The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “No one’s in charge?”

  “You mean some regional or system governmental body? No. This isn’t the Protectorate.”

  Ned laughed softly. “Coordinates set and confirmed, Captain. I think Ursula’s Syndic roots are pulling at her.”

  Ursula glared and then smiled at Ned. “I suppose they are. I’m a corporate girl.”

  “A corporate girl who freelances. An independent streak it seems.”

  “I’ve always liked variation, seeing new things, but of a far more tame variety than we’re encountering on this odyssey. I never would have dreamed a coworker of mine might fight a professional assassin and have another coworker then shoot the assassin.”

  Teller gave her a quick glance. “All things considered, I’d say you’re handling it like a seasoned spacer, Urs.”

  She laughed. “Spacer. I’ll add that to my work history, Mister Malarkey.”

  “Malarkey’s a pro. Skellum is just a rig who carries a blaster.”

  “Then how is it you were able to dispatch him with just one shot?”

  “I hit him because I missed, at least from his point of view. He thought I would shoot at a particular point. I shot somewhere else.”

  “Did you miss on purpose?”

  “I’m not saying, because I need a bump in my mystique quotient. Besides, I didn’t miss.”

  “There’s no question you’re quick,” Jessop said. “Twice now you’ve shown that. Farga and now the neuro-to. Why didn’t you try a move on Hell when she came in back on Myncor?”

  “She’s a genmod. That’s why.”

  “I’d heard of her before, but I didn’t know she was genetically modified.”

  “Like most genmods I imagine she’s probably stronger than average, but it’s her reflexes that are special. Said to be pure lightning. I don’t know if she has the psychological issues most genmods have. Glad we weren’t around her long enough to find out one way or another.”

  . . .

  The RTC Tuskadoon came to rest on her skids and fore foot, nestled in an internal bay aboard Fekro Station over Desdar.

  Fekro was an old structure, dating back more than two centuries. Additions, repairs, and area renovations over that time span made the station appear cobbled together and ramshackle, but it was not. The docking berths were of the tried and true individual bay with sealed hatches variety, perfect for performing ship maintenance or repairs without distraction or attracting unwanted attention.

  Against Ord’s protests, Teller and Ned would replace the flow actuators on ARC Lance’s Liftstars. The job was not a difficult one, generally taking around two hours per engine, half of that time used to remove and replace armored access panels. The job on Fekro took longer, missing Ord’s ability to muscle the duralaminated pieces accounting for the extra time needed.

  While inside the nacelles, Teller elected to do some other upkeep as well, a price he felt was worth it for the performance the engines provided.

  “Looks like about a year left on the power cores,” Jessop said as he gaped inside. “Be time to swap old for new before you know it”

  “If I were sentimental, I’d save these when they’re spent. First full-charge cores we put it in. We flew on used and nearly dead power cores for years. That’s a rotten way to run a freighter business.”

  “But it taught you a thing or two. Valuable lessons are best learned the hard way… that’s what my father always said.”

  “Effort equity? Worth what you paid for? I don’t know if I agree, but yeah, we know most of the ins and outs of this old girl.”

  “Speaking of ins, I’ve never seen the inside of Flytethrust Liftstars before. I see why the thrust response is so swift. A lot of moving parts for a modern starship engine, but then again, they were never intended for pushing a sloop through space. Did you use them just because they were available?”

  Teller laughed. “That about sums it up. While she sat on Maelstrom, she’d been scavenged for a lot of important parts, engines included. We didn’t know the specs until we’d salvaged the lift platform, and once we did we were concerned the engine mounts and the winglets might not handle the new engines.”

  “So you engineered reinforcing structure in the winglets. I’d still like to look at that sometime.”

  “Tell you what, we get out of this mess and you can look at whatever you want on her.”

  Once finished with their task, the pair went aboard the Lance and secured all the tools and gear they’d used. Ord stuck his head in the workshop and growled at them, still unhappy about his inactivity. “Will start engine checks and diagnostics,” he said, heading for the command deck before they could respond.

  “When were you going to check on Makreury?” Jessop said.

  “As soon as we finish this.”

  Jessop nodded. “I can run the checks.”

  “Might save some time. I doubt we’re in much danger here, but why risk it? I’ll tell Ord. He needs some activity before he goes on a rampage.”

  Ned laughed.

  Teller looked in the common room and found Ursula there. “You coming with us to look for Makreury or staying?”

  “And pass up the chance to see a freespacer station?”

  Teller smiled. “Get ready then.”

  He found Ord on the command deck leaning over the copilot seat while Ho sat at the engineering position. “You done loafing off? We have places to go and gamblers to find.”

  “What about checks?”

  “Ned and Ho can handle that while we’re gone… unless you’re coming with us?” he said looking at the Mech.

  “I can expedite the process if I assist. I will stay.”

  Teller slapped his friend’s shoulder as the big man straightened up. “Look Ord old pal, if you’re going to make it a habit of picking fights with professional killers, I have to insist that you start carrying that shoulder cannon of yours from now on.”

  Ord grunted and went to arm himself. When he returned he found Ursula and Teller waiting for him. Ord draped a bandolier carrying magazines and projectiles for his Repeller over his left shoulder, crossing his torso to his right hip.

  The trio left the docking bay and went in search of the Whirling Fortune Casino. A data pad check of the station’s directory showed it wasn’t far away. A short trip down a passageway brought them to a pair of uniformed station crew who stopped them.

  “Best turn back. You can only make it fifty meters beyond here,” one of the men said.

  “Why’s that?” Teller said.

  “Minor internal adjustment going on within one of the governing concerns,” the other man said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “The Chappo Boys are having another tiff. Their part of the station. Until it’s resolved, the only way you can get over there is space side.”

  “We’d need to fly around the station to get three hundred meters walking distance?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Teller’s eyebrows rose.

  The man held up his hands. “Hey now, don’t get your thrusters pointed at me. Not my fault. In theory, that’s how you’ll have to get over there. See, the berths over there are all taken, so….”

  “Thanks.” Teller led his companions a short distance away. “Suggestions?”

  “We walk,” Ord said.

  “That neuro-to damage your hearing, big guy?”

  “We walk. Ask them to let us through.”

  “And when they say no?”

  Ord tapped his D91. “We change their minds. Wish to avoid fistfight.”

  Teller glared for several seconds. “All right, old pal, but if I get killed I won’t be happy. Let’s go.”

  As the three of them walked toward the station crew, Teller touched Ursula and gestured at Ord. “You strap a giant to a heavy assault blaster and that’s what you get.”

  “You’re wasting your effort and energy,” one of the station crew said. “It’s just a matter of time before they start shooting again.”

 
“Noted,” Teller said over his shoulder.

  The trio went around an arcing corner and saw the corridor opened into a large square space. A barricade blocked the corridor on the opposite side of the open area, with several armed beings visible behind it. As they drew closer, they discovered several piles of rubble arrayed facing the barricade, with more beings using the confused mounds of junk as cover.

  “So this is a ‘tiff’ on Fekro I guess,” Teller muttered.

  Shots rang out, beams and blaster bolts cutting through the air and down the corridor. Tell pulled Ursula into a nearby doorway while Ord sought cover on the opposite side.

  The firing soon stopped.

  “We see you bringing up more. Won’t do you no good,” came a shout from the barricade.

  A man behind a pile of junk looked over his shoulder and down the corridor. “Someone there?”

  “Just a traveler,” Tell yelled as he peeked around the edge of the doorway.

  “Go back. You can’t get through.”

  “It’s rather important. Call a ten unit truce and we’ll get out of your turf war or whatever you have going on there.”

  The man looked at Teller as if he were mad and then shrugged. He looked toward the barricade. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah. Not buying it. You think we’re stupid?”

  “He’s not one of us. You know us. We know you. We’re all Chappos. Come to think of it, maybe you are stupid.”

  Firing resumed for several seconds before tapering off.

  “I guess they aren’t gonna go for it,” the man behind the junk pile said. “I tried.”

  “You did,” Teller replied. “We’ll do something else. Thanks.”

  Teller looked across the corridor at his friend. “Let’s head back to the ship.”

  Ord shook his head. “Change minds.” He stepped from his position and strode into the open space, stopping beside the junk pile nearest the corridor, next to the man who’d spoken with Teller.

  “What in Hades is he doing?” Teller said. “The neuro-to must have jangled his brain. We have to go get him.” They moved toward the giant.

  “We need to go there,” Ord said loudly, pointing at the corridor on the opposite side of the space. “We pass or Ord use this.” He held up his weapon and loaded a round into the Doomcaster.

  “What’s an ‘Ord’ and what’s that contraption?” said someone from the other side of the barricade. Several of those near him snickered.

  The giant tapped his chest and then his weapon. “Ord is Ord, this is D-Ninety-One Repeller.”

  “Right. Big and crazy. No such thing as a Repeller,” said the same man as before. There were no snickers this time as several beings edged away from the man.

  Ord lowered the weapon, aiming for the portion of the barricade that crossed the opening to the opposite corridor. “Change mind,” he said.

  Beings that looked down the bore of the weapon stood and ran from the point of Ord’s intended target, including the man who had been doing the talking.

  Pale-faced, the man said, “There’s no such—”

  Ord fired as Teller grew wide-eyed and pushed Ursula to the floor behind a junk pile.

  A thunderclap shook the entire space as a blinding incandescence flashed and the center of the barricade disappeared into bits. The concussion flattened nearly everyone. A stillness took hold. Gone was the portion of the barricade where the projectile struck. The structure appeared as if a large vehicle had plowed its way through. The air within the compartment was thick with particles of the vaporized barricade and smoke from small fires that burned in the wreckage. Alarms sounded as automatic fire suppression systems targeted the flames with puffs of retardant. The overhead surface was a mess: acoustic tiles askew, dangling light fixtures, and shorting electrical wires. Those behind portions of the barricade that stayed intact peeked over the edge and blinked in shock and fear, as did those on the opposing side from their crumbled piles of junk. Ord smiled. He raised the muzzle of his weapon to point at the mangled ceiling and patted the underbarrel launcher, proclaiming in a thundering voice, “This is Doomcaster!”

  Teller helped Ursula to her feet and muttered, “He’s such a showoff.”

  The standoff was over.

  Teller brushed himself off as he walked to his friend. “So I finally get to see a phlogizein warhead at work.”

  “Not phlogizein.”

  “Right, pal. I don’t know what it’s called in that racket you call a language, but you know what I mean.”

  “Teller does not understand. Ord used—”

  “What in Hades are you doing?” An enraged voice boomed from the other corridor. A bear of a man made his way through the wreckage waving floating particles away from his face. “I let you have your little tiff to blow off some plasma, but who the great blue blazes brought atomics?”

  Most of the beings pointed at Ord.

  The man stared blinking at the giant as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re not one of the boys. I’m sure I’d remember if you were.” His eyes fell on Ord’s D91. “A Repeller complete with Doomcaster? So not atomic. I should be thankful for small miracles. Just happened by and joined in on the fun did we? Thought it might be a grand thing to kill all of the Chappo Boys with one shot?”

  “We needed to get through,” Ord said.

  “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  “They did, boss,” said the man who questioned the existence of the D91 Repeller.

  The boss growled. “The next time a giant Human with a blinking Doomcaster in his mitts asks to pass through, you might consider it, Robbo.” He sighed loudly. “What’s the butcher’s bill?”

  The beings standing in the wreckage looked around the area for several seconds. Finally, someone said, “I think we’re all here.”

  “All this and no dead? That’s no way to have a fight!” The boss humphed then turned and looked at Ord. “What do you want?”

  “To pass through.”

  Teller raised a hand. “We might not even need that. We’re looking for a man named Hugh Makreury.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Older man. Gambler, a real pro.”

  “There was a man came through. Played at the Whirling Fortune for a while. Won big, but knew when enough was enough without needin’ to be told. Not many of those sorts, so they stand out. Follows the old way of such things.” Teller stifled a smile. “Don’t know where he went. Never talked to him. Left on the Branda, I think. Ten Standard Days back.”

  “It went to Gealaan,” Robbo said.

  “Oh, so now you decide to be helpful,” the boss said with a roll of his eyes. “All right, fight’s over boys and girls and whatever else we got left. It’s cleanup time. Our bit of the station, so’s our responsibility.”

  “Losers patch things up, boss,” said one of the Chappos.

  The boss turned and looked at the man. “You lost. They lost. One fellow won and I think even you know who that be. To work!”

  Teller gestured in the direction of their docking bay.

  The boss clapped his hands. “Who knows electrics? I don’t think it’s supposed to spark like that. C’mon, let’s go!”

  The trio encountered the pair of station crewbeings coming pensively up the corridor. “What was that noise?” one of them asked with trepidation.

  “A resolution to their tiff,” Teller said as they passed. “It’s a bit messy, but the way is open now.”

  . . .

  The trio returned to the Lance and found Ned and Ho were nearly finished with the calibrations. Ned glanced over his shoulder from his engineer’s station. “No luck?”

  “Yes and no,” Teller said as he walked across the deck to the pilot’s seat. “He’s not here, but he was.”

  “So we move on to the next stop?”

  “That’s right. We’re gaining on him.” Teller noticed the engineer gripping the work surface as he watched diagnostic data race across the display in front of him. “I notic
ed you doing that before.”

  Ned glanced Teller’s way, then at his hand on the work surface. “Old and unconscious habit. I do it when I don’t have anything else to do with my hands… like watching diagnostic data run across a screen.”

  “Captain, I have something from the station’s vid feed concerning the affair on Idor Station.”

  “Affair? I guess that’s an applicable term. We’ll take a look as soon as Ned’s finished.”

  “Ned’s finished,” the engineer said. “How’s that for timing? This bird’s ready to fly.”

  “Let’s go watch some vid then,” Teller said as he climbed from his seat.

  . . .

  An animated logo lit up the vid deck screen, a spinning V that burst into flames and exploded to a driving music beat.

  As the music faded, a backlit figure came on the screen speaking in a deep-voiced near-yell. “Vidloid, galactic violence, crime, and scandal brought to you so you don’t have to go to it. Vidloid!” The V logo flashed on the screen once more.

  “Dateline now, Stef system, Idor Station over Harrar,” the backlit figure said dramatically. “A duel in the dark…. It’s not often we catch vid of a Kwanam neuro-to assassin at work, but Vidloid has it! But that is only the half of it, the small half! Ever wish to see a Kwanam master killer take on a notorious professional gunfighter? Of course you have! Even if you didn’t know you wanted to. Who is this poor soul forced to fight for further existence? None other than faster-than-light Gleg Malarkey and his custom dueling blaster. A mismatch you say? Genmod blastoleer versus purebred and untouchable killer? Watch and seeeeeee!”

  The vid cut to an overhead view of Mott’s artificer monitoring center on Idor. Shot from two stories above through multiple view panels and past various pieces of artificer machinery, the vid was fuzzy and dark. A dark clad man knelt next to something on the deck, then he stood and moved near a console and gestured. A small amount of light entered the space as a door opened and a tall man stepped inside. A short time later, the man near the console flashed across the screen at the tall man, he tumbled and rose beside the tall man only to fall at his opponent’s feet.