The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “The patrol ships will try to pinch us between flights, strip our shields, disable us, then board,” Teller said. “We need to push out of the gravity well before they come together. Ord, plot us a hot course out of the gravity well while we figure out where we’re going.” He turned toward Jessop and Raik. “We’ll be clear of the gravity well soon and our gens will have a Raker Effect field up as soon as we do. Where are we going?”

  “We should go to Vachsblad,” Ursula said. “Altairie should be made aware of the incident as soon as possible.”

  “That’s not a good idea. Not until we figure out what’s going on. In case you’ve forgotten, those were cops shooting at us on the station and planetary patrol craft on us right now. That’s planetary government gunning for us.”

  “Altairie can clear this up.”

  Jessop shook his head. “I think Skellum is right. Someone tipped or bought the authorities here for a reason. That was a botched ambush. You heard it. One of the police officers said so over their coms. They intended to kill all of us. ‘No witnesses,’ they said. Until we know what our status is, we need to find a safe haven and consider our position.”

  “I firmly believe Vachsblad is our best option.”

  Jessop shook his head. “Not until we can assess the situation. Somewhere neutral. The Confederation of Planets maybe?”

  Teller looked exasperated. “Of course the CP, but where? I know a spacer named Rael Farga that skippers the Tango Express. He knows some people, and if he’s of a mind, he might help, but we’d need to find out where he is.”

  Ho turned his head to the arguing trio. “Captain Skellum,” he said. Receiving no response, he tried again, but had no more success than the first time. Ord noticed though, and acknowledged him.

  Sensors showed the Lance continuing to pull away from their pursuers to the rear and those that approached from the moon, but the other pair of patrol craft closed on an intercept course from their left front quadrant. Ord knew it would be close.

  The ships that rounded the moon fired a quartet of AS-59 missiles. Ord placed the pair of point defense arrays on automatic defense, set to begin engagement at maximum range.

  The argument continued.

  “We would have the corporation’s backing.”

  “How do we know they will help us? Maybe they’re in trouble as well. Maybe they set us up.”

  “Why? That’s ridiculous.”

  As the argument raged, Ord leaned to the side and spoke with Ho as he plotted an escape. Eventually Ord concluded the disagreement was going to continue into the foreseeable future, and instead of intervening, he would try something else. He inputted a destination coordinate into the astrogation system, and within a minute, he had a heading. A small course correction placed them where they needed to be for transition into slipspace, even though it would angle them toward to the two pursuers trying for a missile shot. We’re cutting it close, but we always cut it close, Ord thought.

  . . .

  The S-21’s commander leaned forward in his command seat as he saw the change in course. “She’s just sealed her fate by moving toward us. Stand by anti-shield missiles and electromagnetics. We’ll fire when we have optimal position. We’ll strip her shields, emag her systems, and board. We need them alive. She’s never going to make slipspace. No time for the velocity or the field.”

  The helmsman scowled as he looked at the data on his screens, the exact same data the commander had available but wasn’t utilizing. “Sir, look at the numbers.”

  The commander didn’t care for the helmsman’s tone, but there was time to remedy that later. He brought up the helmsman’s current screen on his own panel. The commander realized the helmsman was right. “Faster than I thought.” He grew wide-eyed. “Raker Effect field forming? How is that possible?” He glanced at another screen. “Could that be an unmanned decoy?”

  Unseen, the helmsman rolled his eyes at the commander’s question. “I think it’s just a smoking hot ship with a get-me-somewhere-yesterday RE gen, lieutenant. Dogged fast and soon gone.”

  . . .

  The Lance’s Raker Effect generators indicated a state of full readiness, now it was simply a case of clearing the gravity well. Ord placed his huge thumb on the edge of the covered switch and watched the numbers. Now, he thought. He flipped up the cover and brought down the switch.

  . . .

  She jumped. A flash of green from the engines, then a blur of orange light that appeared to be a string of still frames strung out beyond seeing only to fade away in an instant.

  S-21’s helmsman glanced at the commander and smiled. “You know, sir, we get used to being the hot ship in this system, then we come across a crate like that wild thing. Keeps you humble. You see that, lieutenant? Nobody back at base will believe us when we tell them about this.”

  The commander’s face grew red with anger.

  The helmsman’s smile grew bigger as he saw the commander’s jaw tighten. “Pow, sir! Long gone. Like we were standing still.”

  Long gone for places unknown, Sergeant Florry thought from his seat aboard the S-21. Good fortune, whoever you are. You’ll need it.

  The commander gritted his teeth. “Course! Determine the course and see what systems they might be bound for.” He glanced away and grimaced. “Damnatio!” he cursed.

  . . .

  The argument on the Lance’s command deck stopped immediately. The yellow-orange shimmer through the view panels made it clear they were in slipspace. Teller turned to his first mate with a shocked and angry look on his face. “Where are we going?”

  “Harab.”

  “Why?”

  “Starters? It’s not where we were. Is still in Corporate Space, but is last location Farga was.”

  Teller’s expression softened as he shook his head. “I can’t argue with your decision. How do you know it was Rael’s last known?”

  “Ho.”

  Teller looked at the Mech. “How recent is your info?”

  “As I told First Mate Hawmer, it was the last received update at Vachsblad prior to our departure and was still the most recent at our last stop, Captain Skellum.”

  “Why didn’t you pipe up?”

  “I did, Captain Skellum, but only First Mate Hawmer acknowledged me.”

  Teller stared at the Mech for a few seconds. “Well, if you’re going to prove yourself useful, maybe we’ll have to start paying attention to you. Drop the Captain Skellum and First Mate Hawmer flopp.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  He gave Ho a hard look. “Let me guess, you’re programmed to be a comedian. How long to Harab, Ord?”

  “Six hours, a bit less.”

  . . . . .

  . . . . .

  4

  Friends in Low Places

  . . . . .

  Excerpt from, Cap’n Cosmos’ Guide to it All, the Interstellar Guide for Endeavoring Spacers.

  Cap’n, how does artificial gravity work?

  -Masahiro Krupp

  Excellent question, Mas. The answer: Not very well, because there is no such thing as artificial gravity. Either you got it or you don’t. Artificial gravity would be like synthetic food or my first wife’s fake… well you get the point. No matter how you get there, beingmade or natural, gravity is gravity just like synth and natural are both food and my first wife’s... were… well, you get the point. The gravity generated in a spaceship or station is as real as that we have groundside and when done right, it’s hard to tell the difference.

  The counter inertia system(CIS) and repulsor/inertial compensators(RIC) that protects people aboard spaceships from heavy or sudden G loads is also used to generate a G force commensurate to that which is natural or comfortable to those aboard. Without it, and with long-term exposure to a low-G or no-G environment, a being can end up suffering from a malady called Low-G Distension Syndrome. Go a few generations with the malady and you get Low-G Adaptive Humans. Let the Cap’n tell you, those are some strange folks, and it’s not just how they loo
k either. They can sure fix a grand cup of caffeie, though.

  The works within the CIS and RIC(CIS-RIC) is complex, and I would quote a technical manual if I could find it in the giant mess that is my office, but I can’t. Trust the Cap’n on this, you wouldn’t want to read it any more than I would like to quote it. Thankfully neither one of us must endure that.

  Unless you are interested in becoming an inertia systems tech(don’t, they are the most boring and humorless people you’ll ever meet), it’s something you can take for granted, which will allow you to focus on other things like celebrity gossip, sports, and vidcasts of kittens, puppies, triddles, and stupid beings doing stupid things. The Cap’n’s advice? Ignore inertia widgets, celebs, and sports. Pet the puppies and kittens, leave the triddles groundside, keep your sidearm serviceable, and stay away from stupid beings. Watch them do stupid things from a safe distance and laugh at them. Mocking the dumb beings and the stupid things they do is a way to bolster your own self-esteem and help others to see the error of their ways, and that, Endeavoring Spacers, is time well spent.

  . . .

  Harab was a drab desert planet known for two things: it’s drabness; and its location. Considered by many to be the perfect distance off the proverbial beaten space lane for grey area dealings and drab enough to warrant little attention from Syndic authorities, those two features made Harab a viable world, if only because a certain small percentage of the galaxy’s denizens found it desirable to live upon or visit.

  The landing field at Loc Saun Spacefield was simple: a flat sandy area once sprayed with a solidifying agent and marked with sensor reflective appliqués for landing vessels to use as a reference point on descent. Blowing sand covered the pad within days of its construction, and only occasionally were the eroded dark reference points visible. It mattered little to those that might visit. Spacers going dirtside simply found a spot they deemed large enough for their ship and put it down. The hulks of bent and stripped vessels alongside piles of broken parts that littered the edges of the field were largely there because of bad judgment and poor piloting skills.

  This was not ARC Lance’s first call to Loc Saun, and Tell knew that one of the best ways to avoid incident was to set down near the hulks, the decaying ships seemingly acting as a repellant to those of marginal skill.

  Once down, the small band aboard the Lance gathered in the common room.

  “Are you sure you want to go with us?” Tell said to Ursula.

  She nodded. “Yes, as I’ve answered the two prior times you’ve asked the question.”

  “It’s a rough place, Loc Saun.”

  “Worse than Maelstrom?”

  “Some parts are, yes. Much worse. Most of it is comparable, but there’s… more of it.”

  “I’m going.”

  Teller shrugged in resignation and looked at Jessop. “You staying with us, Ned?”

  “Until I know for certain there isn’t a warrant hanging over me, yes. If I need to run, I want to be on a fast ship.”

  Tell pointed at the Mech. “What about you?”

  “My instructions were to stay aboard once the cases were delivered and follow the instructions of Altairie Corporation employees, Captain.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I will follow my instructions, Captain.”

  “Limik and Nix are dead.”

  “I am aware of that, Captain. You, Ord, Mister Jessop, and Miz Raik are not.”

  “I doubt we can be considered employees.”

  “Until I can confirm otherwise, I’ll continue my tasks, Captain.”

  “And if some other Altairie employee comes along and gives you new instructions, what do you do?”

  “I am unable to answer that inquiry, Captain.”

  Tell glared at the Mech. “Why is Ord, Ord, and I’m Captain?”

  “Ord requested I address him as such.”

  “That so? Could you do me a favor then, Mech? Stop addressing me with Captain every smoking sentence. You can call me Teller, Tell, Skellum, Captain, or whatever else you want, but not every, single, time.”

  “That is within my capacity.” Ho turned his head to look at Ned and Ursula. “Would Miz Raik and Mister Jessop prefer this as well?”

  They both nodded.

  “As Altairie employees, if we were to issue you instructions releasing you from Altairie service,” asked Jessop, “would that negate any future directives from them?”

  “My directive originates from the company that leased me for service. Ultimately, it is their instructions I am supposed to follow. That said, directives can be modified or interpreted in many ways.”

  “Supposed to follow?” Jessop asked with a smile. “I suspect you are far more autonomous than your company knows. More than you let on I am certain. Decrypting police bands light up any indicators?”

  “The inhibitor plug placed in my central processor limits my autonomy.”

  Jessop canted his head. “The question is, how far?”

  “I doubt any Altairie execs or anyone else is going to test the theory here on Harab,” Teller said. “Let’s see if we can find Farga.”

  “Should I accompany you?” Ho said.

  “No. Stay aboard and watch things.”

  “You wish me to stay aboard? Alone?”

  “Yes, and watch things, unless you think you’ll get lonely.”

  “That’s the extent of your directive?”

  “Yes.”

  “If something occurs I should simply observe it?”

  Teller rolled his eyes and sighed. “Report anything that threatens the security and well-being of the ship. Repel all unauthorized boarders, lethal force authorized. How’s that?”

  “I may not be able to fully comply with your directive.”

  “I know. Do the best you can.” Teller turned and walked to the hatch. “Put some of that autonomy to use,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room.

  . . .

  Teller ejected the magazine from his weapon—a Basvor Arms heavy hand blaster—to ensure it was fully loaded, and finding it to his satisfaction, locked it into the magazine well located just in front of the trigger guard. He slid the weapon into the holster on his hip and secured the retaining strap.

  Ursula kept Nix’s blaster she’d used on Commerce Station, Limik’s was now carried by Jessop. There was spare standard blaster ammunition and spare magazines in the secops baggage left aboard.

  Ord carried a weapon that befitted his size, a Reboon D91 Repeller. Built to equip the DeLaros Ogres, a mercenary bodyguard unit long serving a planetary duchy within the Protectorate and renowned for their fierceness in battle, the D91 was an important reason they garnered such notoriety.

  Rarely seen, and for good reason, only the largest and strongest of beings might operate the Repeller without harm. An over-under system, the top was a heavy assault blaster, not a commonly carried weapon, but not a true rarity either. Underneath the blaster was where mystique came into play. There hung the Doomcaster, a large bore projectile launcher capable of utilizing a wide range of warheads, but the only launcher that could fire the legendary phlogizein grenade, a device spoken of by many, it’s effects speculated upon widely, but actually seen by few.

  “Do we really need weapons?” Ursula said as she placed the snub blaster in her satchel.

  “Need arises when it will,” Ord said. “Hard to see when.”

  Ursula nodded. “Better to have and not need. You’re right. I’m not trained to use such instruments.”

  “If the need arises, we’ll work on it,” Teller said. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. Short term, let them get close before you open fire.”

  . . .

  The quartet walked across the landing pad toward the settlement of Loc Saun, a large mash-up of low service buildings and business structures surrounded by irregular and winding streets that ran between ramshackle domiciles, all made from blocks formed from sand and the same solidifying agent used on the field. It was a still and sunny mi
dmorning of moderate temperature, but there had been recent early winter sandstorms as evidenced by the small drifts that crossed the area like waves on water caught in a freeze-frame.

  Several dozen ships sat on the landing pad, ranging in size from a small interstellar runabout to a mid-sized tramp freighter that used thruster power in lieu of repulsors to set down, craters under the vertically oriented engines a testament to that.

  “How’s the laser wound?” Teller asked.

  “It is nothing,” Ord replied.” Placed medpac on it.” He pointed ahead. “Where do we start?”

  “Cherook’s,” Teller said with some distaste.

  “Foul place.”

  “Yes. Rael’s favorite place on Harab. If Nurnbeck still works there, we might be able to keep things quiet if anyone tails us here. Wish we could’ve set a course for somewhere else and dropped out short before coming here to keep people off our twelve.”

  “There was no time.”

  “Never said there was, pal.” Tell gestured at Ned and Ursula. “We’d still be arguing over where we ought to go if you hadn’t been on top of things.”

  “What is our twelve?” Ursula said referencing Tell’s comment.

  He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “Directly behind us.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s military lingo,” Jessop said. “As you know, a galactic standard day is twenty-four hours long. On a Galactic Standard clock, twelve is at the bottom on a rotary-style display. Imagine a ship or tank superimposed over the face of the display with the nose of the vehicle at the top where the end-start point is. The other end of the vehicle is at twelve.”

  “I see. If we are being followed, they’ll send someone here then?”

  Teller shrugged. “Depends on how bad they want us. As soon as we know that, we’ll know if we still have pursuit. Word about us won’t reach here for awhile.”

  “Get info. Get gone,” Ord said.

  “That’s right, and before anyone looking for us gets here.”