The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “You want to stay aboard?”

  He nodded. “I’ll stay awhile if it’s the same to you. I’m going to Boddan-Three anyway, so it would save me the effort of booking a flight. I wouldn’t mind riding this old girl a bit longer. I served as an engineer officer aboard one of these long ago flying for the Prausians. I’d like to reminisce a little, if you don’t mind.”

  Teller canted his head. “You crewed these in the insurrection? That explains a thing or two. If the folks paying the freight don’t squawk, it’s okay by me if you want to come along.” He looked to Ursula.

  “You’re privy to the operation. I don’t mind if you accompany us.” Ursula said. “I didn’t know you were Prausian,”

  Jessop shook his head. “I’m not. Most of us were crew-for-hire, mercenaries if you will. Came from all over. We were to get a land grant when we won.” He snarled at the memory of it. “Of course, that didn’t work out so well.” He shook his head again. “It’s exhaust out of the nozzles. Thanks for humoring an old man.”

  . . .

  As Teller sat in the pilot’s seat finishing preflight checks, he saw a small skimmer driven by a uniformed Altairie Corporation security operative coming down the side of the landing pad. On board were Limik and Nix, plus a bipedal bot holding five silver colored cases mounted in a rack. Teller punched the intercom controls and notified Ord and Ursula of the imminent arrival of their cargo.

  The driver noticed the open ramp at the back of the ship and stopped near the edge of it. Ursula and Ord were there to meet them.

  Ursula directed them to bring the cargo aboard, and walked ahead of the bot carrying the rack-mounted cases. On each side of the bot walked the two secops, both serious looking and constantly scanning back and forth with their eyes. Each wore a holstered snub blaster on their right hip.

  “Our passengers,” Ord said as Teller walked through the cargo hold.

  “Looks like. At least our security personnel aren’t wearing uniforms.”

  Limik stopped next to Teller. “Do you have somewhere we can secure the case rack, Captain? Somewhere we can stay with it during transit? One of us must stay with the cases at all times.”

  “The workshop or the common room.”

  “Will the common room be in use during our transits?”

  “We’ll be in slipspace for most of the journey. Thirty-three-point-eight-seven light years according to the astrogation system. Sodall’s numbers were a bit off. That’s thirty-three-point-eight-seven hours give or take we’ll be doing little but riding along and passing time. If anyone wishes to eat, they’ll need to use the galley station in there, so yes, I’d say we’ll be using the common room.”

  Limik smiled. “I suppose that was a stupid question. The workshop would probably be best.”

  “C’mon. We’ll see if our arrangements will be suitable for what you have in mind.”

  Ord activated the controls and closed the ramp before following along.

  The secops found a wall mounted tool rack they felt would work, so they directed the bot to place the rack on the deck next to it. As Limik and Nix secured the racks together with locking cables, Teller eyed the bot, a well-worn model he wasn’t familiar with.

  As was common with bipedal bots from Human space, its height and build was similar to an average standard bred Human. In this bot’s case, a roughly masculine build. Its face was featureless save for a pair of black circular ‘eyes’—non-illuminated photoreceptors—and a rectangular ‘mouth’ where its vox projector was located. The lack of a more detailed face was an indication of the utilitarian role the bot was intended to fulfill. Its old and faded orange-yellow finish, the scrapes, scratches, and dents visible on its limbs and torso made apparent it was far from a new model. It’s limbs and joints were larger than standard, meaning it was built or customized for rigorous service, and certainly capable of more strenuous work than carrying a mere five cases in a rack.

  “You staying aboard?” Teller said to the machine.

  “Those were my instructions,” the bot said in a clear and well-modulated voice.

  “What sort of bot are you? General utility?” Tell said.

  “I am no sort of bot at all,” the machine said in a tone that almost sounded indignant. “I am a Mech. An Intelygenic Systems Omnibot-Nine General Purpose Bipedal Mechanized Being model number F-Nine-B-Two-Six.”

  Teller sighed. “A machine with rights.” He pointed at the small black disk in the middle of the machine’s chest. “Funny, but you seem to have an inhibitor plug… like a bot.”

  “Yes. That makes me an enslaved Mech.”

  “Have it your way. You got a name?” He saw the Mech’s identity number on the breastplate, ON-7734-HO

  “Seven-seven-three-four-H-O is my identifier. A name if you will.”

  “If I will? Well I won’t. We have to come up with something better. I’m not rattling off all that every time I want to speak to you.”

  “Ho,” Ord said, pointing at the ID plate on the Mech’s chest.

  “I find that acceptable,” 7734-HO said. “An abbreviate, a nickname.”

  Teller shrugged. “Yeah. Good. Glad that’s settled. Now shut up. We’ll have to figure out where you’ll ride.”

  Ord brought a pair of padded seats to mount into the workshop bulkhead near the cases. Once affixed, he attached safety harnesses to them. “Hopefully not needed,” he grunted when finished.

  As they made final preparations, Teller decided Ho the Mech would ride in the weapons station seat on the command deck to the right and just aft of Ord’s copilot position. The station seats—vestiges of Lance’s days as a military craft—located on both sides of the deck were usually kept retracted in a storage configuration under each workstation, allowing more space to move on the command deck. The astrogation station that originally occupied the space aft of the weapons station was long gone, replaced by the system installed atop the cubicle in the middle of the deck. Clearing away the old astrogation point made the gymnastics needed to enter the deck with the old configuration a thing of the past.

  The procedure for takeoff was little different than the departure from Maelstrom save for contact with air traffic control. Once airborne, they followed a vectored course that would return them to space and the automated space traffic control system. Their course to Marzhan was already plotted and all they need do was clear the planet’s gravity well and transition to slipspace.

  . . .

  Director Sodall and his staff watched ARC Lance depart from a viewport in his office.

  “Well, they’re away,” Mz. Nephron said.

  The Director nodded. “Yes, Julia. In just over two days we should see results from our labors.”

  She looked at Sodall, then back to the diminishing speck that was all that was visible of the ascending ship. “I realize this is necessary, sir, but do you still believe it benefits Altairie Corporation?”

  “The lesser of two harms should be viewed as beneficial I should think. Especially in this case.”

  Julia nodded as she looked at the sky. ARC Lance was out of sight. There is little that might alter things now, she thought.

  . . . . .

  . . . . .

  3

  A Journey Begins

  . . . . .

  Excerpt from, Cap’n Cosmos’ Guide to it All, the Interstellar Guide for Endeavoring Spacers.

  Cap’n, how long would it take me to travel from one end of the galaxy to the other?

  -William B.

  William, thanks for the question. Short answer: A while. The Cap’n is going to throw some math out here, so we need to be precise. A starship in slipspace traverses a light year per hour, give or take. Our galaxy is a hundred and twenty thousand light years across, thereabouts. Using a Carperan Standard year of three hundred and fifty days at twenty-four Standard Hours per, that’s five-thousand days, or over fourteen years of transit time, more or less. Of course, very few starships can go that long without refueling or restocking, and there�
�s maintenance to take into account. Then there’s all the food you would eat and the space it would take to store it, and you have to do something about what happens to all that food once it’s digested, and being in slipspace, you can’t dump it, so… I think you get the picture, and maybe a whiff of…. Trust the Cap’n on this one. You do not want to be aboard a ship in space when the sanitation system goes bad or reaches critical fullness.

  Even if you did travel non-stop, you’d miss seeing a lot of really super-neat things, and that is what spacefaring is all about.

  Endeavoring Spacers, follow the Cap’n’s advice. Stop and smell the flowers down groundside once in a while… and don’t forget to clear the sewage processor.

  . . .

  ARC Lance made slipspace an hour and a quarter after leaving the landing pad at Altairie Corporation’s skyport, dropping back into space actual five and a half hours later near Marzhan.

  The flight groundside took an hour, setting down at a government center landing pad quite some distance from the center itself. The late arrival of the shuttle that would take Ursula and Helen Nix to the building where they would make delivery of the first data case was the start of a series of delays. Difficulty finding a government official willing to sign for delivery of the case because it was the middle of the night local time followed, keeping the Lance planetbound for over an hour and a half.

  Congested space traffic over Marzhan slowed them even more, and by the time they made slipspace on their way to Jeordral, they were already behind schedule, if Teller and Ord still had ideas on getting the bonus.

  After seven hours in slipspace, the trip to Jeordral’s surface took an hour, followed by an hour for Ursula and Marl Limik to deliver the case and return to the Lance. An hour and a quarter later, they made slipspace, bound for Matai.

  The world of Matai was different from the previous stops, a Planet of Nations, with self-governing regions and hardly any planetary law. What little global governance did exist was largely administrative and dealt with such mundane issues such as controlling traffic in space near the planet.

  As they neared Matai, the space traffic controller advised, “Watch your course and altitude once in the atmosphere. Below thirty-thousand Carperan meters, you are considered within jurisdictional airspace and subject to local authority. That’s thirty klicks. Acknowledge.”

  Teller did so. Ursula asked him what that meant for them.

  “It means we better not cross certain invisible lines.” He pointed downward. “You can’t just set down where you please. There are lines drawn down there, even though you can’t see them. Inside some of those lines lies trouble. Some places try to squeeze spacers for some creds, others might impound your ship and pitch you in a lockup hoping for ransom. Most nations on Matai aren’t so bad. The corruption is predictable.”

  The landing, delivery, and return to space went smoothly, and soon they found themselves back in slipspace, bound for Drellick’s World.

  . . .

  Marl Limik stepped into the common room and joined Teller and Ned at the galley station.

  “Captain, we’re making good time. Should be well under the minimum, so there won’t be any penalty. Too bad about the delays. I’m sorry you won’t be able to make the bonus.”

  Teller smiled. “It’s still in the realm of possibility. Stranger things have happened.”

  Limik canted his head. “You think we’ll make dock over Boddan-Three in forty-nine hours?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you think it. Don’t you?”

  “Didn’t say that either.”

  Limik laughed. “Care to wager on our time of arrival?”

  Teller shook his head. “I’m not much of a betting man, at least not wagers for coin.”

  Jessop smiled. “I’ll take your money, Mister Limik.” He held up a single finger. “One credit.”

  “One?” Limik said with a raise of an eyebrow. “Ah, a wager as to which one of us is right. The best kind. One it is.”

  Limik prepared two cups of tea and returned to the workshop.

  “A few factors to consider,” Jessop said thoughtfully. “The next two stops are space stations.”

  Teller nodded. “That’s right.”

  “No descent to get us planetside, no climb back into space.”

  “No.”

  “Short distance for the delivery of the cases on a space station.”

  Teller suppressed a smile. “I suppose that’s true, but I hear Commerce Station over Boddan-Three is no small affair.”

  “It’s not. But it has an efficient transit system, but that is irrelevant. All things considered, there’s time to be had it seems to me. Quick ship, a couple of rigs at the helm, adds up to forty-nine hours or less if my math is right.”

  “Have to be an awfully quick ship.”

  Jessop smiled. “I’d really like to see what this old girl can do with engines like you have hanging under those winglets.”

  Teller smiled in return. “If the next delivery is fast enough, you just might.”

  Jessop slapped Teller on the shoulder. “Look forward to it.”

  . . .

  Despite not needing to make a landing groundside, the flight to Breelan Station took an hour and a half, heavy space traffic and a diverted course inbound due to a coronal mass ejection from the system’s sun causing the slow trip. Gas mining was the primary field of endeavor over the gas giant that was Drellick’s World, and based on the amount of ships moving in and out of the system, Teller wondered if it wasn’t too late to take up the gas mining trade.

  Marl and Ursula’s task of delivering the data case did not take long, but the flight from the station was slowed by the same heavy traffic that hampered them coming in.

  Teller and his partner were not happy.

  “Will be close, unless we push,” Ord said.

  “I hear you, pal,” Teller said. His eyes scanned the displays showing the traffic patterns. “As soon as traffic control releases us, I’m pulling us clear of this mess. Watch our course and have a nav solution for Boddan-Three ready to go.”

  Ord grunted an acknowledgement.

  “You wanted to see what the Lance could do?” Teller said with a quick look at Jessop.

  “Yes. I take it I’ll get my wish?”

  “You got it, old man.” Teller punched the intercom system to warn the secops in the workshop. “Everybody better be strapped in. The Counter Inertia System and Repulsor Inertial Compensators are about to be put to the test.”

  Within seconds of leaving the Drellick’s World traffic control system, Teller was as good as his word. He carved and danced the Lance clear of the merchant vessels and tankers in their path.

  “You have us a course?” he said as he placed a hand on the thrust controls.

  “Astrogation System up. Galactic coordinates to Boddan-Three confirmed. Raker gens ready.”

  Teller pushed the controls forward as Ord placed a giant finger on the intercom controls.

  “Get ready. Bumpy ride,” he said.

  Lance began to shudder and the occupants within ARC Lance felt the press of acceleration, despite the systems onboard that would normally negate G forces under thrust.

  The experience told Jessop the Lance’s engines were more powerful than he projected and he dearly wished he was at an engineer’s station so he could see the numbers. A glance at Ursula showed she was not alarmed or frightened in the least, her smile indicated she seemed to be enjoying herself. Ned couldn’t help but smile himself at the sensation of the Lance cutting her way through space as few ships of her kind could. This is a hot ride.

  By the time the Lance made slipspace, Jessop could only guess how long it took to go from congested traffic pattern to enough velocity to escape realspace, but he was sure it was well under half an hour. He noted the current time. We still have a slugger’s chance, he thought as he did some calculations in his head. We transition close enough to our destination… if these guys are on course an
d we decelerate efficiently…. He pulled a one Carperan Credit coin from a pocket and bounced it in his hand. We’ll know in about seven hours.

  . . .

  Returning to space actual would have ARC Lance moving at the same velocity as she exited. When they entered the space near a heavily populated planet, Teller knew this would be a concern of those who monitored the space traffic control system. Despite this, Teller brought the thrusters up once again as soon as the shimmering Raker Effect field gave way to the view of space actual, gaining even more velocity. The shudder and Gs of acceleration returned.

  “Bring up the approach regs for this place, old pal,” Teller said seconds after the transition.

  “Already done,” Ord said with a smile as he manipulated controls on the panel in front of him. “On your display.”

  Teller gave the numbers a quick scan and smiled. “Tell me when.”

  Ord watched a readout on the panel in front of him for more than a minute. “Now.”

  Teller went into action, smiling once again. “Off thrust. I’m bringing her around. Help me get her locked on course to join the inbound traffic pattern. Do it clean, and we have this in the bag.”

  ARC Lance rotated 180 degrees as she closed on the space station, the site of their last delivery. Once her crew positioned her to their satisfaction, they brought up the thrusters to begin the deceleration needed to get them to their destination safely. The Lance shuddered, the power overwhelming the CIS-RIC once again.

  “ARC Lance, Boddan-Three Control. Have you on scope. You are clear internal docking on Commerce Station. We show you at ninety-eight percent approach. Watch the limits.”

  “Roger B-Three Control,” Teller said with a smile. “Priority runner coming in hot. We know the limit and what happens if we cross the line.”

  “All right, hotshot. Sending course and station berth. Welcome to Boddan-Three, out.”

  Ursula put her hand on Ned’s arm. “What did they mean by limit? Is it—”