Tramp Wars: The Enemy

by Larry Roberts

  Jolene slammed the head’s door closed as she walked past. “No I didn’t. You just suck at the game.” She stopped next to Mark and continued with a sarcastic voice. “No, she wasn’t a vampire and I was not dreaming and I like boys, just not you guys. You would have heard the announcements too if you didn’t have your head stuck in that reading pad or screen watching the news or military channel all the time. I swear the ship could be taken over by pirates and you wouldn’t even know about it unless it was on the news channel or they made a special on the military channel 10 years after the fact. I can just see you with a beard down to your knees and chains around your ankles seeing a documentary about the Queen being taken by pirates and saying. ‘What the Queen was taken by pirates and I am a slave?’ And then getting upset that the pirates and your master had not bothered to tell you about it.”

  Tom pushed the head’s door open again. “You have to admit that news gall has some damn fine big hooters on her. I swear her boobs were going to pop out of that blouse she was wearing last night. You should get a set of those Jolene.”

  Jolene picked up something from the bench and threw it at Tom who closed the door just in time to block the shot. “Missed me.” He taunted as he cracked the door peeking through the gap.

  “I swear you guys have only one thing on your minds. I should have turned you in when I found you spying on me in the girls shower with that stupid Seeing Eye bot of yours Mark.” She hit him on the shoulder.

  “Hey it wasn’t me. That time anyway. I missed all that fun. All I heard was that some gal was so flat chested she looked like a boy." Mark ducked as Jolleen threw something at him as Tom laughed. "I still haven’t figured out how you managed to trace it back to us clear down here?”

  “And you never will, I am going to hold that over your heads until the day you die.” Getting a sudden serious look on her face. “Weren’t you supposed to go to that eye doctor today in the City and get your eyes cut out or something Mark? That is all you have been talking about since we landed last week. Hell, since I can remember, you have been saving up for your damn implants. Didn’t you say you had the day off?”

  “Well, I did have the day off and I was headed for the eye surgeon but this came up at the last minute. As the new Probationary Pilot, I have to take what is assigned to me for the first year or I lose my billet to someone else and it could be years before another billet opened up again with no guarantee that I would get the posting.” Mark pushed his glasses back up his nose frowning.

  “Ahh shucks. You can’t go and get your eyes cut out after all. I still don’t understand why you wanted those stupid bionic implants in the first place.”

  “Ok, then tell me why do you have those ugly braces in our mouth Rabbit.” Mark opened his mouth and started bighting his teeth together at her. “Want a Caret?” Even with her teeth almost pulled back and straightened, the front two were still bigger than normal.

  She threw a rag on the work bench at him. “No Four eyes. I don't want a caret and I am not getting a boob job even though I could use one so there.”

  “Ya. I don't know why you keep wearing a bra since you don't have enough there to hold up." Thinking for a second. "Unless it is trying to add padding so it looks like you don have something at least or is it just wishfull thinking. Believe me its not working." Mark smiled as he ducked again. "No, we are all freaks in this club which is why you joined. At least you have already pretty much fixed your buck teeth and you could get a boob job if you wanted to. Something I can’t do with laser surgery or anything else except getting my eyes replaced just like the Engine room Chief did years ago.”

  “The Chief had his eyes burned out when the ship was taken 21 years ago Mark. He didn’t have a choice. You do and I think you look fine with your glasses.”

  Rolling his eyes. “Ya you’re the one that got your problem fixed so who are you to speak about me trying to fix mine. Besides you’re not getting beat up or called names every other day.” He finished soldering a wire from the power cell to the torch.

  Jolleen slammed something into her box and headed for the hatch at the end of the container. “You know you could die from that stupid operation don’t you. As many as 30% of the operations are failures with half of the failures ending in death you moron. She was half in tears as she stomped to the hatch and slammed it open.

  “That 30% and the deaths are from Battlefield statistics during the war.” Mark said as she stepped through the hatch and then louder to make himself heard through the hatch. “I said I wasn’t getting the damn operation anyway so there! The Truck Chief has me working 10 hour shifts with no time off until the ship lifts. So I don’t have the time anyway. I just hope I can get my money back.”

  “What do you mean 10 hour shifts Mark? I work in truck dispatch part of the time and drivers are coming out their ears and you know it.” Tom said from the head.

  “The Transport Chief said something about all the extra drivers are taking their vacations on this planet before we head into the outback. Most of the planets are not going to have many vacation spots and most crewmen are going to be restricted to the ship anyway unless they are on the job.” Mark finished connecting the power cell and then held the torch up with the cell dangling and pushed the trigger. A bright spot appeared some 6 inches from the muzzle of the torch where half a dozen beams converged. “Shit that is bright!” Letting go of the trigger as he turned his eyes away rubbing them with one hand while shaking his hand trying to cool it after the hot spot only inches away from his hand turned it red in the one second burn. “Damn hot too.”

  Rummaging around the bench again he picked up a meter and pulled the trigger again. He pointed the meter at the bright hot spot 6 inches from the torches tip, trying not to look at the point with his hand turned toward the back of the grip this time away from the heat with his fingers shielded by the narrow scabbard running down in front of the trigger and grip. Letting off of the trigger he read the meter. “Damn that is hot.” Reaching for his tablet, he punched through a couple of screens and then whistled. “Yap some 10,000 degrees hotter than the best top of the line torches listing.” Frowning he looked the torch over and smiled when he found that the small safety lever had a power slide on it. Pulling it back to half power he pulled the trigger again and pointed the meter at the hot point of light. “Ok, that is more like it. It is one thing cutting, but vaporizing something does not work well not to mention that it makes it hard to weld with.”

  “Damn, being restricted to the ship does not sound very good.” Tom said after another blast came from the head as he picked up a magazine sheet. “At least being a truck pilot will get you off the ship when we are planet side. Though you already seem to go on a lot of extra training outings as a Cadet. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped out of the Cadets like most everyone else has after turning 19.” Thinking about it for a second. “No, they started sending you out on gunboat patrol exorcises around the systems and that is one thing you can have all to yourself buddy.” Shaking his whole body. “Egggg. Going across the deep with only a damn thin skinned gunboat between you and cold space is just not natural. Playing the Simms is close enough for me old buddy.” Shaking his magazine screen. “And damn those trips riding along with the trucks delivering cargo to remote towns half way around planets, sounds boring. Oh you remember the time your truck was gone for over a week and they delayed the launch and had every truck and aircar with any range out looking for you guys across some of the nastiest looking deserts I have ever seen the pictures of. Hell I hated even sticking my head out the damn ship’s hatch it was so hot. Then you guys came waltzing in like nothing even happened. I still think you guys were out partying at some nudist oasis with your own private harem.”

  Mark frowned. He remembered that little mission. If the escort marines had not made sure he had extra water usually giving a bit of their own, he would have been one of the half dead crewmen by the time they got back. Yet someone kept assigning him to the damn missions even though the
officers always bitched about taking a snot nosed Cadet along. Especially him. Like Tom and seemingly everyone else when they turned 18, he had thought of dropping out of the Cadets. But every time he had tried, his resignation had seemed to get lost and he wound up going on yet another mission. Missions Cadets were not allowed to go on until they were 18. Then with the self-defense training he started to get with the marines and the outings getting him away from his problems aboard the ship with crews that seemed to trust and include him, he stopped trying to resign. Even though all too often, those training missions suddenly had problems that got his blood pumping. By the time his parents started getting worried about those problems that seemed to develop all too often when he was along and asked him to resign, the acceptance of him being part of the crews had developed to the point that he felt like he was deserting them at even the thought. Especially since he usually had a hand in salving the problems as good of a mechanic as he was. The airtrucks seamed always to be breaking down.

  Tom spoke up from the head. “You know, with all the private aircars. How are they going to keep us from flying around the planets when we touch down?”

  “See. Just more roomers. They have never restricted us to the ship before.” Mark finished cutting out the inside of the case to make the power cell fit and closed it back up. Then tested it one more time with a smile. "The inert gas welding injector seems to work even. At least I can feel gas coming out of it." Mark took down another meter and held the probe to the torches head and pulled the trigger half way down and watched the meter. "Good, the tester shows the nitrogen scrubber is putting out pure nitrogen and not simply blowing air." Checking the metal weld stick chamber running along the top like a sighting rib, then inserting a weld stick. Mark ran a short bead down a piece of metal scrap. Smiling at the result. This is going to come in handy the next time the Airtruck or boat breaks down. I don’t’ have to borrow someone else’s that isn’t half as good.” Mark placed it onto his tool belt next to his tool pouch, he headed for the hatch and stopped looking down at the torch on his belt and frowned. "Just what I need is some kid getting ahold of the damn torch on the bus." Taking it off his belt he started to put it back on the counter but thought for a second and then slipped the small torch into his thigh cargo pocket where it fit nicely and headed for the end hatch. “I am headed for the bus buddy. Join me there as soon as you finish gassing yourself. Or do you want me to send for a hazmat team to rescue you in a few minutes?”

  “Up yours. Not my fault the Chilly was as hot as it was last night for dinner.”

  “You’re the one that went back for thirds.”

  “So kill me already and put me out of my misery.” Tom groaned again as he bent over clasping his stomach as he sat on the head (toilet).

  “Just get finished so you don’t miss the bus.” Mark headed for the hatch smiling as another blast erupted from the head. “I’m a damn pilot. I still don’t believe it. And all the pilots said I would never get my commercial pilot license with my retarded glasses.” Mark walked out of the cargo container with a smile. "Proved those ass holes wrong didn't I."

  Old aircars and engine parts and every imaginable peace of old ship’s equipment mixed with sections of bulkheads and girders and pipes and equipment no one could even identify anymore was stacked around their cargo box on the deck forming a wall around the container area they used for a clubhouse/workshop, with room for a couple of air cars, air cycles and a picnic table and chairs around an open air camp heater cooker. Tie down cables flung over the junk piles looked like some ones waste of time attempt to stabilize them for flight though he could not remember them ever moving. The wall of junk blocked Mark's sight of the rest of the 50 by 10 foot cargo boxes, along with equipment delivery crates scattered across the 300 foot wide hold. Piles of junk pushed up into rows between containers and crates formed alleys and tunnels through the junk in a maze allowing easy access to most of them. If you knew the maze.

  Though Mark’s and his friends’ clubhouse/workshop was not one of the easy ones to get too. The only reason they had been able to lay claim to it in the first place. They had gone out of their way to clear an area around their box to reinforce the wall of scrap yard junk that hid the container and kept unwanted people out since the day they moved in. Realizing at 8 years old, that their ownership of the Cargo box depended on that inaccessible status in the beginning.

  Half of the boxes in the cargo hold were covered in scrap fallen from the top of the nearest piles anyway, making it hard to tell the cargo containers and boxes from the junk. The kids had just taken advantage of the hidden aspect of this particular abandoned cargo box’s placement.

  Mark’s and his friends Cargo box lay against the outer hull half way between the main elevator running up and down the ship and the main cargo hatch that was (at that moment) laid down in the open position with a landing platform extending even farther over the landing pit far below. With the ships only remaining working passenger bus sitting out at the far edge waiting.

  Mark looked around the little open area between the cargo container and their fortress wall of junk keeping them safe from the rest of the somewhat shady untamed hold. His jalopy aircar sat parked next to Tom’s Aircar or tank as they liked to call it, with Jolene and the other members of the club preferring air cycles that were lined up around the other side of the open fire pit area. He smiled, Tom's aircar looked nice and shiny with a descent paint job and hours of elbow grease making it look good even if it was an old tank. While Mark’s aircar was put together from the best components he could find from half a dozen junk aircars and airtrucks from as many planets making them fit even if they did not want to and the multi colored paint job reflected that since Mark was more interested in performance than looks. The important thing was that he knew that few aircars could keep up with him in the air including the Cretan Chet and his ridiculously expensive sports aircar. Shaking his head, the last person he wanted to even think about was that asshole right then. But then he would love to rub Chet’s nose in his new license. Even if it would have been pulling the tail of the Cargo Gang’s gorilla leader’s son. Not a smart thing to do.

  Tapping a small screen next to a peace of scrap metal as he started down a narrow tunnel through the junk, hopping he would catch up to Jolleen, Mark was wondering why he had ever thought about getting his eyes cut out for Implants in the first place. His finger prints from taping the screen shutting off the traps and opening the hatches they had built into the junk to keep unwanted guests out that included the same Chet and his goons. He did not have to use his bio prints but they had found out the hard way that the toy facial recognition software with the low resolution video had difficulty distinguishing between him with his glasses and someone else with glasses. Anyone with a pair of glasses like Marks could just stroll in. They had talked about upgrading the security system from the toy they had originally used some 10 years before but it was good enough for spotting the people they did not want in as long as they were not wearing glasses but then that was why he had removed himself from the photo recognition side of the program. Tapping the screen to give it his finger bio print as he entered or exited was no big thing as he checked the exits anyway on the way out to make sure they were clear and on the way in to check the system for tampering. At least no problem most of the time when he wasn’t in a hurry.

  As the first hatch opened for him and coming up against the backside bulkhead of a cargo container with the tunnel dividing to exits at each end of the container, he realized he had forgotten to look at the screen to make sure both exits were vacant of any threats. Shrugging he realized that it had been months since the last time Chet and his Goons had tried ambushing them and with everyone at work and the junk hold empty, they should not be a problem now.

  Picking the direction he was headed in anyway, he headed around toward the hatch end of the container going through yet another trap hatch. Walking around the end he noticed the end cargo container’s hatch was open. Very strange fo
r the middle of the week. Pausing at the open hatch he looked in and spotted most of the Farmer family busy packing boxes.

  “Oo, K. It’s just you.” Mark said relieved and a bit baffled.

  “Oh Mark. Glad to see you.” Mr. Farmer said from a long bench as he packed a box. “You are just in time. Those tools you have been drooling over for years? Do you have a place to put them? That is if you are still interested in them.”

  “Well. Ya sure but…”

  “Good! They are yours.”

  “But Mr. Farmer…We don’t have to mo...”

  “No, don’t worry about cost my boy. If we just leave them here, the Creepstone’s will just get them for free. After all the trouble everyone has had with them and the Greedly’s, I would rather you boys got them.”

  “But Mr. Farmer. You don’t need too…”

  “Don’t worry my boy. Jolleen stopped by to say hi and told us about you getting your Commercial pilot's license and taking the kids to the Zoo. Our kids will be boarding the charter busses in an hour. Thoughe they would rather ride with you but they are going with the rest of the older kids in their class. In the meantime, we will make sure everything gets over to your box. You go and take care of those kids.” Looking around the box. "That looks like about everything. We will leave the rest for the junk yard man. At least we are getting 100 credits for this piece of junk sight unseen even with all the garbage. The Junk Yard guy should be here in a day or two to take it along with the rest of them. Thanks for taking the tools off our hands Mark."

  Mark opened his mouth again trying to tell them that they did not need to get rid of their tools, but decided that he could always return the tools in a few days and just smiled. Then a thought hit him. It was stupid for them to get rid of their box now when it turned out in a few days the hold was still a junk hold. "Tell you what Mr. Farmer. I will buy the box from you for oww a, say 120 credits but you will have to wait for me to get the money to pay you." He would just give the box back when this all blew over.