The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  They stood in line for a short while until they placed their task order. “Be at least half a Standard Hour,” the man at the counter said. He pointed at a hatchway passing through the manufactory. “You can have a bite or a drink over there while you wait. Good victuals and ten percent off since you’re doing business here. Right through the artificer monitoring center.”

  “I’d bank on the owner of both places being the same being,” Teller said as they walked from the counter. “What say we go look for our man?”

  “You know where he is?” Jessop said.

  Teller held up his data pad and its display showing the station directory. “There’s only one place here he’d frequent. If they don’t know where he is we have some other places we can visit.”

  The place was a club dubbed Reggo’s that serviced mostly locals who dealt with handling incoming and outgoing freight and those that did business with them. It was neither fancy nor sleazy. “Definitely lower and mid management class,” Teller commented as they entered. There were many people eating at tables, while in the back there were several card games underway.

  Teller spotted the person he wanted to query, the head of the wait staff. “More than likely she knows any regulars or frequent visitors.”

  They stopped at the bar and Tell signaled the woman.

  “I’m looking for Hugh Makreury,” he said when she joined them.

  “That so?” She looked at Ord and then back to Teller. “He owe you money?”

  Teller laughed. “Hugh owes no being a speck of currency. I owe him.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “You know Hugh all right. He was here… must be better than thirty Standard back. Said he was running circuit, whatever that means. Don’t know where he went.”

  “That’s all I needed to know. Thanks.” Teller looked at his companions. “We’re on the right track. This place is still on the circuit he’s following.”

  “Who is this Makreury?” Ursula asked as they left the club. “What’s this ‘circuit’?”

  “Mak’s an old gambler. They don’t stay in one place for long and they cycle through joints where they don’t get hassled. This was… is still one of them. No casinos here, but this club has pro pelfre players and suckers with money. That means creds to be made if you have the skills. Let’s see if the parts are ready.”

  Teller was disappointed to find their task order was still in queue.

  “If you want to eat at Naran’s next door while you wait, we’ll call you,” the woman behind the counter said. “Ten percent off and they have good victuals.” She pointed at the hatchway that led to the place.

  “What do they do, program all of you to say that?” Teller said. He gestured at his companions and they walked into the surprisingly quiet artificer monitoring center, the thick transparent ceiling damping most of the sound. The view above was disconcerting, machines working furiously, mechanical arms with a myriad toolheads creating dozens of parts of all sorts in front of a backdrop of faces watching the process. They passed into a narrow corridor running between monitoring gear and equipment into a circular open space in the middle then into another narrow corridor that led into NARAN’S EDIBLES, as the sign above the door read.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if the two places were in league with one another. Hell, they might be owned by the same being.”

  Ursula held up her data pad. “You said that before” The display showed that a being named Mott Naran owned the two businesses.

  Teller shook his head. “Merchants. Get you coming and going.”

  The quartet took a table and ordered food. Every so often a voice came over the audio system rattling off an order number, followed soon after by someone leaving the eatery for Mott’s. When their food arrived, they learned the fare was very good indeed.

  The announcement of their number came before they were finished eating, but only barely. Ord pushed the last of his meal into his mouth and stood. “You finish. Ord will get parts.”

  He lowered his head and stepped into the narrow passage of the monitoring center. The doors ahead and behind slid shut simultaneously, the lights dimming as well.

  “I am Choro,” a voice said from somewhere near. “I come for you Ord Hawmer.”

  Ord quickly glanced around the room, but saw no one but those on the walkways outside the view panels above. He backed toward the door he had just used and found it secured.

  “Fleeing? I expected more from one as large as you,” the voice said.

  Above them, people gathered at the view panels, pointing downward and signaling others to join them once they realized something out of the ordinary was happening.

  A man stepped from the shadows in the tight walkway across the open area in the center of the space. It was the strange grey-clad man they’d seen earlier, the neuro-to. The giant realized the neuro-to would have an advantage over him in the walkway where he stood. The open area in the center would allow him to move with less chance of entanglement with the equipment. As he stepped into the circular area, the neuro fighter entered opposite him, just several steps away.

  The neuro-to smiled. “It is time.”

  Ord knew his opponent was quicker and more nimble than he was. He also knew the strange man would have to get close to land any blows and his greater reach was an advantage he held over the neuro-to practitioner. He stayed where he was, choosing to let the man make the first move.

  Ord’s companions ran to the hatch. Teller looked through the pane of transparency in the door and saw what was happening. He punched the door controls several times, but to no avail. He drew his blaster.

  “That won’t do it, Teller,” Jessop said. “You’d need a plas-torch to burn through that. The only way we can get in there is if that nerve fighter or Ord open up from inside.”

  The Di darted at Ord, left, right, then a roll toward him and up. A short sharp blow came under Ord’s block and stung his ribcage, and then the man was two paces away, smiling at him. Ord showed no sign of pain, but the neuro warrior knew he’d struck a nerve bundle. A miss was rare, and the clumsy oaf he opposed was slow.

  He came again, right, left, a lunge and strike at the giant’s right elbow. He landed the blow precisely where he intended, but it didn’t feel right. He quickly realized what was wrong. The big man’s sheer mass and musculature shrouded some of the nerve bundles. The giant threw an ineffectual jab at the Di as the strange fighter withdrew. He smiled once again at Ord.

  This man is very arrogant, Ord thought, but has much skill. Use both against him.

  The Di closed in his zigzag fashion once again, rolling, then springing high to attack Ord’s neck, but a sledgehammer blow to his side sent the neuro-warrior reeling. Instinct took over and he rolled on landing and came to his feet, stepping clear of Ord’s reach. It had been years since an opponent landed a blow, and never had he felt such a powerful strike as this. He realized he might be injured. He channeled his dakram, the centering trance that would lift him past the pain.

  “No more smile,” Ord rumbled.

  The neuro-to-di bristled at the taunt, but discipline and the dakram moved him past the anger.

  Ord moved at the man. The Di leapt forward like a cat, a touch of the floor and he was off in another direction, spoiling Ord’s attack. He tumbled and sprang forward again, through the big man’s legs, scoring a blow to the thigh. Ord grunted, staggered, and dropped to a knee.

  The neuro warrior rose behind the giant and delivered two blows to Ord’s neck as the he turned. The blows stunned the big man, and in that instant the Di knew the fight was over. His hand formed the raud, the two-knuckle strike, and in a flash drove the knuckles into the side of Ord’s head. Glassy-eyed, the big man toppled to the floor.

  Teller pounded on the transparent panel as Ord fell. The neuro-to-di looked at the giant and smiled. Formidable in his own slow way, but just another downed foe in a long line of the defeated, he thought. He looked at Teller, the smile firmly in place. “Wait your turn,” he said ass
uming his next victim could read lips. He knelt next to Ord and made sure the big man was incapacitated. Satisfied, he muttered, “You spoiled my sport by speeding your dispatch.” He thought of Ord’s blow. “You offend my pride. You live only because someone wishes to extract something from that feeble mind of yours.” He stood and walked to the console, feeling a spike of pain from his injured ribs despite the dakram. No time to savor this day. I shall finish this task swiftly, he thought. There will be many more to dispatch in the tomorrows to come. The Di hit the door release. “Now you,” he said with a flamboyant gesture of his hand, egging Teller.

  “You’re not going in there,” Jessop said.

  “I have to. Ord would come for me if things were reversed.”

  The spacer was as scared as he had ever been, as much for Ord as himself. Never one to quake in his boots, his natural bravado took hold. He stepped into the room, the door going closed as soon as he cleared the opening. “You’re dead, you just haven’t hit the deck yet,” he said loudly.

  The Di laughed, causing another spike in his ribs. “Bluster. You’ll suffer. That is the promise of Choro. Shoot if you must, but know this is the beginning of your end.” The neuro-to-di seemingly went from motionless to a blur of action in an instant. Teller crouched, drew, and fired in a single smooth motion, the blaster’s report reverberating in the workspace. The Di tumble-rolled and came to his feet beside Teller, then he fell to rest at the knockabout’s feet, a smoking hole above his right eye.

  Teller was shocked, but he shook it off before anyone noticed. He stood and calmly holstered his pistol. “I warned you, slick.” Those watching were as stunned at the rapidity of the action as they were of the result.

  Teller punched the door release and rushed to his friend, Jessop and Raik soon joining him. Ord still breathed, but Teller had no experience with nerve strikes and neuro warriors. “I need some help here!”

  . . . . .

  . . . . .

  7

  House of Cards

  . . . . .

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

  Cap’n, What’s the difference between a bot and a Mech?

  -Art I.

  Great question, Art. Depending on who you ask and where you go, you’ll get a couple of different viewpoints. In much of the galaxy, machines are considered machines and not beings. By not being a being, they have no rights in those places. In other areas, certain machines are considered beings, those beings being Mechs. It’s a tough subject, especially if you’re a Mech in a place that doesn’t see Mechs as being sentient.

  The Cap’n personally thinks Mechs are people too, but he can’t tell you where bots leave off and Mechs begin. When in doubt, treat a machine with respect… unless it’s trying to do you harm.

  Yes, on occasion a machine, bot or Mech, might go a little off and shut down a ship’s life support or not open a hatch when you’re doing some extravehicular activity, but it’s rare. Sentient biological beings do similar things on occasion. With intelligence goes madness whether it be meat or machine.

  One bit of advice: don’t play certain games for creds with bots unless they have a built-in sportsmanship mode, but even then you get the devious ones that lie about that, or shut it down when they start to lose. Trust the Cap’n on this one Endeavoring Spacers, you can find more enjoyable pursuits on which to waste your creds.

  . . .

  “I have good news and bad news,” the doctor said as he stepped from the examining bay.

  “Bad first,” Teller said.

  “I don’t envy the headache he must have.”

  “That means he’s awake?”

  The doctor nodded and smiled. “It does. It also means you’ve blunted my good news. Beings usually as for the good first. He’ll be fine, but it will be a few days before his nerves recover. He can leave whenever he wishes.”

  “Thanks, doc. We owe you one.”

  “You rid the galaxy of a Kwanam neuro-to-di,” he said pointing at a body bag on a repulsor platform against a nearby wall. “That’s enough. I’ve worked their region of space… treated those who were more vulnerable than your immense friend in there. Their work is that of evil and sadistic Humans, those who revel in causing pain, in killing. You and your friend did us all a service. Why did he attack you?”

  “He said we insulted him in some way,” Jessop said. “He swore he would even accounts, but we thought it was just bluster.”

  The doctor sneered and nodded. “Yes, pride. Four broken ribs and a bolt through the face. That’s the result of such pride.”

  The doctor left as Teller and his companions went in to see Ord. The big man was sitting up, his feet on the floor.

  “Figured I’d catch you sleeping on the job.”

  “Ord thought of not waking again when strange man landed last blow. He was fast.”

  Teller smiled. “Not fast enough.”

  “Doctor said you killed him.”

  “You slowed him up, pal. The doc said you did a number on his ribs with that little love tap of yours. I just finished the job.”

  “It took us two to best that little man?”

  “Sure did, but his kind don’t get bested they say. We just put a hurt on their reputation.”

  “Revenge? They may not be happy.”

  Teller glared at the ceiling. “You just had to throw water on the nice warm glow I was experiencing, didn’t you? Get dressed. We need to get clear of here. Our little dance with Mister Choro brought a lot of attention.”

  “Will dress.”

  The three stepped outside of the room to wait for their companion.

  “I swiped this from our strange and now departed friend,” Teller said, holding up a datapad. “This was on the display.”

  The screen showed a likeness of the four of them, their names, and a description of the ARC Lance.

  “Ten thousand Cs per head, paid by the Redmond Agency for our apprehension. Calls for us to be delivered in condition suitable for interrogation. We’re number four on the Redmond open bounties list.”

  “How did he track us here?” Ursula said.

  “He didn’t. It was random chance. He wasn’t after us.”

  “Then how?”

  Teller pointed at the data pad. “He recognized us when he walked by. He was here to collect on another man and got lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Jessop said. “He got dead.”

  “Well, lucky up until then.”

  “If this information is out there, this might happen again?”

  Teller nodded. “Possibly, but I doubt we cross paths with another one of those,” he said with a gesture at the bagged neuro-to. “But keep your blaster handy just in case.”

  . . .

  Ord was soon dressed and the quartet left the clinic. It was obvious Teller and Ord had gained considerable notoriety because of the incident with Choro. Beings gestured and whispered as they made their way to the Lance’s docking point.

  “I’ll be dogged if that wasn’t the best shooting I’ve ever seen,” said a man who joined them, walking alongside Teller.

  “Well, it’s instinct and training combined with natural talent and practice,” Teller said.

  “Never met a real gunfighter before. What’s your name?”

  “Gleg Malarkey, traveling shootist, at your service,” Teller said without hesitation.

  “I think I’ve heard of you!”

  “No doubt,” Tell said with a winning smile. “I’m famous across seven sectors. Anyone asks who took down that dogged nerve bundler, you tell’em it was Gleg Malarkey.”

  The man walked away beaming.

  “There’s not an actual Gleg Malarkey, is there?” Jessop asked.

  “I hope not. If there is, he or she’s not going to be very happy.”

  Jessop laughed. “Quick with a blaster, quick with the wit.”

  “So are you, old man. The wiz you put on the doc back there was nice work.”

&n
bsp; “I suppose I have my moments.”

  . . .

  Ho met the quartet as they came aboard. “Were you involved in a shooting a short while ago?”

  Teller stopped in his tracks. “They know who we are?”

  “No, Captain. Not yet at least. Station authorities are trying to locate those involved.”

  “How do you know about it then?”

  “The mention of an outsized Human requiring two teams of medtechs to transport him to the clinic led me to make an assumption.” Ho turned his head to face Ord. “Are you all right?”

  “Ord fine. We should leave.”

  Teller nodded and glared at his friend. “Yeah, we should, but you aren’t fine, pal. You’re on recuperative duty until further notice.”

  “Ord will—”

  “Ned can co until you’re back in shape,” he said poking a finger at the giant. “No arguments.”

  Ord growled.

  “Ho, you have that stunner handy?”

  “It is quite accessible.”

  “If Mister Hawmer doesn’t plant himself in a bunk or chair immediately, use the stunner on him.”

  “I will… reluctantly.”

  The big man grumbled. “Ord go to bed then.”

  “And we’ll get ready to depart.” Tell hefted the satchel from his shoulder and passed it to Ho. “Secure those parts in the workshop and join us on the bridge.”

  . . .

  Ned chuckled for the third time at the size of Ord’s copilot seat. “It’s like being a small child again.”

  “You adult enough to remember how to input astrogation coordinates?” Teller said.

  “I am, Captain. Where are we going?”

  “Desdar in the Adiall system.”

  “Ah, another gas giant. Mining station?”

  “Fekro Station. It’s a—”

  “Freespacer, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What are freespacers?” Ursula said.

  “It’s a term used for indie spacers,” Teller said, “but freespace stations are a little different. They’re indie as well, but usually controlled and operated by whoever lives there, communal or collective ownership you might say.”