.
I picked up the note from Beatrice, turned it over and wrote on the back, Make it up to me sometime. Well, if she could play it cool, so could I, and it wouldnt hurt me to start.
Have you got another envelope?
Here you are.
I sealed the piece of paper inside. Can you give this message to Miss DAubeny the next time she visits?
It may be some time.
Nothing I like more than someone who points out the obvious. Thats alright.
Very well. There is, of course, a 100 credit fee for this service.
I was thinking that I was being very politely mugged at this point, and I pressed my index finger on the sensor wordlessly.
Will that be all?
Yes, I think so Unless of course, youre going to charge me for breathing Spa & Cruise air?
I left the resort, and headed for the spaceport terminal, thinking about my next move. Beatrice had clearly given me the brush-off, I needed a cargo and a destination. As I arrived at the landing pad, these minor problems paled into insignificance when I realised that I needed a ship first. I grabbed a passing dock hand.
Wheres the Firefly that was on this dock last night?
It took off at first light, now geddoff me.
Wheres launch control? He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and sloped off in the opposite direction.
Launch control was as much help as a cheap thruster all noise and no results. We tracked it for a while towards the Coronado jump-hole, but we werent aware that anything was amiss, or wed have sent a fighter wing after it. This has certainly never happened on Curacao before.
Yeah, I have a lot of firsts around here. Is there anyone around here that can lend me a fighter?
I believe that the ship dealer sells both Barracudas and Sea Serpents.
I was thinking more of a loan than a purchase after all, my ship was stolen from your landing pad.
Youd have to talk to Col. Bradley, our Defence Co-ordinator about that, but hes on extended leave and not expected back for some time.
Who else might have a ride for me?
You might try the commodity dealer, Benjamin Roland, to see if he knows when the next supply ship is due. In the mean time, Ill register your loss, and if the ship docks at any Spa & Cruise resort, it will be apprehended for you.
Great, sit tight and wait for the thief to hand themselves in? At 600k per day, I could afford to stay for about a fortnight before they kicked me out for vagrancy.
Ill try Ben Roland, but thanks. For nothing I added to myself as I walked back across the landing pad.
Ben wasnt in his office, nor did his staff know where he was, or when he would be back. They didnt know when the next supply ship was expected either. I wandered out onto the landing pad, at a loss for inspiration.
A grizzled old dock hand called out to me. It looks like youms riding Shanks Pony now! he laughed.
What?
Shanks pony. The horse with ten toes. Seeing my blank look, he continued. Your legs. Shanks pony is your legs.
Well, I could hardly walk across Sirius looking for my ship, but I saw his point. I was marooned on a pleasure planet and my supply of credits was dwindling too fast for my liking here. It was a very fine creek, gold plated in fact, but my paddle had been stolen. He beckoned me over, making room on the crate next to him, and offered me a wedge of chewing tobacco, which I waved away.
Heh, youms could always become a dent-basher like us he chuckled.
Hmm, I think Ill pass on that one. This made him chuckle some more, which turned into a fleshy cough. He spat out a long green squirt of tobacco juice onto the dock, which splashed.
Whatcha goin do now then boy?.
I need a ship to chase down a thief.
You dont fancy one of them See Serpents then? Theys a tidy ship.
Bit out of my range at the moment Id only just bought the Firefly.
Heh, thats been cut down for spares before the engines were cold, Id wager.
What is it about Curacao that makes people point out the obvious? If I were to comb Sirius for the felon, it could take weeks, if not more, and that could use up all of my earnings from that ill-advised trip to Kurile that had gotten me into this fine mess. I needed to bring in the bacon, which meant a freighter as large as my credits could handle. Whilst I could afford just a large transport from South Shields Refinery in Newcastle, getting there was going to be a problem, as very few passenger liners go out that way. It looked like I was going back to driving the transport from Pittsburgh a ship that I had sold only a few days before.
There was another factor influencing my decision. If I chose the smaller transport, not only would the pirates tax be lighter, but the other trader captains would be more expansive in their gestures. All trader captains gossip, sharing information about routes, prices and pirate activity. In a smaller ship, theyd be prone to showing off a bit more to the green-horn. But if I turned up in a fighter ship, Id automatically be excluded from the club, and I needed the information if I were to track down my ship. In combat a transport is as fearsome as a kitten, but Id have a reason for flitting across the galaxy, whereas a fighter hopping from system to system would draw attention, and I didnt want the thief to see me coming. All I needed now was a ride up to New York.
After a day spent watching Curacao resort slowly turn away from the sun, help finally arrived from a BMM transport out of Stokes Station that was avoiding pirates in Magellan. Capt. Martha Parker, a heavy-set woman in her late forties, was aghast to hear of my plight.
And Spa & Cruise did nothing, just let it take off? How did the thief get past the security system?
How ever he did it, he did it quickly. Im sure the dock security would have noticed someone banjaxing the locks.
Eventually was her only comment.
She was kind enough to drop me on the surface of Pittsburgh, and waved away any mention of a fee. We traders gotta stick together she said.
Well, thank you. I hope I dont have to do the same favour for you though.
Yeah, me too. Good luck with getting your ship back.
I waved her off the landing pad, and turned to the ship dealers hangar.
It was both strange and familiar to be back at the controls of a train. I dithered over the purchase of a decent shield, but decided that it would serve good stead, in light of where I was headed. I picked up a load of Luxury consumer goods, and headed back down to Curacao, trying to pick up the cold trail.
I met some Lane Hackers just before Riverside station, who accepted 2 million from me. Great, that just about cleans me out.
I had intended to pick up some level four turrets from California Minor, but with my funds running desperately low, I motored on to Curacao.
This visit was a marked contrast to the last; I made landfall and launched within 20 minutes, and not only did I successfully avoid the Welcome Home party, but I actually left Curacao in credit which has to be a first. Cruising away from Curacao towards the Coronado jump-hole, I hoped that an empty bay would deter any further attempts of unlicensed taxation. Coronado being completely empty, I continued onto Baffin, the only other exit. I had intended to dock with Shasta and pick up a little gossip, but as soon as I came within 5k, the base lit up, all turrets came on line and a fighter wing undocked and escorted me on my way towards Tau 29. They certainly seemed tetchy, and asking did a firefly come through here yesterday was completely ignored.
As I docked with Freeport 6, I considered greasing a few wheels, and doubling back and poking my nose around Shasta, but I ruled it out, reasoning that the theft HAD to be an inside job if a Zoner ship had docked, then eyebrows would have been raised, but if a pirates ship had managed to hit the landing pad, all hell would have broken loose.
I looped up to the Kishiro-owned Nago Station, and drawing a blank, I moved on to the Tau 23 jump-hole. As I passed through the densely packed asteroid field, I was pinballed by the asteroid field and ended up in a minefield, close to some automated asteroid miners. Centred in this field was the wreck of the Edmund Marshall, with half a load of beryllium on board. More interesting to me was the level four turrets she was sporting. A quick stop to de-rig them, tractor them in, and jink back out of the minefield on my way to the Tau 31 gate site. Drawing a blank here, I popped my head into Tau 31, intending to talk to the bar keeper on Holman, who always seems to know whats going on. This time, I was out of luck; all he could offer were promises to keep the ear to the ground and send out a few feelers.
I decided to make my search more methodical; all this jumping around covered a lot of ground fast, but i was going to have to double-back on myself a lot to cover all the stations. I headed to Lancaster Trade station in Newcastle, and no sooner was I clear of the jumphole when
Caius Oakley. This is Captain Stanley Nelson of the Bretonian Armed Forces. Deactivate your cruise engines immediately. Scanning.Scanning, yes, definitely the right name, but the ship has changed. Yes Sir, bringing him in.
What in the hells? Why? Whats this about?
Dont play innocent with me sunshine. You are under arrest for the crime of smuggling, and are to be escorted to the Battleship Derby, Leeds. Any hostile or evasive manoeuvres on your part will result in your destruction.
Take it easy! Just yell out if my super-fast and ultra-nimble transporter gets away from that sluggish Hussar of yours.
I didn't have any real choice in the matter. I could have out-run him, I could have battled it out, but he could have squawked into his radio, and I would be an outlaw in Bretonia. Not useful. Not useful at all.
I was expecting the bright light in the eyes, and ominous references to 'The Desk Draw Trick' and 'The Ginger Beer Trick' (If you don't know about ginger beer, just pray that you never have to experience it first hand). In fact, I was pushed into a room that was lit by striplights set in recesses around the walls, which provided adequate light, if a little unkind. I say unkind, because one of the walls was mirror. Now, I'm comfortable with the fact that this face of mine is built for wear, not for show, but having the only point of reference as yourself is disconcerting. A hard, high stool was in one corner, and I dragged it to centre-stage, saying 'Shall we get this circus over with then?'
A voice, booming from hidden speakers: 'Mr Oakley, your ship was seen at 0915 ST this morning, entering the Leeds system from Tau 31 via the jumpgate, which is under the control of Kusarian Naval Forces. Long range sensors aboard the Battleship York indicate that you then proceeded to pass within two clicks of the Battleship Nagasaki, which did not fire upon your vessel. You are hereby accused of actions treasonable to the Crown and Queen Carina's Armed Forces. How do you plead?'
'Not guilty. And I wasn't aware that this was a trial; where is the judge, where is my counsel, where is the jury of my peers?'
'Mr Oakley, we are at war. Habeas Corpus is suspended, as is trial by jury. What evidence would you like to submit to us in your defence?'
'Glad to hear that the use of evidence hasn't been suspended too; at the time of the incident, I was wandering around the spaceport at Curacao, trying to find out where my ship was'.
'Are you trying to suggest that you were not piloting the ship?'
'Exactly. The ship is stolen, and I'm trying to find it; this explains why I was flitting around the edges of Bretonian space'.
The voice was silent for a time. Finally, it came back 'Mr Oakley, you will remain here whilst we verify the evidence that you have presented'. The mirror in front of me shivered, as if a door had opened.
I was kept waiting for a long time, it seemed designed to test the strength of the average bladder. I resisted the temptation to pass the time by making funny faces in the mirror, and concentrated on the information they had given me. Why would the thief show their colours at possibly the most watched gate in Sirius? That HAS to be deliberate. So what are they trying to conceal by being so obvious? As I sat there, I thought about the route I had taken this morning; Coronado and Baffin only point to the Taus, and the Taus point to the Omicrons, Kusari and... Gallia! It seemed to fit, or maybe I just wanted it to fit. Either way, it was a place to search, and unless serious work had been done to alter the output of the IFF-transponder, I would be able to dock on the stations that were friendly to my old ship. Having this new lead made my incarceration all the more intolerable; I wanted to get moving, and this confinement made my feet itchier.
Even more bored than ever, as I had truly run out of distractions, I was about to yield to the temptation of pulling faces, when the mirror shivered and the voice returned.
'Mr Oakley, we have contacted Curacao, and have learned that you did not report your ship was missing until 0930, and whilst there is enough time - just - to make the round trip back to Curacao, the ship would have to be removed from under your nose. Orbital Spa & Cruise are not as exacting as we would like in the recording of ships' departures, but we have found out that no ships left Curacao's orbit since the morning shift came on duty and you reporting its disappearance'.
'What time did the morning shift come on duty?'
'Mr Oakley, I'm not obliged to furnish you with any of the information that we have gathered - '
'What? Doesn't the defence have a right to see the evidence gathered by the prosecution?'
'There you go confusing this with a trial again. This is a Junta, in a time of war. Before you interrupted, I was about to say that the shift changeover was at 0600 ST, which puts you in the clear. Thank you so much for helping us with our enquiries'.
With that, the lights switched off, and the door opened. I looked at the mirror interested to see if I could see anyone in the room next door, but that was in darkness too. I climbed down off the wooden stool, and walked out of the door. Captain Nelson was waiting for me, and escorted me to the front door of the security centre without a word. Once outside, I took in my surroundings - brown buildings concealed by brown smog - and hussled over to the spaceport, eager to be away and following the new lead.
