A Swift Kick in the Asteroids

by Edward Zajac

  “Nice,” said Fletcher, slapping Zag hard on the back. “Can you tell where they took her?”

  Zagarat shook his head. “They always go someplace different.” His screen suddenly went blank. “What the suns just happened?”

  “Eh, crap,” said Fletcher, dreadfully.

  “I know,” said Zagarat. “I just got thrown out of their system.”

  “No,” said Fletcher. “Not that.” He pointed off into the distance. “I mean that.”

  Zagarat looked up. There were two guards at the café’s entrance, staring at him.

  “Eh, crap,” said Zagarat, sharing the sentiment. “Do we run?”

  “No use,” said Fletcher, casually. “They’ve got the whole place covered.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Zagarat.

  “When you’ve been a privateer as long as I have, you can tell these things.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “Ever wonder what the inside of a Magi cell looks like?”

  “Not really. No.”

  “Too bad. You’re about to find out.”

  n the outer edge of the Kuwanis System, just beyond the brilliant cosmic lights of the Nerron Nebula, a Barson Eagle raced across a sea of infinite black. Inside the luxury liner, the CEO of the Magi Corporation discussed a Sentient Resources issue with his assistant, Wenwreth.

  “You mean, he actually tried to steal that cargo from us?” asked the CEO.

  “Unfortunately so, sir,” said Wenwreth, fingering his opaque datapad. Magi, of course.

  “What a silly man,” said the CEO. “I assume he won’t be making that mistake again.”

  “I believe the turrets made certain of that, sir.”

  The CEO shook his head. “It’s unfortunate, really. He wasn’t completely useless.” He glanced up from his console. “Have the board members all arrived?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Wenwreth. “They’re all logged in and awaiting your arrival.”

  “Excellent. If there’s nothing else, I believe I’ll join them.”

  “Actually,” said Wenwreth, just as the CEO reached for his nexus cable. “There was one other matter, sir. It concerns your favorite privateer.”

  The CEO leaned back in his chair, propping his feet onto the bloodwood framed console. “Well, this should be interesting. What did he do this time?”

  “Where to begin?” said Wenwreth, scrolling through his dossier. “As you know, he is currently working with Mr. Bryce.”

  “Yes,” said the CEO, smirking. “Carlen is overjoyed about that partnership.”

  “His investigations brought him to Mayoo, where he encountered strong opposition and was forced to flee the planet.”

  “Is the mission compromised?” asked the CEO.

  “That is unclear at the moment. Although, from what I can gather, they do not seem overly concerned with him at this time. From Mayoo, he travelled to Aluna Station where…” Wenwreth paused. “Oh, dear. We may have a problem.”

  Even though Wenwreth made the news sound absolutely ruinous, the CEO chuckled in amusement. “How ruinous is it this time?”

  “Aluna Security has arrested him on suspicion of unlawful hacking.”

  The CEO arched an eyebrow. “Fletcher Griffin? They believe Fletcher Griffin hacked into a corporate database? The same man who once accidentally locked himself inside Queen Yatualla’s chamber for three days? That Fletcher Griffin?”

  “I believe it was more than likely the tech travelling with him,” said Wenwreth. “A Zagarat Cole, I believe.”

  The CEO nodded. “That’s more likely. I assume Aurora paid his bail.”

  “No, sir,” said Wenwreth. “Aluna Command has denied him bail. He and Mr. Cole are still in holding and have been for… Oh, my. Twelve hours now.”

  The CEO smiled. “Well, I’m sure Fletcher has learned his lesson by now.” He waved his hand absently. “Take care of that for me, would you, Wenwreth?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And keep me apprised of his progress,” added the CEO.

  “Of course, sir.”

  letcher sat on a plasticene bench, his hands clasped behind his head as he tuned in to the Zagarat Cole Show, already in progress. It was a docudramedy starring a lovable neurotic tech who was known to freak-out over the most inconsequential things.

  And today’s misadventure was no different.

  In this week’s wacky episode, Zagarat Cole was in the middle of a holding cell, mumbling to himself as he paced the room from end to end. Then back again. Then once more around for good measure. In fact, his movements had been so frenetic that it was surprising that he hadn’t carved a furrow in the ground with his constant pacing.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” mumbled Zagarat, throwing his hands into the air. “Why did I do that? I didn’t even think anything of it. I just did it. Why did I do it?”

  Fletcher kicked out his legs, crossing his feet at the ankles. Zagarat’s freakout had been amusing. At first. But now it was just annoying. And if anyone knew anything about being annoying, it was Fletcher Griffin.

  So, Zag had hacked into the Deus database. Big deal. No harm, no foul. So, they had been imprisoned for hacking into the Magi corporate database. What was the worst that could possibly…

  Okay, that one could be bad.

  But they’d get out of it. Fletcher didn’t know how, but he knew they would. Somehow.

  Zagarat just needed to relax a little bit. He needed to be more like him. Fletcher always took everything in stride. Granted, sometimes those strides were long as he fled the authorities, but they were strides nonetheless and that was how he took them.

  Besides, it wasn’t like they were being tortured. This cell was practically luxurious compared to some of the prisons Fletcher had encountered in his travels.

  Over the years, Fletcher had become somewhat a connoisseur of cells. A cellophile of sorts. And he quickly learned that each mega-corporation had its own personal, or in this case corporate preferences when it came to prison cells. The Deus Syndicate tended to use energy fields that blocked out all light, while Titan preferred parapulse bars that really, really hurt when you grabbed them with your bare hands. Magi preferred deusteel bars that gave the illusion of spacious confinement, therefore delaying the inevitable descent into madness, which was always nice.

  But that wasn’t why Magi preferred deusteel. According to a guard Fletcher had seduced on Aoona Fie (Oh, she had the most beautiful… never mind), Magi liked deusteel bars because a) they were cheaper and b) criminals were accustomed to sophisticated security devices and were often flummoxed by something as simple as a mechanical lock. But since fear was the evil step-mother of invention, Fletcher was certain these industrious criminals were already tinkering with these draconian locks in the off chance they were incarcerated in the future.

  Unjustly, of course.

  Fletcher shifted in place. At least, the guards had finally taken his advice and upgraded the deusteel benches to these ergonomic plasticene benches, which his backside fully appreciated. The deusteel benches had given him terrible hemorrhoids.

  “Would you relax?” said Fletcher, when Zag began frenetically pacing once more. “Everything will work out just fine.”

  “How can I relax?” said Zagarat, turning on him. “They’re gonna kill me for…”

  “Eh!” exclaimed Fletcher, holding up his finger. He then pointed to his eyes, then his ears, then pointed all around the room. “We’re innocent, remember?”

  Zag plopped down on the bench beside Fletcher. But he didn’t stop moving. His legs hopped up and down at a fevered pace as he wringed at least three layers of skin from his hands.

  “How much longer are they gonna keep us in here?”

  Just then, a set of far doors opened and two guards entered.

  “Not much longer,” said Fletcher. He waved at the lead guard. “Hey, Herol.”

  “Hey, Fletcher,” said the Bylarian guard, swirling a keychain on his finger.

&
nbsp; “How are the kids?” asked Fletcher, standing.

  “Pains in the asteroids,” said Herol, unlocking the door. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Where are Sten and Malis? I haven’t seen them for a while.”

  “The new Adjutant replaced them with two of his own cronies. He says he’s trying to improve security. His goal is to make Aluna Station crime free by the end of the fiscal year.”

  Fletcher chuckled. “Good luck with that.” He yawned, stretching his arms and neck. “So, how much longer you gonna keep us in here?”

  Herol unlocked the door. “You’re free to go.”

  “All ready?” said Fletcher. “But you haven’t even brought me dinner yet.”

  “We’ll try to do better next time.”

  “So, where to now?” asked Fletcher. “The local magistrate?”

  “Neh,” said Herol. “You’re free. The charges against you have all been dropped.”

  “Really?” asked Zagarat.

  “Yeh,” said Herol. “We had reason to believe that someone had used your PCD to hack into the Magi database.” He levelled his steely gaze on Zagarat. “Unfortunately, all the data was burned from the device before we could confirm our suspicions.”

  Fletcher turned, arching his eyebrow at Zag. “Is that right?”

  “Hmm,” said Zagarat, his eyes darting around wildly. “I wonder how that happened.”

  “Well, better luck next time,” said Fletcher. “Oh, and give your wife a kiss from me.”

  “Like suns I will,” said Herol, in a half-joking, half-deadly serious tone. “I saw the way she looked at you last time you met.”

  Fletcher shrugged. “What can I say? I’m me.”

  It was nice to see Janny behind the counter again. Fletcher hadn’t seen the Somnian since his incarceration… What was it? Four months ago when he escorted Prince Flabbery aboard the station. A mission Fletcher regretted to this day.

  Prince Flaherty was a well-rounded gentleman from Hollis V. Well rounded physically. Emotionally and psychologically? Eh, not so much. He was the oldest son of King Ferrus and heir apparent to the throne. But this apparent heir was also apparently as bright as an Armedian hare. While his father had been graced with all the good gifts of God and nature, his son was more like a refuse bin for all deficient DNA.

  This was, of course, completely inconsequential to most of the known universe until Flaherty decided one day to rail against the mega corporations for undermining the moral fabric of sentient life everywhere, mostly on account of the Magi Corporation declining his application for a new Barson Eagle with new cloaking technology which was illegal on Hollis V. The fact that he still owed nearly ten million credits for other indulgences probably didn’t help matters either. So, Flaherty decided to exercise his right to civil disobedience by creating ads, starring himself as the savior of the universe from corporate imperialism, though from the way he was reciting the lines Fletcher was fairly certain Flaherty had no idea what any of it meant.

  The ads were soon playing all over the known universe. Some considered them calling cards for the coming revolution. Others used them as examples of the profligacy of a monarchal society. A few simply thought he looked funny in that mauve hat.

  Not surprisingly, the corporations took exception to his ads and he was subsequently banned from all corporately subsidized stations. That is until Fletcher snuck him aboard Aluna Station for an impromptu rally against the evils of the corporate machine. The prince railed and railed against the mega-corps, all the while using the station’s facilities and generally enjoying all the munificence Aluna had to offer. But the irony seemed lost on him.

  In a case of Ironic Universal Justice, Fletcher was instantly incarcerated for bringing the prince aboard the station while Prince Flaherty returned home with a brand new Barson Eagle, without a cloaking device, which was still illegal on Hollis V.

  And the universe had not heard from Flaherty since.

  “May I say you look lovely today, Janny?” said Fletcher, sidling up to the counter.

  “Well, thank you,” said the squat Lerandan. “It’s wonderful to see you again too, Fletcher. I just have a few forms for you both to digitally confirm and then you’ll be right on your way.”

  Fletcher checked and digitally signed all the required fields. Zagarat didn’t. “Shouldn’t I get an advocate before I sign anything?” he mused aloud.

  “Nah,” said Fletcher. “It’s just your standard lawyer technobabble. It’ll be fine.”

  “But this thing goes on for like…”

  “Would you just sign the damn thing?”

  Zagarat flinched like an admonished puppy dog. “Okay,” he said sheepishly, confirming his information. He handed the datapad back to Janny, who accepted it with a polite smile.

  “Now, can we get our stuff back?” said Fletcher.

  “Absolutely,” said Janny, placing a plastisheet bag beside her. Just beyond Fletcher’s reach. “But before I give you your things, I would like to inform you that you have been randomly selected to participate in a prisoner satisfaction survey.”

  “Really?” said Fletcher, his voice laden with doubt. “Randomly chosen, you say.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Janny, cheerfully. “And I hope you’ll participate. Your feedback will help Aluna Command improve security here on station.”

  “And help us get a raise,” added Herol, with a well-honed edge to his voice.

  “Ah,” said Fletcher, nodding to himself. “Well, then I would love to help.”

  “Wonderful,” said Janny. “Question number one. Were you treated with respect by Aluna Station guards and/or anyone associated with Aluna Command?”

  “Absolutely,” said Fletcher. “They’re always fair and courteous.”

  “Stellar,” said Janny. She handed Zag a plastisheet bag. “Here are your things.”

  Zagarat searched through the bag. “Where’s my PCD?” he asked.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Janny, making a rueful face. “That was destroyed during our forensic testing.” She held out a datapad. “You may lodge a complaint, if you like.”

  “That’s okay,” said Fletcher, slapping Zagarat’s hand aside when the tech reached for the datapad. “These things happen.”

  “But what about my PCD?” grumbled Zagarat.

  Fletcher turned, gritting his teeth as he said, “These. Things. Happen.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Zagarat, recoiling slightly. “I guess these things happen.”

  “So happy to hear that,” said Janny, her happiness laced with toxic undertones. “Question number two. Did you find the conditions here harsh or exceedingly cruel?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Fletcher. “I think you treat us bastards a bit kinder than we deserve, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “That is so nice to hear. Thank you.” She handed Fletcher a bag of his belongings. “Don’t worry. We’re almost done. Now, was your case handled quickly and to your satisfaction?”

  Fletcher glanced up at the guards, each of whom was staring at him with silent but deadly seriousness as they stroked their weapons in a way that was rather disconcerting on so many different levels. “Of course,” he said, smiling. “Just like always.”

  “Wonderful,” said Janny. “And finally, do you have any suggestion on how we could improve security here on Aluna Station?”

  Fletcher shook his head. “Nothing I can think of. You sents are doing a hell of a job. On behalf of everyone on station, I’d like to say thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” said Janny sweetly. “Now, before you go, would you like to buy a ticket to the Aluna Security Ball? All proceeds go to a worthy cause.”

  Fletcher was about to say no when Janny placed his coat on the counter, stroking the synth fabric just about where Fletcher hid his pistol. Or where he would have hid a pistol, if he actually had a pistol in there. Which he didn’t.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” said Fletcher, chuckling awkwardly. “Just charge my account.”

&
nbsp; “Already did,” said Janny. “And you’ll be happy to know your donation is tax exempt.”

  “Terrific,” said Fletcher, trying to out duel Janny in faux sincerity and losing miserably.

  “Oh, and I nearly forgot,” said Janny. “Here is your coat.” She paused, as if for effect. “And the rest of your personal effects.”

  Fletcher wrapped himself in his coat, tapping himself on the side. The pistol was still there. Or would have been there if he had one, which he didn’t. “You sents stay safe out there,” he said pleasantly, waving with his index and middle finger extended.

  “We will,” said Janny. “See you next time.”

  Fletcher smirked. “What makes you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

  The guards laughed as if the notion was the funniest thing in the known universe.

  “Oh, you,” said Janny, swatting lithely at the mere notion. “You are too much.”

  “See you,” said Fletcher, pressing his hand against the square of Zagarat’s back.

  When they were safely outside, Zagarat turned and said, “You owe me another PCD.”

  “Add it to the bill,” said Fletcher.

  “You better believe I will,” Zagarat groused under his breath.

  Fletcher pulled up his collar. “That was a pretty slick move burning your PCD.”

  “I didn’t want to do it, but it seemed better than the alternative. I’m surprised they didn’t send it off for more extensive testing.”

  “It probably wasn’t worth the effort,” said Fletcher. “Just be happy they’re lazy.”

  “So, what do we do now?” asked Zagarat.

  “Now, we find that moving company.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard,” said Zagarat. “They’re here on station.”

  Fletcher whipped around, his coattail snapping like thunder. “What did you just say?”