The vid cut back to the silhouette.
“You saw it! Gunfighter one, vaunted assassin, ZEEEEEROOOOO! As famous as Malarkey already was, look out, Mister Lightning, you goin’ galactic! The story behind this clash of crafty cadaver creators? Don’t fret it. We’re on it! And when we get it, you get it! Got it?” The V logo flashed on the screen and the silhouette returned.
“Up next, is squidstar beauty Moorla Tentacle real or hologram!?”
Ho shut off the broadcast. “It seems Gleg Malarkey is developing quite a reputation,” he said with a cant of his head.
Teller sighed. “We best get moving then.”
Jessop stifled a smile. “So you can escape your legion of fans… Mister Malarkey?”
Teller snorted and shook his head. “No, we should leave before I give in to temptation and watch the story about Miz Tentacle.”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Ursula said.
“I suspect you would not enjoy knowing the source of her fame,” Ho said, “but I can expound if you wish.”
“I’ll survive not knowing, thank you.”
Ho canted his head. “While some might find your lack of curiosity … disturbing, I would classify your decision as wise.”
Ord patted Teller on the back. “You need new pseudonym.”
“Yeah, I do,” Teller said with a nod. “Gleg is on his own now… hey when did you pick up ‘pseudonym’?”
“While Ned did my job.”
“F, now P. You’re doing it all wrong, pal. Let’s get out of here.”
. . .
The jump to the Scythe system took ten hours and the flight to Hwaet Station an hour more, but for Ursula the last hour was a pleasant one.
A massive, but low population agriculture planet, Gealaan was not what one would expect to be a destination for luxury starliners, yet it was. A popular waypoint, it was the view that drew them, the cloud streaked green and golden land masses and green-blue oceans made for a spectacular sight from the stations that dotted the heavens above the world.
Hwaet Station was an oddity, a working facility that handled vessels ranging from lift platforms from groundside and lowly barges taking grains, cereals, vegetables, and fruits outsystem, to luxury cruise ships bringing tourists through. Ships of all sorts might be found berthed or docked, mundane utility and posh appointments mingling in space. A miniscule ship like the Tuskadoon nee Lance was just a blip on the sensors, a single entry on traffic control and docking logs among hundreds that would come and go this day.
A slight shudder went through the Lance as the dockway connected and sealed around her starboard side airlock.
“Hwaet Station Control shows good lock, good seal, Tuskadoon.”
“Same, same, HSC,” Teller said.
“Welcome, you are clear to board.”
Once shutdown was complete, the five aboard the Lance gathered in the common room.
“If this Makreury is here, how confident are you that he’ll help us,” Jessop said. “You’ve been a little cryptic about him.”
“He can tell us where the Makreury Latchup is. There will be Makreurys from all over this end of the galaxy. They can tell us an awful lot about what’s going on near and far, plus we don’t have to worry about someone turning on us like Farga.”
“Are you sure? If you can find them and if you can get admittance, what makes you so sure they wouldn’t sell us out?”
“Honor is the why. Trust me, it’s a big thing with them. It’s everything almost. The how is easier. I’ve been to their Latchups before. Finding out where is trickier, but I know a guy.”
Jessop nodded. “Makreury.”
“I have an idea,” Teller said. “I think only two of us ought to go look for Mak. That neuro-to might not have spotted us if we weren’t a group of four. I have to go. Ord and Ho might stick out, so that leaves you two,” he said with a point at Ned and Ursula.
“I was here about two years ago, Standard,” Jessop said. “There may be some who might remember me.”
“And if word has reached here…,” Teller looked to Ursula. “It’s you and I then.”
. . .
The pair stepped from the dockway and onto the station. A quick check of the station directory told Teller where they needed to go.
“How do you know he’ll be at this particular place?” Ursula said.
“He mentioned it a time or two. Unless things have changed a great deal, he ought to be there. We’ll need to take a station tram.”
A short while later they climbed from the tram car. A silent holo-ad played in the air nearby, a representation of a gleaming starliner rotating above the scrolling words,
Set space aboard any of the nine celestial sisters that make up the Maxima Luxuria Line. Voyaging to such delectable destinations as Lilium Paradise, Zha Espis, and Suavis Heedys. Why deny yourself, reserve passage now.
-Maxima Star Cruises-
A short walk down a row of clubs and restaurants brought them to the place Teller sought, FORTUNE’S FAVORS as the electrodisplay proclaimed.
It was too early in the local day for the club to be busy. That didn’t mean the place was empty. Several tables had private games of chance in swing and there were a few patrons at the house supported endeavors.
The club was dark and hazy with the smoke of various combustible inhalants, the smell of them permeated the room and intermingled with other scents. Lights illuminated most of the tables that lined the walls and a few of the booths and gambling apparatus across the floor, leaving long shadows over the rest of the floor space.
Teller led Ursula to the right, avoiding the middle of the room and the games underway there. The bored dealers didn’t even notice. He moved toward the back, and it seemed to Ursula he knew where he was going.
“There he is,” he said pointing to a small man with white hair seated alone at a lighted table. They moved through the room toward the man. He was deftly shuffling what Teller was sure were pelfre cards. Before they reached their destination, a sandy-haired young man stopped at the table. Teller grasped Ursula’s arm and led her into the shadows of a nearby wall. “Wait,” he said quietly.
“By chance would you be a card player?” the young man said.
“No, not by chance, by profession,” the old man answered in a clear and lilting tenor. He held up the deck of cards with an amused look on his face. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth indicated he’d smiled much in his days, yet despite this, there was a trace of weary sadness about him.
“Might you be willing to give a novice some advice or a lesson perhaps?”
“No, not give. Every little thing has a cost, and advice is a thing. A thing without a value is worth nothing.”
“I suppose that’s true, but that’s about all I have, nothing. That’s why I thought I might try my hand at cards.”
The gambler’s eyes twinkled. “I know, you’ve got the look, lad. So you do have something, youth and the look. I’d warn you off, but it’d do no good. Tell you what, I’ll give you a few tips. The being that showed me the ropes did me that favor and I’ll do the same for you. Stay while you will. Go when you will. Pay me what it’s worth when you can. You’ll know when.”
“Is that what you did for your mentor?”
He shook his head. “No, lad. He died before that happened. It weighs on me. A debt I’ll never put paid. I hope you’ll do better. What’s your name?”
“Riley.”
“I’m Mak. You eat this morning?”
Riley shook his head.
The old man slid a coin across the table. “Come back after you have some breakfast and we’ll see how it goes. Learning and gaming don’t sit well on an empty stomach.”
The young man thanked him and left. The gambler looked in Teller’s direction. “What would Tell Skellum be doing here lurking in the shadows?” He looked at Ursula for a couple of seconds and then returned his gaze to Teller. “So jockeying a fighter didn’t kill you nor has being a spacer. Don’t tell me you got
married?”
Teller laughed as they approached. “No, you old cheat. I’m long done with the military and done flying fighters as well, but you know that obviously. Hugh Makreury, this is Ursula. To cut it short, we’ve got crosshairs on us and I was hoping you might help.”
Makreury dipped his head at Ursula. “Charmed,” he said before scowling at Teller. “I can at least hope they’ll not be shooting you in the here and the now? Want me to hide you under the table and tell a tale for you?”
“It’s not that hot yet. I was wondering if you could tell me where the Makreury Latchup is taking place?”
Hugh gave Teller a hard look. “Now what makes you think I’d know about that? Not been welcome with them for quite some time. The situation is no different than when we last met.”
“You know where. As much as you claim to have divorced yourself from the clan, you still keep tabs.”
“You think, do you? We’ve not seen one another for what… a dozen years? Maybe I’ve finally had my fill of the Makreury’s troubles.”
Teller sighed and stared at the old man for several seconds.
“All right, all right, all right, enough with the sad look,” the old man said. “The Latchup be in the Ganglesh Nebula.”
“The Ganglesh is a big place, Mak. Where exactly?”
“I’d have to see the tells to tell you that… Tell.” Mak’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll have to ask around or look for yourself.”
“We don’t have time for all that and I may not have any pull there anymore. There’s heat, and we need to stay ahead of it.”
“Well then, I don’t know what to say, lad. You’re in a fix, aren’t you?”
Teller growled. “I hate to do this, old man, really I do.” He paused, grimacing. “By—”
Makreury jumped to his feet. “Don’t you dare, lad! This is n—”
“By right and by blood, a favor owed is a debt unpaid. I reclaim what is mine.”
The old man slammed the deck onto the table. “Dog your hatch, boy! I’ll not do it.”
Teller’s face reddened and he poked a finger at the old man. “Billschate, Mak. You’re still bound by the old way. The conversation you had with the kid just now says so.”
Makreury grumbled and fell into his seat. “You and your big ears.” He glared off across the room for several seconds, then back at Teller. “I’ll go, but chaos and feathers, Tell, on your head be what might transpire.”
“So be it. I have a ship. We need to provision before we leave. That won’t take long. We’ll leave this evening, Standard Time. I guess the kid will have to find another mentor to misguide him.”
Hugh smiled, then burst into laughter. “No, lad. He’ll be coming with.”
“Not a chance, Mak. I told you, we have heat.”
“Oh? The lad and I had an agreement. You heard it yourself with those big ears. Where I go, my obligations go. You played an old card and played it well. Now I’m playing a new one. Same game and the game’s not concluded just yet.”
It was Teller’s turn to grumble. “Fine, but on your head be what happens to him.”
Makreury smiled. “For the duration of the trip, we’ve got us a deal.” He hawked and spat into the palm of his right hand, pushing it toward Teller.
Teller repeated the gesture and they shook hands. “Deal, Mak. You always have something to play. Even when it looks like you have nothing, you got something.”
“When it’s time, you play what you need, if you have it. If you don’t have it, y—”
“You should think twice before playing. I remember, Mak. We’re docked at port Two-One-Six.”
He tapped the side of his head. “Two-Sixteen. Got it. Be there before you know it, Tell.”
Teller and Ursula left the club, headed for the tram. The knockabout said nothing.
After a few minutes, Ursula touched the spacer on the arm. “What was all that back there?”
“Long story. I know him from way back and he owed me a favor. That’s all.”
Ursula took the hint and did not pursue the matter.
. . .
“Last of the provisions are loaded and secure,” Ho said as he moved into the command deck. “Where will our passengers be riding?”
Teller gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “There. Urs and Ned can take their duty stations.”
Ord chuckled. “Course for Ganglesh Nebula set. Covers big space.”
“It does. That’s one of the reasons we need the old man. Hope we can catch a signal to guide us where we need to go. We leave as soon as Mak and the kid get here.”
“Will go watch.” Ord said as he rose from his seat. He left the command deck and took the few steps it required to reach the starboard airlock. Ducking through the opening, he walked down the dockway into the station.
A few minutes later, a pair of men came down the walkway. A small white-haired man carried a small satchel while his sandy-haired companion managed a few larger bags. The younger man’s gait made Ord think he had some military service in his past.
Hugh smiled as he neared Ord, his size not eliciting any other reaction from the old man. His companion’s was more typical, slowed steps and wide eyes. Offering his hand, Hugh said, “Ho there, Heavy-G. You’re a big one even for your kind.” He gestured at the Lance. “Owner, hand, or a partner?”
“Partner and friend of Teller. Ord. You are Hugh, the one he calls Mak?”
“That I be.” Mak pumped Ord’s hand vigorously. “You know of me?”
“Teller speaks much of you.”
“Well, don’t believe everything he says…,” the gambler said with a flash of mischief in his eyes, “just the flattering things.” He gestured at his companion. “This be Gus Riley. Seems a good man, but I question his sense. Decides to take up gambling and riding on strange starships all in the same day.”
Gus smiled and shook his head, then took Ord’s offered hand, marveling at the size of it.
Ord led them down the dockway and pointed to the command deck once onboard the Lance. “Teller in there.” He looked to Gus. “Bags this way.”
He led Gus to the crew room and opened a storage compartment.
“I served alongside a platoon of men from a heavy-G world on Helspur,” Gus said as he stowed the bags. “You’re not from Thoron-Five are you?”
“Gizzen.”
“Figures. You’re different than the T-Fivers. Bigger… friendlier too.”
Ord rumbled softly. “Ord spacer, not military. Come, have seat for you.”
. . . . .
. . . . .
8
Old Friends and Old Ways
. . . . .
Excerpt from, Cap’n Cosmos’ Guide to it All, the Interstellar Guide for Endeavoring Spacers.
Cap’n, becoming a knockabout sounds like something I might like to do when I’m old enough. Is operating as a freelancer a hard job or is it fun?
-Cal Walker
Cal, it can be both, but the fun part is optional or unavailable depending on circumstances.
Most freelancers specialize in some form of underserved segment of the market, chase high-risk, high-reward jobs, while a few choose to compete with the big boys in some field or another.
In this wide open, wild and wooly galaxy of ours, there’s opportunity to be had. There’s also danger, but as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained, but if you risk it all you risk losing it all. You gotta know your aphorisms and adages too, Endeavoring Spacers, otherwise you’ll never be able to string them together like the Cap’n.
For many freelancers, working for themselves is its own reward, and if they are very good at what they do and very lucky on top of that, there’s no limit to where they might end up. CEO anyone?
There are those that don’t want to become business moguls. They know that’s not the life for them. Keeping the operation small and sticking to what they know can be a very profitable and happy existence.
Some indies play it safe, some are daring. Some play i
t straight, some are willing to cross the line. In all likelihood, no matter what you try, you’ll end up broke or dead, but you’re going to end up that way anyway, because as we all know, you can’t take it with you and no one lives forever.
If you are bound and determined to become a rig, the Cap’n would suggest you think before you act. Figure out what you want to do and learn before you leap. Prospecting asteroid belts? Learn to fly tight and get some knowledge of geology. Fringe space merchant? Learn the biz, pick up the lingo, language, and customs of those you’ll deal with. Light cargo hauling? Learn load distribution, shackling, and efficiency, because those you’ll haul for will cut your schedule so tight you can’t breathe and the contract will kill you if you’re late. There’s a million other ways to go broke, so look into it before you decide which one is right for you.
Then there are the crazies that slap giant engines on a slick hull and off a’smuggling they will go because they saw it on a vid and it looked so strac. They head out into the Big Black figuring they’ll outrun anything that comes after them only to find the relays they bought from the trustworthy looking guy on Bryling Station were knockoffs that looked genuine but weren’t and at the worst possible time they fry themselves leaving the young spacer in the lurch. Trust the Cap’n on this, Endeavoring Spacers, a year in a Protectorate donjon is a poor way to spend a year… or so the Cap’n has been told.
. . .
The Ganglesh Nebula was an immense gas cloud teeming with rocks both large and small, and other than a spectacular sight from afar, had little to offer but seclusion. Seclusion was precisely the reason for holding the Makreury Latchup there.
“It’s not hiding,” Hugh said, “it’s just an out of the way place to gather and not have to worry about unwelcomes crashing the party.”
Teller went to sleep shortly after making slipspace, leaving Ord and Ho to keep an eye or photoreceptor on things.
Mak wasted little time with his new charge and the pair played pelfre in the common room until the young man began to yawn.
The Knockabouts Page 17
