The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  Ord’s tale was different of course. Born and raised on the hot and arid high gravity world of Gizzen, he had longed to see somewhere different his entire life. “Anywhere but here sounds fine,” he often said—a fool’s dream for someone who spent half his days underground in the ore mines that made up most of the employment opportunities on Gizzen. While most of his fellows that worked the mines spent their meager pay as soon as they earned it, Ord saved every bit he could. Years passed, but when he had saved enough funds, he bought passage off-planet. When queried where he wished to go, he said—in his limited Syndicate Standard vocabulary—that he wanted somewhere that had plentiful water at the limit of where his funds would take him, because he wished to get as far from Gizzen as he could. Maelstrom seemed to be perfect, it was of course wet, and it was as far as Ord’s money could carry him. A fool’s dream indeed, but I’ll be a fool somewhere other than Gizzen, he thought. Barely speaking Syndicate Standard Speech—the lingua franca in Human space—and with no skills but mining by hand, there was little in the way of job opportunity for him at this new place. He hated the bouncer job, but at least there was no blowing sand or swinging a pick. No cave-ins or crew bosses either. He bided his time, and when opportunity knocked, he ripped the door off and grabbed on with both enormous hands. He had never once regretted the decision.

  Ten years later, the pair was barely making-do. Still fighting to keep the Lance functioning using ingenuity, tweaking, and the occasional minor miracle to get by one more tenday, or sometimes even just make it into tomorrow. They’d come close to going under more times than they cared to remember, but the important thing was, they were making-do.

  They found themselves where it more or less started, on Maelstrom, meeting someone who supposedly could use their ship and their skills. Their contact was late.

  Teller held up a single finger. “I say we give this Raik person one more minute. One chrono unit, that’s it.”

  “We have no job but this.”

  “I know, but every time I say that, the person shows.”

  “Not every time.”

  “Okay, maybe not every single time. I’m not saying it’s a law, but it happens enough I’d wager on it.”

  “You don’t wager.”

  “Figure of speech. For the record, I’ve been known to place a bet, but since I acquired the Lance, the creds have gone into her. Over ten years and it hasn’t paid off.”

  “Not busted you either.” Ord pointed at the entrance. A woman stood in the doorway surveying the barroom. “Contact?”

  Teller smiled when he saw the shape of her silhouette. “What’d I tell you. Less than one unit. It worked again. That’s our contact, gotta be.”

  “You think in wishes.”

  The woman stepped inside and looked over the barroom.

  “Maybe, Ord, but a woman that looks that good with nothing but backlight… even if she’s not our contact, I’d call it a good day Besides, someone dressed like that would have no other reason to walk into a joint like this.”

  He stood and the woman noticed. After a quick glance at a data pad, she walked to their table at the side of the barroom with many eyes following her along the way. She was tall for a standard bred Human female. Her dark and stylishly cut hair, her expensive business attire, and manner, said class of the sort rarely found operating on a planet like Maelstrom. Teller was struck by her violet eyes. He doubted she came by them honestly, but they were something in any case.

  “Are you Captain Skellum?” she asked in a clear, even voice.

  Teller gave her his most winning smile. “Why yes, yes I am. May I assist you in some way?”

  “We have a scheduled meeting, Captain.” Her tone was all business. “I represent a party interested in contracting your services. I am Ursula Raik.”

  “You’re late, but that’s okay.” He gestured toward his partner. “My associate, Ord Hawmer.”

  Her eyes flickered for a moment as she looked at the giant. Surprise or shock at his size was not an uncommon reaction.

  “Madam,” Ord said, prompting Teller to roll his eyes.

  She smiled. “Ah, to discover genteel behavior in such a place. A pleasure, sir.”

  Teller rolled his head back at glared at the ceiling, then at his friend. He pointed at the vacant chair nearest Raik. “Have a seat.”

  She did. “It is my understanding you have experience in the rapid transportation of goods.”

  “We certainly do. Acme Rapid Carrier at your service. We have the fastest ship you’re likely to find in this region of space or any other. That’s not just in realspace, but how quickly we can get into slipspace. We have experience. Nearly a decade in the biz.”

  “But not much of a profile in the field. No large assets either.”

  Her comment stung Teller, even if it was the truth. He didn’t let it faze him. “Been digging into our history and financials. Good, then you’ll also know we don’t waste profit by spending it on frivolities. No, we reinvest it into the company. A capable ship is costly.”

  “No doubt, Captain. I did not intend my comment as an insult or attack. I was merely pointing out that you are not well known or notorious. For our purposes, that discretion is strongly in your favor.”

  “We’re discreet all right. What’s the cargo, and where does it go?”

  “Data is the cargo, so to speak. I do not yet know where delivery will occur.”

  “Data? You need a vessel the size of ARC Lance to haul electrons? Not knowing the location makes it a little difficult to discuss price.”

  “I am sure it does. I don’t know the physical dimensions of the data storage, but after looking at smaller ships for the job, I was advised something in the light freighter class would better serve our purposes. There will be a few passengers travelling with the data as well. Before we get into the particulars, I would like to have an engineer look at your ship.”

  “She’s tip-top.”

  “I’m sure, Captain, but I need a professional evaluation before I can commit to any arrangement.”

  Teller grimaced and looked at Ord. “What do you think?”

  He grunted and nodded.

  Teller nodded as well. “All right, but we stay with your engineer.”

  “I am sure he won’t mind. When do you wish to schedule the inspection?”

  “No time like the present.”

  . . .

  The ARC Lance sat in a line of several similar sized vessels in one of Maelstrom’s weather-proof landing bays, but size was about the only thing the Lance had in common with the others.

  Most starships capable of atmospheric flight relied on thruster lift, maglev, repulsion field, deployable airfoils, repellant devices, or some combination or variant of the five to maneuver and land planetside. Lance used thrusters and rep field to hover, set down, and lift off, but for actual flight within an atmosphere, her lifting body hull and winglets provided ample lift and maneuverability when under thrust. Compared to most starships of similar size, the Lance was amazingly nimble down in the gas of a planetary atmosphere.

  ARC Lance began life as a strike sloop of the L3800 Lancer class series, sliding into the black from one of the Cupric Shipworks stations more than four decades before Teller acquired her. The two men responsible for restoring her to flight didn’t know that until after they had named her. Their choice of moniker seemed even more fitting when they learned of it. She’d seen war and survived. Mothballed and then sold for cheap as surplus some time later, then converted into a light freighter before abandonment and falling into disrepair after a rough landing on Maelstrom, ARC Lance had seen and suffered much in her time. Because of the challenging conditions and low salvage value, she’d sat for years instead of being sent to a breaker yard. While she rotted away, her registration passed from party to party until one fateful day when a gullible ex-fighter pilot took possession in lieu of a considerable amount of credits owed him.

  The Lancer class strike sloops were versatile, tough, and capable.
Well known for their widespread use in the Prausian Insurrection, they earned quite a name for themselves during that planet’s attempt to separate themselves from the Protectorate. The revolutionary government of Prause bought them in huge numbers, utilizing them in a bewilderingly wide range of roles. They tangled with everything from fighters to frigates, and in one memorable battle, a handful of Lancers actually took down a Protectorate cruiser. Used to land assault troops and armored vehicles groundside and seize merchant vessels in space via boarding parties, there was little they did not do.

  Despite a valiant attempt at freedom, Prause’s effort failed, the surviving Lancers from that conflict stored and sold off, some to fight again elsewhere, others to take on new roles. Scattered throughout the galaxy, those left continued to serve ably.

  . . .

  The engineer met them at the entrance to the protected landing bay. Ursula introduced the man as Ned Jessop. Teller guessed him to be near seventy standard years of age, right in the midst of middle-aged for a standard bred Human. Greying, but still quite fit, he had a weary air about him. His eyes conveyed an active past, one that meant he was not to be taken lightly.

  Teller opened the door to the landing bay and led them to the ship. “There she is, the ARC Lance.”

  Ned smiled knowingly at the name as he scanned the mottled dark grey hull, but said nothing as Teller opened a security panel on the side of the ship and performed an access procedure, a combination of palm scan and security code.

  Servos hummed and the rear cargo ramp lowered as the sloping surface of the upper empennage section retracted upward. Before the ramp touched the landing bay floor, Jessop stepped up and walked into the cargo hold like an old hand, looking over the deck and tackle used to secure loads. Teller followed. The old man knows his way around ships, he thought.

  Jessop grasped the nearest of four columnar supports that ran down the middle of the cargo hold. “You keep these in all the time?”

  Teller nodded. “Unless we’re hauling something more than five Carperan meters wide.”

  “Mind popping the primary panels?” Jessop said using the spacer short phrase meaning the primary maintenance access panels.

  “Sure. It’ll take just a few units.”

  Teller began throwing latch levers and sliding open panels on the port side of the cargo bay, soon joined by Ord doing the same on the opposite side. Before long, the panels were open. Jessop’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the visible guts of the ship. He turned and walked to the rearmost panel on the port side. Drawing a large, rolled data pad from a pocket, he snapped it open and locked it rigid, then began taking notes. He went from panel to panel, occasionally asking questions of Teller. Once he reached the foremost panel, he crossed the cargo bay in eleven long strides and repeated the process, going panel to panel, fore to aft, until he reached the last.

  He wrote on the data pad for a couple of minutes, then looked at Teller. “Command deck, Captain?”

  Teller waved an arm. “Follow me.”

  Once there, Jessop had Teller light up the forward control panels. He smiled when he saw the oversized co-pilot’s seat normally occupied by Ord. After a few minutes of looking at gauge readings and taking notes, Jessop said, “That’ll do it in here. Let’s look outside.”

  They left the command deck, walked through a passageway that led to the cargo hold, and went down the rear cargo ramp to where Ursula stood waiting patiently.

  Jessop went to the nose section and walked from side to side, then under. He looked over the fore strut and its disc-shaped foot that protruded from the curving underside, marring the clean lines of the Lance until retracted once in flight. He repeated the process with the skids that supported the aft section of the Lance.

  He walked forward to the starboard side of the ship and stopped at an oval panel low on the side, then walked toward the rear of the ship to a slightly flared bulge low on the side above the skid. He put his ear to the hull and knocked with his knuckles. “This still has a longitudinal coil gun installed?”

  Teller smiled. “That’s right. Before you ask, yes, it’s functional. It was deactivated, but we restored it. The ammunition capacity is far less than she originally carried, but we’re not looking to go to war.”

  Jessop nodded, but said nothing. He walked backwards several steps and looked at the swept vertical fin above and behind the cargo bay entrance. An orange sphere sat atop the flat portion of the aerodynamic device. He pointed at it. “How capable is your point defense array?”

  Ord laughed softly while Teller answered. “Capable enough. Multi-spectrum, multi-target defense with an offensive capability as well. It can split the power into multiple beams or one heavier beam. Another one sits retracted in a well underneath.”

  Again, Jessop said nothing. He walked forward once more, then back, studying the shield emitters that lay flush in the hull. “Those fives?”

  Teller’s eyebrows went up. “You know your stuff, old man. Yes, they’re fives off of a belter mining station. A drunken generator tech got his readings mixed up and cracked the place into pieces. Long story short, we pulled these off the executive extension floating around in space. Ord there somehow shoehorned them in under the skin. Looks like a factory build.”

  Jessop nodded and pointed at the engine nacelles hanging off the high winglets at the midpoint of the ship. “You obviously don’t have the original spec Dynadrives she launched with, but do you have enough oomph to utilize all the whizz you’ve piled on the old girl? That’s gotta be a fair draw on power.”

  Ord laughed again while Teller nodded and smiled. “We make do.”

  “Looks like you’ve done some modifications to the winglets.”

  “That’s right,” Teller said with a nod. “The engines weigh more than the originals and provide more thrust, so we added to the existing frame and spar system with a honeycomb structure and truss. They were strong before, they’re even more so now. The winglets produce a little more lift at the cost of some drag, but it pretty much evens out in the end.”

  Jessop’s eyebrows twitched, but betrayed little else. “I’d like to see that modification sometime.” Jessop walked underneath the winglet that swept over the outboard side of the engine housing to look at the back of one of the two engines. The original engines sat in cylindrical housings, but the Lance had large and long elliptical housings from which protruded rectangular thrust emitters. Despite his knowledge and experience with starships, Jessop could not identify the engines. “I’m stumped. What do we have here?”

  Teller’s smile only grew bigger. “Flytethrust Liftstars. Pulled them from a lift platform that went under during a big blow right here on Maelstrom. Near killed us, but we got there first and claimed it as salvage. The platform had eight engines and it took them all to create a pair that worked correctly. You don’t usually see them installed horizontally or pushing a ship.”

  Jessop shook his head. Whether it was amazement, shock, disgust, or some combination was anyone’s guess. He jotted a few notes. “Let me go speak with Miz Raik.” He walked to the ramp and the two of them moved near the entrance of the landing bay.

  “We get the job you think?” Ord asked as he and Teller watched the pair.

  “I don’t know, pal. The old guy is hard to read. Knows his way around a ship, that’s for sure. The question is, does all our gear scare him?”

  “Ord shut panels in cargo bay.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  . . .

  “There is almost nothing stock on the vessel but the basic hull,” Jessop said as he and Mz. Raik watched the two spacers walk aboard the Lance. “Half the components are outsized. Their Raker Effect generator is a common and proven model, but I’d have to look inside to see if there were any modifications, but that’s not a necessity. I’ll have to look up the specs on the engines, but I’ll guarantee you they are far more potent than those that originally equipped her. A solid RE gen and decent power means she can get into slipspace quickly. Much
of the gear on her is cobbled together or repurposed. Some of it is brilliant engineering, while other parts are… unconventional. It goes far beyond the usual indie rig. One or both of those spacers has some real talent or they hired an ace. Her shields and anti-missile defenses are far beyond our requirements. I suspect she’s considered illegal in more than one system because of so much non-standard tech. I am positive there’s a smuggler’s hold somewhere aboard, but I’ll be dogged if I know where.”

  “They’re smugglers?”

  Jessop laughed. “Indie freighters have to make a credit however they can. If that thing is as swift as I suspect, these guys do it often, at least I would if I were young and had that ship.”

  “Is that a problem? We need a fast vessel.”

  “Depends on what they smuggle, but I wouldn’t worry. They wouldn’t be taking on your offer if they were too nefarious and if they were they’d likely have enough credits that they wouldn’t need to. Nether of them come off as that sort. That means they’re mostly honest and that’s about as good as you’ll find. I have no doubt she’s fast. Part of me wonders how the two crewmen avoided killing themselves somewhere along the way though.”

  “Spacer’s luck?”

  “Were it just that, I would recommend we find another ship. I suspect it is something else.”

  “What of the crew? Are they competent?”

  “Nothing on their record shows anything to be concerned about. Skellum is what you’d expect, cocky, mouthy, plus he’s an ex-fighter jock, so turn the volume up for that. Hawmer is an unknown, but if what Skellum said is true, he’s a knockabout all right.”

  “So we go with this vessel?”

  “Against my better judgment, yes. She’s larger than you need for your task, but that’s better than too small. She has sleeping arrangements, latrine, a fully provisioned galley. My gut says this is our best bet. Certainly better than anything we’ve looked at previously.”

  “Bets and gut feelings from an engineer?”