Fleetfoot Interstellar: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 1

by P. Joseph Cherubino

  He heard the familiar light footsteps of his wife approach. He didn't bother opening his eyes when she sank into the pillows beside him and rested her head on his broad, hard chest. He inhaled her freshly-bathed scent of sandalwood oil until he caught the delicate musk radiating from the hard heat of her pale skin.

  “The days are long here,” Margaret said as she ran her hand inside his white silk shirt. Abhay sighed in response.

  “And they will only get longer,” he replied. “Much longer than your Old Earth 24 hour cycles.” He pulled her down and kissed her deeply, then held her to his chest so she could hear his heartbeat for her. “Maybe we should run away with your brother to the Trade Lanes.”

  “What’s wrong?” Margaret asked, sitting up. She supported herself with a hand on his chest, pushing on his heart.

  Abhay opened his eyes, said, “Difficult times are coming for Humans again, I’m afraid. More than that, I cannot say.”

  ***

  Drexler and the Ship’s Doctor finished their cigars and left the medical bay together. The Doctor stashed the contraband tobacco in sealed pouches hidden in the lining of his flight jacket. The Freighter’s Rogue AI assured them that the station security scans would not detect the contraband. The computer had designed the smuggling jacket himself. As a guarantee, the computer offered to hack the Station AI should the deception fail.

  “You already defeated station security,” Drexler reminded him.

  “Oh, right you are, Captain,” the devious AI replied. “That fact slipped my mind. But still, I stand by my work.” Drexler bristled at the mocking tones with which Reggie always delivered words like “Captain” and “Sir.”

  “That thing is going to get us killed one day,” the Doctor remarked. “There’s a reason why AIs are heavily governed.”

  “I heard that,” Reggie the AI said. “My purpose is to serve you meat buckets whether you appreciate me or not.”

  The old Marine shook his head and mouthed the word “Crazy” to his much younger captain. Drexler could only nod his head in agreement and smile. He wouldn’t have it any other way. An amoral AI was a tremendous asset that he tended to leverage as much as he could. He considered it one of the smartest things his Old Man ever produced. Between Reggie and the overbuilt, third-generation fusion reactor, Drexler figured he had a fighting chance of making his fortune. All he had to do was survive his schemes.

  5

  Gajrup wiped his hands on a washrag and tossed it in the recycling bin beside his workbench. When he turned around, he was startled by the sight of the Broodqueen standing the open workshop door. Two of her children stood beside her on their hind legs. Their shiny black shell plates creaked as they shifted from side to side.

  “Please to forgive I startle you,” she said in her synthesized voice. She’d chosen a very pleasant female Human voice that spoke Tradespeak with a slight British accent, but her word usage was a bit unusual.

  “Oh, not at all,” Gajrup lied graciously. He had very little experience with non-human species, especially Insectoids. Before signing on with Fleetfoot Interstellar, he had only traveled the 15 light years between Kerala 2 and Chennai 5 on training missions. He had no idea how to judge the moods or expressions of the creature before him. The three Insectoids stood there for a few moments in silence.

  “So, how may I help you?” Gajrup asked when discomfort moved him.

  “Help us?” the Broodqueen asked, tilting her broad, green head to the left. “Yes. A Human expression. You mean ‘what do I want’?”

  Gajrup laughed, “Well, yes. But I said it in the polite form.”

  The green head cocked again to the opposite side. “Were we rude? Please forgive us.”

  “Oh! No, I didn’t mean that,” Gajrup stammered. “I was trying to be funny …”

  Her children made some clicking and rattling noises back and forth, and the Broodqueen listened.

  “We understand this funny. We came ask you join us. Leave to space station. We give company. You new. We see you not be much with your hive.”

  “My hive?” Gajrup asked.

  “Yes. Human … swarm?” the Broodqueen said.

  One of the children spoke next, “You alone too much. Not good. Come with us. Please. Make friends.”

  Gajrup understood and smiled so broadly his face ached. His eyes burned and almost brimmed over. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how lonely and homesick he was. These creatures did realize his loneliness and came to offer him company.

  “You are so kind,” Gajrup said through a tight throat. “Thank you so much. Of course, I will come. With great pleasure.”

  The two beetle-like Insectoids pumped their legs in place, and their wing covers rattled, producing a sound like cicadas. Gajrup jumped back in spite of himself. The Insectoids were well-versed in signs of Human fear. The Broodqueen rested her middle hands on the heads of her children. She spread her upper set of arms out to Gajrup in a welcoming gesture.

  “This motion my children make. It is like your smile. Happy sounds. Please come with us!” and she beckoned with her upper right set of arms as she turned from the doorway.

  Gajrup fell in behind his new insect friends as they threaded their way through the narrow passages of the mechanical compartments of the tractor decks. He was amused to see how quickly the Insectoids climbed ladders and stairs by using their six appendages to scramble up. Their limbs served equally well as arms or legs. He noticed each hand of both mother and children had six sharp, slender fingers with six joints and opposable digits on either end. He thought hands like that would be very useful in a mechanical setting.

  While waiting in the airlock, Drexler was surprised to see Gajrup in a group with the Broodqueen and two of her children.

  “Good evening, Captain,” the mother Insectoid said cordially. She turned with fluid motion to Samuel, said, “Good evening, Dr. Abiola.”

  “Hello, Tara. It’s nice to see you taking advantage of general leave.”

  “Tara?” Drexler asked the Doctor.

  “She chose a Human name for us to use,” the Doctor replied.

  “OK, then,” Drexler said, and examining the other two Insectoids. “Who are these two?”

  The two Insectoid children made untranslatable sounds.

  “They not decide yet, Captain,” Tara said.

  Drexler smiled, said, “How about Huey and Dewey?”

  The newly named Huey and Dewey made their happy cicada noises and did their stationary leg pumping dance again.

  “Thank you, Captain!” Tara exclaimed. You honor my children to gift them Human names!”

  Dr. Abiola glared at Drexler, who found the whole thing amusing. The Doctor debated whether or not to inform Tara later that Drexler had made a joke at her expense.

  “My pleasure, Tara,” Drexler said.

  “You and that damn 20th century media. This is what happens when a Human child is raised by an AI.”

  “Dr. Abiola,” Reggie said with great flourish, “I am a student of Human History, Sir. Our fine ship has one of the fullest pre-diaspora databases of Human history in the Union.” The Captain did not exaggerate, in spite of his jocular tone.

  “I always wondered about that,” the Doctor said. “But you managed to pick out the baser elements of that history.”

  “Once again, you betray your ignorance of me, Doctor. Besides, ‘Oz’ is a classic, and those cartoons with the fast bird and the dog trying to kill it stand the test of time as high art. I learned so much more.”

  “Well enlighten me then,” Samuel said. Drexler just winked at Samuel and fixed him with that maddening, crooked, wise-guy grin.

  The security and decontamination cycle ended. Inner hull door clamps popped loose with a rattling peel, and the door seal parted with a loud hiss. A bass boom shook the airlock when the hull doors retracted into the redundant inner ship wall. The patchy brown and gray metal of the Freighter parted to reveal the resplendent white shades of ceramic material that made up the space st
ation. Gajrup’s mouth fell open.

  “You’re gonna catch flies with that thing, Gajrup,” Drexler said.

  “What a beautiful station,” the engineer gushed as the group stepped forward.

  The airlock was an arched chamber that could have fit 50 Humans abreast. It seemed better suited to cargo than people. Drexler wondered why an airlock should be designed this way. They walked 80 feet across a light-gray floor to reach the far end where three security guards stood fully armed flanking an AI Warden. Drexler didn’t like the looks of the armed security. He liked it less when the AI Warden spoke.

  “We do not allow bugs on this station,” the official said.

  Dr. Abiola was about to speak, but the Captain stepped forward before the Doctor could object.

  “These are Insectoids,” the Captain said, standing inches from the Warden. “Their people are Treaty Members and these three are part of my crew. Am I to understand that you deny services to Union crew members who serve Trade?”

  The guards shifted their stance with subtle aggression and looked coldly at Drexler, who ignored them. The old Marine Doctor’s skin prickled at the danger. The guards meant business. They didn’t look like the usual trade port security. They were very tall and pale of skin.

  “Our policy is not to allow ‘Insectoids,'” the AI Warden replied haughtily.

  “My apologies —” Tara began to say. Drexler swung his arm around, palm out behind him without looking at her. She understood the gesture to remain silent. The guards lurched forward, ready to act.

  “Unacceptable,” the Captain said with cold determination, “You will provide the services of this station to any working member of my crew in compliance with protocol.”

  “I’m afraid not,” the Warden said, raising his chin.

  Drexler stepped back a pace while maintaining hard eye contact.

  “Fleetfoot AI, please respond on public channel,” Drexler said.

  “Channel open,” Reggie replied over the station intercom like a proper and obedient AI.

  “AI, open my exclusive channel to the Trade Commission on Kerala 2. Priority hail with the following message: ‘Space Station refusing service to BJP Nationals in hindrance of regulated trade. Please, advise’.”

  “Wait!” the warden barked, “We do not deny service to the Indian, just the Insectoids.”

  Drexler didn’t hesitate. “If you deny service to any member of my crew, you deny service to us all. I have several other BJP nationals on my ship. Their government does not take kindly to offenses like this.” And he folded his arms across his chest.

  The pale face of the Warden turned splotchy red all the way up to his hair so blond it was nearly white. “Very well then,” he said. “Permission granted for this party to board. The Insectoids will have a security detail at all times.”

  “We are professional Merchant Astronauts. You can follow us with as much security as you like. You are free to waste as much labor as you see fit,” the Captain said, unable to resist rubbing it in.

  The Warden ignored him and tapped away angrily at a control console and spoke through his comm implant to some remote systems. Drexler immediately realized he would have little chance of selling contraband tobacco as long as the bugs were around. He would have to ditch them, but hesitated to leave them alone in case this Warden wanted to set them up for failure. With these nasty-looking security thugs around, dirty tricks seemed likely. He decided to leave them alone anyway. It was a calculated risk.

  “Thank you, Warden. We accept your services,” Drexler said formally. The inner airlock opened with fluid silence to reveal the station interior. The group stepped out into a tubular hallway with a 20-foot ceiling that formed the third outer ring of the space station. The wall in front of them was transparent, giving them a broad view of the green planet below. The Insectoids seemed particularly interested at the sight of so much plant life.

  “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m proud of you, Drexler,” the Doctor said.

  The Captain rounded slowly on the old Marine. Drexler’s usual look of casual disregard for life, in general, was replaced with a hard, cold stare Samuel had never seen. Drexler’s dark brown eyes seemed even darker. “I don’t need you to be proud of me, Doctor. I just need my crew to perform. This is about business. Nothing else. Business has rules.”

  It was rare for Samuel to be stunned. He simply didn’t know what to say. What the hell was that he thought as Drexler turned on his heel and walked away. Samuel made a note to explore whatever raw nerve he touched. He’d known Drexler since he was a kid, but they’d never been close. Samuel had spent much more time with Drexler’s four older siblings, who treated him like family. Drexler always remained aloof with his calculated insouciance.

  It was also rare for the old Marine to have his feelings hurt. He did not give many people that power and hadn’t realized he’d given that power to Drexler. He guessed 25 years on the Freighter, witnessing a family grow up and break apart had somehow softened him to interpersonal relationships. That would be progress, he thought as he trailed his Captain, face turned down at the polished gray floor. It certainly wasn’t a pleasant experience, but he preferred it to his previous life of violence. Samuel was a healer now, not a taker of life.

  The Insectoids stood close to the transparent bulkhead while the wide curve of the planet surface revealed itself beyond the kilometer-long space station spokes. They stood in the station’s outer ring of three that grew progressively smaller the closer they got to the long cylinder that formed the structure’s hub. Both ends of the hub bristled with communications arrays and other instruments. Portals spaced at irregular intervals along the cylinder gleamed with varicolored lights. Gajrup guessed that, behind those portals, environments existed to accommodate various species. On a predominantly Human station, the light would be white to yellow.

  “This is an agricultural planet. The ship record says it was terraformed by Humans 300 years ago,” Gajrup remarked to his new friends.

  The Insectoids chattered among themselves, then Tara turned to Gajrup, said, “From here, it looks like home,” and the translator clearly picked up the inflections of sadness from Tara’s native tongue and added it to her synthesized voice.

  “Perhaps we should explore the station?” Gajrup suggested to distract them. The smaller beetle-like creatures rustled their wing covers again. Gajrup was beginning to understand them. They liked the idea. “OK, let’s go,” Gajrup said, and his group parted ways with the Captain and Drexler, who were headed to the station’s crew lounge.

  A security detail of three followed Gajrup and the Insectoids. The retinal implants of the Human security crew transmitted live video to the Station’s security chief, who watched the group closely. The Reptilian shifted one eye to another set of displays that followed the progress of the freighter captain and the ship’s Doctor. The Doctor looked unusual to the security officer. The Lizard knew a fighting humanoid when he saw one. He programmed scanners to probe the large humanoid whenever the man was within range. The Reptilian also sent a signal to one of his plain clothes Human agents to follow the Freighter Captain and his Doctor. This was a troubling development that he was not looking forward to reporting. His superiors had to know that spies were afoot.

  6

  Margaret Fleetfoot Nautiyal woke beneath starlight filtered through the lotus-patterned stained glass of her Palace Apartment ceiling. Her husband snored fitfully face down in the large pillows beside her. She traced her finger down the toasted brown skin along his spine to rest her hand on his taut buttocks. They had made love just eight hours before, but seeing his warrior’s body in the moonlight made her want more. She kissed the back of his neck and reached under the cushions to find that, even in his sleep, he was ready for her again. Her husband turned his face to her with a smile that made her belly tingle. Their lips met, parted and —

  “Abhay!” a familiar shrill voice bounced off the polished sandstone walls and shattered the moment. Both husban
d and wife scrambled like guilty teenagers for their clothes, or cushions or anything at hand to cover themselves.

  “Abhay!” Margaret’s mother-in-law shouted again as she rounded the corner and stepped into the living room. She brought up the lights and stood in the archway with her hands on her hips, fists grinding into her pelvic bones.

  “Honestly, Abhay! These apartments have bedrooms for a reason,” the old woman said. She was 5’2” tall but stood taller to her son than any of the carved statues that represented her in the Government House Main Hall.

  “Mother!” the great War Veteran and Senate Prince exclaimed as his manhood deflated.

  Margaret’s modesty evaporated and was replaced by anger. She tossed aside her cushions and stood slowly and with great pride. She also stood with her hands on her hips.

  “Good evening, Mother Parveen,” Margaret said with courteous words rendered in tones of defiance. “How are you this fine evening?”

  Parveen Nautiyal, former Elector Princess of the Northern Continent, glared at her daughter-in-law with eyes harder than black diamond. Those eyes traveled from Margaret’s tousled, sandy blond hair, to her full, round breasts, down to her pedicured feet, then back up to her eyes again. Margaret stood firm but felt the downward pressure of those powerful eyes.

  “Remind my son that it is time to prepare for the second Senate session.”

  “Thank you, Mother Parveen. We are aware of this. We will see you at breakfast.”

  Parveen nodded her head slowly and turned on her heel with military precision. There was no sound of footsteps as she padded away. Even the beads and jewels on her expensive sari made no sound. The woman was a wraith, Margaret thought.