The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  Ursula and Ned walked rapidly down the passage and were soon out of sight.

  “You guys go that way,” Teller said with a point of a finger aimed down the corridor behind the Zatto operatives, “we’ll go the other way.”

  “I implore you. A deal should be struck,” Stambul said.

  “The lady said no. No means no, you know.”

  “Moving,” Ord said.

  Teller covered the three standing beings while Ord moved down the passageway.

  “We meet again, I hope,” Mlaan said. “Better circumstances maybe.”

  “Maybe,” Teller said. “It’s a small galaxy. My wish is that you find work worthy of your honor.”

  Mlaan straightened, slightly taken aback at Teller’s statement. He bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

  “In place,” Ord said in a raised voice.

  “Sorry about the lizards,” Teller said to Stambul. “It’s been fun.” He turned and walked quickly toward Ord.

  Stambul grimaced and spat strange words, something Teller felt sure was a curse. He grabbed his data pad and contacted Ho. “Prep the Lance. We’re on our way back.” He grimaced as he reached Ord.

  “Something wrong?” Ord said.

  “Some rogues we are. We should have taken the money.”

  “We’re not thieves.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Let’s head for the Lance.”

  . . .

  “How did you know the Tyko wasn’t lying when he said, ‘no harm’?” Ursula said as they awaited clearance to leave.

  “There’s two kinds of Tyko’s. There’s the Tribals, like Mlaan, that have a code they follow. A bit like the clans, but more rigid. If they give you their honor-bonded word, that’s as close to a guarantee as you’ll get in this galaxy. Then there’s the Lawless Ones. Those are the mercs, thugs, and pirates you hear about. They have their own code, but it applies only within their own group. Never trust them.”

  “How did you learn so much about them?”

  “One of the few things I remember my father—my biological father, not Hugh—telling me. He worked with a Tribal for a couple of years. I talked to him maybe a dozen times. Biggest, scariest creature I’d ever seen until I met Ord. Nice being.”

  “How can you tell the difference between the two?”

  “It’s in the eyes… and Tribals have enough sense to stop when you point a blaster at their brain.”

  Ursula looked genuinely amazed. “If it’s not prying, how did your parents die?”

  Teller grumbled. “A spacer went crazy and torch-killed them. Pointed his engine nozzles at a space station and advanced the thrust controls to max. Killed more than forty beings. Did it at two more stations before they caught up to him and blew him into particles.”

  Ursula grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’ve heard of that happening, but you’re the first victim of such an attack I’ve ever met.”

  “I wasn’t there. My parents were on a trip.”

  “You’re still a victim.”

  “I suppose. We’re all victims of one thing or another. I’ve made out all right.”

  Jessop nodded. “Happens more often than you’d think, torch-kills. Some are just negligence, some murder.”

  Turgis’ automated traffic control signaled clearance to depart, the message displaying on Teller’s panel. “Beings will find creative means to off one another. Always been that way. Let’s get out of here.”

  ARC Lance entered the traffic pattern, joining a long train of ships headed outbound past the massive rock field.

  “I don’t know what the ‘Neer’s data says, but I like what Speedwell’s people did,” Teller said in an upbeat tone. “The old girl seems just a tick more lively.”

  “We may need that, Captain,” Ho said. “We are being scanned.”

  The smile on Teller’s face disappeared. “Urs, on station. What do we have?”

  “The scan originates from a considerable distance astern,” Ho said.

  Ned scanned his screens. “I’d guess they’re in the traffic pattern.”

  “He’s right,” Ursula said as her eyes darted back and forth across her display. “Systems have some data. Some technical information. I’ll put it on Ned’s station. A Hentan class patrol vessel.”

  “How did we get lawdogs on us?” Teller said. “The incident with the Zatto lizards?”

  “Not law or military,” Ned corrected. “Private vessel. Ho, can you—”

  “Only one ship in the traffic control log matches that type,” Ho said, a half-step ahead of the engineer. “Departed three basic chrono units after Lance.”

  “What’s its handle?”

  “The Quellen.”

  “Never heard of it,” Teller said with a slight shake of his head.

  “Registered to and captained by a Johnny Rattray.”

  “Now that I have heard of. A Hruul bounty-killer. Takes dead or alive jobs and specializes in dead. Farga mentioned it.”

  “Did Zatto send this person?” Ursula said.

  Ord grumbled. “No. Be hailing us if Zatto. They want cases. This is different.”

  “Good point, pal. I’m betting he wants the bounty. Ho, see if you can raise him.”

  “Sent a query, Captain.”

  A response was not long in coming. “Who is calling?” said an irritated-sounding voice in unaccented Syndicate Standard Speech.

  “The ship you keep scanning, Rattray. You’re not the usual sort of bounty hunter.”

  “So you know who I am. Bounty-killers are hunters too, Skellum.”

  “And sometimes they’re prey. Your compatriot in the murder for profit field, Throckmorton, could tell you that… if he weren’t spread over half a star system.”

  “Yes, a true shame about Throckmorton. He was a little ahead of me on Feng, so I went to Turgis in case Myro missed. It doesn’t pay to play catch-up. Someone dropped cred on Feng’s meet with Zatto, so I was waiting, but once I heard he, Myro—and you—were dead, I figured that’s that. I was preparing to leave when I hear about a smart-mouthed spacer with a giant partner accompanied by an older man and a dusky-haired business-type tangling with Gorsaurians on Three-Deck. Some kind of deal gone bad they said. Knew it was you. Bigger pay than Feng so I raced down there. Missed you by a few units. Found three lizards gimping their way somewhere and I was sure you’d make a run to get clear. One and two make three and here are we. Sometimes it pays to be second.”

  “You mean third. You’re forgetting about the wildcard cruiser that spaced Throckmorton. You think you’ll take us in?”

  “Parts enough to prove you’re dead. I don’t need any more than that.”

  “What if we surrendered?” Teller asked, trying to get a feel for the bounty-killer.

  “Go ahead. Try it and see what happens. There’s no cruiser out here. Just you, me, and a lot of ships and rocks. No wildcards.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Teller muttered to himself.

  “When you exit the traffic pattern and make a run at slipspace, you’re mine,” Rattray said in a cold voice. “It’s that simple. You have a hot freighter they say, and my scans tell me it’s probably true, but it’s not enough. I do this for a living.”

  “Well, you won’t hold it against us if we try.”

  “Be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  “I never disappoint. Let’s dance.”

  “He’s got a potent ship,” Jessop said after looking over the data on his panel. “One-pilot operation. I would hazard he’s headjacking. Less mass, but he’s down on Lance’s raw power. We’re faster, he maneuvers better.”

  “His ship might,” Teller said with a mean smile. “But I have a few things to throw at that wired-up Hruul. What’s his armament?”

  “No way to tell until he starts using them. What is a Hruul anyway? Never encountered one.”

  “I’ve dealt with them a few times,” Ursula said. “From Gouss space, and they speak Syndicate Standard as well any Human, as we heard. No taller than my shoulder.
They’re a taxus-like being, so they—”

  “Oh, just say it, they’re weasels,” Teller cut in. “Giant, talking, bounty-killing weasels.”

  “Well, they’re not all bounty-killers, but… yes.”

  “What’s the plan?” Ned asked.

  “Put simply, kill him. Take him out in the rocks and kill him.”

  “That field is far more dense than we went through in the Ganglesh. Remember, he maneuvers better than us.”

  “He’ll think he has an advantage. We’ll prove him to be in error. The trick with flying in rocks is to think ahead. As soon as we’re released from the pattern, we head for the rock field. He’ll follow as soon as he’s released, and by then we’ll have an idea of where we’re going.”

  “We will? And why won’t he come after us as soon as we move?”

  Teller smiled mischievously. “That field is rife with opportunity. If he exits the lane before he’s released, he’ll attract attention. He won’t want that. He thinks Quellen has it all over ARC Lance, so he won’t be worried… that comes later.”

  The signal from Turgis’ traffic control system freeing them from the pattern came soon after. “Let’er buck,” Teller said as he advanced the thrust controls and heeled ARC Lance hard to starboard. In very little time, the line of ships headed out of the Hadley system was distant and fading.

  “Impressive accel,” Rattray sent. “Maybe you do have a wildcard after all, Skellum, but it doesn’t help you. Your choice of dance floor favors me.”

  “Cards and dances don’t mix. One metaphor per taunt. Maybe this old girl knows a step or two you’re unfamiliar with.”

  “Unlikely,” the bounty hunter responded, an edge in his voice. “I do this for a living. You’re not running from some fringe world patrol tub.”

  Teller looked to Ord. “He’s touchy.”

  The giant grunted in agreement. “Rattray is used to fearful pleads, not Teller’s prods.”

  “Don’t tell me your not scared,” Ursula said in a worried tone.

  “Of course I’m scared. Only a fool doesn’t have fear. You have to make your fear an ally, though. I don’t cower when fear shows up, I get mad. Cold, mean, mad. Johnny-boy back there wants us dead… and the feeling is mutual.”

  “I hate to say it, but that makes me feel better,” Ursula said.

  “We’ll make a knockabout out of you yet,” Teller said as he turned toward his copilot. “What have we got, old pal?”

  Ord leaned in at the display panels in front of him. “Wait. Ho, sending data to your station. How big is rock Ord marked?”

  The Mech switched displays and looked at the data Ord relayed. “Approximately ten klicks in diameter.”

  “That is it,” Ord said with a look at Teller.

  “The field beyond it is dense,” Ho added. “Smaller objects and far more per cubic klick than the area leading to it.”

  “Perfect,” Teller said.

  “Not to pry, but could you share what you have in mind?” Jessop said.

  “Simple. We let our weasel take pot shots at us until we get him near the big ball of rock, then we turn on him.”

  Ned let out an exasperated breath. “I should have known better than to ask. Why not turn on him in open space? I’d bet we outgun him. The amount of power he has would suggest it.”

  “We probably do, but he may be overgunned, as Riga might put it. We’d be facing each other nose to nose, and if he got lucky and stripped our shields, we’re done. He could make a run for it and if he slipped us, we suddenly become not dead anymore. Our way makes all that a lot less likely. All we need is to get him positioned just so.”

  With a heaving sigh, Jessop conceded he was not likely to get a clear answer. A loose game plan and flying by the seat of his shipsuit… you can put a fighter pilot in a freighter, but you can’t take the fighter pilot out of the man, he thought. “Let’er buck indeed,” he muttered.

  “What did you mean by overgunned?” Ursula said.

  “It means he may have beam weapons that are more than his power generation can handle without shutting down other systems.”

  “Does that mean— the Quellen is out of the traffic pattern,” Ursula said.

  “He’s coming hard,” Jessop observed. “We’re probably seeing all Quellen has for acceleration.”

  “No shields. All power into thrust,” Ord said.

  “Ho, see if you can renovate his ship with a little ventilation and—”

  “Missiles!” Ursula yelped as alarms sounded across the command deck. “Four anti-shield missiles. System identifies them as Arrow-Threes.”

  “His shields are up,” Jessop said.

  “Threes?” Teller sneered. “Old things he snagged off the surplus market, I’d bet. No evasion maneuvers, so they’ll simply run the most efficient course. Ho, hold off on the fire. Target the missiles. Can you let them get fairly close before you bag them?”

  “I can. Is this part of the ruse?”

  “Sure is.”

  “I shall do so. I might suggest a certain amount of misses might also offer him fodder for speculation.”

  “Nice touch, Mech. If you can do it without endangering us, have at it. He’s hoping to tag us before we get into the rocks, or at worst he wants us to show what we have for beam weaponry.”

  “I will endeavor to deceive, Captain.”

  “Thirty seconds,” Ursula called out.

  Ho fired single low power beams from each array, an eighth of their full potential, but still sufficient for the task. No beam spreads or clusters, just enough to peck through the skin of the closing missiles and render them junk.

  The Mech had showed his abilities during the fracas with the four fighters over Sessler IV, and the current challenge was not nearly so difficult, made clear when Ho fired on the first missile and saw it disappear from his display with the first few pulses from Lance’s point defense arrays. I shall need to need to start missing now, it seems, he thought. He fired several pulses into empty space before he scored on a second missile.

  “Two missiles. Thrusters have terminated,” Ursula said. “Nineteen seconds, closure rate lessening.”

  “Coming to port,” Teller said. “We’ll make them burn some maneuver thrusters.”

  “No need,” Ho said. “I have this well in hand.”

  “No doubt, but it’s what we’d do if we were worried about the missiles.”

  “We’re not?” Ursula said.

  “We are not,” Ho said. “I suspect most vessels Mister Rattray pursues are not as capable as this one.”

  “I’m still worried.”

  Another missile died, coming apart and becoming a fast cloud of debris as it continued on its now unguided course.

  “One missile, FIVE seconds!”

  One moment… now, Ho thought as he fired.

  “Two sec— missile threat gone,” Ursula said with relief. “I refuse to become accustomed to being pursued by missiles.”

  “Good sense,” Ord commented. “Ten seconds to edge of rock field.”

  “He’s off thrusters,” Ned blurted. “He’ll be firing—”

  Alarms sounded again as laser fire struck the shields of ARC Lance. Everyone on board scanned the displays at their station.

  “Shields good,” Ord said.

  “Not for long if he keeps that up,” Ned barked angrily. “He’s definitely over-gunned.”

  “Pulling away from Quellen,” Ord said.

  “We’re in the rocks,” Teller said. “Make him dance and he won’t be able to put that kind of firepower on us.” He looked over the course ahead. “We’ll be putting the inertia gear to work, so hold on.”

  Teller scanned back and forth over Lance’s controls and display panels, one last pass before things grew hectic, an ingrained habit from his days as a fighter pilot. Satisfied everything was as it should be, he spoke to his deck mates in a rapid staccato, “Ord, I’ll be maneuvering to keep rocks between us and Mister Weasel back there. I’ll call my maneuvers beforeh
and, you track his moves and call course corrections if it looks like I’m off. Ho, you start pecking at him on my call. Ned, do your thing. Urs, call any missile launches. We’re going to bag us a rodent.”

  “Weasel is mammal,” Ord said.

  “Whatever,” Teller said with audible irritation, “and how in Hades do you know that?”

  “Ord will tell later.”

  “Great,” he replied flatly. “That gives me a reason to survive this little fracas.”

  Teller used the maneuver thrusters to bring the Lance to the left in a long sliding turn and past an oblong rock hundreds of times the size of the sloop. A repeat of the same process mushed the ship to the right between a pair of smaller bodies.

  Ned cracked a smile. “I’d say you’ve done this a time or two.”

  Teller grinned. “Used to do it for giggles in fighters…,” he trailed off as the smile disappeared, “a few times in combat. The trick is treat it like driving a ground vehicle fast on dirt roads or icy streets. You can make the corner, but you have start your turn long before you get there and have your vehicle in the right position. This is the same thing, but in three dimensions… and there aren’t any potholes or pedestrians to worry about.”

  Teller brought them frightfully close to a large rock. A flash of light and color passed by on their left. Suited beings with shielded faces looked on in shock, their sensor probes briefly forgotten at the unlikely sight of a ship streaking by.

  “Survey team, I’d bet,” Teller said. “Okay, maybe there are pedestrians sometimes.”

  “The Quellen is closing,” Ursula said.

  Alarms warning of laser fire sounded once again on the Lance’s command deck.

  “He tagged us again,” Jessop said. “Far lower power than before, but if he closes and we don’t have rocks between the two of us….”

  “He’ll want to get in close so he can come off thrusters and give us a full jolt with his lasers,” Teller said. “He thinks he has the better ship and skill set. Let him. We need him closer.”

  “I take that to mean he has neither the ship nor skills to finish us?”

  Teller laughed, but there was no joy in it. “That’s about it… unless I’m wrong.”

  “Teller is never wrong,” Ord said. “Just ask him.”