The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “I thought the word express in his ship’s name denoted speed.”

  “A bit of humor I think. The Express is a barque. Ungainly thing. Better than three times our capacity, but slow.”

  “And ugly,” Ord added.

  “He runs his ship solo?” Ned asked.

  Teller nodded. “He uses a lot of automation and bot support. He has no crew to pay, doesn’t need a partner. I’d do the same if I didn’t have to look out for Ord.”

  Ord laughed.

  Teller guessed right over Relga II and they found Farga on the first try. The Tango Express sat on a small space-airfield a short distance from a small town made up of newly or partially constructed modular buildings. The place crawled with activity.

  Teller put down near the Express, and as they began shutdown procedures, saw Rael step from an airlock and trot down a ramp toward them.

  “I’ll drop the rear ramp,” Teller said. “Get some uncanned air inside. You handle the rest?”

  Ord grunted an acknowledgement.

  “I’ll talk to Rael.”

  Teller walked to the cargo hold and down the ramp, waving at Farga. The ruddy, dark-haired man returned the gesture.

  “What are you doing here, Tell?”

  “Looking for you. Heard you went to Vael, but—”

  “Yeah. Drank up my creds on Harab so I needed to make some more before I went to Vael. Dogged if Denubian women aren’t expensive. Worth every cred though. Enough about me. You found me. What do you want?”

  “We may be in some trouble.”

  “No may about it. Why’d you come here?”

  “We figured you’d know what’s going on and what we might do. We’ve been off the scopes for awhile.”

  “You should stay off. Permanently.”

  “What’s going on? What kind of fix are we in, Rael?”

  “A big one, one I’d rather not get mixed up with. Word was out at Lamari when I picked up the load I brought here. You best run far and fast and hope you can disappear.”

  “You didn’t listen. We don’t know what’s going on. I’m not running until I know what we’re tangled up with.”

  “You got heat, Tell. Serious, corporate, planetary government, send out the fleet and hire bounty hunters, heat. Like I said, run far, run fast.”

  “If it’s that hot, word will catch us sooner or later no matter where we go. What do they say we did?”

  “Perpetrated a bloodbath on Commerce Station over Boddan way, but that’s just for starters. The thing that’s really bringing the heat is they say you absconded with corporate secrets. Killed the courier you were transporting. Killed her guards. Altairie wants your heads and the secrets. Word is you’re a hot commodity. Serious credits for whoever brings you in dead or alive or somewhere in between.”

  Teller scowled. “You tempted?”

  “Sure I am, but I don’t have many friends. Not enough to spare at least. Besides, I’m not a bounty hunter, and I’m not that good at killing.”

  “The word at Lamari. Who’s looking for us?”

  He laughed, then paused, then laughed again. “You ought to be flattered. Norg Fawcett, Johnny Rattray, and Merry Hell. A who’s who of bounty hunters in this region of the galaxy. There are sure to be a pack of bounty chasers you never heard of. Head into the independent systems. Run for border space. Go beyond that if you have to. Hell, point your nose at the other side of the galaxy, get into slipspace, and stay there for a month or so.”

  “If it’s that way I don’t think that would get the heat off of us. We need to clear ourselves. Even though you didn’t ask, we didn’t do anything.”

  Rael let out a breath. “You think that matters? The Syndic says you did and for those looking to collect, that’s enough. If you’re not going to be smart and run, I’ll help, but I don’t know what I can do.” He turned and ruffled his hair while he looked at his ship. He let out another breath and turned back to Tell. “I could jump to Echanor. It’s the closest heavy population planet. News will be the most recent there. I’ll see what the situation is. I’ll put a few feelers out and see who might be around to help. There’s gotta be a few rigs willing to throw in, but finding them will be the problem. You could stay here. I’m the only freighter in from Lamari, so nobody else knows the deal. That doesn’t mean somebody else doesn’t drop in though. Might be better to clear out just in case.”

  “Any ideas where?”

  “Somewhere close enough that I can get word to you.” He paused to think, then pointed at Tell. “Go to the mining support station over Quinaar in the Ampar system. Nobody there but mining company beings and those trying to make money off them. I doubt they’ve heard about your troubles, or if they did, it’s just another vid news piece that goes in and out and gone.” He smiled. “If anyone is trying to catch your trail, they wouldn’t think you’d go to Quinaar. They’d think you were doing the smart thing and running for the other end of the galaxy.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “Less than one Standard to Echanor. Half a day to feel things out. Trip to Quinaar is a bit longer than to here. Call it three Standard Days max. I can be off in a couple of hours. I’ll see if I still have the news feed on my vid deck.”

  “Thanks. We’ll owe you, Rael.”

  “Heh. You don’t have the creds to cover this, friend. You’ve done me a favor or ten over the years, pulled my feet out of the fire when no one else would. Next time I’m in a jam, I’ll look you up. Favor for favor. Until then, call it a wash.”

  “Make it up to you somehow.”

  Rael snorted. “Going sentimental on me? Not a good look for dashing Tell. Say, you got coin? You don’t wanna be using datacurrency if you can help it.”

  “We have our usual reserve. Carperan coinage… and I still have a sack of Nethar ducats.”

  Rael laughed. “Good. Just in case, I’ll bring you some more… creds that is.” He cracked a smile. “Put it on the tab.”

  “I don’t want t—”

  “I just got paid and the Denubian beauty’ll have to wait while I play hero. Otherwise, I’d just drink it anyway. She’ll think I’m noble or some such when this all plays out.”

  Teller returned to the Lance and relayed what Rael had said.

  “They think I was killed on Commerce Station?” Ursula said.

  Teller nodded. “Apparently. I’m guessing it was an early report. If the woman who died near you was Altairie, maybe they have you two mixed up.”

  “Before we make any decisions, we should wait and see what news your friend brings,” Jessop said. “You do trust him?”

  “We wouldn’t have sought him out otherwise.”

  “So we go to this station and wait?” Ursula said.

  Ord shook his head.

  Teller looked at his friend and nodded. “Right, pal. We find a nice point out in the black where there isn’t anyone and park ourselves. Wait it out for a couple of days and slip up on the station quietly.”

  “If this is just a case of misunderstanding the situation on Commerce Station, perhaps we can clear it up once we know more,” Jessop said. “But what if it’s not. What if we are being set up? How do we clear ourselves?”

  “I think we need more data, do we not?” Ho said. “The limited amount of information we have presently is useful for little more than assumption.”

  “Anyone disagree?” Teller said as he looked at the others. Seeing no dissent, he nodded. “Let’s get ready to depart.”

  Rael brought a data pellet copy of the news broadcast he mentioned along with a satchel of hard currency before he began his preflight checks. The vid was the same report Sodall’s staff watched in his office and simply confirmed to those aboard the Lance that they needed more information.

  A short while later, Rael broadcast his departure and soon after his repulsors lifted the Tango Express from the field. Once he was high enough, he brought up his thrusters and pushed for the black.

  Teller waited until the Express was
well clear of the field before bringing the Lance off the ground and once he brought up thrusters he followed Rael’s course and quickly caught him, streaking by to Rael’s left.

  “Showoff,” Rael said over the communications band. “See you in a few.”

  . . . . .

  . . . . .

  5

  No News is Good News?

  . . . . .

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

  Cap’n, Why is the blaster so popular, and what other handheld weapons are commonly used in the galaxy?

  -Brambo McCabe

  A fine question, Brambo. The hand blaster is the most popular weapon for several reasons. It’s effective. Its bolt is a superheated pellet of material that not only punches holes in things, it also burns and creates a tiny, yet satisfying explosion when it strikes hard objects. Explosions and holes and burning are very helpful when fending off those that try to harm those that don’t deserve it… those like the Cap’n.

  The blaster is also reliable and common enough that it is easy to find replacement parts or locate someone who can repair it should it break. Ammunition is also readily available throughout the galaxy.

  The blaster also comes in many, many different variants, from palm-sized concealment pistols to shoulder-fired muskets to crew-served and vehicle mounted autoblasters. What’s not to like? A caveat: blasters are not pleasant when you are on the receiving end. Trust the Cap’n on this one, it truly is better to give than to receive.

  The Cap’n is fond of the ‘bolo’ variant of the tried and true Model 96 Heavy Blaster made by Thunder Arms of Atrium. Tough, reliable, accurate, and customizable, the Model 96 does it all. Yes, the Cap’n was paid to say that, but that doesn’t make it untrue.

  There are a bewildering number of other handheld arms out there. Laser guns, commonly called beamers, beam guns, and many other names are old tech, but are also still quite common and effective.

  Slug guns, even older tech than beamers, still have their aficionados, and why not? What’s not to like about a fire-belching, ear-ringing, hand cannon throwing slugs that will bore holes in those that mean you harm? Another caveat: see previous caveat and substitute slug gun for blaster.

  Gyromissiles have a following. Their explosive and armor-piercing warheads will make others think twice before tangling with a being packing such a weapon. Add in the optional guided gyromissile capability, and you’ve got something.

  For those who like to work up close, they often choose the disruptor. While a beam gun like the laser, it fires a far more diffuse beam and uses a great deal more power. Put simply, the disrupter beam destroys biological cells, and at close range, it is a nasty piece of work. Its damage potential drops sharply with distance, and at the edge of its short range, it might sting a bit, but no more. Don’t ask how the Cap’n knows this.

  Let us not overlook or discount the melee weapons. Almost as old as sentient beings, the club, spear, axe, knife, sword, and hammer have not left the scene. Modern technology has made proven performers even more formidable. Up close and personal, one of the above-mentioned melee weapons can be far more effective than any beam or projectile weapon. Don’t bring a gun to a knife fight, pilgrim.

  . . .

  “The plan is in a shambles, Director.”

  Blake Sodall shook his head. “It is not. The operation might be moving in an unpredicted direction, but everything is still manageable. We may be able to use the current situation to our advantage.”

  The staffer shook his head. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Adaptation. An executive must be ready to adapt to fluid situations. Adapt or die, sink or swim, quick or dead.” Sodall smiled. “All apt metaphors. We now know Miz Gomez somehow managed to get herself killed on Commerce Station. It appears Miz Raik survived. Based on the fact that the final part of the operation has not been implemented, we must assume the data case did not arrive at its intended destination.” Sodall looked to Julia Nephron. “Any word from the Boddan system yet?”

  She shook her head. “Hector departed yesterday, but no confirmation yet of his arrival.”

  Sodall looked at the chronodisplay on the wall and nodded. “Not enough time yet. Notify me as soon as something arrives.”

  “Certainly, Director.”

  “Have the steps toward recovering the case been fully taken?”

  “Yes, sir. Surety bonds have been placed with several reputable agencies specifying payment for the recovery of the data case and the apprehension of those responsible for its theft.”

  “I assume the amount is commensurate with our perceived concern?”

  “Yes, Director. I was told it should draw the best in the field.”

  Sodall smiled and looked over the staffers seated before him. “Good. We need an alternative in the event this effort fails to bring the data case back into our control in a timely manner. Come to think of it, we might wish to implement something in any case.”

  “What would that be?”

  “We transfer the data to the intended parties ourselves rather than wait for the recovery of the case. We can simply pass this off as the actions of the individuals who absconded with the data. Find an effective way to facilitate this.”

  . . .

  The light freighter TNO Republic latched its port airlock with an extended docking arm on Myncor Support Station over Quinaar.

  “Republic, we show good latch… seals tight. How you?”

  Teller received a thumbs-up from Ord as he pressed the broadcast switch. “Same, Myncor.”

  “Docking transitway pressurized. Welcome to MSS.”

  Teller looked at Ord. “No sign of Rael yet. I think we should meet him somewhere on the station.”

  Ord grunted his agreement. “Best not meet on Lance.”

  “Republic, old pal.”

  The big man glared. “Not onboard. She’s Lance.”

  “Of course she is. It’s just a temporary transponder alteration. Just don’t forget once we disembark.”

  Teller looked over his shoulder as Ned and Ursula stood from their seats. “Ah, a mining support station. We’ll shut down and go see the sights. I’ve heard marvelous things about this place.”

  Ned chuckled. “I would imagine the amenities are something to behold. Miners are known for their plush lifestyle.”

  Ord rumbled in laughter.

  Teller leaned partly out of his seat. “Hey, Ho, can you monitor station and incoming ship coms?”

  “Not without the Lance’s communications array.”

  Teller smiled and ignored Ho’s joke. “Would you listen for the arrival of the Tango Express and notify us if it happens while we are away?”

  “I shall.”

  . . .

  The quartet found the amenities aboard Myncor Support Station rather meager, except for mining company executives. Those that held such positions had exclusive suites with full living accommodations and access to a reserved restaurant and club. For those of the plebian classes, there were a handful of shops selling work clothing and distractions, a cafeteria of less than stellar quality, and a dozen bars from which to choose.

  The quartet from the Republic nee Lance walked the area near her dockage to familiarize themselves with the layout of the station. They considered meeting Rael in one of the bars, but several issues concerned them. Were someone following Farga, a crowd would create difficulty locating such a threat and might hinder the fugitives should they need to run for their ship. They decided they needed an isolated area with long lines of sight.

  They found a solution soon enough. Not far from the docking ring was a long hall running between small conference spaces opposite transition rooms—areas where mining, support, or starship crews could clean up, change out of their work garb, and securely stow personal effects before they utilized the amenities the station offered.

  They found the conference areas required a currency deposit to reserve, but the station provid
ed the transition rooms gratis.

  “Unless Rael has prepared a presentation on how much trouble we’re in, one of the locker rooms should serve our purpose,” Teller said.

  A transition room that overlooked the walkway that ran along the docking ring was their choice. A second door on the opposite side of the hall entrance led to the docking area. Teller liked the setup. “Two ways in and out. If Rael approaches from the docking ring we should be able to see if he’s alone or being followed. If he comes down the hall it’ll be trickier, but we should still see someone coming if we keep our eyes open.”

  “So we wait,” Jessop said.

  Teller nodded. “We’ll tell the deck manager we’re reserving this room for our crew, then we’ll find somewhere nearby to eat. Ho ought to alert us early enough for us to be here before Rael.”

  The deck manager was a Squanj. Bipedal, the Squanj were a small, brownish, shiny, amphibian species, a fairly common sight in Human space.

  “Transition Room Thirty-three, we’d like to reserve it for our crew,” Teller said as they stepped into his office.

  “What your vessel?” the Squanj replied in a high and loud voice.

  “The Republic.”

  The Squanj touched points on his data pad. “Okay. Yours. Don’t use it, you lose it, yes?”

  “Got it.”

  The Squanj pointed at Ursula. “Who you? Ship with this group?”

  Teller cleared his throat. “Ursula is with us. She’s—”

  “She not spacer? She shipping with you, right? She a comp? Don’t want too many, you know? Too many and you get—”

  Ord growled. “Not comp. Ursula is hand working her way up. Not flotsam or comp, got it?”

  The Squanj threw up his hands, the webbing between his digits stretched tight. “Hey, big man, hey! Just puffing the bladder, movin’ the lips, you know?” He tapped his head several times creating a wet sticky sound. “Long form name and pretty ways jangle me. Nothin’ by it. For Human she classy, never say otherwise. That’s all.”