“So, you have a deal?” I asked Rosto.
“Yes,” he said, a little smugly. “Better than I thought, not so good that I’m suspicious.” Rosto looked around the living area. There was a seat bolted to the floor in one corner, and he sank onto it with relief. “Got anything to drink?” he asked. “Beside that quite abysmal coffee.”
“Sorry, regulations prohibit alcohol on board.”
Rosto brightened up. “That’s the benefit of carrying out secret missions in a pub though. Let’s go and get a drink!”
“Is it safe?”
“It’s an interstellar bar, outside of any jurisdiction and with no law enforcement. Of course it’s completely safe.” He was clearly exercising his sarcasm for my benefit so I slipped my sidearm into my jacket pocket. Rosto shook his head. “Have you ever used one of those?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then leave it behind. You are better unarmed than carrying a weapon you are too scared to use. If there’s any trouble, you get out and get back here. I’ll cover you. You are my ride out of here so I’m going to have to take care of you, aren’t I?”
I was about to protest, but Rosto stood up and swung himself down the circular staircase to the entry hatch. I followed, less precipitately. When I reached the chamber below the living area, Rosto was peering out of the window panel in the entry hatch.
“There’s a bit of a crowd, that’s good.”
“Is it?”
“Good cover. Now when we disembark, stay away from me, just not too far. Head for the bar we were in yesterday, and get the drinks in. I’ll join you at the bar after a minute or two.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Retrieve the cache. No, I’m not telling you where it is. It’s well hidden though.”
I was happy about that. It had been drummed into me at Star Base that if I didn’t know anything, the Imperium would very quickly work that out and stop asking me questions. (And stop connecting me to the mains power to encourage me to answer.) Rosto walked off down the walkway along the Space Dock in the opposite direction, and I followed the route I had taken previously. This time I had to step over two bodies to reach the door out of the dock. It was clear that arguments in this bar were settled in a traditional manner, rather than a civilised discussion. As I went through the door, I could hear a furious row breaking out behind me, and so I hurried off down the corridor and up the stairs into the bar.
The bartender looked as harried as ever, trying to keep up with the flow of orders, demands, complaints and abuse. It took me ages to get the two beers, by which time I had been jostled and threatened myself. I looked for a quiet corner; there wasn’t such a thing of coursed, as the space bar was a circular structure. But there was a table free with three chairs so I managed to reach it and claim it before a group of rowdy Vegans could do the same. One pulled a weapon out, but his friends pulled him away quickly. I wondered why, until a hand descended on each of my shoulders.
“Probably they couldn’t afford to pay for the carpet to be cleaned,” said an unfamiliar voice from behind me.
I tried to turn, but the hands prevented me. A Terran in the uniform of a captain in the Imperium’s Space Guards dropped onto one of the empty seats. He reached across and took my beer, draining it in one long swallow. I started to rise against the pressure of the hands, but a blaster was shoved hard into my ribs and I stopped abruptly.
“We of course have a monthly account for the carpet. Just as well, or it would be far too sticky for anyone to walk on, and that would never do, would it?” he reached out for other beer, and drank that too.
“Nothing to say? We have some skill in helping people to talk, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” I admitted. I wouldn’t say that I was overwhelmed with terror, but that was only because I was saying as little as possible at this point.
“You’ve been associating with a known criminal, young man.”
“Me?” The blaster ground viciously into my side, and I gasped.
“You. Now, we aren’t here to kill an officer in the Free Union Space Corps.”
“Oh, good!” I managed.
“But then, you aren’t one, are you? No uniform, no markings on your clapped out old Speedbird… congratulations on managing to make it fly as far as this, by the way. You must have hidden talents.”
“Hidden from me as well then.”
The Imperium captain chuckled happily at the little joke. “Tell me where he is, and we will us walk away. If you don’t mess me about, we might even leave you alive. Well, aliveish.”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I confessed.
“Don’t mess me about I said. Or Frank here can have a little fun.” The captain nodded to one of his two companions. The chair I was using was suddenly kicked out from beneath me and I ended up on the floor with a boot grinding into the side of my face. My field of view was a little limited, but I managed to see the other boot just before it flashed past my face and hit my ribs.
“I don’t know!” I insisted.
I was kicked a second time, then dragged up and shoved face first onto the table. At the last minute I turned my head, so avoiding a broken nose. My mother always said that my nose was my best feature, so I felt I owed it to her to protect it if I could. From this angle I could see around the bar a little. Any hope of help faded very fast as all I could see was a wall of carefully turned backs. Clearly no one wanted to attract the unwelcome attention of the Imperium’s space guards.
“When did you last see him? And if you insult me by asking ‘Who?’ Frank can take your ear off with two fingers. I’ve seen him do it on a prisoner for a bet.”
“Look, we left my ship and I came to the bar, he went off somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“No idea, he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Where were you next to see him?”
“Here in the bar. That’s why I had bought two beers.”
The pressure on my head stopped. I thought about blinking, but was too scared even to try that so I stayed where I was. Then another unfamiliar voice spoke at me. This was all getting a bit too much, I thought.
“They’ve gone,” said the voice. I looked up and saw one of the Vegans who had wanted my table was standing nearby, not looking at me and apparently talking entirely to himself. I looked around, and he was right. The Imperium captain was gone.
“If you know what’s good for you, you should get lost, preferably on the other side of the galaxy,” said the Vegan out of the corner of his mouth.
“Good advice,” I agreed, and headed for the doorway. Alarmingly, no one looked at me or stood in my way. A narrow path opened by magic towards the door. The Imperium might not rule here, but even this space bar full of heavy drinkers didn’t want to be seen near someone who had attracted the attention of their enforcers. At the doorway back to the stairs, I heard shouting arise from the other end of the bar. Looking over the lowered heads of the definitely disinterested drinkers, I saw Rosto in the far entrance to the bar, with his weapon in his hand. The Imperium Space Corps closed in on him, and I saw one fall as shots were exchanged. Then Rosto’s face vanished in a smear of blood and he fell. I wasted no more time but turned and ran for the Space Dock.
I pushed through the surly throng using the stairs as an impromptu toilet and headed for the Speedbird. But just inside the Dock I stopped. Another uniformed Imperium enforcer was standing by the entry hatch, with his blaster at the ready.
In a flash of inspiration, I dropped off the walkway into the deep gutter that ran below it and crawled slowly towards the ship.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I bumped into someone who seemed to be coming the other way. Then I realised that it was a body, and none too fresh at that.
Unfortunately it took up most of the space in the gutter, and getting past it without revealing myself took ages. I thought that I had managed to extricate myself and was about to heave a huge sigh of relief when I heard footste
ps on the walkway above me and a voice I recognised spoke a little further away.
“Seen him?” demanded the Imperium Space Corps captain.
“No, Captain!” replied another, presumably the subordinate left guarding my ship.
“Well, we’ve got the spy. And the document we wanted, so this one doesn’t count for anything.”
At that moment I was very happy not to count for anything.
“But if he turns up, kill him anyway. No loose ends then.”
This Imperium captain clearly had OCD about tidying things up, and I decided I rather disliked the chap. However, his footsteps retreated, and I pondered my position. Although I had a weapon, perhaps just shooting the guard might not be a good idea. For a start, I had never shot at anyone in my life, and would probably miss. For a second thought, if I didn’t miss, then the guard would take objection to my having a pot shot at him – and he was likely to retaliate effectively.
The body I had just passed had a heavy cloak and a helmet, neither of which had saved his life – but they might save mine. With some difficulty, I pulled the helmet on and wrapped the cloak around me. Then I dragged myself along the gutter until I was by the entry hatch to my ship. The guard shifted, and I reach up and grabbed his ankles. One hard pull and the poor bloke toppled over with a loud cry and fell into the gutter, dropping his weapon. I threw the cloak over him, entangling the guard in its folds, then I scrambled up onto the walkway and feverishly tapped the entry code into the keypad. A distant cry alerted me and I crawled inside the open hatch as shots slammed into the side of the Speedbird. Good shooting from a distance. I closed the hatch, and relaxed against it in relief. The helmet I removed and let it roll away across the chamber.
The entry phone buzzed. Out of habit, I opened the channel.
“Are you going to let me in?” Was it Rosto?
I jumped up and peered through the window.
“Six six six! Let me in you cretin!” It was Rosto!
I keyed the hatch, and Rosto fell inside. I shut the hatch as quickly as I could, and closed the blind on the port window.
“You’re alive!” I stammered.
“What incisive thinking,” replied Rosto. “Now get this ship out of here as fast as you can.”
“Run away?” I asked.
“YES!”
That was something I felt was inside my skillset, so I hurried up to the flight deck leaving Rosto to follow on as best he could. The automatic departure sequence required little effort, and even as the Speedbird moved away from the docking area and back into open space, I was programming the flight computer for a return to Star Base.
Rosto appeared in the doorway to the flight deck. “How long to hyperspace?” he asked.
“Only a moment or two. I just need to get us clear of the traffic so that we can start to accelerate.”
Rosto was a mess. Blood was smeared across his face and clothes, yet he didn’t carry himself as though he was in pain.
“How did you get away?” I asked.
“This blood is all fake. I shot one of the Imperium guards, then smacked myself on the forehead. The skin is false, containing fake blood so I can seem to be mortally wounded.”
“Neat trick!” I agreed, skillfully avoiding a rather dirty looking mining shuttle as it flew erratically towards the Space Bar. “What about the documents though?”
“In my head. No one is stupid enough to write stuff like that down. The Imperium guards got a sheet of coded stuff: when they unlock the code, they will find it’s their horoscope for the day. Look out!”
Rosto had been looking at the rear vision vidscreen. Around the side of the Space Bar came a rather large ship emblazoned with the Imperium’s logos. As soon as we were in their vision, an impressive amount of laser cannon shots came towards us, which again I avoided.
I hit the Speedbird’s control console, and the small craft accelerated.
“Mine!” yelled Rosto.
This was no time to be disputing ownership of the Speedbird, I thought. “No, it’s mine!” I told him forcefully. Rosto grabbed my ears and, with what I thought was quite unnecessary force dragged my head around to the rear vision vidscreen. There, indeed, was a grossly overlarge mine heading straight towards us at some speed.
We were almost at VH, the speed at which the hyperspace jump was possible. I watched the readout whilst Rosto watched the mine. As soon as the needle touched the green line, I flicked the switch and engaged the Star Drive: the game little Speedbird vanished into hyperspace. From Rosto’s reaction, the mine had been so close that we nearly brought it with us. But we didn’t, so I assumed my normal cool demeanor.
“There was no need for all that fuss, was there?” I asked.
Rosto punched me again, which I thought was rather ungrateful of him, after saving his life twice.
“I’m taking the sleeping pod,” Rosto announced. “Wake me at Star Base.”
Chapter three
Derelict
“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” I said aloud to myself (the only person here present), “that a young man in want of a fortune should join the military. And end up on dangerous assignments.”
I looked again at the vidscreens. The image of the Imperium battlecruiser didn’t waver at all. It hung there, silver bright against the background of the Horsehead Nebula, but still and silent. Although the stars reflected from the burnished silver shell the battlecruiser had a dark aura. As a Free Union reconnaissance scout pilot, I had come across - and fled from - Imperium starships before. Each one had employed IFF (Identification, Friend or Foe) interrogation systems, but this battlecruiser was silent. No pings, pongs, pungs or other assorted communications were directed at me, even though I had emerged from the hyperspace jump within the range of their weapons systems. Yes, all right, I had made a mistake there and if this ship had not been so quiet and still, then I would probably be dead as a result. Or worse, captured. Still, I was none of those things.
I reached out to the comms control and opened a channel. If they didn’t want to talk to me, then perhaps I should try talking to them? I knew their chatter frequency; all Free Union pilots did. We hear them all the time as our ships patrol the uneasy and unofficial border with the Imperium. The speaker hissed as the channel opened. “Free Union frigate to Imperial States cruiser,” I said, a little nervously. Then I pressed the ‘open mic’ button and repeated myself. My words fled across the void to the battlecruiser and I waited. The carrier wave hissing of the open comm channel continued. I waited, and then sent the same message. There was no reply. A third time I tried and suddenly the static hissing cleared. I tensed in my seat, waiting for a reply or an attack. Nothing. The silence continued, then at the edge of hearing I fancied or imagined that I could hear the word ‘help’.
“Say again, battlecruiser?”
“Help me.” The reply was faint, but this time almost clear.
“Can you repeat? Say again?” I asked. The automatic voice recording in my cockpit would allow me to enhance the reply anyway, but a louder reply would help my nerves. Instead the static hiss returned. Then:
“Help me, please help me.”
“Permission to board?” I asked, to complete the formalities.
“Help. Just help.”
The voice faded away, repeating that phrase. I was both cautious and relieved. Boarding an Imperium battlecruiser was not my idea of a fun time, but at least I had permission so the chances of my Admiral responding to a formal complaint by handing me over to their less than tender mercies were diminished: on the other hand, voluntarily going on board one of their ships was about as appealing as putting my hand in a mincing machine, and could have exactly the same effect. But if the ship was unoccupied or in extremis, and I could claim it legally for the Free Union as salvage, then I’d certainly be up for a promotion and maybe even a decent chunk of cash. It had to be worth the risk.
I closed the comms channel, and thought. Both clean uniform and weapons were called for, I decid
ed. After a quick change, I grabbed everything that I could carry from the small armoury on board. A scout ship pilot is not normally intended to engage in actual hand to hand combat, so the available choice was rather more limited than I would have liked. A full space suit was not an option either, so I pulled the emergency suit over my uniform. In truth it was more like a wet suit on steroids, but it was better than nothing. Back in the pilot’s seat, I examined the battlecruiser carefully via the vidscreens. There were three entry ports on the side of the cruiser, and with sudden glee I chose the Space Admiral’s Entry. My ship glided easily across the intervening space. As the battlecruiser was not moving, aligning the hatches was simple. I typed a quick sitrep on the on board computer, and sent it back to Star Base. At least they would know what I was doing, and if it all went wrong there was a remote possibility they would offer a prisoner exchange to get me back. Remote, but better than nothing.
Scout Pilot Of the Free Union (Space Scout Book 1) Page 3