“Can you see the markings?” I asked the dissident, casually.
“Yes. Imperium. Not Black Ops though.”
“This must be part of the system’s main defences then. Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because Starker’s Black Ops ships are seriously well trained in close combat. These aren’t. Watch and learn.”
I triggered the space mine release. Six mines were spat from the rear pods in a specific pattern. The StarDestroyer reacted at once, pulling sharply away. One of the mines exploded against the rear quarter, and the StarDestroyer spun violently. Debris filled the space, the only space that the following StarDestroyer could use to avoid the mines. The second explosion was much more satisfying. I completed the curve, and accelerated as fast as I could towards VH, the transition speed.
“Brilliant!” yelled the dissident. “Ware incoming!”
I glanced at the vidscreen. The captain-pilot of the StarDestroyer was pretty damn good at his job. He had regained control of the damaged ship very fast and was now trying had to get close enough for a missile lock.
At this speed, I could not change vector as I needed to hold course for the transition. I dropped the defence screen completely.
“No screen?” the dissident peered anxiously at the StarDestroyer as it closed rapidly.
“Takes power away from the engines. We want the acceleration.”
“He’s in a firing position,” warned the dissident. His hands tightened his grip on the doorway, I could see his knuckles turn white.
The missile lock warning sounded. The needle on the acceleration gauge hovered just short of the mark for VH. I linked the navcomm and the Hyperdrive controls and waited to flick the switch.
“Missile launched,” the dissident said in a neutral tone.
I pressed the throttle as hard as I could, as if pushing hard on the lever would find just a touch more power.
“Impact. T minus ten,” said the dissident, reading the numbers from the vidscreen.
The missile drew nearer.
“T minus eight.”
“Come on, come on!” I encouraged the Speedbird.
“T minus five.” The dissident’s voice rose in pitch.
The needle still hovered just short of the line on the dial, the line denoting VH: only when it touched would the control system allow me to engage the hyperdrive. I tried the switch hopefully, but it was still locked.
“Come on, baby,” I pleaded.
“T minus two. Nice knowing you, pilot.”
The needle touched the red line on the accelerometer. The hyperdrive switch became live and I threw it. Space blurred.
“Where’s the missile?” screamed the dissident.
A useful question. At such a short distance, it might well have been caught within the hyperdrive field and taken into that other realm of space with us; close and very, very dangerous. In hyperspace, the forces on the spaceship are so great that all course changes are impossible. An attempt would simply tear the ship apart. My main fear was that the missile would be dragged along with us in a deadly embrace, and that when we emerged from hyperspace it would strike home.
“Do you want the short answer or the long answer?” I asked.
“What’s the difference?” he wanted to know.
“The long answer is the same as the short answer, but with a lot of added maths. I don’t know.”
“When do we get to find out?”
“When we come out of hyperspace at the end of the journey.” I stretched, yawned and stood up. “Fancy some tea?”
Chapter three
I had made a bit of an effort with my appearance today. I was showered, shaved, and dressed in relatively clean clothes. I had given the flight console a bit of a polish, and cleaned the worst of the smears off the vidscreens. I hope that the political dissident that I was transporting would appreciate the effort; however, two weeks of his company in the cramped living area of the Speedbird gave me no real expectation that my hopes would be realised. A typical politician in that regard.
Today was the day I got rid of my unwelcome passenger though, in return for a truly welcome addition to my bank account. I checked the readouts on the navcomm. We were just moments from emerging from hyperspace to our pre-selected destination. There would be a welcoming committee who would take this annoying gentleman off my hands and off my ship, and let me return to my normal business of smuggling goods and perishables rather than all too perishable people.
The dissident must have wanted to make a better impression on his hosts to be. He too had smartened himself up rather a lot. In fact, he positively gleamed. No mere refugee from the Imperium, this: his power suit had a better vocabulary than I did and he wore a very expensive cologne – a litre of that would probably be worth more than my Speedbird spaceship, and certainly more than my previous annual salary when I had been a captain in The Free Union Space Corps. That’s politicians for you, I suppose. He had spent the last two weeks slobbing around my ship, complaining and whining about every little lack of comfort or convenience and looking like a starving refugee from a war zone. Now he seemed to be entirely the reverse.
“Have to make a good impression, Frank.” He had noticed my appreciation of his improved appearance. “First impressions say so much about a person.”
“Is that right?” I was still uncomfortable about his use of my forename.
“It’s politics. It’s not an easy life.” He seemed to be quiet and withdrawn. I suppose he was looking into his future now, and wondering if escaping the clutches of The Imperium would be all that he hoped.
“Tell me about it. I was a respected captain in the Space Corps once. Then I fell over some political people, and now look at me.”
“Well, once I was a member of the Imperial Council, Frank. Then I fell over some political people too, and look at me now. At least you have your freedom. You have this ship, such as it is, and your time is your own.”
“Yeah,” I pointed out. “Freedom to starve and to run around the galaxy keeping one step ahead of the law. And your Colonel Starker.”
The dissident sighed. “It is probably more freedom than I am going to have now after you pass me on.”
I shrugged and turned back to the navcomm. I projected the countdown onto the forward vidscreen. “Return to normal space is imminent.”
“And the missile?”
The missile that might have followed us into hyperspace was preying on both our minds. I had tried to locate it during the hyperspace journey, but had been unsuccessful. It might not be there, or it might be ready to pounce on us. The only way to know was to end the hyperspace transition. We both knew that.
“You ready to find out?” I asked the dissident.
He shrugged. “Decision time. Destiny. Karma.”
I had a snappy comeback on my lips, but since my life was at stake too, I dropped it. The navcomm announced that we were at our destination coordinates. I swallowed hard, and with a deliberate move flicked the hyperspace initiation switch to ‘Disengage’. The vidscreens came to life, the main controls lit up and the Speedbird dropped out of hyperspace.
Immediately the proximity alert alarm started screaming, and the forward screen filled with the sight of a StarDestroyer bearing Imperium markings. I slapped the collision avoidance button on the flight console and the Speedbird made an emergency course correction, much faster than I could have managed manually.
The dissident yelled as he fell over, spoiling his carefully tidied hair. The defence systems started shouting about a missile lock and two more ships appeared in the forward vidscreen, this time with Free Union insignia and signs of serious battle damage. These were Viper class scouts from the Reconnaissance Unit, my old colleagues, and clearly they had been not doing very well against the StarDestroyer.
However, the missile that had followed us for two weeks through hyperspace was perfectly positioned to impact the StarDestroyer. It’s simplistic computer system did not differentiate tar
gets: it had been locked onto one spaceship, here was another spaceship in more or less the same place after its nice, refreshing hyperspace induced rest. With the aid of the additional impetus it had gained in hyperspace, the missile thrust through the StarDestroyer’s defence screen and hit the ship just below the bridge.
The explosion threw the Speedbird wildly off course, but that was helpful as it took us out of the path of two Imperial scout ships. They too were blown about as the StarDestroyer ripped itself apart in a series of impressive explosions.
When the ripples had passed, all the ships in the welcoming committees began to sort themselves out. The two Free Union ships promptly formatted on us, and the surviving scouts from the Imperium turned and made a strategic retreat.
“That was interesting!” I panted.
The dissident hauled himself to his feet, using the doorframe as a support. His suit was messed around from his time rolling about on the floor and he no longer looked quite so expensively groomed.
“Have they gone?” he asked.
I quickly scanned the immediate region. Only the two Free Union Viper class scouts were nearby. “Seems so,” I reassured him. “Do I get a contract bonus for that?”
The dissident shrugged. “Not my cash, Frank. I’d happily cough up to be honest, but you’ve helped me too much for me to give you false promises.”
The commscomputer cut in to the conversation. A screen lit up, showing a blacked out face and a distorted voice. “What is the safe word?”
The dissident leant forward so that his voice could be picked up by the comms system. “Custard.”
“Custard? Really?” I asked, in disbelief.
The dissident shrugged. “Just a word, unlikely to be selected by random.” He cleared his throat and said formally into the comms system: “Counter word.”
“Rhubarb crumble.”
“You lot are mad,” I offered as an opinion. “Insane.”
“Thanks for that valuable input into the process of securing channels and establishing the identity of all priority stakeholders with the exchange of non-totemic yet logical pre-determined passwords agreed during bi-lateral discreet exchanges.”
I knew of only one person able to mouth such unadulterated bilge at a moment’s notice. “Hello, Rosto.”
The commscreen cleared and revealed the face of my erstwhile superior.
“Is that him?” asked the dissident, keeping out of the line of sight of the comms systems cameras.
“Sadly, yes,” I assured him. “If you had told me that he was involved, I would have charged you more.”
“Frank, how lovely to see you again,” said Colonel Rosto in jovial tones. “And how good of you to arrive with your passenger at such an opportune moment. Was that one of the Imperium’s own missiles involved in that strike?”
“Yes. It nearly had us first!”
“Then all is well that ends well. We can send the wreckage back to them, and their Investigation Teams will rapidly identify the source of the missile as themselves. There can be no excuse for diplomatic disharmony then.”
“Rosto, I’ve delivered your passenger and also saved your neck from that StarDestroyer. What are the chances of a bonus?” I wasn’t hopeful, but needed to try.
“Sorry, Frank, no can do. Financial belt tightening is the order of the day right now. Prudence and prosperity go hand in hand, you know.”
I had to be prudent a lot with money, but it never seemed to make me prosperous, and I told Rosto so. He laughed heartily and cut the channel. Shortly after, the Speedbird jumped slightly as a small shuttle docked with the airlock.
“Well, Frank, this is it,” said my passenger. He bent forward and shook my hand. “I owe you. I don’t trade in cash, but I owe you a favour. That I won’t forget. Don’t you, either.” He shook my hand again, then picked up his overnight bag and walked out of the flight deck.
Using the monitors, I watched the crew of the shuttle line up – inside my entry hatch, to my mild annoyance, to greet their illustrious passenger. They all bowed to him, which surprised me a lot. Perhaps I would remember about being owed that favour after all. The dissident left the Speedbird, and the airlock sealed itself shut.
To my mild annoyance, Rosto came back on the comms channel. “Good seeing you looking so well, Frank.”
“Yeah, well, thanks. Where’s the cash?”
“You are so mercenary all of a sudden. No time to chat to an old friend?”
“Got any more jobs for me?”
“Not immediately.”
“Then I’m off. Places to go, money to earn, you know how it is.”
Rosto nodded. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Don’t be stupid. There’s a Pan Galactic Arrest Warrant out for me, with a bounty on my head!”
“I know. I’m waiting for the price to go up a bit more before I collect.”
I wasn’t sure if he was joking; or maybe too serious. Either way, Rosto laughed and I thought it was diplomatic to join in. “Frank, there’s been a bit of a problem. With your payment.”
I went cold. I really needed the money badly. Very badly. “What problem?”
“The bank account you wanted the money paid into has been compromised.”
“Compromised? What do you mean?”
“Our friend Colonel Starker has found it, and had it frozen. When I authorised the transfer of funds just now, I discovered that Starker can access the account information, so I withheld the payment.”
That bank account was the only means I had to move funds about and pay for the fees and costs that kept the Speedbird spaceworthy and me in food. I felt cold and numb.
“If you were to use the account, then Colonel Starker would know exactly where you were. He would almost certainly use the information, don’t you think?”
It isn’t easy being a wanted man, even in Outer Space. There is always someone out to get you, and that is not being paranoid.
Rosto gave me a small smile. “I believe that you wanted a bonus for that StarDestroyer? I can help you out.”
“No. Rosto, no, Leave me alone!”
“That wasn’t what you said when we offered you this job and a lot of money, was it?”
“And look how it turned out. I’ve got damage to the landing gear, used fuel and resources to extract your man and I’ve come out of it worse than before.”
“Frank, we in The Free Union look after our agents. You know that.”
“Since when have I been an agent of yours? Fall guy, yes. Agent? No. Now, what about my money?”
“Relax, Frank. Your money is safe. But I can’t just send you a money transfer, now. The legitimate authorities would have apoplexy.”
“Like I care about their health issues.”
“So I’ll have to pay you in cash.”
“Fine, send it over.”
“I haven’t got it here, of course. Far too risky. No, if you go to Christine’s Bar, in the city Agrathea on the planet Plutarch, it will be waiting for you. Code will be Philosopher. Say that to Christine, and the money will be handed over. And as a bonus, I’ve arranged for an InterGalactic Bank Account to be set up with a false identity for you. And you know how hard it is to get one of those.”
I thought about this. The Intergalactic Bank had such strict criteria for opening account, sometimes even going to the extent of keeping a sample of blood from the account holder, that one of their accounts was generally accepted even by some Planets’ police forces as proof positive of identity. The IG Bank was even rumoured to have enlisted some magicians and sorcerors and given them research funding to see if it was actually possible to coerce and control people from the blood samples. Whether that was to prevent Bank Fraud, or to facilitate it, was of course a matter for speculation.
“If I was to agree to this,”! I started.
Rosto interrupted me. “Frank, it isn’t a negotiation. I’m having to conceal monies paid to you inside my operational budget, as the Council of The Free Union would go ape at me if th
ey thought that I was hiring wanted criminals.”
“You’re a spy! Who are you supposed to hire?”
“You would not believe the regulations that I am supposed to obey. I can’t even shoot someone nowadays without having to fill in reports about it. In triplicate. Anyway, I do want to pay you and this is the only way I can do it. For now. Collect the bank details and then paying you in future will be dead easy.”
“Dead, so easy to not pay, you mean.” I felt a little cynical.
Rosto stopped being nice. I had seen his personality twist before from easy-going bureaucrat to ruthless operator, and now I was on the receiving end. I didn’t care for it.
“That’s how you get your cash. Take it or leave it. And I’ll be telling you what I expect you to be doing for me next, too.” He switched the commchannel off. I had just experienced the serious downside of working for dodgy people while on the run from the Law. It was not that easy to enforce payment after delivering the goods. I would have to remember that in future.
The vidscreens showed The Free Union ships change formation, and accelerate away from me. Momentarily I wished that I could be with them, back to my old job in the Space Corps. Instead I was fated to be living on the margins, and get ripped off by the likes of Rosto. With a heavy heart I punched the coordinates for Plutarch into the navcomm, and set off on a quest to try and collect my own money.
Chapter four
Planet Plutarch, named for a famous know-it all and generally pompous and self-satisfied Ancient Greek, had adopted many of the habits and mores of that time with enthusiasm. The planet lay deep within the anarchic Quadrant of the galaxy, where the citizens believed firmly in individual freedoms from constraint. So firmly that they had never bothered with a formal Government. People just wandered into an office, did something if they felt that they should or could, and then complained vigorously until they had been paid for it. Only the Service that collected taxes, donations and contributions from the populace worked with any semblance or pretence to efficiency or expertise. In that it replicated Local Government as practised right across the galaxy, of course, but on a larger scale.
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