The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “The third planet is the likely place, Captain,” Ho said moments after ARC Lance emerged from slipspace.

  “Must be the third planet,” Jessop concurred. “It’s the only one with atmosphere supportive of most life-forms and the only one with energy readings indicating some form of settlement.”

  “We head for Orsto-Three then,” Teller said.

  A few time units later, a voice came over the commo bands. “Who is that coming out of slipspace like a lubricated ape? Better be friends or we’ll atomize you ship and all.”

  Teller immediately recognized the voice. “ARC Lance, Mal.”

  “If it really is you, Tell, what work did we do for you first time by?”

  “Not a smoking thing. You made us smuggle a load of weapons to Osiris before you’d do the work.”

  “You make it sound like we did you wrong.”

  “Almost got a pair of green freehaulers dead, that’s all.”

  “But you didn’t get dead, now did you, kiddo? It built character, you helped start a revolution, and you’re still not dead. Ord still shipping with you?”

  “For whatever reason, yeah.”

  “One of these days he’ll come to his senses and start working for me. I keep saying, he comes wrench with my outfit he’ll be an ace mech in low time and a better tech in just a tock longer. Come on down without burrowing a hole in the landscape and we’ll catch up.”

  “We have passengers. I’ll vouch for them.”

  “The word of a vagabond spacer? That’s worth about a cup of spit. Oh, bring them anyway. Put her down near the workshop so we can see how far out of whack you’ve made everything. We’re clear of other traffic right now.”

  . . .

  A man wearing work coveralls and a tool rig stood directly behind ARC Lance as the rear cargo ramp lowered and the upper empennage section rose. He was Jessop’s age, fit and intelligent looking, but had a wary air about him and the eyes of one with a colorful past. Beyond him sat several vessels near a large ex-military erectable field shop and a Scarab class freighter similar to Rory’s.

  Orsto III was a dusty place, at least the portion Speedwell’s operation occupied. Several buildings sat in a row to the left side of the Lance. Wind blew waves of grit across the ground, occasionally swirling into brief vortices.

  “Nice place you have here,” Teller said as the ramp settled against the ground.

  “Isn’t it though,” the man replied.

  “Everyone, Malcolm Speedwell,” Teller said, introducing his companions save for Ord who had known Speedwell for as long as Skellum had.

  “What have you been up to?” the man said gesturing at the Lance’s port side. “Heavy blaster bolt strikes, and what’s that ding? Missile hit? Cannon slug?”

  “Pretty close, old man. We’re in a bit of trouble. Haven’t you heard?”

  “My interest lies in spaceships and the fixing or modification of said objects. It doesn’t include the misadventures of Teller Skellum or any other space bum. So what are you mixed up in now?”

  Teller gave Speedwell a look. No interest he says, but he asks. Same old Mal, he thought. “It’s a long story. Basically, what we have here is a misunderstanding. You see, we—”

  “They stole a load of data from Altairie Corporation after murdering a slew of citizens and cops over Boddan way,” said a musical voice from the doorway of a nearby building. “If the vids speak true. Considering who we have here, I’d say it might be.”

  Teller looked that way knowing who it was. He glared at the woman, a formidably tall green-skinned being, an Undabellus, a gilled humanoid race originating from water planets, but now widespread. He sighed. “Everyone, meet Riga Cherri, Malcolm’s girl Sixday.”

  Riga gave Teller a smirk and shook her head. “That about sums it up,” she said, her dual larynx creating the ethereal sound for which the Undabellus were well known. “I find things, organize, smooth things over, et cetera, et cetera. It’s the et cetera that’s the tough part. Anytime Teller shows up, it’s the tough part.”

  She walked toward the group in her naturally graceful stride and appraised the Lance as Speedwell had. She shook her head and pointed at the ship as she stopped next to Ord. “Never gets old. That crate of yours is overpowered, overarmed, overeverythinged, Teller. You’re even over-partnered.” She smiled and placed her hand on Ord’s chest and pressed the side of her head against his right arm, an Undabellus greeting reserved for those close or kin. The giant gently patted her on the back. She stepped away. “Glad to see he hasn’t got you killed, big guy.”

  Ord grunted. “Kept Ord from that on Idor.”

  Her brows rose. “Is that how it was? Tell has always been quick.” She glanced at him. “I should know.”

  Speedwell laughed, cutting off Teller’s retort. “Too much alike those two. That’s the problem. Planet receding on the outbound I say. Water under the crossing. Learn and let live. Let’s get some folks on the Lance and we’ll go inside and talk this over.”

  Ord grumbled.

  Speedwell grabbed the big man by the arm and pulled. “Not to worry. My best will be on the job. They’ll fix’er up to your standards, and if there’s anything they don’t understand, they’ll ask before they touch this go around.”

  Ord grunted and scowled, but went with the techmech.

  “I promise. The mess you caused last time isn’t forgotten,” Speedwell said with a growing smile. “I think a couple of them are still limping.”

  Ord’s expression showed he accepted Malcolm’s assurances. “If wondering, we did nothing wrong.”

  “Kiddo, I know folks ‘bout as well as I know ships. You are not the sort to do something as stupid as they claim you did. Murder? C’mon.” He glanced at Teller and smiled. “Him on the other hand….”

  . . .

  Speedwell led them to a large office overlooking the area where ARC Lance rested. Riga and Malcolm listened to the story of how the five beings from the Lance ended up on Orsto III.

  As they finished, one of Speedwell’s techmechs brought in the makeshift disseminator and placed it on a table near Malcolm.

  “Looks like a cephalopod or some such, but the diagnostics say it’s amazingly efficient for what it is. I almost felt bad taking it out.”

  “This the disseminator?”

  “That’s right, Mal. Don’t know how it works yet, let alone how they put it together.”

  Ned laughed and then explained how Ord and Ho constructed it.

  “Per credit spent, this may be the most efficient disseminator around,” the techmech said. “Slow, compared to high end kit, but credit-wise? Huge clang for the coin. If you don’t mind, we’ll keep it. Those tweaks you did through the engineering hub were fine work as well. Stealing them, just so you know.”

  Ned laughed. “Replace the opticable used and repair the vid deck and we’ll call it even… if Captain Teller approves.”

  Teller nodded. “It’s a better deal than I could get out of these thieves.”

  . . .

  “The Lancer class sloops,” Speedwell said wistfully as he watched his crew out the window. “Got my start on them. The Prause affair.”

  “Same here,” Jessop said. “Fresh out of engineer training. My first job was on one flying for Prause.”

  Speedwell laughed softly. “Small galaxy. I lacked any certs and started as a level one ground crew mechanist during the first days of the insurrection. A piece of land to call home sounded good then… a dream. Never had it, likely never will.”

  “Basic mech to running an operation like this? I don’t know what to call it but impressive.”

  “I was a natural. I was running a full shop by the time the Protectorate scrubbed us off Prause.” Speedwell stared at the Lance for several seconds. “My whole shop was captured, me with them. The Prausian command sent a trio of sloops to come get us, but they never made it. Shot to pieces, all three… trying to get us. Spent two years in a prison camp. Turns out, I was on the Protectorate’s list and
they decided to send me to Hades. Me and six others broke out before that happened. Two of us made it. Had to change my name and sign on with pirates to get outsystem. Got stuck with them. Worked on their birds for two years til the Scipo military had enough of the pirates and decided to do away with them. Took out the ships, troopers swept the ground operations. Got captured again. Was told I’d be sent to prison again. Escaped again. Changed my name again, and been doing more or less the same thing I did for Prause and the pirates ever since. The Protectorate still has a price on my head. Half the systems in the CoP and Syndic space do as well. Mostly for issues beyond my control.”

  Ned shook his head. “I was on one of the standby ships for that rescue attempt, but once they departed, they shuttled us all to a transport and made for Confederation space. You probably prepped my bird on more than one occasion. Eight Squadron.”

  Speedwell nodded. “Good chance of it. Worked your wing often. Good outfit.”

  “You ever work on the Dagger, Mal?” Tell said.

  He nodded and smiled at Ned. “The Dagger your ride? She was a serendipity ship to those that crewed her.”

  Jessop nodded in return. “That she was… still is actually.” He pointed out the window at the Lance, Speedwell’s mechs and techs crawling over, under, around and through her now. “That’s her.”

  “I’ll be dogged tight. You sure?”

  Jessop nodded.

  Speedwell gave Teller a hard look. “You didn’t know that?”

  “How could I? Never heard of the Dagger until Ned brought it up. We didn’t know Lance and the Dagger were one and the same until he coughed up the Prausian tail designator. We painted it over before we took her into the black the first time off Maelstrom. Why are you crawling up my nozzles anyway?”

  “Because you ought not to be treating her so rough. She’s been through a lot. She deserves better.”

  Teller looked at the ceiling and sighed loudly. “She plays rough too. Dropped four fighters down in the gas just yesterday. Not bad for a museum piece flown by a washed-up pilot and an untrained giant.”

  “Maybe so, but still….”

  “Still what?”

  “If I’d known who she was when you two first came crawling to me I’d have paid you a stack of coin. As it is… well, you best take care of her.”

  “We don’t?” Ord said.

  Speedwell’s expression softened. “Of course you do, kiddo. That’s why I don’t buy her off you right now. Keep it up. For her sake, for my sake, for your sake, just keep the missiles and bolts off her hull, all right?”

  . . .

  The gathering joined several of Speedwell’s beings in the outfit’s dining hall. Ned and Mal segregated themselves from the rest and swapped tales of days and battles and comrades past.

  “That’s good for Mal,” Riga said with a gesture at the two ex-insurrectionists. “His past is something he keeps closed up most of the time.”

  “I knew about the piracy gig, but he always made it out to be his own choice.” Teller said around a mouthful of food. “I didn’t know he fought in the Prausian Insurrection. Sure as Hades didn’t know he almost ended up on… well, Hades.”

  Riga smiled. “Doing what we do, a shady background adds legitimacy. The warrants on him are valid enough, if not the reasons.”

  “Mystique. Mal always said a bit was good for business.”

  “How’s that working for you, Mister Malarkey?”

  Teller glared. “Completely different circumstances, gill-girl.”

  “Mister Lightning,” Riga purred with a sly grin.

  “Green n—”

  A small and wiry man stepped in the room, interrupting Teller’s reply. The man made his way to Riga. The work rig on his head was like nothing any of Lance’s crew had ever seen. A jumble of lenses, filters, lights, beam projectors, sensors, and several devices of unknown utility made up the rig. “You got work for me?”

  “Sure do,” Riga said with a nod. “It’ll take both of us. A couple of open data cases and a locked data pad.” She gestured at Ho who had the cases in his charge.

  “Both of us for that?”

  “Corporate data. Altairie.”

  The man’s entire face twitched. He turned and looked over Lance’s crew. “You don’t look the sort to be killing for data or flying the anti-corp banner.” He locked onto Ursula. “You must be corporate, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’d bet you could have simply asked for the data and someone would have just given it to you with barely a thought. A non-mod beauty like you? Yeah, I could see that. No need to go revolutionary and kill a space station full of people.”

  “Who are you?” Ursula said.

  “Asie Pleasant.” He looked to Riga. “We getting a piece if there’s a deal?”

  “Things are not as they seem and we haven’t worked out any deals. You’re not doing anything right now anyway, so we’ll do this and see where it goes.”

  Asie shrugged. “Hardly anything’s ever as it seems. All right, why not? I’ll be in the shop.” He left the same way he came in.

  “Who was that?” Ursula said.

  “He’s our resident tech ace and social misfit. Mal salvaged him on one of his trips awhile back. Asie was in trouble and on the run and ended up here. Hack, jack, or crack most anything. Finish eating and we’ll see what you have.”

  . . .

  Asie had the Altairie data pad unlocked in seconds. He looked at the data stream running across the large display panel in front of him.

  “Altairie corporate device. No doubt about that,” he said as he scanned the data for useful information. “Belonged to a Victoria Gomez… Sodall Tech Group staffer looks like.”

  Ursula grimaced. “Was she working for Sodall or was she working for someone else when she was at Commerce Station?”

  “We shall see….” Asie’s fingers blurred across the keypad on his lap. “She was a bad girl.”

  Riga glared at him from her workstation nearby. “In her personal life or something else?”

  Asie sighed. “Riga, I’m working. A little professionalism please. I’m talking corporate… the other stuff I’ll go through later.”

  Riga exhaled loudly. “What was she up to?”

  Asie smiled. “We’re still talking the corporate stuff?”

  “Asie….”

  “Looking, but she had directions to delete a few messages she received. Guess what she didn’t do.”

  “I get it,” Riga said. “What was she supposed to delete and why didn’t she?”

  “Why? Don’t know. Protection if things went odd maybe? Lazy? There’s a message directing her to coordinate with an unnamed person at Commerce Station. She was to make sure they provided the proper reception to an arriving party… message about what was to occur after…. After what?”

  “The ambush,” Teller said. “The cops were to set up an ambush, that’s what. We arrived earlier than expected.”

  Asie nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll read it off, ‘It is vital that the information within the case be disseminated correctly. Fielder with the system news network receives part A, Planetary Councilor Kramer part B, and the remainder is to be placed in the care of Florschiemer who has his own instructions. If Florschiemer does his part, it should totally neuter the Feng situation and perhaps facilitate Feng’s elimination.’” Asie shook his head. “What was the purpose of this? The information is out anyway, despite the… the… whatever their operation was supposed to be. Feng is the guy who had the other case…, you know these others?”

  Ursula shook her head. “No, but maybe we should.”

  “There is far more data in the case than was leaked,” Jessop said. “I’m not an expert, but I could see it was information about a surveillance program just as the leaked info exposed. We’re hoping you can tell us more.”

  Asie nodded. “What do you have so far, Riga?”

  “It’s on the network. Take a look.”

  “Either of you know much about th
e destruction devices aboard cases like the ones we brought?” Jessop said.

  “I looked the cases over briefly when I connected the data packs,” Asie said. “One never had the devices installed. The other has them removed. The devices are in the wrapped up mess?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Something odd about them?”

  “You tell us.”

  “Let me look.” Asie pushed his chair away from his workspace and stood. He went to the cases and toggled controls on a few of the devices on his headgear. After unwrapping the destruction devices and a few minutes of silent examination, he let out a quiet, “hmm.”

  “So, was the charge truly faulty or made to appear that way?” Teller said.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes to both. When they put these together before they release them for distribution, they test all of the components, and I mean all. A test would have shown the charge to be defective, and based on why it’s defective, it was no manufacturing mistake. Sabotaged before installation, maybe built to be as it was, but any decent tech knowledgeable on this sort of gear could tell you that. The explosive charge is a complete dud, but the EMP is a fizzle. Modified or built to be that way.”

  “A what?”

  ”A fizzle. It was to discharge and damage the data. Note I said ‘damage’ and not ‘destroy’. They wanted someone to see what was on there, but only specific areas.”

  “Why?”

  “The message on the data pad said to send portions of the data to specific parties, right? If they only put the data they wanted released on here and little else, someone knowlegable would detect that if they did a checksum analysis and had a functioning brain. The damaged data would still be here, but be completely unreadable and non-recoverable. That would make it look legit. What they did here was clever, but risky. If everything when according to plan, it all works out for them, but there’s many a trip twixt slipspace and a ship.” He pointed at the workstations. “Case in point.”