The Admiral made an irritated noise at this impudence. “It’s a secret, captain.”
“If it’s a secret, how am I supposed to fly there then?”
The Admiral turned bright red, and I began to worry about the possibility of him exploding. Instead, he exploded verbally. “Don’t be insolent! Now get out of here. Get your Speedbird ready, the agent will instruct you after you leave the Fleet Base.”
I stood and saluted. It’s always an acceptable reply, or at least an action for which you cannot be criticised, when a senior officer starts shouting at you. Rosto pulled me out of the office quickly, before the Admiral started shouting again.
“That’s no way to get yourself out of the Reconnaissance Unit, is it?” he said. “Mind you, I’ve taken a liking to you and think you should make the posting permanent.”
I gave him a look of distaste. He just grinned.
“I assume your Speedbird is still in maintenance? That’s good. It isn’t very conspicuous there.”
“Conspicuous? I think it’s become part of the scenery.”
Rosto pulled some folded sheets out of a pocket and passed them to me as we walked down the corridor away from the Admiral’s office. The sound of his shouting started to fade as we turned a corner. “These are the departure codes and permissions.”
“What about the nav coordinates?” I asked.
“When we get aboard.”
I scowled. “You too?”
“No, just they are in my mission documents and not in my pocket. I’ll meet you at your ship in half an hour.”
Rosto gave me another grin and turned off down a side corridor. I took a lift down to the maintenance level and headed for my ship. Mike was standing by the entry hatch as I approached the Speedbird, with the Service Log book in his hand. He offered it to me.
“You’d better inspect this. There are some service issues you need to be aware of.”
I gave him a quizzical look.
“Look, Frank. You took some incoming shots on your last mission. The shields for this model don’t cope too well with the most modern weaponry. No, I’m not going into detail: we’d be here for days until you understood the technicalities.”
I nodded gloomily. “I know, I don’t understand all the science. It’s just my job, five days a week.”
“So be aware then. The next time you get into a combat scenario, run away as quickly as you can. The defense shields look a bit dodgy to me, and you can see that I’ve marked that in the logs.”
I took the ship’s logbooks from him, and countersigned the entry on the defense shields. Mike gave me a pitying look, and he actually shook my hand. That was more unnerving than anything else, as he normally sent me off with an insult and a plea to take more care of the Speedbird. I watched him walk off across the maintenance bay, but he didn’t look back. I was unsure if that was because he didn’t want to look back to see if I was looking back to see if he was looking back at me; or if he just didn’t look back. Whatever.
The Speedbird’s entry hatch slid shut with a hiss of compressed gas, and the lights indicated a sealed closure. I headed up the staircase into the living quarters, turned on the coffee maker and went into the flight deck. It didn’t take me long to realise that I should get on with this mission, or I might be inclined not to go. The flight console came to life, as did the comms screen.
“Base Control, Speedbird Six Sixty-six in Maintenance. Request clearance for engine start and movement to docking station.”
The Star Fleet Base controller replied immediately, which I considered a bad sign – they clearly wanted rid of me. “Speedbird Six Sixty-six, Base Controller. You are cleared for engine start and to proceed to Docking Station Sixteen.”
I thumbed hastily through the Flight Guide until I found where Docking Station Sixteen was. If you’ve never flown a star ship of any sort, it’s easy not to realise how damnably complex it can be to get around in one. Luckily the navcomm had the Star Base locations pre programmed, so it didn’t take me long to move out of the maintenance bay and into space, then around the huge Base to the allocated Docking Station. Typically it was near the unfashionable service area where the refuse and stores were dealt with.
The computers guided the Speedbird to a safe docking, and told me the procedure was complete with a satisfied tone in their automated voices. Only moments passed before the hatch was opened, and closed again. I left the flight deck and poured some coffee. Rosto bounded up the circular stairway into the living area, taking the coffee out of my hand before I had managed a sip.
“Thanks!” he said.
“Welcome.” I reset the coffee maker and waited for another cup to be prepared.
“Here’s the destination,” Rosto told me, handing me a sheet of paper with some coordinates on it. They were unfamiliar, and I looked at the paper from a few angles before asking where the planet was.
“It’s not a planet. It’s a meeting place. We’ll be meeting another ship there.”
“Right. So, where is this spot, then?”
Rosto actually looked around as if the walls had ears.
“In the Merchant Princes Sector.”
I relaxed a little. “At least it isn’t in Imperium territory.” The coffee brewed, and I collected the cup with a sigh of pleasure.
“I needed a refill!” said Rosto, and collected that cup too.
I glared at him.
“Don’t look like that. You can get coffee once we are underway. Let’s get going.”
I glared at the agent again, but gave way. In the Flight deck, I entered the spatial coordinates into the navcomm, and called the Base Controller again.
“Speedbird Six Sixty-six requesting departure; clearance…” I sifted the papers I had been given with the clearance codes on it.
“We have your clearances here, Speedbird. Your departure is cleared, good luck.”
The comms channel closed down. I swung around in the pilot’s chair and looked hard at my passenger, who was leaning nonchalantly on the door to the living quarters. “They were expecting me. And wished me good luck. That’s deeply disturbing,” I told him.
Rosto waved my concerns away. “Probably a quiet day.”
I waved at the vidscreen. Several ships of various sizes were moving around Star Fleet Base, including the huge shape of the Imperium’s battlecruiser I had more or less salvaged a month or two ago. “No traffic?”
Rosto ignored the images.
“Just how dangerous is this mission, Rosto?” I asked.
“I asked for the best pilot they could spare,” he told me. “I got you.”
That statement seemed to me to have more than one interpretation and I was about to say so when the flight console lit up and the Speedbird was summarily ejected from the Docking Station. All my attention was taken up with establishing a safe flight trajectory out of the traffic, and by the time I had finished the agent had retired to the living quarters, taking the coffee with him. I entered the destination coordinates and engaged the main drive. When we had reached the appropriate velocity, the hyperdrive kicked in and I relaxed. Then tensed up for my confrontation with my passenger. I left the flight deck and looked for him in the living quarters. To my surprise, he wasn’t there. Nor was he in the kitchen, or the bathroom. The engine room too was empty of any Rosto shaped organisms. I clattered down the stairs to the entry hatch, and was surprised to see a set of feet sticking out of the bulkhead below the engine compartment. Or, to be more accurate, out of the storage space below the compartment that should have held field maintenance packs for the Speedbird.
“Sorry,” he said, wriggling backwards out of the space. “It’s agent stuff. I have some documents that I can’t carry with me unless they are needed and I’m sure that they will be safe on me. It was either there or your underwear drawer, and the latter is a bit obvious if we were to be searched.”
“Searched???” I asked.
“Well, we are going across a Galactic Border. You never know. Politically sensi
tive documents don’t want to be paraded around, do they?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so said nothing. That seemed to be the right thing to say, as Rosto smiled at me, closed the compartment and climbed the staircase. Rosto had already flung himself into the only sleeping pod in the scout ship, so I made do with the spare chair and fell asleep.
It seemed that I had barely closed my eyes when the proximity alarms all went off. I jerked awake and fell off the seat, before scrambling into the flight deck. Rosto was close behind. The navcomm showed that we had emerged from hyperspace as planned, and were cruising at a slow speed. The vidscreens showed that a medium sized space station lay ahead, and that the defenses had been alerted. Several scout ships were approaching, and the commscreen was flashing wildly with an incoming message. I tried to turn off the proximity alert, but it refused to disengage and kept bleating a warning with what seemed like unnecessary enthusiasm for a few scout ships.
I activated the defense screens at once. Then the rear vidscreen showed an unfeasibly large Starcruiser was uncomfortably close behind us. So close that the defense screens were pointless, and I saved power by deactivating them. The Starcruiser moved alongside, until it appeared in both the front and rear screens. At the same time. It was enormous, and a mild panic seemed to be in order so I had one. Rosto, however, seemed unmoved.
“Answer the incoming call,” he said to me.
I looked at him, and then at the vidscreens. On one side was this enormous battlecruiser, festooned with lights that flashed continuously in a very intimidating manner. On the other side was a scout ship, much more modern than my poor Speedbird, and positioned to give me an unrivalled view of its weapons systems. I opened the comms channel.
“Good morning customer!” shouted a voice in a cheery fashion, causing me to fall off the pilot’s chair. “Do you wish to be directed to Retail; Wholesale; Distribution; Services or Administration?”
Clearly and correctly assuming that I was incapable of speech, Rosto leaned across the flight console and keyed the comms channel. “Administration, please. I have an appointment with the CEO.”
“Do you have your confirmation with you sir?”
“Yes, I do,” replied Rosto calmly.
“Standby to download docking instructions. Welcome to The Emporium, sir.”
From my position on the floor I looked up at the vidscreen and then at Rosto. “Do you mean that enormous starship is a supermarket?”
Rosto looked amused. “Yes. This sector is under the sway of the merchant princes. They buy and, of course, sell. How did you think they sold their wares?”
Of course, I hadn’t thought about it. We slid along and over the interstellar store, which I could now see was covered in adverts and inducements to buy. A small swarm of ships was rising from the nearby planet and being shepherded to docking stations by the security ships.
The Speedbird rotated under the control of the automated docking routine, and settled alongside the battlecruiser, for as much as it was an emporium it was also well armed and defended. Presumably in case of interstellar shop lifters trying to lift the whole thing. Rosto slipped back into the living quarters whilst I watched the vidscreens in fascination.
After a few minutes he reappeared at the door of the flight deck. “I’m off for my meeting. Have a wander around if you like. Just don’t get into trouble. If you want to buy anything that’s fine, they accept all Galactic Currencies – just watch the conversion rates sharply as they will try to rip you off there if they can. Don’t get into any trouble.” Rosto nodded amicably, and left. Only then did I realise that he had swapped his dingy flight suit for a very smart three piece suit with an executive briefcase. I began to wonder what, exactly, this mission was about. Still, I had never been aboard a star-going supermarket before, and quite fancied a look around. I collected my wallet and climbed down to the entry hatch. Rosto was gone already, so I left the ship and carefully closed the port.
Beside the hatch was a single aluminium pillar, which turned out to be a combination of a store assistant and parking attendant.
“Welcome to the Emporium. Please take your ticket from the slot below. You will need this to return to your vessel after shopping, so please retain it in a safe place. In the rack beside the speaker you will find a short printed guide to The Emporium. Enjoy your visit.”
A small ticket dropped out of the machine and landed by my feet. I picked it up and put it carefully into a pocket of my flight suit. Then I took a guide, and with rising curiosity walked along the dock to a lift. Inside the gleaming chrome cubicle, I looked at the controls. There were fourteen different floors available, it seemed, although not all of them were for retail. I had absolutely no idea where to go, so at a whim I pressed the button marked ‘Consumables & Food Hall’. Coffee, I thought. I always needed coffee, so maybe I could treat myself to something exotic? The lift dropped at a frightening speed and then stopped abruptly. The doors opened, and I staggered out into the most exotic sight I had ever seen. The whole level of the battlecruiser was given over to stalls and counters displaying every imaginable consumable. Almost every race across the Galaxy was there, either behind the counters or in front of them, bargaining and buying and selling. The noise was astonishing, as was the aroma of the various foods. I pushed myself away from the lift and dived into the throng, seeking coffee.
After weeks of subsisting on the onboard rations I had cooked myself, or the suspect and probably nutrition fee offerings from Star Fleet Base catering outlets, I was mesmerised by the food on offer. My stomach rumbled, and a passing Rigellian glared at me as if I had insulted him in his own language – which was of course, quite possible. I smiled an apology and he stalked away, affronted.
I paused at a stand selling a hot food dish I dimly recognised. “What’s this?” I asked the vendor, another Rigellian.
“You are Terran, Caribbean ethnic?” he asked in adequate, though heavily accented Standard.
“Yes.”
“You will like, then. Is curried goat. Synthetic goat, but taste perfect.”
Curried goat was most certainly not on the menu at Star Fleet Base. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was a matter of personal taste, but it was a dish I recalled from my childhood. My wallet was straight out, and I never bothered to ask the price. My card ran easily through the vendor’s machine, and he handed over a large portion of food and a spoon. I tucked in and smiled blissfully. The taste evoked lovely warm memories of childhood. I thanked the vendor, retrieved my card and wandered off in search of coffee, munching steadily and happily.
One problem with eating curried goat from a take away container in a busy food hall is the jostling. People jostle, nudge, bump into and attempt to avoid the eater. Some of them succeed: others do not. Another problem with take away curried goat is that the sauce does tend to stain clothing. By the time I reached the coffee vendors, the container was empty. I had eaten quite a lot of it with relish, and the stains of both the curried goat and the relish ran down my flight suit and were also visible as a sort of trail of annoyed and angry customers in my wake.
I thought about Rosto’s wise words and decided to avoid the trouble that was brewing. The nearest coffee stall was unmanned so I nipped behind the counter, and pulled over my head the apron that was hanging over the back of the chair beside the coffee maker. The crowd approached; I have to confess that they did not look in the most pleasant frame of mind and I was a little nervous about my hasty disguise.
“Have you seen a dark-skinned Terran in a grubby Free Union flight suit?” demanded one of them, displaying a dingy yellow stain down the side of a rather expensive looking jacket.
“He went that way. In a hurry.” I pointed in a random direction, then realised I was showing off the arm of a rather grubby Free Union flight suit and dropped my arm. Fortunately no one noticed.
“Thanks.” The crowd bustled past me, disunited in appearance but entirely united in their quest for vengeance on my person for t
he stains on their clothing. As soon as they had gone I took off the apron and hurried away in the opposite direction. Back at the Speedbird, I locked the entry hatch carefully and lay down in the sleeping pod. I had hardly closed my eyes when Rosto was kicking me awake.
“Get up, and get showered!” he shouted at me.
“Wassup?” I asked, intelligently.
“I need a bodyguard, and you are selected from a pool of one.”
“A bodyguard?”
“Yes. And if you’ve got a cleaner flight suit than that one, wear it.”
I staggered into the shower, and emerged a few minutes later to find Rosto standing in the middle of the living quarters, tapping his foot impatiently. “What’s all the rush?” I asked.
“I’ve another appointment with the CEO of this place, and I suspect that there may be an attempt by agents of the Imperium to stop me getting there. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes. One of us has to get there. With this.” Rosto waved a slim, leather document case in front of my vision.
“What’s that?”
“A contract. Between The Free Union and this…” Rosto waved an arm vaguely. “Interstellar Emporium.”
“Why would anyone want to stop that?”
Rosto looked at me with a mixture of shock and despair. “Are you really that stupid, Captain Russell? We are in a state of virtual, if undeclared, war with the Imperium. Anything we want to do, they want to prevent. They wish to weaken us, and frankly are succeeding. This is our move to reverse that. So get dressed, get a sidearm concealed about your person, and prepare to fight for The Free Union.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say to that which would not make me look more stupid than I actually am, so in intelligent silence I got dressed. A Speedbird Scout ship is not built for comfort, and so storage for the pilot’s personal effects was limited. Cleaning of clothes was so far down the designer’s list of priorities it didn’t even make the ‘Optional Extras at a price’ category. Fortunately I did have just one fairly unstained flight suit left so I put that on and slipped a hand weapon into one pocket.
Scout Pilot Of the Free Union Page 11
