by Rob Buckman
“Aye aye, sir. Best possible speed it is.”
“And if the pilot vessel is there?” Pete asked.
“Then I’ll have to find a way to sneak aboard without them knowing. Comm, let me know when we are in range for a conversation without the time lag getting in the way.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Pete, inform Sergeant Rice that I’ll be switching to the Marine scout car.” Mike didn’t bother taking over the captain’s chair, and motioned Pete to stay where he was. Instead, he stood off to one side, out of the way, much as Pete did when he was sitting in the seat.
“With its low radar signature, the scout car should be able to get close without being spotted, but sooner or later someone on the bridge is going to pick her up, Skipper.”
“Not if the sensor operator doesn’t report it.”
“We are within the Free Traders sensor envelope, but so far she hasn’t reacted, Skipper. I have the ident code now. She’s the Free Trader, Orion Dawn.”
“Good, Conn?”
“Time lag at this distance is about two seconds, Skipper.”
“Helm, hold her here while I chat with her. Comm, tight beam a transmission with this code. Alpha-003-001-T3 and nothing else.” For anyone not from Avalon, the code might be taken for anything, when in reality it identified the sender as Mike Tregallion. Alpha 3 simply meant he was the third Tregallion after Max and Gordon. The last set was just a confirmation.
“Aye, sir – transmitting ident code Alpha-003-001-T3.” Other than the faint background sounds, the bridge was completely silent as they waited for the reply. Time seemed to stretch, but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes before the comm unit chirped.
“They are asking for confirmation, Skipper.” Clarence Reilly looked around.
“Resend and add Prometheus at the end.” That brought an almost immediate response with a radio frequency number.
“Put it on the main screen, Clarence.”
The main screen filled with static for a moment, then cleared to show a bearded face with a deep scowl on his face looking back them. The moment he spotted Mike, the scowl vanished, replaced a moment later with a broad smile.
“I see you got another ship, Mike,” he looked sad for a moment, “and I’m sorry to hear about what happened to the Prometheus. Your grandfather was a good man. I’m going to miss him.”
“Nice to see you again, Captain MacManus, and thank you for your condolences.”
“By the looks of it, you found yourself a good berth there.” He replied, looking around the bridge.
“I did. I’m in the Royal Navy now.”
“Well, when you’ve finished mucking around with the Navy, you can come and join a real deep-space fleet.” He laughed. It wasn’t far from the truth. Other than the Voss, the Free Traders had gone further out into the black than any other human ship.
“Oh, I think I’ll hang my hat here for a while. You never know when things will get a little exciting around here.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Had a run in with those Sirrien bastards out near Bernard’s Star. A few shots with our heavy guns soon had them looking for easier prey to pick on,” Captain MacManus pulled his brow into a frown for a moment, “You know you will have to go toe to toe with them shortly, don’t you, Mike?”
“Yes, sir. All the signs are there. It’s just a question of how soon they can get their courage up to do it.”
“Well, they are out there laying the groundwork now. We have reports from other ships that they are squeezing both the CS and the US navies, and I don’t know how long they will last once the shooting starts.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse, unless I miss my guess. But that aside. What can I do for you?”
“I need a ride to Earth, Captain.”
Captain MacManus looked at him a moment, “I won’t ask why, as you probably can’t tell me, but I take it you don’t want certain people on board knowing you are here, right?”
“Right.”
“Mike, you know we are under orders not to get involved in system politics. If we jump into a system under fire, no matter who’s firing, we are to turn around and jump right back out again.”
“I understand that, Captain, and wouldn’t want you to disobey those orders…”
MacManus held his hand up, “Meaning no disrespect to your grandfather, or Avalon security for that matter, but since when did Free Traders ever obey anything the government of Avalon ordered?” He laughed, “A polite request yes, but an order? Kiss my ass.” He was right. Free Trader ships were gone for so long, that by the time they returned home to Avalon whatever prompted the orders in the first place had long since vanished.
“I was thinking that if we came over the stern, your sensor operator might not even see a small Marine scout ship.” Captain MacManus looked pensive for a moment before nodding.
“That’s true, he might just be off getting a cup of coffee, out going to the head, and just happened to switch off the rear sensors.”
“Yes, that could just happen. Very lax discipline on Free Trader ships,” Mike smiled saying that. In some ways, discipline on the Free Trader ship was stricter than naval vessels. It had to be considering the time they spent in warp space.
“Of course. Now that we are in-system, the landing bay doors are open so the pilot shuttle can come board, and you’ll probably find that the operations officer forgot to shut the bay doors again.”
“What a coincidence. And, if the pilot of the shuttle were otherwise occupied, no one would even know we’d landed.”
“Too true. However, you are out of sensor range at the moment, so I can’t tell how soon you’d need me to set this all up.”
“Sooner than you might expect, Captain.” MacManus raised one eyebrow in query, but said nothing. “I’ll ping you in a couple of hours, sir.”
“I’ll have a cabin waiting for you so you can stay out of sight until we reach orbit.”
“These Free Traders are an accommodating lot, Skipper.”
“That they are, just don’t get on their bad side,” Mike took one last look around the bridge as he spoke, “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, Pete. The only orders I can give you are to stay out of sight and listen for my signal.”
“Ten-four, Mike. What should I tell the crew?” It was a point Mike pondered for a moment.
“Tell them I’m sorry they couldn’t get shore leave to go home this time. I will however pay all the expenses for the shore leave at our next port of call.”
“That should make them happy.”
“Try not to put any dents in her while I’m away this time, Pete.”
“Dents… wait… it wasn’t me… I wasn’t there, and I plead insanity.” Mike chucked and squeezed his shoulder before departing.
“Captain off the bridge.” The Marine guard sang out. “Wish I was going with you, Skipper. The word is that things are getting a little hairy back home.”
“I’m not going into a war zone, Kowalski.” Mike had to smile. He hadn’t placed any restrictions on the comm techs not to broadcast the news stream from Earth, and even if it was two days old, it did give the crew some idea of what was going on back home.
“Heard that one before, Skipper.”
Mike gently punched Kowalski in the arm, “I am taking Jenks with me.”
“Good Marine there.” He smiled and came to attention.
As he worked his way down to the flight deck, the crewmembers he met along the way, shook hands or waved goodbye as he passed. It gave him a warm feeling to know his crew genuinely liked and respected him, but it still puzzled him to know why. Two decks down, he entered flight operations and found Jenks had already packed their small bags in the cargo bay of the scout car. The pilot nodded as he and Jenks climbed aboard, but kept his main attention on his pre-flight checklist. He finished up by the time he and Jenks were buckled in and settling their oxygen masks in place.
“Marine Scout 003 to Flight Ops.”
&
nbsp; “Flight Ops – Go Scout 003”
“Ready for departure.”
“The launch rail is clear and ready for your departure.”
“Ready, Skipper?” The Pilot asked.
“Ready when you are.” As he spoke, the flashing red and blue warning light came on along the length of the launch tube as the pilot rolled forward to connecting with the launch rail. They felt the small scout ship bump slightly as it connected.
“Ready to launch.” Even under the hearing protection of the headset, the high-pitched whine of the AG generator could still be heard. The pilot took his hands off the stick as the auto-launch system took over.
“5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1.” Even with the inertial dampening systems on full, the takeoff still pushed them back into their seats. The tube became a blur for a few seconds until they shot out into the black. The scout automatically banked to starboard the moment it exited the launch tube under the number one gun turret and the pilot took control again.
“Bloody hotshot.” Jenks muttered, and Mike smiled. They really didn’t need to take off like a Starfighter, but most non-fighter pilots had a secret fantasy of flying one. Mike thought back to Jimmy Bettencourt and the way he liked to take his courier ship out into the black.
Mike tapped the second seat control panel and brought up the rear view for one last look at his ship, not that there was much to see even at this short distance. With her black hull, she quickly disappeared against the black, star-studded background. The only way he could tell she was there was by the empty hole she made where no stars shone. Even that quickly vanished as the pilot put the throttle to the metal.
“Good to have you aboard again, Skipper.”
“Great to see you again, Stadler. It’s been a while. Hope I didn’t mess up your Christmas celebration too much the last time.”
“Don’t remember much other than waking up back aboard the next day with a hangover and wondering how I got back.” He chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at Jenks. “You might have warned me about him.”
Mike shot him a look, “Who, Jenks?”
“Yeah. The little bugger conned me into taking him and your kit back to the ship. Said you ordered it.”
“Jenks?”
“I did no such thing,” Jenks snorted indignantly, “I just said that you told me to watch out for sticky fingered Marines who might want to appropriate your best booze is all. Don’t blame me if you didn’t understand the King’s English, my old son.”
“Har! Since when has cockney been the King’s English?” Stadler shot back.
“I guess it was my fault. I should have been more explicit with my instructions,” Mike mused. Had he known Jenks might try to sneak aboard, he would have.
It still puzzled him why ex-corporal Jenks Silverman would deliberately stow away aboard this scout car, and then re-up and join the Navy. After Borland, and the hell they went through to get off that god-forsaken planet, you’d think he’d had enough. Mike had a sudden urge to scratch his nose, but the mask he had on made that impossible. Micro-meteors were always a danger even with the scout’s shield up so he dared not take it off.
An hour later the Orion Dawn came up on the long-range scanner, and at this speed, they would be there in less than thirty minutes. He pointed to the Comm panel, seeing the pilot nod. He punched in the frequency and sent a short static burst. It was answered a few moments later by two return bursts of static. Captain MacManus got the message.
“Take her in slow and easy over the stern. You should see one of the landing bay doors open.”
“Aye, Skipper. Slow and easy as she goes.” Stadler answered.
Stadler brought her in high and slow from astern of the Orion Dawn, well clear of her drive trail. Even as they closed it was difficult to see any features until the landing lights came on. Stadler lined up with the rippling blue and white lights and glided in for a soft landing through the cold plasma curtain inside the shuttle bay. It only took a moment for Mike and Jenks to exit the scout car seeing a crewman motioning them over to a hatchway. Grabbing their bags, they quickly moved across the bay, hearing the scout car power up and turn around. Stadler gave Mike a quick salute as he powered up the thrusters and exited. Mike returned the salute and followed Jenks and the crewman into the interior of the giant ship.
CHAPTER FOUR:
The immigration officer at the Bristol spaceport looked at the next person in line, seeing a tall, sandy-haired, portly man in his late eighties wearing a formal business suit that almost looked like a uniform. Being the senior immigration officer, and lazy to boot, he’d placed himself in the end booth reserved for ‘Others’. One half of the line of armored glass booths was for returning citizens, the other for non-citizens. His booth at the end was reserved for ‘Others’ meaning diplomats, starship crews, government officials traveling on business, and for those passengers too stupid to know which line to get into in the first place. On any given day there were only a few of either, so with nothing to do he could sit back and watch his favorite porn vid. Behind the imposing old man, a wiry little fellow with a sullen expression on his face struggled along with two large bags. The man’s servant, or whatever he was, kept looking around either overawed by the grandeur of the arrival terminal or expecting someone to attack him at any moment to try and steal his bags. To officer Lenovo’s professional eye, here were a couple of colonial ‘others’ fresh off the farm of some backwater planet ripe for a fleecing. Probably some local big wig, full of his own importance, and his manservant. Being as tall as he was, the other man looked short by comparison, not that he was. Lenovo schooled his face into a scowl of disapproval before pressing a button under the counter.
“Next.” He yelled into the microphone, unnecessarily, as the “open/next” light began flashing on the bar over the entrance to his booth. The pair walked in, and timing it just right, he snapped the sliding steel-glass door shut behind them. The door closed with a loud “thud” yet neither batted an eye, which surprised him. Now they were isolated inside the armored glass booth should it become necessary to detain them for any reason.
“I.D chips!” Officer Lenovo growled, going for intimidating, grumpy immigration official. In answer the man sniffed and cocked an eyebrow at him before turning to look at the little fellow behind him.
“Well! Do you expect me to stand here all day while you stand there gawking like a damned tourist?” The bags hit the ground with a loud thud, and muttering to himself, the little man reached into a pocket inside his threadbare jacket and pulled out a small leather pouch with a memory stick inside.
He stood there a moment looking at the cluster of data input slots just below the counter. Officer Lenovo smirked and started tallying up how much he could squeeze these two for. They were probably ‘others’ and too dumb to know which slot to use. On the wall just below his counter was a row of painted squares contained a cluster of data input slots to accommodate the various ident chips. Each painted square had its classification above it in a number of languages. The Diplomatic square was blue, Government Officials an institutional green, the Crews bright red, and a horrible brown color for ‘Others’. After a quick look, the little man slipped the chip into the correct memory slot and gave Officer Lenovo a nasty look.
For a moment Officer Lenovo frowned for real as the two didn’t appear intimidated at all. He could still shake the old man down for a few credits calling them immigration fees or immigration tax. Even as intimidating as he looked this grumpy old fellow wouldn’t say anything even if he did find out he been gypped. He’d be too embarrassed about getting shaken down the moment he stepped off the boat so to speak. The split second it took to think those thoughts, and the I.D. chip to slip all the way into the memory port, was all the time Officer Lenovo would have to gloat before a warning light began to flash. His eye dropped to the screen embedded in the counter top. His face blanched and for a moment his finger moved towards the alarm button. Both men were armed with something very lethal and more than one s
omething if the sensor was to be believed. Then his eye flicked to the identification screen, and he snatched his hand back. The screen flashed an angry warning at him. All he saw was Avalon – Diplomat – Tregallion. That was sufficient for him and he quickly pressed the release button on the exit door without even thinking about asking for the second man’s ID. Mike’s ID stick was the equivalent to having an ambassador-level diplomatic passport. The official word was you didn’t try to shake down, or impede the progress, of diplomatic personnel, especially someone from Avalon. Doing so could be harmful to your personal and professional health.
“Told you he wouldn’t ask.” Mike muttered softly to Jenks as they walked out of the booth.
“What the hell did I stick into that ID slot, Skipper. That poor bugger back there almost pooped his pants!” Jenks thought the man’s expression funny even though he couldn’t see what was on the man’s screen. The fact that he hadn’t even asked about the weapons they carried was also odd.
“Oh, just an old I.D stick I happened to have on me,” He lied.
“Right, and my dear old dad was meshuga and a goy,” was Jenks retort.
“Oh, now I know where you got it from. Anyone who smuggles themselves aboard a warship, and re-ups after what you went through, has to be crazy… wait… What’s goy?” Mike asked as he queried his language chip looking down at his height-challenged friend, hearing Jenks chuckle.
“Well,” he smiled, “it’s Hebrew, or a Yiddish term if you like, for a non-Jewish person. Synonymous with ‘gentile’”
“So, you and I are both ‘goy’ and crazy?”
“Well, one of us is, that’s for sure,” he laughed. Then he looked up at Mike who had managed to avoid answering his question. “Crafty bugger,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, Skipper, just remarking that the sun was shining for a change.” They lined up with the rest of the passengers and waited their turn for the robo-cab.
“Destination, please?” The female computer voice asked, as they piled in.
“Free Traders Guild Hall. Direct route.” Mike answered.
