Star Runners

by Clayton J Callahan

  Kilroy, threw an arm around his old war-buddy's shoulder, "Burt, don't blame yourself. We've kept this old girl together with spit and bailing wire for a good long time. Shit happens is all, and sometimes there isn’t anything we can do about it."

  “I know,” Burt replied. “But it still hurts.”

  They spent the rest of the trip to Tarkan in silent contemplation as each man grieved for the Vagabond in his own way. The ship wasn’t dead, but it would never be the same. Without a jump drive, their star running days were over.

  They landed in Paradise City and, as the lumber was offloaded, the two friends took stock of the situation. The Boss128A system was on the edge of Confederation space, only one of its planets had been colonized, and they were standing on it. And without in-system traffic, there would be very little business they could do here without a jump drive. Still, it could be worse.

  “It could be raining.”

  “Smart-ass.” Burt snickered as his friend made his usual stupid joke.

  “Screw it!” Kilroy declared. “Let’s go find a bar.”

  So, they started walking. They’d been to Paradise City a few times since the war but had always been in a hurry to leave again to catch some other shipment to someplace else. That hadn’t bother them because neither shipmate had actually missed the dust ball. It was still a hot, desolate, hick town on the edge of space. But since they were here, they got to talking about their old days aboard the CJS Dart, and the improvised barracks they once made out of an old adobe hut and a prefab building while the Dart was getting repaired at the Tarkan Naval Base.

  Burt piped up, “Hey Kilroy, let’s see if the old House is still standing.”

  “I thought we were looking for a bar? And besides, why would you want to see that old shack?”

  “I don’t know. We worked hard on it back during the war and maybe I just want to see how it’s held up. It shouldn’t be too far from here. Take five minutes, tops,” Burt said.

  “Okay buddy, I’ll humor you. But then we need to go find a place to get a drink.”

  As they turned the corner onto Armstrong Street, Kilroy’s jaw dropped, and he stood stunned in amazement. It was as if he’d found the end of the rainbow, and the crock was indeed filled with gold—not that other stuff.

  Kilroy read the sign. “The Screaming Eagle, a UVA post huh?” He scratched his head. "Out here on the brink of nowhere?" Then he laughed. "Oh yeah, we've got to check this place out!

  After a quick exchange of glances, the two friends raced across the street like a couple of teenagers. Still breathing heavily, they opened that blue pressure door to reveal wonders untold. This was too good to be true! The shack they remembered, with its cots filled with sleeping spacers and sand lizards, wasn’t even recognizable.

  “This isn’t a transformation of The House, buddy, it’s an absolute resurrection!” Kilroy declared. To make it even better, the place was now a veteran’s bar. Neither Burt nor Kilroy had joined the UVA yet, but that didn’t really matter. At a glance, they knew this place was filled with their kind of people. They took their first steps on that plush, red carpet and walked up to the bar, and ordered drinks.

  The Vagabond had died, but Burt and Kilroy had gone to heaven. So, they decided to give their old ship a proper Irish wake. With the last of their credits, they bought a round for the house and proceeded to get drunker than either of them had been in years.

  “Kilroy,” Burt slurred through his alcohol tied tongue, “after so long struggling to keep flying—to keep ahead of the maintenance, to meet the bills and expenses…”

  “I know, feel like a relief, don’t it?” Kilroy called to the lady behind the bar, “Two boilermakers please, for an old captain and his first officer.”

  Burt chuckled, “In short the whole ship’s crew.”

  The dark haired lady with the Confederation achievement medal pinned to her shirt reached over to the mix-o-matic and produced the frothy brews. “That’s six boilermakers I’ve sent your way now, gentlemen. Tell me you’re not driving home.”

  “No. ma’am,” Burt replied. “In fact, we ain’t driving anywhere.”

  Kilroy added, “With your permission, madam, we fully intend to hanging out at The Screaming Eagle from now until the day we die…or something worse happened to us.”

  She smiled. “Glad you like the place. It’s the best bar in the whole damn galaxy.”

  Lifting his mug, Kilroy said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  ***

  Once they sobered up, the two intrepid but unemployed spacers settled down. They took jobs at the starport and semi-retired. Burt did engineering work on other people’s space ships, and Kilroy dabbled as a cargo broker, and they each got a place in town.

  Naturally, it wasn’t long before they got to know the Eagle’s characters real well. This included the medal wearing manager, Ms. Coleen, and her precocious little kid Deirdre who was fourteen and always asking Kilroy about spaceships. But she didn’t want to hear just his stories; she wanted to know how the ships worked.

  Specifically, she wanted to know how to fly them.

  “Why are you so fired up interested in space ships, kid?” Kilroy asked.

  “I haven’t been in space since Mommy Coleen took me from Isis to Tarkan years ago. It was awesome! We met the pilot and she had the coolest job ever.”

  Kilroy smiled. “And you want to be a pilot too, huh?”

  “Duh.”

  “Okay.” Kilroy mulled it over. “And how does your mother feel about that?”

  “Mom bought me a flight simulator so I could practice. But we couldn’t figure out how to set it up. Are you any good at that kind of stuff?”

  “Well, I’ve done similar kinds of jobs in my time. I guess I could take a crack at it.”

  So, one afternoon he sat down in Ms. Coleen’s living room and got to work on the cables and connections. With the console now all hooked up properly, he explained it to her.

  “You should have all you need to start practicing now, Deirdre. I’ll check back next week and see how you’re doing.”

  And when he checked in on her a week later, the old spacer was amazed.

  Piloting is an art as much as a science. You have to feel your way through the sky and develop an instinct for how to handle your ship. To Deirdre, that came naturally, and a week of simulations, she’d scored higher than Kilroy had in his first year of practicing. The few things she was doing wrong were easy for Kilroy to explain. He wished his old girlfriend Liddy were there to teach the kid. She after all had been the better pilot. But if it was up to Kilroy alone, the old man had no intention of shirking his duty.

  One day Kilroy happened to be out and saw the kid taking out the trash. He looked at the young girl and could tell she wished she was somewhere else. Glancing over to the starport gave him an idea.

  “Hey, kiddo, you want to see my starship?”

  “Like really!” she squeaked.

  “Yeah, like really.”

  “Awesome!” she cried.

  Deirdre dropped the trash where it lay, and they were off.

  A brisk two-kilometer walk and there it sat, in all its faded glory. The Vagabond squatted on an abandoned naval pad—Kilroy and Burt didn’t get charged rent because there were no fuel tie-ups or power stations near by. A tarp was lashed over the old freighter to protect from the abrasive sand that could damage the anti-radiation coating of the hull. Under that canvas shroud, to all appearances, it was just an old hunk of junk.

  Deirdre’s eyes grew big as saucers as she let out a small whistle. “It’s amazing.”

  Regardless of its current state, she saw a starship! Kilroy opened the gangway, and the kid ran on board like a shot. He smiled and slowly walked up after her. Soon, he sat her in the pilot’s chair and explained what all the controls did.

  With reverent hands, the girl reached for the control stick. “This is the best ship ever!”

  Kilroy smiled knowing that what she said wasn’t technically tru
e. But beauty after all is in the eye of the beholder. It was a wonderful afternoon, and Kilroy even played co-pilot for her as she worked the powered down controls.

  Of course, Ms. Coleen was mad as hell when Kilroy got back whit Deirdre. He’d forgotten to tell her mom where he and the kid went, and Ms. Coleen was worried sick. In fact, a gang of patrons from the bar had been out combing the neighborhood for the kid; and some of them were carrying clubs. At the end of a long and colorful ass chewing, she said, “…and if anything happens to that child, I will have your balls for breakfast! Do you understand me, Mr. Matterson?”

  Kilroy found himself having a boot camp flashback. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” he replied as he unconsciously stood at stiff attention. Then, all was forgiven—once Deirdre took the trash out to the dumpster that is.

  Later, with Ms. Coleen’s consent, Deirdre would often return to the Vagabond with Burt or Kilroy or both. The two old geezers showed her everything the old ship had to offer from nosecone to engine bells. It was fun for them to relive their traveling days. As for Deirdre, she ate it up like popcorn. She could never learn enough and paid close attention to everything the two old codgers had to say.

  * * *

  Without the distractions of spaceship handling, Kilroy could finally focus on the business side of cargo management as he brokered cargos for other people. Kilroy’s position as a cargo broker also got him in with all the folks who worked the starport. One of them, a guy named Inklebalm, worked at the Colonial Office. Kilroy often had lunch with Inklebalm at the starport cantina, and they’d talk shop. Apparently, the Colonial Office had received a shipment of satellites from the Confederation Station Service that would allow Tarkan to finally have its own tran-sat system.

  “Finally, this backwater planet will be serviced by Confederation jump drones and become a part of the galaxy at large!” the bureaucrat exclaimed. “My only only problem is there aren’t any ship available to place the satellites in the necessary orbits. Most of the traffic at the starport comes from out of system and goes back out of system just as fast as ships can fly, so there are no readily available in-system ships for short, domestic voyages.”

  “Inklebalm, you damn fool! Why didn’t you ask me?” Kilroy said through a mouth full of sandwich.

  “Why? Can you get me a ship?”

  “Don’t you remember me telling you? I own a ship. It’s parked out in the west quarter by the salvage yard. It ain’t what it used to be, but it can easily handle a little in-system run.”

  Inklebalm’s eyes lit up. “Can you have the satellites in place by the end of the month?”

  “Sure, if the price is right.”

  Kilroy began doing the math in his head. The trip would last about three weeks as he plotted it, around the Boss128A system passing all the critical L points as they went. Deploying the satellites would be a walk in the park, and Burt and Kilroy would have a reason to feel space again. A deal was soon struck, and plans were made.

  Naturally, the two old space dogs looked forward to the joy of the thing, but what’s joy if it’s not shared? So they asked Deirdre if she wouldn’t mind going on a field trip as part of her vocational education.

  "Holy dog crap," Ms. Coleen exclaimed. "I've never hear my girl plead a case so loud and so long." But by this time, the owner of the best bar in the galaxy had grown to trust the veteran spacers. However, knowing how dangerous space can be from her own days of star-traveling, she cautioned them, “Don’t let Deirdre out of your sight."

  “Yes, ma’am, we promise,” Burt and Kilroy intoned.

  * * *

  With the tarp removed, the Vagabond at least looked space-worthy. It was fueled and ready for the three adventurers marching up the gangway. Burt went in the engine room, of course, and Kilroy to the bridge. He still thought of the pilot’s seat as Liddy’s chair, but he sat in it anyway. Deirdre took the co-pilot’s seat, but her consoles were all powered down.

  Kilroy said, “Kid, I’ve no intention of setting you up for failure. I’m going to teach you the ropes one step at a time, and right now is the time for you to just watch and learn.”

  She folded her arms and huffed.

  Blast off was a bit bumpy, but only because Kilroy forgot to engage the amidships grav stabilizer. Deirdre looked like she was about to say something just before he flipped the switch. “Oops. No problem, Kiddo. I’ve done this thousands of times.”

  She squinted.

  “Well, several hundred at least.”

  The kid’s incredulity faded however once the Vagabond left the atmosphere. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw slacked as the stars came out to introduce themselves by the millions. At last, she was in space again.

  And a week into the cruise and Deirdre’s enthusiasm still had yet to cool. She was totally enthralled by the whole experience and asked question after question of the old spacers. Truth was Kilroy and Burt occasionally found her a bit annoying...in a sweet way, of course.

  Down in the engine room, Kilroy met his old friend to discuss the problem. “Burt, I think I’ve figured something out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Borrowing someone else’s kid for a few hours is one thing, but full-time parenting is work.”

  Burt rolled his eyes. “I always knew you were a genius. So what’s the plan, partner?”

  “I don’t have one. Hell, the only point of reference either of us have is how we used to treated young recruits back in the navy.”

  A wide grin spread across both their faces. “Burt, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Oh, I recon we’re entertaining the same idea all right.”

  Kilroy nodded. “Brilliant.”

  ***

  Later that day, the two old men stood in the common room with Deirdre doing her best to act military.

  “Stand at attention, that means put your heels together and put your arms at their side like this,” Kilroy demonstrated. “Now, First Officer Folks will read the order.”

  Burt cleared his throat and read from the notes he’d prepared. “By the authority of Captain Matterson, Confederation Space Navy Retired, Deirdre O’Hara is hereby promoted to the rank of Honorary Spacer Third Class, CJS Vagabond.”

  Kilroy stepped forward and pinned his old third class rank insignia on her collar. “Congratulations, spacer, you are now officially part of the crew and subject to all the rights and privileges thereof.”

  She beamed at them. “Thank you, Uncle Kilroy. I won’t let you down.”

  Kilroy smiled back at the little squirt. “I know you won’t, sweetheart. Now, the toilets in the aft bathroom need a good scrubbing, and I know just the shipmate to do it.”

  “What?”

  “Your part of the crew now, kid,” Burt reminded her, “with all the rights and privileges thereof.”

  “I know I can count on you, spacer third class,” Burt said as he gave the child a sharp salute.

  Once, they’d sent the kid to clean the toilets the two old men enjoyed a cup of coffee in peace for the first time in a week. “After all,” Kilroy said to Burt, “rank has its privileges.”

  ***

  On the whole the voyage was going well, and they were deploying the satellites exactly where they were supposed to be. One by one, the shiny cans were jettisoned from the cargo bay and sent to float eternally in stable orbits about the sun. When they became active, Tarkan would at last be as modern a port as Isis or Rama, with ships able to broadcast to traffic control as soon as they came out of jump. And the people of Tarkan would also be able to send bursts of mail to other systems.

  “Okay , kiddo,” Kilroy explained as he sat in the pilot’s seat, “it’s like this; the Boss128A system has eight planets, but we only need to go out to the sixth before turning about for the run home, and once the final satellite orbits that cold and lifeless rock, the job will be done. By this time next week, you’ll be back at the Eagle with your mum.”

  “So that’s it?” she said, “I won’t be able to fly anymore?�
�

  “Well, I didn’t mean it exactly that way.”

  “I’m part of the crew right?”

  Kilroy nodded.

  “That means you have to take me. Any other voyages that come up, I get to go too, right?”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know how many voyages the Vagabond has left in her. But, yes, you are always welcome aboard. Who knows, we might just be able to fix it up someday and make you the pilot for real.”

  “Really?”

  With a shrug he said, “Anything’s possible. Now, listen up, I have something to teach you.” Kilroy then explained to her how to slingshot a ship around a gravity well in order to save fuel and get a free return trajectory on a new course.

  “Isn’t there a chance of like, getting pulled in and crashing on the planet?” She wanted to know.

  Kilroy thought once again of his simulated crash into Pluto all those years ago. “Yes, so the trick is not only to get close enough to get the full effect of the gravity well, but to enter it at the right angle and speed to get the slingshot effect.”

  “How am I supposed to know the angle and speed?”

  “You don’t,” Kilroy answered. “The navigator does. It’s his job to plot a course, and it’s your job to follow it. Most times, you’ll have a chance to go over it before you reach the point where you have to commit. Never be afraid to ask the navigator a question about a course. That’s what they get paid for.”

  “Okay,” she said and then turned her eyes to the canopy. Out of the plazglass, she watched the port cargo bay door open. The lift arm swung out slowly with the last of the satellites dangling from its claw. Kilroy was quiet, his eyes focused on the nav-comp where his course was displayed. He whispered, “Three, two, one,” and the satellite detached to drift eternally in the wake of the Vagabond.

  Kilroy then commenced the sequence to set up the slingshot trajectory. Around the planet they swung, hurtling into the gravity well at a precise speed and angle. Once in the grasp of the planet, there would be no way to maneuver. Sir Isaac Newton piloted the ship, and his word was law.