“Buster, open the bay doors,” he commanded. After listening to the vacuums suck the cargo bay atmosphere into the storage tanks and watching the doors fully extend, he released Griffin’s restriction clamps that held the shuttle, powered up the small fusion drives to minimum thrust and babied the small craft into space.
“Buster, keep all defensive weapons, deflectors and counter-measures on standby. Activate your Avatar and have it loaded into your drop pod. And keep Duke at the fore, in case anyone contacts Griffin.”
“Processing now,” Krag heard as he watched the bay doors close.
Turning the shuttle, he keyed in a flight path that would take him to the proscribed coordinates, and pressed the spots on the control panel that extended the wings. Tapping the activation icon, he settled back and let the shuttle’s flight computer take him to his destination.
For most of Krag Marston’s military career, he had been a fighter pilot. That entailed the meshing of computerized processing with human instincts and imagination. For mundane tasks such as takeoffs, flight and landings Krag had learned to trust and rely on the infallibility of computerized processing. For non-linear processing, such as space battles or evasive and survival tactics, he would take over and rely on his own skill set, physical abilities and mindset. Now, in the civilian, legal world, he sat contentedly, letting the shuttle’s computer do the work until planetfall.
Approaching the flight tower and landing pad, he radioed, “Tower, this is shuttle zero one from ship Griffin, requesting to land.”
“Hello, shuttle zero one. Are you equipped for vertical landing?”
“Yes, tower.”
“Please proceed to pad twenty-three, at the northeast corner of the landing port. It is clearly numbered. Open your hatch and wait for the inspection team.”
“Will do, tower.”
Taking over from the shipboard computer Krag set a heading to come in on the assigned flight path, reaching his destination, he activated the vertical chemical thrusters and came to a hover on the landing pad. While descending, he powered down the fusion plant, starving the thruster to a shutdown and extended the three landing struts. The shuttle settled with a small bump. Opening the pilot’s hatch, he extended the ladder and climbed down to the pavement.
Just as he stepped onto the tarmac, a van pulled up and four inspectors exited. As one of the men stepped forward, Krag held out his data pad, the screen displaying his captain’s license and ship’s registration. The lead inspector held the data pad up to a woman standing behind him. She keyed information into her own data pad, waited a moment and nodded.
“Everything is in order, Sir,” she informed her commandant. Krag heard the translation through his cranial net and audio implant.
“Very well,” the commandant replied, while handing the data pad back to Krag.
“You are Captain Marston?”
“Yes, Sir,” taking the proffered data pad. “Keep it simple, keep it humble,” Krag thought.
“Are you armed?” the commandant asked, while looking at the holstered pistol.
“Just the sidearm. I am licensed,” Krag responded, while tapping the data pad and bringing up the proper documents. He wasn’t going to tell him about the body armor, baton or knife. Those would get him a second look.
After a quick glance, “We’ll inspect the ship, now.”
Krag tapped the data pad and a control screen displayed. Tapping an icon, a sign on screen appeared and he keyed in his authorization code. Once accepted, the tail ramp on the shuttle lowered and clunked as it hit the pavement.
As the five of them walked towards the shuttle’s entrance, the commandant asked, “Are you carrying any cargo?”
“No Sir. As shown on the papers, I am here to pick up and transport a passenger.”
“Ok.”
The last two inspectors that entered pulled sniffers from hip pouches and began sweeping them over everything from stern to bow. These sniffers were multi-capable devices, capable of smelling, sonic scanning, thermal imaging, noise analyzing. To find anything concealed within the shuttle. Krag knew that they wouldn’t find anything in the shuttle. And he really didn’t want those sniffers on Griffin. The stuff that they would find would definitely throw him in jail, probably without so much as a trial.
They found nothing. The inspection proved unfruitful and time consuming. Krag dutifully followed them around, answered questions, opened lockers and generally was the loyal citizen. After the four government employees left, he unloaded the quad and headed to his pickup point.
Traversing the road to New Tokyo proved to be a far cry from the dusty frontier roads on Tolimar, this throughway being wide, paved and well-maintained. Being a farm boy, Krag preferred the dust to the pavement. Fast movers whizzed past as he drove at a leisure pace. He watched as the private sedans, product haulers, work trucks and two wheelers screamed past, their high-winding, electric engines laboring to rush their owners to their destinations. Coming over a rise, Krag pulled over and looked down upon the city.
Like its namesake on Old Earth, it was a sprawling valley of high-rises, neon lights and noisy bustle. Even from this distance, he could hear the blaring city noises of the dense, driven population below. The brown smog cloud of consumed energy and bustling commerce hung over the urban sprawl, announcing the existence of humanity.
Starting back up, Krag checked his navigation screen then headed down the straight, wide road and into the forest of concrete, steel and glass. Driving between the towering apartment complexes, business centers and shopping malls, he breathed, smelled the fumes and gasses of a packed humanity fighting corporate battles, working menial jobs and living urban lives. The coordinates led him to a multi-story hotel in an obviously upscale business district. Pulling up, a valet approached from his work station. Trying to hide his expression of minor disgust at the space captain and cheap transport, he forced a smile. “Welcome to the Morning Sun,” he invited.
“Thank you,” Krag responded. “I won’t be long. Please keep it close,” he continued as he pulled a credit chip from his pocket and handed it to the valet.
Seeing the denomination, the young man stood a little straighter and became a lot more polite. “Yes, Sir. I’ll keep it right here.”
Walking through the lobby, Krag saw luxury in every corner. Multiple groupings of overstuffed leather chairs and couches huddled around coffee tables cluttered with newspapers, magazines and sales literature. Well-dressed men and women of all ages carried on earnest conversations in hushed tones while drinking various beverages in mugs or glasses. The ceilings were high, the lights subdued.
Approaching the reservation desk, Krag asked, “Do you have a Keiko Suzume staying here?”
“One moment,” responded the counter clerk. He spoke in Japanese, a language that Krag didn’t understand. But it must have been in Buster’s data banks as the translation came through over his cranial web and into his inner ear. After a short pause, he stated, “Yes, we do. Would you like me to see if she is available?”
“Please.”
“May I ask who is inquiring?” he asked while putting the phone to his ear.
“Tell her, ‘Her star taxi has arrived’,” Krag answered. As far as pass phrases went, it was pretty hokey, but that was the one he was given.
After repeating the phrase, the clerk hung up the phone. “If you would be so kind, please wait in the bar. Miss Suzume will be along, shortly.” Pointing, he continued, “The bar is through those doors.”
Taking a seat at a corner table, facing the doors, Krag waited while the waitress finished her flirting with the bartender and walked over, short skirt swishing and bosom threatening to escape from the low cut, tight blouse.
With a warm, professional smile, the leggy young Asian woman laid a menu on the table. “May I get you something from the bar?”
“A beer. Draft. Dark. Any brand.” I’m waiting for someone.”
“I’ll be right back.” And she was, with a tray holding a cold fr
osty glass filled with a dark amber beer. Placing a coaster, cloth napkin and beer on the table, she asked, “Will there be anything else?”
“That’s it, for now.”
“If you need anything, just wave.” With that, she headed back to the counter and back to flirting with the bartender. Krag sipped his beer, liked it and waited for his passenger.
A small oriental woman came through the door and stopped, her eyes and motions quick. She scanned the entire room, momentarily pausing at each person. She finally settled on Krag.
Krag watched as she walked towards him. Her steps short, quick and balanced. Her emerald green pants suit, Straight-cut, creased slacks, a simple poor boy blouse under the single-button blazer displayed style and money. Emerald earrings glittered under the raven-black pixie-cut hair. Twin silver swallow-tail hair clips with emerald eyes kept her hair pinned behind her ears. A silver broach, again with emeralds, adorned her left lapel. Black soft shoes and handbag completed the ensemble. Reaching the table the table, she sat. Even sitting, she was quick to pull out the chair and drop.
“Well?” she asked.
Krag’s translator immediately spoke through his inner ear. Krag recited the pass phrase, “Your star taxi has arrived.”
The broach picked up the words, translated them and whispered the resultant phrase in Keiko’s ear. She answered, “The stars are where I want them to be.”
“Now that that is done, I’m Krag. Krag Marston”
“Keiko Suzume,” she responded smoothly, holding out her hand.
Taking it in his, he noticed how small her hand was, especially in his large farm boy’s one. Looking closer, he could finally guess her age at somewhere around middle thirties. With Keiko’s large, almond eyes, soft face and no wrinkles he had no way to guess. But a person’s hands always told the truth.
Letting go, “Would you like something? Drink? Late Lunch?”
“Thank you, but no. We are on a tight schedule. Your speech sounds like an English dialect. Australia Minor? Is that right?”
“Yes. First guess. Good ear.”
“Let’s switch,” Keiko replied in very formal English.
“Fine with me. Yours sounds formal. University educated?”
“And private schools. But that’s another story for another time.”
“Suzume. I shuttled the ambassador of Nyu-Nippon, a Takayuki Suzume, for a diplomatic tour about two years ago. To Yeni Persia and back. Any relation?”
“He’s my father.” The way Keiko said it broached no continuance of that topic.
“Krag reacted by downing the rest of his beer.
“So, you do legitimate work?”
“Almost always,” Krag replied, while reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a plastic business card. Handing to Keiko, he continued, “Executive Transport Services. Executives, politicians, party junkets, just about anyone that is willing to pay. I also transport small, valuable cargos.”
“Licensed? Insured?’
“Of course.”
“A real member of the Federacy Merchant Marine. How did you get involved with Mr. Gregor?”
“Another story for another time.” Krag humorously raised an eyebrow.
“Well, let’s get started.”
“I still don’t know where we are going, or what the project is,” Krag stated as he stood and tossed some credits on the table.
“I’ll fill you in once we are on board.”Rising, Keiko looked Krag up and down. “You are a big one,” she grinned. The top of her head barely came to Krag’s sternum.
Her offhand remark surprised Krag. He thought he saw an elegant Asian woman, daughter of Japanese aristocracy, poised in all things. But he knew that, with Gregor involved, this diminutive woman planned on doing something nefarious. And now she threw out coquettish one liners. The trichotomy froze Krag just for a moment.
“They grow us large in the country,” Krag smiled back.
Returning to the hotel’s lobby, Keiko had no trouble keeping up with Krag’s long strides. Her quick steps covered the same distance, without seemingly hurried. “Everything she does is quick,” he thought. “I’ll bet she drives men nuts.”
Keiko took the lead and walked over to a cart loaded with luggage. She spoke a few words to the attendant minding the cart and turned towards Krag.
“I have a vehicle out front,” Krag offered.
The two of them walked out of the hotel, attendant, cart and luggage in tow. Once outside, the valet hurried up and almost came to attention. “Shall I get your vehicle?”
“Please,” Krag answered, handing the young man another credit.
Looking at the chip, the valet moved a little faster, returning with the quad in record time. Seeing the valet’s effort, the attendant hustled to get the mound of luggage loaded into the back of the quad.
Looking at the small elegant woman and then his utilitarian quad, Krag began, “Sorry about the ride.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been in worse,” Keiko responded.
Before Keiko had a chance to enter the vehicle, the attendant grabbed a towel from the valet’s counter, wiped down the passenger seat and stepped back, again, almost at attention. This hotel, being a five star hotel, expected its employees to act like five star employees. And its employees expected five star tips. The attendant got one from Keiko as she grabbed the roll cage bar, pulled and stepped into the quad, settling into the seat, buckling the safety harness and holding her handbag in her lap.
This is no shrinking violet,” Krag thought as he hid a smile while synching down the surprisingly large amount of luggage, again tipping the valet and climbing into the driver’s side. “Who is she and what have I gotten into?”
The drive back to the shuttle was enlightening for Krag. Surreptitious glances at Keiko saw a woman on point. She constantly visually flicked to every movement, shadow or oddity that they passed. Her hand rested inside the purse on her lap. Once she tightened and started to move as a teen dashed from a side street, but relaxed before her hand, and anything she held, withdrew from the bag. Once outside of the city the diminutive Asian woman partially relaxed, but there was still a wariness for the entire drive through the country until they reached the shuttle. While approaching the shuttle, Krag saw the inspection crew standing and conversing by their vehicle. He waved and was waved through, giving tacit permission to leave.
Driving to the stern, He entered a security code on the quad’s navigator pad and the shuttle’s loading ramp lowered with a thump. Krag didn’t bother to unload Keiko’s luggage. He just drove the quad up the ramp and in between the locking clamps. Once he succeeded in parking it against a bulkhead, the two of them exited from the quad on the driver’s side, Keiko grabbing the top of the windshield to gracefully spring from the passenger’s seat to the driver’s seat then grabbing the roll cage bar and swinging out, to lightly land on the deck.
Krag watched her gymnastic movements and once again wondered whom his passenger was and what was to be their task. Moving to the pilot’s chair, he sat and began going through the takeoff sequence. Keiko looked at the four passenger seats and took the one that gave her a view of Krag and the foreword window. This was all done in silence, two professionals executing their required tasks. With a check to verify that Keiko was strapped in, Krag lifted off and vectored towards his ship.
When they got into visual range, Keiko unbuckled, leaned into the pilot’s cabin and got a better look at Griffin. “You have been a bad boy. That cannot be legal,” she commented, while her quick eyes flicked from the overly large thrusters to the inordinate amount of antenna, to the multiple sensor clusters and broad-spectrum emission bubbles.
“Nope. It’s all legal. And I have the paperwork to prove it.”
“Right.” The disbelief and sarcasm were obvious but not derogatory.
Krag could tell she was playing. “Do you want to see them?”
“We’re crooks, remember? We work for Gregor. He probably made them,” Keiko smiled.
&n
bsp; “He may have helped a little,” Krag conceded, smiling back.
During their back-and-forth, Krag sub-vocalized to Buster, “Open the bay doors disarm and load the labor AI in the avatar. Also, I’ll be communicating through Duke, so go sub-vocal. Any regular commands will be routed through Duke.”
“For Keiko’s hearing, Krag commanded, “Duke, open the bay doors.
Duke’s low, gravelly voice responded, “Yes, Captain.” The bay doors clammed open and Buster went silent.
“Duke? Royalty? You didn’t strike me as they type.”
“Actually, Duke is the nickname of an Old actor.”
“Oh, that Duke. John Wayne,” Keiko tossed out the comment as she returned to her seat and strapped in.
“She just keeps surprising,” was Krag’s thought as he floated the shuttle into the cargo bay and positioned it in its storage pad. Multiple trips by both Krag and Keiko, transferred the pile of luggage to the executive quarters.
As the two of them unloaded Keiko’s belongings, her demeanor changed. She was no longer in her world, on Nyu-Nippon. She grew quieter, more serene, more observant. She donned her persona of the dutiful Asian woman entering a man’s domain.
“We will be leaving in approximately thirty minutes. Do you have a mag-grav liner?” Krag asked, while the two of them stood in the corridor.
“Yes, Captain. I will put it on shortly.”
“And, where are we going?”
“Here are the coordinates for the first leg, Captain,” Keiko responded while handing Krag a piece of paper she pulled from her pants pocket.
Krag glanced at the note and stated, “Latinia. It’s in the Arium system. I’ve been there, before. Have you ever been there?”
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