Jinks on Sirius 4
By
C. Eberhard
Prologue
September 1st, 2108, Joint Base Lewis McChord, Planet Earth.
The young officer sat in front of three big screens in his room. Information about the history of planet Earth was being displayed, on each one different periods in time. Information popped up quickly and steadily and he was a fast learner. Faster, very much faster than any other person in the known universe. He went through it all, beginning with the ancient Greeks, Egyptians, Romans, until he hit the middle ages. He followed through all of the wars and conflicts of early eras. Then the explorers, the Spanish Inquisition, the 30 year war in Europe. Where others needed years to study this information, he needed just hours. He was much, much faster than anyone else. He frowned and shook his head. All this violence. Unnecessary, stupid violence. He continued on to the American Civil War, the first world war, the second world war, people being exterminated because of their faith, the cold war. The third world war in 2020, that ended before it had even begun due to a failed nuclear airstrike by accident. One of the controllers for the nukes had more common sense than his leaders. Peace talks started after this incident. Then something positive. The new 'space race': the exploration of space. Some guy in a garage had invented the hyperspace drive. Something that large companies had failed at for ages was accomplished by a single man. This spurred competition between all of the world's nations. But then another war developed, this time between Earth and its colonies in space. This was called the Martian Revolution, driven by their fanatic religious dictator, named Brick Jordan who called himself the new messiah. Most people on Earth just called him “The Prick”.
"So stupid, stupid, stupid,stupid!" He was muttering, as the buzzer announced a visitor. He went to the door, looked briefly at the luggage he had packed earlier and had set near the bed, and opened the door.
An officer in an Air Force uniform stood waiting and said, "Are you ready, Son?"
"Yes, Colonel Van der Meer, ready to go." He grabbed his luggage and followed the colonel out of the building.
As they walked to the waiting taxi Van der Meer asked, "Prepared for your mission?"
"Yes Sir! Can't wait!"
"Good! If you don't mind my asking, what were you studying just now?"
"Just mankind in general, history and the behavior of humans."
"That's very good. Son, I'm so proud of you." He smiled at the young officer.
"I will not disappoint you, Colonel." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. "A present for you Colonel."
Van der Meer took it and rolled it open.
"Wow, a photo of a Fabergé Egg!"
"No, not a photograph, I painted it."
Van der Meer looked closer and his jaw fell in astonishment. "Holy cow! You made this?"
"Yes Sir, took me just an hour."
"Well, thank you. That's incredible work, son!"
When they reached the robot taxi, they saluted each other. Then the young officer turned, opened the door of the taxi and sat in the back of the hoover car. He told the robot where to go and waved a last time to Van der Meer, his senior officer, as the taxi accelerated away. He had a smile on his face that somehow didn't look natural as the taxi picked up altitude and sped towards the airport.
Chapter 1: Hot and Useless in Seattle
February 9, 2109, Boeing Field, Freight Terminal
A mild breeze from Puget Sound intensified the already warm winter and made it feel almost like summer. Julien Beaumont, co-captain of the hyperspace freighter BUSTER K, paid the fully automatic hoover taxi with his fingerprint, grabbed his bags and packages he had bought at the stores and malls in Seattle, and started walking toward the main gate. He was a tall, well trained man in his forties, long blond hair tied into a ponytail. It was about 85 degrees Fahrenheit and he had begun sweating. A few french cuss words came to his mind. As he arrived at the security desk he got the chance to say them. A tall guy in black clothing cut in front of him in line just as he had fumbled his access card out of his pocket.
The tall guy just ignored him and went through.
"Hey Merdieux, wait your turn, will you?"
The man in black stopped, turned around and said, "Sorry, but I'm in a hurry." Then, just as quickly, the tall man turned around again, went through security and continued walking out onto the field.
Beaumont went through security himself and walked towards the tarmac, still cursing silently to himself. Several aircraft and spaceships waited on the field, mostly freighters. Beaumont continued along the asphalt, until he reached a big, military type spacecraft.
It had a lifting body with 65 meters length and 60 meters wingspan. Heavy armor was placed at the tips of the wings in the front. It was clearly a transporter "out of atmosphere", with many scuffs from meteor hits on the hull. It was painted in battleship gray.
Its name was Buster K., a former army ship. Its registration during the war was BK1895. After McCall and Beaumont bought it and they were searching for a name to christen it, they found out that 1895 was the year that the unforgettable Buster Keaton was born. So they christened her in style with a bottle of real french champagne in the name “Buster K”.
It looked as if the ground crews had just finished their checks and, as Beaumont noticed, two people were standing below the huge cargo doors, apparently discussing the cargo manifest.
"Here ya' go, Mac. Just your fingerprint and you're ready to fly." Parker said.
Linus McCall, Captain and co-owner of the ship, pressed his finger onto the digital manifest. He looked at Parker, gestured at the airfield and asked, "What's it like now down here Billy Ray?"
Parker, the ramp supervisor, an African American about the same age and size as McCall, grimaced and looked around the place. "Well, we're no more than eight people in two shifts. They're doing most of the work now." He pointed at a robot wheeling by. "We still have a strong union in the pacific northwest, otherwise..."
McCall frowned and nodded at the same time. He didn't like it when robots replaced humans, he didn't like it at all.
He looked up and saw Beaumont approaching. He recognized the look on his face.
"Whoa man, what's going on?"
Beaumont looked briefly over his shoulder before he answered. He shook hands with Parker and then said to McCall, "Just ran into an arrogant sucker." He nodded toward a military spacecraft parked not far away, "Must be some big time motherfucker."
McCall looked over and just shook his head and grinned. "Don't start anything with them. That is definitely not a cargo job, even if they got the markings right this time."
Parker was grinning. He shrugged and said, "I don't know nothing, and the robots won't tell me anything anyway."
McCall said in an ironic voice, "Of course, I don't even see it. It's a stealth ship, covered with a freighter mock-up. Cheap!"
Even Beaumont had to grin now. He relaxed and set all the stuff he was carrying onto the tarmac at his feet.
McCall was looking at all his stuff. "Did you have fun shopping, honey?"
"Cretin!" Beaumont gave him an annoyed look, but all three laughed.
"What you got?" asked McCall.
"Some booze, good stuff, and some Yakima Valley Wine"
"Booze? Really? You know what our first destination will be? The Sojuz colony. These Russians got the best Vodka in the entire galaxy."
"Rocket fuel! I remember last time. Ouch!" Beaumont rolled his eyes.
"You're a picky Frenchman! Always got your nose up in the air."
"I'm from Normandy, for god's sake! Half-breeds like you will never know the difference." referring to McCall's German mother and his father, an American of Scottish desce
nt from Washington State. Linus McCall was well trained, as was Beaumont, but tall with a receding reddish blond hairline.
Parker coughed discreetly and said, "Guys, you know I love to listen to your lil' battles, but I got more work to do. Safe travels. See you!" They shook hands and Parker walked off to meet his next client on the field.
"Alright, let's haul the junk inside and get going." McCall said.
"It's not junk. These are quality goods." Beaumont insisted.
They both grabbed bags and packages and went up the cargo ramp into their ship. McCall hit the door sensor and the ramp closed slowly. An acoustic signal confirmed it had locked. Fifteen minutes later the Buster K was ready to taxi. The pilots went through their electronic checklists and gave final confirmation to the flight system.
McCall grabbed the yoke and the controls for the throttle, when Beaumont started chuckling. McCall let go and put his hands in the air with a disgusted look on his face, "Okay, YOU turn it on."
Beaumont sighed and reached overhead to flip the switch labeled “FULL AUTO”.
A female voice filled the flight deck. The voice did indeed sound natural, almost sexy and adorable. But for Pilots that had to work with it on a daily basis, it was a nightmare, or at least very annoying.
"Good morning flight crew of the ship Buster K. I am in contact with ground control and have approval to taxi to runway 13R. Visibility is clear. You can relax until you are notified. As a reminder, according to the Aviation Act of 2097, it's unlawful to operate air frames manually over continental America, including Canada and all of their associated territories. Have a nice flight"
"Oh, go to hell." McCall grunted.
The female voice said, "Hell, this location is not available in my database. Please try again."
They both rolled their eyes and laughed. They would have rather told her to shut up, but that would have irritated the robot. And they didn't want it to have to declare an emergency. It had happened before.
The Buster K fired up its engines, made a 90 degree right turn and headed with about 20 knots onto the taxiway. All communication between the robot and ground control was carried out silently. Nothing was heard by the now task-less pilots. The automated flight system did everything on its own. McCall and Beaumont watched data pop up on the screens during taxi. The Buster K reached the end of the runway, waited for a freighter plane to land and then moved out onto the runway. There was no radio communication at all, because there was nobody in the tower. Machines don't need voices.
"How about a game of cards?" Beaumont asked.
"Flight crews are required to pay full attention during take off and landing." the female voice instructed instantly.
Both pilots sighed.
"As for regulations on this airfield, vertical take off and landing, especially using the anti-g drive, are not allowed. We are ready to take off now."
The main air breathing engines came to full power. The Buster K barreled down the runway, lifted its edgy nose and banked away into the blue. The flight path took them over Elliott Bay and along the waterfront of Seattle. Then it turned left on a western course toward the Olympic Mountain range. The Buster K reached 40000 feet when they passed over the Mountains and sped up to mach 3. When they got higher and faster the voice announced, "Preparing for preorbit checklist. Reminder, manual control is not allowed until outside of US airspace."
McCall and Beaumont sat in their chairs playing dead headers, eager to take back the control themselves.
"Delay! Going into holding pattern. Priority flight will go first." Ms. Robot announced. Beaumont groaned. They stayed at mach 3, but made a very wide turn back over the pacific northwest. McCall checked the radar and saw a military craft approaching from behind.
"Looks like your special friend," McCall pointed to the screen. Beaumont just snorted in disappointment.
"You sound disappointed, flight crew of the Buster K., shall I play some enlightening music?"
"Ah, uh, better not," McCall said, "we are kind of sentimental right now."
But he wasn't fast enough. Music filled the flight deck and a singing voice almost cried: "When the twilight is goone....woohooo,....you got into my heart...."
"Mon dieux!" Beaumont cried.
"Well, at least it's The Platters." McCall murmured and gave up arguing with the robot.
A few minutes later, the ship was ready to enter the orbit. The autopilot stopped circling at 50.000 feet and fired up the main engines. After they got up to full power, the Buster K lifted up almost vertically into the darkness of space. After a while the robot chick toned in again, "You may now take control, flight crew of the Buster K. If you should desire not to take control, please refrain from touching the controls. Enjoy your flight."
"I don't think so," McCall grunted, "Preorbital checklist confirmed, going into orbit. Automatic pilot, off!"
Beaumont switched the automatic flight system off and hit the mic button on his yoke, "Pacifica traffic control, Buster K. Leaving US-Airspace, on manual control. Requesting vector for orbit."
A voice with a strong Australian accent confirmed, "Pacifica Control for Buster K. Got you on our screen. Maintain your vector and continue until you reach FL 3.600. Then contact orbital control south for further guidance. G'day Sir. "
"Pacifica, maintaining speed and vector. Au revoir. Buster K out." Beaumont looked at McCall and said, "It is refreshing to handle the controls yourself. And to speak with real people."
"I hear ya'. And I will remind you of this fact." Buster K raced higher into space. It flew faster and faster and when they reached the designated position, the Buster K left the orbit. They contacted orbital control south and got permission to continue accelerating. The ship sped out into space like a bullet. It took a few hours and then McCall activated the hyper-drive. They disappeared with a streak of light towards deep, dark space, leaving the solar system far behind them.
Chapter 2: Party like a Russian, with Russians
About a week later the Buster K came into the proximity of the Sojuz Outpost. It was just a big rock, about 60 miles in diameter. Actually, it wasn't a rock. It contained iron, nickel, and many other elements that the Russians had discovered 30 years earlier. At first, they thought the rock would fall to the earth sooner or later and they had considered shoving it into the sun or destroying it with nukes. During their drilling attempts they hit jackpot when a mother-load of ore and metal was found. The Sojuz colony was erected and shortly thereafter, and a mining complex was installed inside the rock. It resembled an old offshore drilling platform at sea. From time to time McCall and Beaumont came by, brought spare parts and mail from home, and picked up the mail to be transported back to earth.
"Sojuz outpost, this is Buster K. requesting approach vector, over", Beaumont spoke into the mike.
After more than a minute, a rusty voice in English with a strong Russian accent came over the com.
"Sojuz outpost to Buster K, vector transmission on the way. Huh, great news, the Cowboy and the Frenchman are back!"
Beaumont chuckled, "I'm from NORMANDY! When will you learn that Igor?"
"Whatever, welcome back boys! I open the main hangar in a minute for you."
McCall still grinned as he pushed the com button. "Spaciba Igor, see you in two minutes."
As the ship closed in they could see the navigation lights of the outpost and the bright light from the open hangar. The hulking asteroid now filled their entire view.
"It's not a moon, it's a space station" Beaumont announced with a strong Russian accent.
"Huh, what?"
"Star Wars."
"Where? Peace treaty was signed 10 years ago."
"Ignoramus. It's from that historic movie called Star Wars." Beaumont explained.
"Oooh, you mean that one where the cute lil' princess gets humped by that blond farm boy?" McCall asked and tried to look bland.
Beaumont was a big Star Wars fan, McCall knew that and used every occasion to tease him.
B
eaumont clarified, "RESCUED her! He was her brother anyway."
"But they didn't know that. Kinky!"
"Let's get back to work, dammit."
“And he didn't have either a Russian or French accent.”
“Cretin!”
The Buster K began its final approach into the hangar, as McCall imitated Luke Skywalker's facial expression when the Millennium Falcon got sucked into the Death Star.
"Idiot!" Beaumont yelled, half laughing.
"Buster K, commence docking" Igor's voice came over the com again.
"Affirmative Sojuz, commencing docking procedure" McCall answered still chuckling.
"What are you kids doing? Telling dirty jokes at work, huh?"
This time Beaumont answered, "No, just like always. This half-breed doesn't have the first idea about good movies. Sojuz, docking completed."
Loud noises sounded through the ship as the Buster K came to rest inside the hangar. The two pilots opened their seat belts, pushed the buttons for the shut-down on the console and went to the door on the left. They peered out through the port-hole in the door and could see the gangway coming in their direction. When it attached to the door the pressurization was confirmed by a green light. McCall hit the OPEN button. The pocket door of the Buster K moved upward into the fuselage and Igor Pushkin was waiting at the end of the Gangway, a bottle of vodka in hand. He was joined by some workers McCall remembered from prior visits. They went through the obligatory handshakes and hugs with old friends, after which Igor lifted the bottle of Vodka. One of the other men had already brought shot glasses, that Igor began filling.
They lifted their glasses in unison, locked eyes and a loud "NASTROVJE!" echoed through the corridor.
"Where are the others?" Beaumont asked and looked around, counting just about 16 people including Igor.
"Back on Earth, other assignments, I don't know." Igor answered.
"Huh? Who is doing all the work now?"
"We got reinforcements with peasants, that's what we call them. Robots." A hint of sadness came into Igor's eyes, "we are nothing more than computer operators at most."
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