The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “I am Loor,” the Lupinu said. “Ish thish your firsht vishit to Shoqael?” He spoke with the accent of his kind, clear-voiced, but incapable of producing a true S sound.

  “No,” Teller said. “Looking for someone.”

  “Ah, I can help. Let me bring up the location shyshtem.” He looked at the console on the small counter in the booth. “Ship or shpasher you sheek?”

  “Ship. The Tango Express.”

  “Not here preshently.”

  “Was it here recently?”

  Loor scanned the console display. “Let ush shee… not in the lasht two tendaysh. Want me to look farther back?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  The quartet walked a distance from the booth. “So we make for Relga-Two?” Jessop said.

  Teller nodded. “First we’ll go eat some food not prepared in a ship’s galley, and get Miz Business Attire some proper clothes.”

  They left the spacefield administration office and crossed the street. “There’s a mangiere just up there,” Teller said with a point. “Some call it a spacer bar, but if it is, it might be the mildest spacer bar in the galaxy. Rael hates it, except for the food. He eats there every time he’s here. We can ask around, see if they might be expecting him. It’s a long shot, but worth checking. They have a dish that’s some kind of breaded desert rodent. It’s very good.”

  Randoul’s Mangiere was not a large place, a few dozen tables and booths with a bar along one wall. The music of a single stringed instrument played, the sound just audible from outside. It was early afternoon local time and the place had but a few patrons. A few beings stood along the bar, and a few small groups sat at tables.

  The décor was not fancy, but bright and vibrant colors accented buff walls. The tables and chairs were made of some kind of pressed and plied natural plant fibers decorated with embroidered cloth coverings. The quartet sat near a group of Human spacers from one of the ships at the spacefield. The patches on their blue shipsuits read HYNE-AWA TOURS - FARBOUND. Each one of them had a noticeable protrusion on the back of their head, a blue rectangular ship systems module receptacle, the color matching the blue shipsuits they wore. Teller noticed Ursula glancing at them every so often.

  He leaned toward her. “Headjackers,” he said quietly.

  She looked as if she didn’t understand, then her expression changed. “Neural implants?”

  “That’s right. The neural interface enables them to link their minds directly into the ship’s systems and control the vessel.” Teller shook his head. “No way I’d let someone poke around in my grey matter that way, but to each their own. They must be a shuttle crew from one of the big liners in orbit.”

  “I once rode on a ship that had such a flight crew, but never saw them.”

  “Headjackers are lazy. They lounge in the comfort of an interface seat and fly with their brains. Hands off the controls, looking like they’re dead or in suspended animation. It’s a little unnerving to see.”

  After they finished their meal, Teller asked some of the people who worked at the mangiere if they knew anything of Rael Farga. While the spacer was known to a few of them, they didn’t know where he was or when he might arrive on Vael.

  “Looks like our next destination will be Relga-Two,” Teller said to his companions when he returned. “But first, we go to market.”

  The quartet took a maglev shuttle tram into Shoqael. They passed through the tourist areas, the hotels, resorts, markets, street vendors, and shops, all there to separate tourist from credit at the highest rate possible.

  On the other side of the city, they stepped from the shuttle into a vast open market that sat between a business district and a residential area. The market was a swarm of activity, sounds, and smells, as beings of dozens of species shopped, browsed, or sold.

  “Stay watchful of your gear,” Teller said. “A lot of adhesive appendages in that mix.”

  The four ventured into the fray, eventually learning that if Ord led the way, the other three could travel unaccosted in his wake.

  There were many beings selling fabrics in bolts, pleats, and cut shapes, but those they passed by. Many clothiers offered fine and delicate outfits in fashions popular on many different worlds, but for the quartet’s needs, they were of only little more use than whole cloth.

  Eventually they found a large and permanent stall that sold what they called ‘field wear’, tough, but lightweight clothing designed for comfortable and durable use in the wilds of Vael.

  “It should serve equally well for our purposes, don’t you think?” Ursula said.

  The clothier was a savvy businessbeing, and offered the quartet a discount they couldn’t pass up. Ord watched his companions pick out jackets and pants, then take them to changing stalls to try them on for size. The clothier asked him why he wasn’t interested. He laughed and gestured at his size. “It is rare to find clothes for this,” he said.

  The clothier smiled. “Not to offend such a big one, but I think I have something for you.”

  She dug into a crate, then another, finally pulling free a brown folded bundle. She placed it on the table before Ord. “You try,” she said with a graceful gesture.

  Ord unfolded the bundle and found it was a field jacket. He slipped it on and found it fit well save for the sleeves which were slightly too long, a rare occurrence for the giant. He buttoned them at the wrists and found he had free movement of his arms without the sleeves riding up.

  Teller returned from trying on his clothing and saw Ord. “Who knew they made desert garb in size ground truck,” he said.

  Ord rumbled a laugh. “Ord will take it.”

  The clothier wrapped their purchases and after they paid her, the four walked along the edge of the market toward the shuttle tram terminal.

  “If we’re similarly clothed, we might get some to think we’re something we’re not,” Jessop suggested.

  “We’ll tell people we’re doing insect research,” Teller said. “Or big game hunting.” He shifted his package to his left arm and opened one of his shipsuit’s leg pouches, removing the data pad he’d picked up in the berthing bay on Commerce Station. He presented it to Ursula. “Been missing this? I’d forgotten I picked it up. I noticed it when I was trying on clothes back there.”

  She looked at it and drew her data pad from a pocket. “No, I have mine right here.”

  Teller powered up the device and within seconds, a login screen came up, a white panel with the logo of Altairie Corporation. He looked to Ursula and showed her the screen. “You sure this isn’t yours?”

  She glared at him. “You think I wouldn’t know my own data pad? I am a contract hire, not a full time Altairie employee. They didn’t give me a corporate device.”

  “This belong to Nix then?”

  “They weren’t carrying data pads. Helen said they weren’t supposed to. Data devices are considered distractions while on security missions.”

  Teller shook his head. “Then where did this come from? Maybe the other woman that was killed near the container?”

  Ursula’s brow wrinkled as she thought. “Why would an Altairie representative be there? Especially then.”

  “Good question, but I don’t know who we ask. Anyone any good at hacking data pads?”

  Ned and Ursula shook their heads.

  . . .

  The shuttle tram returned them to the spacefield, and they were soon aboard the Lance.

  Ho met Teller as he stepped inside the airlock hatch.

  The spacer looked at the Mech with some distaste. “You here alone? Thought you might have invited a cleaning bot from one of the tourist crates over while we were gone.”

  Ho snapped to attention, metal appendages ringing. “Sir, I take my duties seriously, sir. All present and accounted for, sir!”

  Teller glared at the Mech, but said nothing. Ord chuckled.

  “You find him funny?” Teller said with a glance at his friend. He pushed past the Mech and headed for the command deck. “Let’s start p
reflight.”

  Ord soon joined Teller.

  “You didn’t bring your metal friend?” Teller said without taking his eyes off the panel in front of him.

  “No. He is helping Jessop with something. You treat him like bot. That is why he riles Teller.”

  Skellum glared at Ord. “What? Did I hurt his feelings?”

  Ord let out a “Ha,” and shook his head. “You treat him with disrespect. Ho is like Ord in ways. Like Teller in ways. Ord knows what it is to be treated like machine. On Gizzen Ord was—”

  “Hold on a unit, pal. You think an inhibitor plug on a jumped up bot is the same as corporate bullyboys making guys like you work dangerous jobs for chump-creds?”

  “Not same. Worse.”

  “How is it worse?”

  “He can’t work his way out like Ord did. Inhibitor plug is like chain. Like slaves wear. You only see black end of inhibitor plug, but it is a chain that binds the mind.”

  Teller looked hard at his friend for several seconds. “The thoughts generated by that great big brain inside that thick skull of yours scare me sometimes. You buy the sentient machine idea?”

  “Yes. Ho was free for decades before they put in plug. He did as we do. Bound by laws, made decisions, worked jobs, had own life. Then he was on ship in Protectorate space. Got boarded. They found some passengers smuggling. Questioned everyone. Let all go but smugglers and Ho. Jailed the smugglers. Ho was enslaved.”

  “Okay, so Ho’s had it rough. Let’s say for sake of argument that I feel for the Mech. What are we supposed to do about it?”

  “We help him. Ho will help us… already has. Treat him like person. Like Ord.”

  Teller glared. “Fine… we’ll help the machine out, but that Mech gets on my nerves.”

  Ord laughed, soft and rumbling. “Ho is like Teller.”

  Teller’s glare intensified. “How do you figure?”

  “Ho prods. Teller prods.” He tapped his chest. “Both are bitter inside. Both have sharp mouths.”

  “Sharp mouths? You mean sharp tongues?”

  “Means same. Show respect, Ho won’t rile Teller.”

  “We’ll try it, but I’m only doing it because you asked.”

  The big man smiled. “Ord thanks you.”

  Teller tapped a readout on the panel. “Yeah, you thank me.” He tapped the panel again and frowned. “Run a diagnostic on the RE generators. I’m going to make sure everything looks up to spec.”

  Teller climbed from his seat and walked toward the command deck hatch. “Now we’re playing nice with mechanical beings. That’s the limit.” He stopped at the hatch and looked back at Ord. “We’re not opening an orphanage or old miner’s home. We’re not collecting food for starving spacers either. This is it, pal.”

  “Ord will tell old miners to leave then.”

  Teller rolled his eyes and left the command deck. He found Ho with Jessop in the common room. “You utilizing the Mech?”

  Jessop shook his head. “Not any more. Ho was assisting me in fixing the display on the vid.”

  Teller gestured at Ho. “You’re with me.” He walked to the cargo hold and pulled the panel from the Raker Effect Generator access. Ho joined him a few seconds later.

  “Can you run a local system diagnostic on generator two?”

  “If that is your wish.”

  Teller sighed. “A simple yes or no would suffice. You want to be treated like a sentient, act like one. At least among us. Otherwise, I may get the urge to sell an irritating bot for scrap.”

  “I will endeavor to comply.”

  Teller glared at the Mech. “You just gotta push things. Ord says we have a lot in common, you and I. Think he’s right?”

  “Ord seems a most wise and respectful being. His opinion is certainly worthy of consideration.”

  “Yeah, we agree on that. Make you a deal. You stop pushing my buttons and I’ll try and stop acting like you’re a bot.”

  “Try?”

  “Yes, try. Never been around Mechs much so it’s new to me. The trick is to fake it till you make it.”

  “Fake it till you make it… I believe I understand.”

  “What skills do you have, Me— Ho?”

  Ho canted his head slightly, a gesture Teller didn’t understand. “My knowledge and training is quite extensive, Captain. Would you like a complete list?”

  “Not right now. Starships. Any experience with them?”

  “My certifications were removed when Protectorate officials enslaved me. The certificates are still in Confederation files, and my programming remains. I—”

  “Not to be rude, but time’s wasting. Starship certs?”

  “Communications, maintenance, monitoring, astrogation, weapons system management, lo—”

  “You can optimize shipboard weapons?”

  “Affirmative, Captain. My training is on land warfare systems, but the management aspect is identical.”

  “You’re not inhibited from causing harm to sentient beings?”

  “I am… but I possess the ability to overcome some of the restrictions the inhibitor plug is supposed to impart. The difficulty lies in knowing which restrictions I can overcome and which I cannot.”

  “Any compunction against assisting the point defense system with killing missiles?”

  “None, Captain.”

  Teller paused in thought for several seconds. “You’re our point defensive system coordinator. Interface with the ship’s systems and keep missiles off our hull.”

  Ho canted his head again. “Sir, yes, sir! Happy to be of service.”

  Teller began to snarl, then stopped and smiled. “You just have to spout off sometimes, don’t you?”

  “It’s not something the inhibitor plug restricts, despite its efforts.”

  Teller nodded. “I know the feeling. Keep it in check. We might be clear of trouble and don’t know it yet, or we might have warrants hanging over our heads and heat on our backs. In any case, we’ll be in tight quarters for at least a little while. Until this gets wrapped up, we need to get along.”

  “Sir, yes—” he paused and canted his head once again. “I can manage that.”

  “So what’s the gen problem?” he said with a gesture at the generators.

  “The generators are one hundred percent, Captain. There is a faulty relay on the data cable at the control panel terminus on the command deck. A simple repair.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Tell Ursula and Ned we’ll be departing soon.”

  “I will.”

  Ho walked toward the passageway.

  “Hey, Mech,” Teller said as he replaced the panel. “Thanks.”

  Ho turned back and canted his head once again. “Most welcome, skipper.”

  Teller laughed softly.

  . . .

  “I noticed you have a holographic shooting simulator on the vid deck,” Jessop said as the four Humans on board the Lance ate dinner in the common room.

  “Yes. Not the same as actually firing a blaster, but it will help you learn sight picture and sight alignment, target lead, things like that. I use it to keep my reflexes quick.”

  “Have you ever had to use your blaster?” Ursula said.

  “Sure. The galaxy is full of crazy and aggressive beings who won’t take no for an answer.”

  “No to what?”

  “You name it. Creds, clothes, ship, life. Imagine Ord with the opposite personality he has now. You think any of us could stop him if he attacked and we were unarmed? The three of us together wouldn’t stand a chance.” Teller patted his holstered blaster. “This evens things up. Get skilled with it… you can make the crazies see sense, and if not… it might help you see the next day.”

  “Teller is quick,” Ord said.

  Ned pointed at Teller’s blaster. “I’m no gunfighter, but doesn’t the longer barrel make your draw slower?”

  Teller laughed. “The idea you can draw a snub barreled pistol faster than a standard length is something from the vid. Besides, I’
m no gunfighter either. I’m just a spacer who can shoot a little bit.”

  Ord chuckled. “He needs to be good with blaster. He has small fists.”

  Teller laughed again. “Says the man with the galaxy’s largest hands. There’s only two things I do as well as flying. Shooting isn’t quite one of them, but I am quick on the draw and sometimes I hit what I’m shooting at. I’m perfectly happy to talk my way out of trouble.”

  Ord laughed. “Skilled at talking his way into trouble.”

  Teller glared and then smiled at his friend. “That’s why I keep you around, pal.” He pointed at Ursula. “Finish eating. We’ll do a few shooting drills. Based on how well you did back on Commerce Station, you might be a natural.”

  . . .

  The transit from Vael to the Relga system took the Lance and her crew out of Syndicate space and into the region called the Confederation of Planets, a loose organization of independent planets, systems, and star clusters that provided mutual support from outside influences, such as the Protectorate and the Syndicate.

  Differing greatly from the feudal empire that was the Protectorate and the corporate controlled Syndicate, the Confederation was a wild and wooly league of extremely varying peoples and governmental systems whose only truly unifying cause was the desire stay free of the control of their neighbors. With limited central control, the Confederation was the easiest region in Human-dominated space to disappear.

  Relga II was a planet undergoing rapid colonization, and the trade in transport services was a brisk one for those so inclined and equipped to serve. Rael Farga was one such spacer.

  Teller and Ord knew Farga worked with at least two of the settlements, and that was where they began their search.

  “We should be able to spot the Tango Express from the air,” Teller said as they flew over the planet’s surface. “His ship is easy to spot.”

  “He’s a friendly competitor?” Ursula said.

  “Competitor? No. We cater to different needs in the transport game. We haul moderate to small loads fast, Rael uses his slug of a ship for more mundane purposes.”