SPACE MAVERICKS #1
* * *
THE
SPACE
MAVERICKS
Michael K. Kring
FRIPP ENOS
TO THE RESCUE!
I activated. There was a momentary feeling of vertigo, of lightheadedness, as the fangs and claws snapped into place. “You’ve got a chance to leave,” I said carefully to the punks who held the girl. I held my hands to my side, letting my fingers spread wide.
“Let’s waste him!” Beng screamed. They rushed me. A very nasty mistake on their part.
The punk at Beng’s side made a move for me with a knife as I landed on Beng’s shoulders. He tried to stop and retreat. I had already shifted my weight, even though Beng was collapsing beneath me. My right foot streaked out and raked the punk’s chest with my claws.
Blood welled up and flowed out from where my claws had ripped his skin. He dropped the knife and jerked his hand up to feel his wound. I shoved Beng from me and before I landed on the ground I had turned to face the three other punks.
Copyright © Michael M. Kring
All rights reserved
1
There was a brief instant of gut-rattling vibration as the ship settled down upon the landing pad. I cut the main drive, letting the massive weight of the fully loaded ship settle with a metallic sigh upon the extended landing struts. The vibration faded slowly as things settled down to normal. I glanced quickly over the main read-outs, making sure the ship wouldn’t tip over. Not that I thought it would, but there’s always the chance that the pad could give way, or something equally as silly. Everything seemed fine. I looked over my shoulder at Kohn, who was tending his duties.
“We’re down,” I said.
“I know that,” Kohn said sarcastically. He began to flip switches and press buttons, making sure all the unnecessary items were off.
The high-pitched whine of the main drive droned to a subsonic low, and then was silent. There was other subtle changes in the ship’s sounds that told the experienced ear it was being readied for a planetside rest. Kohn looked nervous, as usual.
“What are you worried about now?” I asked as I began to unbuckle the safety straps.
I always wore the straps when landing and taking off. Those were the worst times to be careless. It is always tricky, no matter how many times you’ve done it. I’ve heard of shuttlecraft pilots who got careless on a run they’d made at least 500 times, and die in that minute of laxity. In Free Space, when we’re sliding through the Spheres of Warp, I just sit in the contoured chair, letting my eyes take in all the readouts. If anything happened, it would be too late to do anything about it at the speeds we travel. The ship’s comp took care of most everything else, and I just let old Kraftwerk fly herself. There are times when I wish I could fly something a lot faster and slicker. But that’s only at odd times. I know I’ll never get a chance to fly a real scout-ship. I wasn’t fit for the Explorer Corps. Just because I’d made one mistake, Central still kept an eye on me. Central is very weird that way. I know I’ll be just a Cargo Hauler pilot for the rest of my days, and that’s good enough. At least it keeps me from being a groundhog.
“What if we can’t find any cargo to get us off of here?” Kohn asked as he looked at me. “I’ve never been here before! I never should have let you talk me into coming here!”
“Calm down,” I said. “Listen, don’t worry. Firelight is a jerkwater little planet, and it’s no different from any of those others that you’ve been on before. Just because we haven’t been here is no reason to get shook up about it. I mean, look what happened when we first hit Logroll. Until the Union started homing in on us, we were sitting pretty. That’s why we’re here. I know for a fact the Union isn’t very strong out here, except for the luxuries and necessities, of course. But we’re not after that, even if we could get a shot at a little smuggling operation. We’re after the usual stuff, the mean stuff, the junk the Union won’t waste its time on because it’s beneath their dignity.”
“Are you trying to tell me my job?” Kohn asked, looking at me with those brown eyes of his.
“No, and you know it,” I said. “I’m trying to tell you that with our reputation of getting things done, and your skill at finding good cargo, well, we’ll do all right.”
“You’re trying to make me stop thinking about that fiasco on Vixen,” Kohn said, pouting.
“Look, you big dummy!” I said loudly. “I don’t give a damn about Vixen! That was over a year ago!”
“But I can’t forget!” Kohn snapped back as he looked over at me. He glanced down at his checklist, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
I stared at him for a time, shaking his head. He was still brooding about the lack of super profit we’d been scheduled to make on a run from Draco to Vixen. It was a Union sub-contract, and we’d been happy to get it. Unfortunately, the exchange rate dropped just as we took off, and we’d been barely able to make expenses. It’s one of the things you have to put up with if you’re mavericks trying to make a living on the leftovers the Union won’t take.
“Why don’t we just meet with the Customs Agent and get the cargo approved, and then we can look around,” I suggested. “I didn’t see too many other ships on the other pads, and Union ship looked as if it was loading up when we sat down.”
“I’ve got a monitor, too,” Kohn said nastily. At times, he’s really touchy.
I shrugged and got to my feet. I walked past the mass of machinery that made up the Control Cabin, following Kohn to the drop shaft. We walked through the sleeping quarters, the small exercise room and then to the shaft. Kohn pressed the small red button near the open entrance, and the small gravity shield in the shaft hummed to life. It climbed up the sonic scale, and then went out of my hearing range. It throbs somewhere around 55 kilo-hertz. Kohn stepped off and floated gently to the main planetside hatch. I followed him. He had already spread the ladder out and was going down it very determinedly. I smiled. When he’s in a hurry, it means he’s thinking and working on his sales pitch. Kohn is a little strange, but he’s a damn fine navigator and a hard-nosed businessman. All I had going for me was that I was an excellent pilot. Even Central admitted it.
We got to the downside of the ship and waited. Kohn had signaled the Customs Agent just before we settled down and they were already coming to see us. I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. It was a typical port. There were ships all over sitting on their landing struts but there was one that was vastly different from all the others. The majority of the ships, including the Kraftwerk, were shabby and were patched with a minimum amount of regard for looks. The one ship that was the exception was the Union ship. It glistened and shot off sparks of sunlight from points on its surface. It was slim sleek, and even as it was being loaded, it was being rubbed and polished and cleaned by the apprentices. The shape of it was smooth, and the silvery metal of its hull glistened delightfully. The only thing that marred it for me was the bright red and blue Union emblem on its side. I shook my head, and glanced to the other ships, trying to see if I knew any of the pilots. The ships were all new to me.
I heard a shout and turned and looked at the approaching vehicle. Obviously the Customs Agent. I sighed and waited beside the already brainstorming Kohn. He was getting the papers out of his breast pocket, and I pulled my ID card from my pocket. I hate Customs, but there isn’t any way of getting around them.
“Here he comes,” Kohn said bitterly. “I wonder what contraband we’ve brought along this time?” “Well, I’ve got that bottle of Terran Scotch,” I said. “If it gets nasty. But only if it gets nasty.” ,
“All right,” Kohn nodded. “I’ve got that bottle of Shadow wine, if it looks slightly nasty.”
“
And remember, we don’t have the extra credits to bribe. It’s got to be gifts,” I said.
I hate Customs Agents. They serve a useful purpose, I guess, but why do they all have to be bribed? If you don’t bribe them, they get mad and you are liable to declare your entire cargo contraband, and then confiscate it and leave you sitting on your can with a broken contract, and no money. Nasty people. I put a smile on my face as he got nearer. So did Kohn.
“Well, well,” the Customs Agent said as he got near us. He got out of the vehicle and walked our way. He was wearing his dress uniform, which was a bad sign. His nameplate read Milan, and I thought that was an odd name. Must be just his official name, I thought. His tight fitting uniform was dark blue with breast pockets and bright, chrome buttons. The pants had a bright white stripe down the side, contrasting sharply with the dark blue of his uniform. His black boots gleamed brightly. Another bad sign.
“How do you do?” Kohn said smiling as he shook he man’s hand. “I’m the navigator.”
“I’m Colonel Milan,” the Customs Agent smiled, his teeth straight and pearly white.
Cripes, I thought to myself, this guy is giving off nothing but bad signs. I smiled as I shook his hand. “I’m the pilot,” I said. I handed him my ID and watched as he smiled and took the papers Kohn was holding.
“You’re Fripp Enos?” Milan asked as he turned to me, his grin still flashing.
I nodded, smiling back at him, wishing he’d get it over with. My cheeks were starting to ache.
“And you’re Kohn Tarkosz?” Milan asked Kohn. Kohn smiled back and nodded.
This was going to be a really bad news day, I thought to myself. “Say, Colonel, why don’t we get upstairs and out of this hot sun while you go over our paperwork?” I suggested. I was getting hot in the bright light of the day. The last thing I wanted to do was to see a Customs Agent trying to put across subtle hints in front of his driver. I could see the driver relaxing with a sigh as the colonel looked up from the papers and smiled. As if he’d ever stopped smiling.
“Why, that is most hospitable of you, Enos,” he said with a grin.
He walked over to the ladder and pressed the button on the first rung. The gray shield reversed with a brief audible whine, and he climbed up the ladder. He got into the shaft and floated up. We followed.
I was the last into the exercise area, which also doubled as our guest room. The colonel was sitting on the inflatable couch, sipping a glass of Kohn’s Shadow wine. Kohn works fast. I sighed as I walked in, hating to see that excellent wine go to waste. I also realized that I might be losing that bottle of Terran Scotch after all. I sat down on the matted floor, and the colonel took off his hat with a sigh.
“I see that you’re carrying steel shafts,” Colonel Milan began. “For the Hugenot Corporation.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Kohn nodded. “You’re welcome to inspect the cargo crates, if you wish.” “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Milan said with a wave of his hand, smiling at us. “It’s just that I don’t know if the Hugenot Corporation has paid its yearly import tax.”
I sucked in a lungful of air as I wriggled my can on the soft, cushiony surface of the floor. I was shocked. That idiot was telling us that unless we came up with a really big bribe, he’d tell us to take the junk back to Garden. Corporations have to pay their yearly import tax. We all knew it had. That’s Central regulations. The bastard.
“You know, Colonel,” I said with a pleasant smile. “I bet you people out here don’t get many chances to sample some of the vices we get to do when we’re near the First Sphere. We do have an occasion, now and then, to pick up a few bargains.”
“Oh,” Milan asked in mock-surprise. “What sort of bargains?”
“Well,” I said with a laugh, “I picked up a bottle of 20-year-old Terran Scotch for a song and dance.” “Terran?” he gasped. His eyes got big, and I cursed under my breath. That meant he was more than likely a Scotch drinker.
“Oh, I guess you haven’t gotten any of that in a long time, have you?” I said in all innocence. “Perhaps you’d let me make the bottle I’ve got a gift to you, as a gift to our friends out here in the Frontier.”
“Why, why, I’d be honored,” Milan breathed. His smile was back, and as I headed toward my bunk, I saw him take out his stamp and start okaying the papers.
I got the bottle and walked back, sighing at the loss of the amber fluid to some stupid Customs Agent. I smiled as I brought it back, and he smiled as he stamped the most important document Kohn had handed him: the tax form. All the taxes had been paid. All we had to do now was to notify the Hugenot Corporation, and they’d come and get the stuff. Fair enough, I thought. But it was going to be rough at the next stop. Firelight was a pretty primitive world, and we’d have to find something we could use as a bribe for the next Customs Agent before we left. Milan took the bottle and put it in his jacket and thanked us. He pressed the button on the wall near the shaft, and then dropped down. I cursed and looked at Kohn.
“Well, how was that?” I asked.
“I think I could have gotten him with the wine,” Kohn said. “But it would’ve taken a lot longer.” “How was I to know he liked Scotch?” I asked. “Of course, he might just go out and sell it.”
“I doubt that,” Kohn said. “Did you see the way his eyes lit up when you told him it was Terran?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, let’s get in touch with the Hugenot Corporation. I want to hit the Strip for a decent meal.”
“You sure they’ve got a Strip?” Kohn asked.
“I’m pretty sure,” I said with a shrug. “They’ve got
over twenty pads.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That would be a pretty good incentive to have a Strip.”
I sat on the couch Milan had so recently vacated. I waited as Kohn got in touch with the Hugenot Corporation. The day wouldn’t be a total waste if we could get the shafts out of our hold. Then it would be time for a little fun.
2
I sat back with a contented sigh. I took another sip of the tart wine, letting the cool liquid glide smoothly over my uneducated palate and down my throat. “That was a fine meal. A really fine meal,” I said as I patted my stomach. I smiled at Kohn sitting across the table from me.
“It was adequate,” Kohn said grudgingly. “It should have been. It cost a fortune.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked. “Remember Crowley? Now, that was an expensive place!”
“I didn’t say it was expensive, just that it cost a fortune,” Kohn explained. He recalled too well the expenses we’d run up on Crowley.
“On Frontier Worlds, you should expect things like that,” I said. “Do you think you’ll be able to get us some cargo soon?”
“I saw a poker game going on in the bar back down the way,” Kohn said, and he sipped some more of the wine from the glass near his plate. He looked at the glass in his hand and smiled. “A little young, but adequate.”
“Okay, you’ve got most of the money,” I said. “I’m going to go out and look at the local museum. One of the Cargo Handlers from the Hugenot Corporation said it had a very good selection of ancient star-ship models.”
“Fine,” Kohn nodded. “It’ll get you out of my hair, and I don’t have to worry about you getting into a fight and killing someone.”
“You know I never start fights,” I said, feeling slightly defensive. I’ve killed my share of idiots, but they had all ignored my warnings.”
“I know,” Kohn said. “But they do seem to start around you, and your inopportune runs of good luck really put a crimp on business dealings during a card game.”
“I keep telling you it’s merely my latent psychic abilities,” I explained with a smile. “But you won’t believe me.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I think it’s something the Reegans did to you that you’re really not aware of,” he said.
“It’s a possibility,” I guessed. I thought about it a few seconds as
I let the food settle in my stomach. The clatter of the busy kitchen and the various pungent odors of different meals assaulted our ears and noses. But it was the normal bedlam of a Strip cafe, and we’d both learned to ignore it years ago. I took another sip of the wine and just sat there, letting the general feeling of having eaten a good meal relax me.
“Well,” Kohn said after he drained the last of the wine in his glass and looked at the empty bottle on the table top, “I think it’s time we left.”
I picked up my glass and let the last of the wine splash against the back of my mouth and gurgle down my throat. I put the glass back down on the table top. “Fine. I’ll get along.” I glanced up at the wall clock over the cashier cage. “I’ll have to hurry if I want to be sure I can make the next bus into town.”
“What’s the name of it?” Kohn asked.
“Mega,” I answered. “I don’t know what it means. Something silly, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Kohn agreed. “Leave your belt beeper on. I’ll beep as soon as I get us a cargo. I’ll arrange for it to be loaded ASAP. You can catch me as early as you want.” He paused, and then added, “Or need to.” “You’ll be at the hotel?” I asked, ignoring his subtle thrust at my tendency to get into trouble.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“Fine with me,” I said. I got to my feet and straightened the material of my green jumpsuit. It fit close and the starburst of my right breast pocket let everyone know I was a Spacer Pilot. I nodded to Kohn as he got to his feet and headed toward the cashier cage. I walked out of the cafe.
I had gotten the bus schedule from the same Cargo Handler that had told me about the museum in the first place. He told me the buses ran all night long, but the intervals sometimes got pretty long in the early morning hours. It was usually on each hour and half-hour, however. I didn’t want to cool my heels for 30 or more minutes, so I hurried to the nearest bus stop. We’d passed it on the way to the cafe. It was near the hour when I arrived at the bus stop. I touched the heavy buckle of my belt, making sure I had the beeper on. I thought the beeper silly, but Kohn was always very strict about keeping it on. It really didn’t bother me, and if it kept him happy and off my back, it was fine with me.
The Space Mavericks Page 1
