The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “Ord did. Case cracked.”

  Jessop looked over the case and its contents. The data storage was intact, secure in its padded compartment in the bottom half of the case. The destruction charge was intact as well in the upper portion, torn cables and an extended plunger pointing upward. “A dud.” He looked closely at the charge.

  “How did you know the destruction charge was faulty?” Teller said.

  Ord said nothing. His face betrayed nothing.

  “You did know, right?”

  He said nothing.

  Teller glared at his friend. “Fine, don’t tell me. Is the data intact?”

  Jessop nodded. “If there is actually data on the storage medium, yes. The data pack is intact. As long as we don’t remove it from its cradle in the case, it’s safe. We’ll check and see what’s on there. I see no reason why the charge didn’t fire, but I’m not an expert.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmm, maybe our big friend there brute-forced it open so fast it couldn’t detonate?”

  “What about the EMP?”

  “It’s part of the same system and I would think there would be evidence of the pulse, but like I said, I’m no expert.”

  “The guy I mentioned, he has people that can tell us that.”

  “Then we need to find this guy, don’t we?” Ursula said.

  Teller turned to look at her. “I guess we have a plan.”

  . . .

  “—have military expeditions actively seeking the perpetrators as well.

  “Lana Moore, Akara News, Commerce Station over Boddan-Three.”

  Julia Nephron glared at the screen. “Hector’s rather overstepping his authority and deviating from his mission,” she said.

  Sodall smiled. “Perhaps, but his gambit might be effective. I see more benefit than potential harm. We are on the cusp of success. Two unopened cases recovered without issue, with the other two soon to be returned in their original state as well. The courts will see to that. This is corporate space after all. All that remains is the case containing actual data. That is your project, Julia.”

  “It is, Director. There are no updates concerning those aboard the Lance, but I did receive confirmation concerning the increase of payment for the apprehension or elimination of Lyndon Feng and the recovery of the information he apparently still possesses.”

  “Initiative, Julia. Good. I am happy to see Hector is not the only one striving for more than to simply get along. Feng is a loose end that needs securing. Tie that up, neutralize those aboard the freighter, recover the final case, and this affair will reach a satisfactory resolution.”

  . . .

  “Altairie didn’t mislead us about the case,” Jessop said. On the worktable beside him sat the data case, cabling running from the data pack to a display screen. Wrapped in padding nearby were the destruction devices, now free from the case. “We cannot remove the storage medium from the case without damage as far as we can tell, but we can examine what’s in the pack. It’s data all right. The intro doesn’t reveal much, but I’ll read it to you.”

  Ned looked at the screen. “As a prelude to the launch of our shared venture, we present this early peek into the Spiral Project and its capabilities. Despite the technological challenges of such an undertaking, Altairie is on the cusp of fulfilling the desires of our customers and partners and we are confident we have met or exceeded all expectations. As you know, there have been turbulent moments and attempts to expose the project, but Mister Feng, the perpetrator of the plot, has found his efforts blunted and is now the subject of a galactic wide pursuit. Miz Ursula Raik should have provided you with information concerning the schedule for installation and activation of the program. Until then, examine our prelude and feel free to offer any questions or comments you have.”

  Ned tapped the data case. “What we have here is a covert surveillance program.” He shrugged. “I know that much. It looks like it’s designed to snoop on virtually all forms of carrier communication and data transfer: beams, waves, wires, cables, you name it. The tag on one module mentions dynamic adaptability to overcome encryption and other forms of user obfuscation.”

  Teller snorted. “Planetary governments wishing to listen in on everyone’s communication? Sounds like a politician’s dream.”

  “So this is what’s causing such anger,” Ursula said. “This is what we supposedly leaked? We know we didn’t, so who did?”

  “Someone on one of the other planets?” Teller said.

  Jessop pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t think so. If the vid feeds are accurate, they didn’t open the cases before Altairie or the Syndic magistrate recovered them.”

  Teller shrugged. “You’re saying Altairie blew up their own project?”

  “Why would they do that?” Ursula said. “What purpose would serve? Is it some rogue element within Altairie trying to hurt Sodall? Corporate sabotage by a rival concern?”

  “Four questions with no answer except, ‘we don’t know’,” Tell said.

  Jessop nodded. “Perhaps the answer is, ‘we better find out.’ I’m no expert on corporate affairs, but I would think if a Syndicate rival did this to Altairie, whoever they were would have legal authorities at their corporate office doors serving summons to appear at a hearing somewhere. Competition is one thing, sabotage is something else. The Syndics don’t like such behavior. It’s bad for business.”

  “And they’d be feeling the heat, not us,” Teller said nodding in agreement. “We’re what gamblers call a plat, given a place at the table with no chance and destined to lose. That tells me it was someone in Altairie.”

  “It frightens me to admit it, but I suspect you are correct,” Ursula said.

  Ord pointed at Ursula. “You trust anyone at Altairie?”

  “I know several beings that work there, but I knew Sodall from before and trusted him as well. That’s one of the reasons I took the job. We know where that placed us. Trust isn’t enough if someone is trying to oust Sodall, not unless we knew who was behind this. There may be those that might help, but I wouldn’t know where to turn. The mere attempt to approach someone at Altairie would be fraught with risk.”

  Ord grunted. “What of rivals outside Syndicate?”

  Ursula frowned. “I know of many Altairie competitors, but I’m not sure how that might help us. Altairie is a huge concern covering a vast area of fields.”

  Teller grinned and pointed at the case. “We have something of value. To add one more to our growing list of questions, what do we do with the data?”

  “It might be useful in clearing us, but I don’t know how. It won’t be easy.”

  “If it were easy,” Teller said, “we’d be out of this by now.”

  Jessop pointed to the case. “Maybe something in there will point us in the right direction.”

  “What about this Mister Feng?”

  “Perhaps. We don’t know who he is, but if he’s under pursuit like we are… maybe desperation makes for strange bedfellows.”

  . . .

  “Sergeant Florry,” came a voice from the data console on his desktop. “A Detective Borne is here to see you.”

  Florry stretched and sighed, glad for the distraction from his report filing duties. “Buzz him in.”

  “He checks out, Sarge,” the private at the desk in the outer office said. “Robert M. Borne, Inspector, Third Section, detectives.”

  “Thanks, Baker,” Florry said. He stood as the detective stepped into the office.

  “I’m Detective Bob Borne,” The man said, offering his hand.

  The two men shook and then Florry gestured at the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “What can I do for you? Are you here to pick—”

  “I’ll get straight to the point. You were on duty when the shooting in Docking Berth C-Eleven occurred, right?”

  “I was.”

  Borne nodded. “I saw your report. Very curt.”

  “I was asked to relate what I observed. That’s what I put in the report.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah. Anything you didn’t put in there? I keep hearing things about the shooting.”

  “I would imagine. It was an unusual occurrence. That makes it a topic of conversation.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I hear it didn’t happen the way they say it happened.”

  “That so? Are you conducting an investigation into this?”

  “Not officially. If I can find something solid, I can take it to my boss.”

  “I can’t help you. It’s a police matter.” Florry tapped the plate stix-fixed to his uniform. “I’m Security Forces.”

  “I’m well aware of that. What if there’s a cover up going on? What if there’s corrupt cops?”

  “What if? I am not an investigator. If the issue threatened the security of this station or that of Boddan-Three, it might be, but until that becomes apparent, it is a police matter.”

  “What about data from the surveillance systems? Eye witness accounts? You saw it.”

  “You read my report. The incident is a police matter. All items concerning the incident have been duplicated and presented to the police. Should you wish to view said items, you have two choices: consult with your colleagues or bring me official authorization for access to such material and I will accommodate. Until then….”

  “This could be a serious problem. Will you at least bring it up with your superiors?”

  “We are security, detective. There is a clear division between our services for a reason. There is also a procedural system in place for occasions where the two might overlap. You could take it up with my commander if you wish, but I will not. I repeat, this is not a Security Forces issue.”

  The detective sneered and shook his head. “The good soldier, huh? By the book. Follow orders, yes, sir! Thanks for nothing.” He turned and left Florry’s office, rushing past the desk outside and slamming the door closed as he stepped into the hall. He cracked a smile and drew his data pad from a jacket pocket. He brought the device to his ear after a couple of taps with his thumb. “It’s Bombo. We have nothing to worry about. The Florry guy has a permalloy rod running from his brain to the seat of his pants. Can’t think an original thought unless he was ordered to do it. Military all the way.”

  “What did he want, Sarge?” Baker asked as Florry leaned against the doorway to his office. “He seemed steamed.”

  “He wanted what I couldn’t give him. Or maybe he got exactly what he was looking for.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Just another case of cops not understanding our role. Get used to it, Baker, it’ll never change.”

  Florry returned to his desk and inserted a memory plate into his data console. He navigated to a report from the day of the incident in berth C-11. He scowled at what he saw. Among the police officers listed as participating in the initial investigation was one Detective Robert M. Borne. I thought his name was a familiar one, he thought. An operation to which the police were blind and is still under active investigation… one Borne is involved in. The man’s on a fishing expedition. The question is: what’s he angling for?

  Florry unlocked and slid open his desk drawer, removing a data pellet box and placing it on his desk. The tag on the box read COMMERCE STATION POLICE - 18 OF 18 and contained a pellet imprinted with all Security Forces material from the incident in question. Borne is investigating this but presents himself as if he is not. Is he pursuing this because he knows the official version doesn’t match his own observations or is it something else. This thing has stunk since the beginning. He looked at the box on his desk. Technically that belongs to the police. Signed for, but never picked up. That’s their problem.

  His thoughts drifted to the people who fled on freighter ARC Lance and its mad dash out of the Boddan system. “Caught in the middle of something. Sorry bastards,” he muttered as he swept the box back into the drawer and pushed it closed. He returned to his reports.

  . . .

  ARC Lance dropped from slipspace carrying the same velocity she possessed when she entered. A quick confirmation by the astrogation system to confirm their location, a course change, and the generation of a Raker Effect field was all that was required to return them to translight travel, destination: Idor Station over the planet Harrar.

  They dropped out of slipspace well away from the planet. Harrar was a heavily populated world with a few dozen space stations dotting the heavens overhead.

  The Lance now carried the moniker RTC Tuskadoon showing on both transponder and registration documentation.

  As they decelerated toward their rendezvous with Idor Station, Ursula touched Ned on the arm. “If it’s so easy to switch the identity of a ship, why doesn’t it happen more often?”

  Teller laughed, overhearing her.

  Jessop laughed as well. “You assume it’s rare. Nobody knows how many ships ply space in our galaxy. It’s unknown because there’s simply no way to account for them. Few systems or planets can afford to be hard-seated about space traffic from far off places. If they do, they’ll find few beings willing to visit. It’s an easy and almost foolproof way to become a backwater.”

  “Then what’s the point of it?”

  “Order. Look, a sizable portion of spacers have little need to swap a ship’s ID because they’re flying the boss’ ride to known destinations. That’s especially true if they ship for one of the major operators. Small commercial fleets and indies are more likely to be bullied by local authorities, and when that happens, well, I expect you see the display. Even when you do everything on the up-and-up, you can run afoul of somebody.”

  “Even in major systems like Boddan,” Ord said over his shoulder.

  Ursula nodded. “Point taken. This trip has been nothing if not educational.”

  . . .

  Teller chose to request an external docking berth. Internal docking bays cost credits, and if they needed to leave quickly, a ship already in space could depart far quicker than one parked inside.

  Idor was a shipping and customs station capable of handling medium to small freighters internally and offered external docking berths that could service vessels large and small, from runabouts to bulk carriers. The latter connected via extended transit arms that sealed around large hatches allowing lifters to efficiently unload shipments and transfer them to warehouse areas or transfer them directly to vehicles transporting the loads groundside. This made the space near Idor Station a hectic area at the best of times.

  “We should see about the flow actuators while we’re here,” Tell said as they went through shut down.

  “We are due soon,” Ord said. “Best do work before it is issue.”

  “It’ll eat into our funds.”

  “No. Farga will buy.” He held up the credit plate he had taken from Rael’s body.

  Teller sneered. “Hey, look at that. He came through for us after all.”

  Once shutdown was completed, they prepared to go aboard the station.

  “You going with us, Ho?” Jessop asked.

  “I think not. This is a heavily traveled system. I shall attempt to find any recent information about us or our situation via communications.”

  “I doubt you’ll miss much,” Teller said. “It’s a working station. I’m sure it’s nicer than Myncor, but it’s probably not a tourist destination.”

  The market zone of Idor was not so different from the open markets of Vael, albeit station bound and in space. The area crawled with beings from throughout the known galaxy: buyers, sellers, suppliers, shippers, and more. Beings selling food or trinkets sliced courses through the crowds, hawking their wares.

  It took little time to find a business concern that could supply the needed parts, a place situated near the passages from the docking area called Mott’s Artificery.

  Mott’s was a bustling multi-level place teeming with spacers of every sort, from uniformed crews toiling for the big hauling outfits to flotsam hassling knockabouts for a gig. Mott’s was a three dimensional artificer center, built to manufacture items on site and on demand bas
ed upon templates catalogued in store or provided by the customer. On one side of the store was a circular area housing the three story high manufactory. View panels and walkways surrounded this area allowing those overseeing the manufacture of parts—and those paying for them—to watch the process if they chose. Many beings milled about the store and walkways eating and drinking while waiting for orders to be completed.

  The quartet joined the line leading to a long counter served by several Humans processing and scheduling task orders.

  The four watched beings pass by in the market area and played the classic game of What’s that Species with others as they waited. While they were able to identify most, several species were new to them. A man standing near them tapped Jessop on the shoulder and pointed at a compact man coming toward them wearing a loose-fitting grey coverall with a tight hood. He walked with a strange and confident grace, his feet clad in thin-soled flat shoes.

  “Know what that is?” the pointing man said.

  “Human?” Jessop replied.

  The man laughed. “He is that, but he isn’t like the rest of us.”

  “How so?”

  “Out of Kwanam they say. He’s a neuro-warrior, you know, nerve combat. Neuro-ka in their tongue. The practitioners are called a neuro-to They say he’s a master, a Di.”

  “He a merc?” Teller said. The man noticed them observing him. He slowed and his eyes narrowed, then he looked away and walked past.

  “No. Assassin. Word is they can’t be beat. Can dodge slugs, bolts, beams, you name it. They say he’s here for someone.”

  “You know who?”

  “No, but whoever it is will be dead soon enough… ‘less he’s hired to extract info. That be the case…?” The man grimaced. “Worse than death I hear. A lot worse. They can make anyone talk, they say.”

  “They say a lot, don’t they?”

  A woman wearing a bright red shipsuit leaned in between Jessop and the man. “Word is he already bagged his quarry and is heading into the black. Good riddance. He gives me the shivers.”