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Owner Operator
A Care Givers Tale
by Straycat
(edited by Holly Logan)
Preamble:
Casey Maxwell is the Owner Operator of an over the event-horizon Space
Train in the 22nd century. Hired on to the CareGivers, and family
to them as well. Casey's wife is Rebecca St. Charles, formerly NASA Space
Shuttle Astronaut turned CareGiver after the PWA. Tracey Chadwich-Robins-Waco,
Casey's daughter and a CareGiver. This is Casey's Story. It's a story of
Adventure. It's a story of Love. It's a story of Family. It's a story of
War, and most importantly, it's the story of a man coming to terms with who
he really is.
* * *
Chapter 1
No shit, there I was. Sitting in bed wondering just how does one come to
grips making a change like this in the middle of my life? Oh the doctors had
all kinds of good advice … If you are twenty. I am a little bit beyond
twenty years of age. As a matter of fact I am on the close order of 72, but
don't tell anybody. Taking Fountain for the last twenty years, daily
exercise and a very healthy sex life has keep me going pretty well. It was
recently estimated that had I not been violently decompressed a few months
ago, I would have probably reached 210 years old or slightly more.
Oh yes, I was almost killed. It has had a bit of a calming effect on me,
not so much the nearly dying part, but the loss I would have suffered after
having survived such an event.
You see, I am an astronaut. I am an owner operator of a transport ship.
Flying in space is my life. Piloting my craft is all I have to look forward
to every morning. Well, not really, but it sounds better that way. I do have
family, and I love them almost as much as I do flying in space. My ship is
not the biggest, nor is it the fastest, and it is most defiantly not the
nicest thing to fly in. It is mine, however, and that's all it needs to make
it special, to me, anyway.
Since the accident I have undergone more than a few changes, and not just
mentally. Due to the extent of my injuries I would have been down-checked
for my spacer's rating. I would have lost my pilots license. I would have
become a liability to any and all around me in space.
In short, I would have been grounded, or worse made a simple passenger on
my own ship. I would rather have died than to have that which I love so much
taken from me like that.
With everything else going on, the plight of one man in the grand scheme
of things, doesn't really matter all that much. I do have to say, however, I
am at least as smart as the next person, as long as that next person is a
rocket scientist with a 200+ I.Q.
* * *
Here is the basic layout of the geo-political landscape in the solar
system right now. You have the Terrans with their Inter Solar System Police
and United Nations trying to put a stranglehold on everybody's freedom. "For
the greater good" they always say. And then you have the Independent Spacers
Movement, XX Flight, Apollo Freight, CareGivers Company, the Independent
Spacers Guild, and a whole host of others trying to make out a living in the
most hazardous environment imaginable. Just trying to 'Live and Be Free.'
That's not a whole lot to ask, you might think, till you see what the
Terrans have been doing to us for years.
I am not going to say it started with the Protection of Women Act enacted
by the United Nations, but that is usually seen as the opening shot in the
war. A war of independence no less. I am a spacer, so I guess that tells you
which side I am on, right?
With the crushing foot of the ISP and the U.N. on the neck of the spacers
we had no choice but to fight. A malicious man once said that the trouble
with Scotland was there were too many Scotts. And he also said that since
they could not drive them out, that they would breed them out.
The U.N. had the same idea, only coming from the opposite direction. If
we can not breed, we die. Literally die. Terra can just wait us out and let
us die off, or we would have to return to Earth. If we have to do that, then
we would have to be under Terran control.
So you stick me floating around the solar system in my ship just trying
to live and be free, meanwhile titanic forces set the stage for the first
interplanetary war. Sure, I did business with both sides, and if push came
to shove (which it had several times) I took sides. I always sided with the
spacers, but I still took money from Earth when I had a chance to make some
profit.
That is the way it was the day I almost died. My memories of the event
are a bit fuzzy, what with with the pain and all, so I will pull a page out
of my wife's diary and you can see it from her perspective…
* * *
Dear Diary, August, 31st, 2125
Casey, my love, has been hurt; almost terminally.
We were on possum for The Fred. Admiral Hastings had us tugging along
what was billed as "propulsion parts, miscellaneous", as bait for the ISP.
We had IFF squawking a faked code, fresh paint job over the reg numbers, and
the whole nine meters. In the pipe, five-by-five, right on profile for our
flight plan. ISP fell for it, just like we wanted.
"Tug Flowers for Algernon, heave to and prepare to be boarded! This is
the ISP Corvette Yankee Omega Four Two Niner."
"ISP YO429, this is the tug Flowers for Algernon, WILCO. May I ask what
we've done for you to grace us with your presence?" Casey asked over the
squawk box.
"Tug Flowers for Algernon, you are suspected of violating the Protection
of Women Act. Heave to and prepare to be boarded. Have all female personnel
ready to be transferred to YO429 upon coupling, and transfer your manifest
immediately."
Casey grinned over at me from his pilots' seat on the left. "This is
where the fun begins, babes." He gave me a wink, then keyed the microphone
again. "Roger Wilco, ISP YO429. Transferring manifest now. We will begin
killing forward momentum in 30 seconds." He clicked the One MC. "Johnson,
they took the bait. Get your boys ready." Then he tossed the microphone up
on the dash.
"Are you enjoying this, lover?" I asked. His response was a chuckle and
an evil smile. We made ready for guests, unwelcome guests of course. The
assault team finished their touch ups, double checked their night vision
gear, and went back into the cabins.
The idea was to lull the ISP crewmen into a false sense of security, then
spring the trap; taking the boarding crew first, then the ship. We were
hoping to do it without casualties on either side, but we were taking no
chances. The assault crew had full weapons load out. Oh, yeah, sure; we had
done this a time or two in the past, but it would only work so many times
before something bad happened. Well, we were hoping for just one more time.
Once we came to a stop ,they crossed our bow, and maneuvered for docking.
The ship completely blocked our view screen forward. It was big; lots of
armor, and massive engines.
Casey and I took up our post at the end of the entrance tunnel, which
happens to be convenient to the armory. Casey loaded the pistol and stored
it away in the armory. No sense in spooking the fish.
Bastards used a gravity lasso on us, to "aide" in their docking
procedures. Right, like this old heap couldn't just drag them along with us
if we decided to run for it.
"So, babe, wanna bet it is another wet behind the ears gringo?" Casey
asked. I chuckled and shrugged; running gag and a long story. Maybe I will
tell you some day.
We heard the thumps of the docking clamps engaging, then listened to the
airlock cycle and the door swung open.
"Idiots" I muttered. They'd left both sets of doors open. That's a no-no,
and a violation of our breathing air. If anything happened to their air
seals, or if they got hulled, we would be breathing vacuum because of their
idiocy. They also came loaded for bear. No less than 6 guys with a mixed
combination of shotguns and automatic rifles. At least one guy in the second
rank had a teargas launcher. And right out in front of all of them, the
Lieutenant. Classic 'carrot and stick' routine, talk to the nice officer, or
deal with the not-so-nice guys with weapons. Smart looking chap; he looked
like an intelligence officer and the asshole was smiling. His eyes took us
in at a glance, also seeing we were parallel to the plane of his gravity
generators. Zero-Gee can be so much fun.
"Capitaine David Keys of the Flowers for Algernon, I presume?" His voice
sounded reasonably intelligent.
"Aye, that's me;" Casey piped up. He waved a hand in my general direction
"And this is my First Officer, Carlotta Fagina. She happens to be the only
female on board at this time, and well beyond the restraints of the PWA,
Sir, being beyond childbearing age …" I jabbed him in the ribs for that.
"She's lean, she's clean, she's built, she looks thirty-two, and she knows
Nixon jokes from the first time that they made the rounds." The Lieutenant
continued to smile and stepped on board, taking a handhold to assert a
little pressure on his feet.
"One would hope that you might have a fresh brewed cup of coffee on
board, while we discuss your crew and cargo, Mon Capitaine?" He got within a
meter of us and halted, still with that smile on his face, his hand on the
bulkhead railing, and his goons on his six.
"Of course, Sir, this way." The Lieutenant made a gesture and the six-man
team lowered their weapons, but kept them ready. Casey led the way to the
galley, the Lieutenant. and I in tow. Behind us crept the goon squad, still
ready for action.
Casey took a seat at the table, and so did the Lieutenant. I got the
coffee. Don't ask; some kind of very old and outdated formality. The
Lieutenant took his with real milk and sugar, not substitutes like most
people these days. Casey took his the normal way, two cubes of Splenda and a
non-dairy cube. I had to retrieve a milk cube out of the freezer for him,
then I looked into getting my own coffee. Black, if you must know.
Anyhow, where was I? Ah, yes, coffee.
The glance at my timepiece told me we had about ninety more seconds till
the fun would start. The Lieutenant did not start drinking his coffee,
instead he began talking. "Capitaine, I do not know what kind of game you're
playing here, but I want it to stop."
Casey should play poker for money with a face he returned to the
Lieutenant. "What games? You ordered us to heave to and be boarded, you're
the law out here, and we complied."
The Lieutenant smiled and leaned forward slightly. "You are not the only
history buff in space, Capitaine Maxwell."
"Who? I'm sorry, I think you are mistaken."
"Flowers for Algernon, written by David Keys in 1958. I have read the
book before, and I also ran your reg numbers. This ship is not listed under
those numbers, Capitaine Maxwell." He looked around. "I never thought I
would actually catch the infamous Backasswards." He leveled a gaze directly
at me; "And you must be Rebecca St. Charles. Charmed, I'm sure. That other
name does not suit you very well at all."
I glanced at the goon squad as they shouldered their weapons. The sound
of safeties being taken off chilled my bones.
That's about the time all hell broke loose. As the lights shut off, I
ducked behind the counter, and Casey came diving over it about a second
later. The stink of cordite and the report of firearms filled the room,
along with shouts of anger and pain as the assault crew burst from the
cabins with their night vision gear and firearms taking down the unwelcome
guests.
Casey and I held each other close for a long couple of seconds while it
passed. When the room lights came back on we took queue our cue and got up.
Peeking over the counter revealed just how bad it was. The Lieutenant was
wounded, but all his goons were dead. So were a few of our guys. A med tech
was putting a slap patch in the Lieutenant so we could keep him for
questioning.
Johnson's second in command was ripped in half; his head missing most of
the back, his night vision gear hanging loosely from his face. The fighting
was headed into the ISP corvette, and from the sounds of it, it was brutal.
Casey took off for the bridge and shouted over his shoulder at our guys,
"Get that hatch closed. Someone pokes a hole in either ship and we are all
gonna breath vacuum!" He closed the bridge hatch once he was inside. I
headed for the aft bridge, just in case, dogging it behind me.
Then I got on the comset and called my lover. "What's it look like up
there?"
"Nothing on radar, babe, but I'm getting a weird echo. Try it your side."
I dialed the radar screen on the MFD, ( Multi-Function Display ). There was
the echo alright, but Casey hadn't been trained on these things; I was.
Again, my blood ran cold.
"Damn it! They got a shadow! There is another ship out there hiding in
their radar shadow!"
Half a second passed. "Is that what it means? Johnson! Get your men and
get back to the ship! We are being ambushed! There's another ship out
there!"
"Negative, Captain. They still have the lasso on you. We gotta shut that
down or we ain't going anywhere. Give us a minute to get that taken care o,
then get the hell out of here, got it?" I got the startup sequence going,
and checked my board. All lights green, we were airtight. I could hear
orders being shouted over the com, and gun fire.
"What about your boys?" Casey asked
"We knew the risks when we signed on. Your ship can't be replaced. Get
going, Captain!" he replied.
"Babe, as soon as they cut us loose I am gonna release the cargo pods and
go for the rendezvous point." We were both working on the numbers for that.
"Copy, Lover. Hope Johnson and the boys have the best of luck over
there."
"Johnson can handle things, he's a smart chap. We did our job getting
them on board; time to run like good little non-combatants."
"I heard that Captain," Johnson's voice came over the com. "Good, we're
mopping up the engine room crew now. I think the, command crew is trashing
the bridge, but I have men already rerouting the controls so we should be
able to move this cast iron beast once it's completely in our control."
"Vaya con dios, mi amigo. See you back at Red's. Now cut us loose. There
is another ship coming in. Make sure the com is jammed, will ya?" Static
descended on the channel, all channels as a matter of fact, although the
intercom worked.
"Looks like some one beat us to the punch on that one, babe." The ship
shuddered a bit. "That would be Johnson deactivating the gravity lasso. OK,
I'll get us get outta here."
Casey tapped the cold gas and backed us up at a couple meters per second.
Once we were about a twelve hundred yards away, he dropped the cargo pods
and hit the cold gas to reduce our departure rate, added a bit of vertical
movement, and then I heard him gasp.
"El dios contuvo a hijo de mierda del asno del las perras!" I looked up
from my screens just in time to see the flash from the muzzles. The radar
shadow was another corvette, and it was firing on the corvette Johnson and
his boys had captured. Blowing holes through it was more the word. Then we
must have caught their eye, because some of the smaller weapons started
firing on us.
My heart stopped when I felt the chuff. I checked environmental. Just as
I feared, the main bridge had depressurized. About twenty seconds later I
felt a thump and slam. The main bridge was building pressure again.
"CASEY!" I screamed into the com. Until the room was sealed again, he
would not have heard me.
"Alive … get us … out of … here," came the gasping reply. Training
instinct took over, and I overrode the main bridge controls.
* * *
As you can see , it had become a pretty crummy day. A well-laid trap
foiled by another well-laid trap. It is funny how things like that can
happen when you are not paying attention. Or rather not paying attention to
the things you should have been. They always say that hindsight is 20/20.
During those horrible seconds while I was being broiled alive in pure
vacuum, my mind went into overdrive. It was almost as if time had slowed to
nothing. I could feel the vacuum that was trying to take my life. I could
see that the pressure shields inside the window had not deployed, and
training took over.
I screamed. I screamed like my life depended on it. If you try to hold
your breath in a blow out, your lungs will explode. I knew the only way to
save my ship and myself was to get those decompression shields closed. The
bridge hatch may be good, but protracted vacuum might overcome the seal. The
emergency deployment trigger is located on the center console over the
window . I had to undo the harness that was holding me in the pilot's seat,
which had fortunately kept me from being blasted out of the ship when the
window shattered. I stood, flipped up the spring loaded cover that prevented
the switch form being activated accidentally, flipped the arming switch,
waited for the green light and then depressed the trigger.
I collapsed into the pilot's seat as the charges went off. When the
bridge started to pressurize again, I could hear Rebecca yelling for me. I
gulped air and replied. Then the pain descended on me like a blanket. I
don't remember too much for the next few days except pain. I was informed
afterwards that I'd had morphine and a saline drip while we were in transit
back to our contact … but I guess I should allow Rebecca's words to tell the
story as I don't remember too many details about that time.
* * *
Rebecca's tale continues:
"Hang on to something," I called out on the One MC. I rolled us and
kicked the throttle a touch to get forward momentum. Backasswards is not a
war ship. She has no guns … but that does not mean that she is unarmed. I
had four of the biggest and most powerful weapons ever created by man at my
fingertips, and they were going to make me proud today.
M.O.P. D-47's were fusion drives, probably second generation as they were
large enough for a ship three times the mass they were attached to. That
figure being with a full load of cargo.
I slued the ship around in front of the ISP corvette on cold gas, doing
what on Earth would be called a Boot-leggers turn, while rolling like a coke
can on a hot Georgia highway. We ended up only a couple meters away from the
ship, pointing my engines directly at the offending corvette.
"Eat this, you mother fuckers!" I yelled, and hit the throttle again.
Fusion power flared behind us. Corkscrewing like a bottle rocket, we took
off, slicing the corvette like a fish with the power of the fusion engines.
I kept it there for an extra 10 seconds longer then I really intended, then
checked our position and angle, punched the numbers into the computer and
corrected for the rendezvous point, then called up the preprogrammed burn.
I had to sit through the burn, and that was a long time to wait when your
best friend and lover is hurt and you can't get to them. You see, the access
hatches for both bridges open up into the zero-gee corridor from the
airlock. The Duke/Brannick gravity wave generator works only on certain
planes, depending on how it's built. This one was pointed up relative to the
decks of each bridge. Since the bridges are 180 degrees out from each other,
that makes the floor of one the floor of the other as well. Double
redundancy; two bridges. As soon as the engines shut off I was out of the
seat and heading for the hatch leading to the other bridge.
I yanked the med kit off the wall as I passed it, undogged the hatch and
pulled myself in. First glance told me that the blast shields were down. No,
not the blast shields, the decompression shields, which are armor plates
inside the windows. I rushed over to Casey and gasped in horror. About every
vein in his face had broken, his eyes were completely red from blood, his
joints were swollen, and blood was coming out of his nose. Massive pressure
trauma, I am sure some quack would call it. When I hit him with a morphine
ampoule from the med kit, he groaned. I checked his pulse, thready and a bit
weak.
I looked around and found the control for the gravity ring, hit the
override and stopped it. It would be easier to move him in zero-gee, and
easier on him, too. I also shut off the Duke/Brannick box, and lifted him
out of his seat as his harness was already unbuckled. I cradled him close as
I moved him slowly toward the down ladder. I had to move slowly or the
Velcro slippers would come off, or loose. I floated Casey over the hole,
wormed my way below him, then gently tugged him after me thru the hatch,
into the corridor. Then still holding him close, I maneuvered him into our
cabin.
Again I set him floating in the middle of the room as I went to the
galley for the emergency kit. This was a lot bigger than the med kit, and
had one item that I needed immediately; the Pressure Bag.
The medic and the Lieutenant were both still there in the galley. Both
looked a little worse for wear, having gone through a boost without the
Duke/Brannick box to cushion the gee-force. They were both alive. That is
really all that mattered to me at that second; I went back to our cabin.
The Pressure Bag was developed on Earth back in the 20th
century for mountain climbers over a certain altitude. I don't recall the
exact medical terminology for the condition, but I know adding pressure
helps. And I know when you take the person back out, you have to do so very
slowly, or they will develop the Bends, then Nitrogen gas builds up in the
joints.
I opened the bag, drew it around him, and sealed it, then cracked open
the valve on the oxygen bottle. The bag inflated. I allowed the pressure to
rise slowly up to two bars, which is twice ambient pressure at sea level on
earth. Two-bar is a little more than twice internal pressure of the
Backasswards.
I had seen this thing in use once on TV when I was a kid. Some climbers
up on Mount Everest had given a demonstration of it. Personally, this was
the second time I'd had to use it on someone. Last time had been back in
2006 on my last space shuttle ride.
I went back to the galley for a bulb of coffee, and to check on the
medic, Byron Dyson.
"How is our guest?" I asked as I floated over to the coffee. He lisped
heavily the way queers did back when I was a kid. I thought that most people
had out grown that fad.
"He's not going anywhere. I'd be a lot better with gravity." Yeah, that
lisp was going get on my nerves.
"Captain had a blowout on the bridge. The shields engaged too slowly; he
has massive barometric trauma. I got him in the bag right now. Gravity would
only add to his discomfort."
The priss actually sighed at me. "Well, I guess that's for the best
then." I frowned at him, then went back to our room and floated where I
could see Casey's' face.
The Endeavor was one of the last three original Space Shuttles. It was
retired way back in July of 2007. I had been EVA with Donaldson when he
caught a piece of space junk in the leg and had trouble sealing it. I had
the EMU, Extra-vehicular Mobility Unit, and it took me a several seconds to
get over to him. I had to do an emergency patch job on his leg to keep the
pressure in, then got him into the airlock as fast as I could.
Yeah, orbit was still loaded with junk way back then.
Donaldson was not hurt as bad as Casey was; after all, and Donaldson was
in a suit designed for redundancy; it had sealed his leg off when the
pressure dropped, minimizing the damage. Donaldson still lost the leg,
however, but that was after we got back to Kennedy Space Center. The return
trip was, shall we say … Interesting. As in the old Chinese curse "May you
live in interesting times."
Computers have come a long way in the last 100 years or so. I would
almost actually trust my life to one nowadays, and that is saying a lot
about my trust in computers. Just before we hit reentry interface all of the
computers went down. The old shuttles had four backup systems, the most
reliable of them were the pilots.
The Endeavor started to tumble while I was riding left seat. I'm
surprised the old bird didn't disintegrate on us. It got awfully warm before
I got her straightened out. That's the short version. The long version would
take up more pages than I care to dedicate to the Endeavor. Besides, it is
all on file in my official report with NASA.
Ya know. I never tried crying in zero-gee before. I do not recommend it.
The tears have no place to stream to.
Casey came around the next morning, feeling only marginally better.
Personally, I think he was humoring me. I administered another dose of
morphine thru the bag, and got him some broth and passed it thru the airlock
built into the bag. Byron told me he had checked in on Casey while I was
sleeping. I guess I was so tired that I didn't hear him. I am normally a
light sleeper.
From that morning on, we took turns keeping an eye on the wounded, not
that either Byron or I could have done anything if either had gotten worse.
It was a long flight back to the rendezvous point. Not long as in time,
but long in worry. Byron was a competent medic, but he was no doctor. I
found out the Lieutenant was named Jacques Auteuil. I also got his service
number, but I don't need to write that here. The Fred will want it however,
and he will get it. The Lieutenant would not say anything else.
Jack, as I had taken to calling him, had caught a bullet in the shoulder
and another in the leg. So sad for him. Bryon cleaned him up, removed the
lead, and stuck a plug in him; then handcuffed his ass to a pipe away from
anything he could fuck with.
We let him off his leash only long enough to use the head. (That is the
bathroom. Old navy term.) Back in the days of wind powered sailing ships,
the crapper was off the bow, because the wind was coming from the stern of
the ship.
What can a gal say; I was Blue Water Navy before NASA, and old habits die
hard. I was a pilot of course. I drove me an F-14 Tomcat back before they
retired them all for that F-22 Raptor.
Damn it girl, you are showing your age talking about those things.
Anyway, I put a post it note on the main bridge "Out Of Service", and
flew from the lower bridge. There is really not much of a difference, except
tradition, and the fact the lower bridge still had all of its windows; the
upper bridge lost one, and they were all blocked off now.
Bryon was neither a tech nor a mechanic. I wandered into the shop, back
of the grav-ring, found a couple spare windows. I found the right one and
the bolts to replace the window, and the tool kit, suited up and made an
EVA, or Space Walk, as some call it, solo. Not something I like doing, but I
followed all the safety rules, and kept radio contact with Byron inside, not
that that he could have done anything if the shit hit the fan while I was
outside, but that is SOP. (Standard Operating Procedure.)
It took longer than I would have liked, but we were far enough from Sol
so I did not catch too many rads. I had mostly depressurized the main bridge
before working on the window. I did not want a pressure leak blasting me off
into space. When I was done I had Byron repressurize the bridge; talking him
through it while I watched for leaks. It held. Once I was sure it would hold
I came back inside and unsuited, then climbed up into the main bridge and
looked thru the manual to figure out how to release the armor plating that
had saved Casey's life. It was not easy. In fact, it took another couple
hours. Byron checked up on both Casey and the Lieutenant while I kept busy,
and took over bridge duty while I slept near Casey.
According to the manual, the shields should have fired immediately upon
loss of pressure; they had not. With all the modifications to the ship over
the last 30 years, it seems it had never been hooked back up to fire
remotely by the new computer control system. I found the manual-override.
The pin had been pulled, arming switch thrown, and firing button pushed.
Casey had managed that while being boiled alive by the lack of pressure.
That's my man for you. Even when he was dying he was saving his ship. There
really was no reason to open the shields till the charges had been replaced,
so I left them closed and shut the outer armor shields as well. Then went to
the other bridge and flew from there.
You don't really need to see outside in space, but it helps. I prefer
being able to see outside. Knowing and seeing your environment keeps you
from getting claustrophobic. That is not something I suffer from, but I like
looking at the stars.
We made the rendezvous in about a week. Casey did not improve much, and
our guest was given very good reason to behave. If Casey died, I was going
to space him. Or at least that is what I had told him.
Fortunately the rendezvous ship had a full medical bay. CGC outfits their
ships very well. I radioed ahead.
"Charles Sheffield, this is the Backasswards on encrypted 37 alpha.
Over."
"Backasswards, this is the Charles Sheffield, we copy on channel 37 alpha
encrypted. Say status,." a crisp British accent replied.
"Sheffield, Backasswards, Pilot Code one. Medic code one. Visitor code
two. Captain code three. Boarding party MIA presumed 10-7. Confirm."
"Confirmed. Two souls code one, one soul code two, one soul code three.
Boarding party Missing and presumed dead. What happened out there,
Backasswards?"
"The rats laid a trap for us. More in person, Sheffield."
"Copy that Backasswards. Dock port 2-4-left. Medical team standing by."
"Sheffield, I have a request. My Captain is badly beat up. Took at least
20 seconds of pure vacuum. I have him in a pressure bag. Can you give him
zero-gee till we get him in the med-bay?"
"I'll get it approved by the OOD, and inform the Captain. We'll take good
care of him, Backasswards."
"Roger that. And you better, or I'll kick your scrawny butt, ya hear?"
He chuckled, "Right oh. I will endeavor to keep that in mind."
I plugged the Backasswards into port 2-4-left, cycled the lock, and sure
enough the medical team was waiting there in zero-gee. I led them into my
cabin where Casey was still floating. Byron had him on a saline drip, hooked
up inside the pressure bag. How, I'm not sure. I would have to remember to
ask him about that later.
The medical team worked Casey out the hatch and out of the ship. They
dragged him into the med-bay where they worked the decompresstion routine,
and I had to report.
Oh, the joys of command. Zero-gee, I found, was only in the route to and
from the Backasswards to the med-bay, and gravity had been turned back on
after we had passed. Ain't science wonderful? A full guard had taken our
guest to the brig, and took Byron to another debriefing room, which is also
where I was headed.
I walked into debriefing to see a David Niven rip off if I'd ever seen
one. Right down to the pencil mustache. He smiled when I entered and stood.
"Ah, Mrs. Saint Charles. Please have a seat." He spoke with the same
crisp British accent I had spoken with over the radio. His nametag said
'Commander Richard Rayner'. I frowned.
"Commander Rayner, about that ass-kicking comment …" he waved it off, and
I took a seat.
"I understand, Mrs. Saint Charles. Nothing to worry yourself over." He
took a seat himself on the other side of his table, where lots of paperwork
was laid out, and a writing tablet. "First thing I would like is a report;
we will worry about the status of my arse later." He smiled again. "Would
you care for a coffee or tea? Maybe a fag?" I stared at him. "Cigarette,
Mrs. Saint Charles."
"Sure, and a coffee. Black and strong enough to pour itself."
He waved to an orderly over in the corner. "Then if you would, in your
own words, describe the events as you witnessed them?" He picked up his
stylus.
I spent the next three hours going over the events of the last few weeks.
The intercept, the trap, and the counter-trap. Radar shadow and why we
didn't see it before. "The Backasswards does have a military grade radar
set, salvaged and not on file. If we had used it sooner, it would have
tipped the ISP off that we knew of the counter trap." He nodded and
constantly made notes. Cross referencing questions, going back and forth
covering all the angles.
When he finally stopped writing he took a deep breath and looked up.
"Everything seems in order here, all things considered."
He set his stylus down. "I do believe that you have a wounded man in the
med-bay. Why don't you go see him, and if I have any more questions I will
contact you. I must send this information back to Command."
"Sounds like we have a mole in our midst."
He shook his head. "Possible, but more than likely the ISP is finally
beginning to learn from their mistakes. They sacrificed a corvette, two,
actually, and their crews, by the sounds of it, in order to catch us
'pirates' it would seem. To catch you and your ship, more specifically."
I nodded and took my leave.
Chapter 2
Rebecca's tale continues:
I found myself back in the med-bay. Full gravity was back on by now.
Casey was finally out of the bag, and on the table. I had to wait outside in
the observation lounge.
There was a doctor was five foot nothing, raven haired, green-eyed
oriental beauty. She was also a CareGiver, which helped a bit. "Ah, Mrs.
Maxwell."
I shook my head. "No, it's Mrs. St. Charles. That is my husband, but I
kept my name."
"I am sorry, I meant no offence." She gave a short bow.
"None taken." I returned the bow, then we both turned to look in the
window to what little we could see of the operation.
"He is a tough old bird, I will give him that," she said, and I nodded.
"I am going to be direct about this, Mrs. St. Charles. Initial diagnosis is
not good. He will live, but I doubt he will be fit for much. He will never
again hold a spacers rating. He will no longer be able to pilot, let alone
command a ship again."
I looked her dead in the eyes. After a second she lowered her eyes. "I am
sorry."
Tears welled up in my eyes, and Casey's image floated through my mind.
All the times I had seen him at the command consol, in the pilots' chair,.
his smirk and chuckle ringing in my ears.
The Doc had not moved, and while there was a tear in the corner of her
eye, she seemed to have something on her mind. "I didn't catch your name,
Doctor."
"Doctor Timberlane, but please call me Wendy."
"Well, Wendy. You have the look of some one with Plan B in mind. Care to
spill it before I get too sentimental about all this?"
"Plan B, as you call it, is the same plan I underwent when I joined
CareGivers."
I looked her up and down, then in the eye. "My name used to be William."
I nodded.
I thought about that for a second "Wendy is a better name for you." We
turned back towards the window. "I took the same stuff when I signed up. I'm
a natural, but it helped my reflexes and boosted my mind a bit. Not too
much, but enough that I still notice it twenty years later."
She nodded. "I know. I remember reading about you during my time in
training. The way you saved Donaldson-san during the Endeavor incident."
After a moment I lifted my chin towards Casey and asked, "Does he know
yet?"
She shook her head. "We are not positive yet. Once we are, then he will
have to be told." She looked at me again. "One would presume that you would
wish to tell him yourself?"
I nodded. "Yes. Crotchety ol' fart he might be, but he's mine." I shook
out my red tangles a bit and started pacing around.
Wendy took a walk, ending up in the operating room a few minutes later in
full scrubs. I could only really tell it was her from her green oriental
eyes and coal black hair.
I made dinner for one later that night on board the Backasswards. I sat
in the G-ring, which was spinning again. I had started it up when I came
back on board. We were deep in space, and I was docked to a ship I knew to
be friendly, so I'd left the airlock unlocked. I guess I should have
expected guests. Somehow I couldn't even think about it, but Byron let
himself in, got a cup of coffee and sat opposite me at the table, while I
poked ineffectually at my food.
He didn't say anything at first, looked like he was trying to work up the
nerve to speak. Started a couple times, but remained silent. "I'm not an old
maid, Byron. You helped my husband. He's alive because of your actions. For
that, I can't thank you enough. So, if you have something to say, please
do."
He smiled sheepishly, took a sip of his coffee, and then set the cup
down. "He saved my life once, many years ago." I was almost shocked. He
wasn't lisping. "That's why I volunteered for this mission."
He paused again, and took another sip of coffee. "Several years ago I was
riding out to the Wango-Tango with my lover, Villhelm Dyson; he was an
assistant engineer at that time. We were on this puddle jumper of a ship
called the Merlin's Prank." He lowered his eyes for a bit before continuing.
"It wasn't much of a ship. After it got hulled by a piece of space junk, it
was even less. The Captain and his engineer had taken turns with us to …
'Pay for the ride' as they put it. I didn't mind so much, but I prefer to be
willing for that sort of thing."
He sniffed. "Villhelm and I were on the bridge so the Captain and his
engineer could be alone for a while. Villhelm was standing watch and had
dogged the hatch, as per regulations, so I was told. I wasn't much of a
spacer at that point in my life. Matter of fact, I wasn't much of anything.
I was just keeping my Villhelm company." He looked around the galley.
"Captain Maxwell was nearest when Villhelm sent out the distress call.
Captain Maxwell sent Jorge Waco in the Briar Patch to come get us."
He took a sip again. "We ended up spending a little more than a week on
this ship." He smiled. "I can still remember chatting with Tracey. She was
such a nice girl. She told me about the CareGivers. A bit about the DeCorvin
process and what it really meant to be a CareGiver."
He drank a bit more coffee, and I found that I didn't have anymore food
to poke at… I must have eaten it while he was talking. Truth be told, I
hadn't noticed.
I got myself more coffee, and got Byron a refill while I was at it..
"Thanks." He smiled. "I tried applying for the CareGivers when I finally got
back to Mars. I failed horridly. No skills to speak of." He sighed "That's
when I decided to change my life. I started taking medical studies. I'm not
much of a hostess, but I could learn something." He laughed a bit and then
drank some more coffee. "It took me four years to pass the basic stuff. I
wouldn't let my Villhelm help me. He's smart. Full engineer now, and still
as lovable as ever." He smiled. He really had a nice smile.
"When I finally made Medic rating I made sure to get posting where
Villhelm was. He's the Chief Engineer on the Charles Sheffield now. When
Sheffield was slotted as the rendezvous ship, I learned the Backasswards was
involved. I felt it was necessary to repay Captain Maxwell for his
hospitality, and for saving my life." He looked up into my eyes. We shared a
sad smile.
"Well, kid. I guess you managed to make it even, then. He saved your
bacon, you saved his." He nodded, then took another sip of coffee. Then as
if remembering something, he took his wallet out, and removed a picture. He
lingered over it a moment, then passed it on to me. The picture was of two
strapping young men, one of them was Byron, and a lovely black girl. All
three were holding hands, and holding them out showing the rings of marriage
in their fingers that must have been taken on their wedding day. All three
of them were smiling like it was the happiest day of their lives. And I
guess it was. I know mine was.
Oh, mine and Casey's marriage was nothing special as far as ceremony is
concerned. The Captain of the ship married us. Ok, Casey was the Captain.
But it was still the happiest day of my life when I finally tricked that ol'
codger into marrying me.
"Her name is Delilah, and no, she's not a Philistine." Byron told me, and
we chuckled.
It ended up taking a couple more days for them to complete examinations
on Casey. Fixing what they could, mending as best they could what they could
not. They were not rushing anything. He was past the critical hour, as they
say.
I found out that they had raised the pressure in the operating room,
which is how they got Casey outta the bag so fast. Meant the Doc's would
have to depressurize slowly, but it saved Casey's eyes, so no complaints
there.
When everybody was back in normal pressure, and I was given the okay, I
went in to see him.
* * *
When Bek cam in to see me I was still a bit sore. Ok, a lot sore. But I
was alive, and that was all that mattered at the moment. That moment was
about to pass. She waltzed in and smiled down at me. She always had the most
graceful way of walking.
"How you feeling today, lover?" I rolled my eyes at her.
"Like I've been coger en el asno por una mula the size of a world war two
aircraft carrier. How do you think I feel?"
"Grouchy, would be my guess." She leaned over and kissed my forehead.
"They give you the good news?"
"Nope. Just the bad news."
"Which is?" She took a seat on the stool next to my hospital bed.
"That I'll have to live through this …"
That's when she looked down at her hands in her lap. "Lover, I've known
you took long to even try to sugar coat this, so I am just going to say it.
I think you would rather have it that way." She looked up as I arched an
eyebrow.
"Ok. I gathered there was something being left unsaid around here. Say
it, then."
"They saved your life, and your eyes. But you will be crippled the rest
of your life from your injuries. If they had been right there when it
happened, they mighta coulda done something. With all the time that passed
getting you back here … most of the damage was already done."
She took a deep breath. "You won't be spacer qualified anymore."
I swallowed. She could tell I was taking this hard. The thought of losing
my home, my ship, my way of life. All because of Terra's need to control
everybody. I was about to get angry at the loss. "Options?" I asked tightly.
"Limited." I nodded. "Either accept it, and we live out our lives with
it. Or …"
"Spit it out, Bek."
"Care Givers. DeCorvin Process." My eyes opened a bit wider. "Wendy says
it'd heal most of your injuries, but the major side effect would be that you
would be changed into a genetic female."
I stared at the ceiling a while, weighing my options, considering the
possibilities. There were not many to consider. "I'd get my qualifications
back?"
"More than likely."
I thought a bit more. "Meloney would get two Grandmothers. She might like
that." She playfully slapped my arm, I winced in pain anyway.
"Don't even try to take the high road on this, Casey Maxwell, my husband.
You and I both know it's about the ship, and your need to fly her."
I gave her my best sheepish grin. "How'd you ever talk me in to marrying
you?"
"Easy. I got you drunk, then gave you the best sex of your life."
"Ah, is that it?" It was an old joke of ours. We both chuckled, but I
held my ribs in pain for a bit.
* * *
That is how I almost died, but it seems I'm starting the story in the
middle. I never was much of a storyteller. Meloney is my grand daughter. Her
mother is Tracey my only daughter… at least, that I know of anyway. I was
not married to Tracey's mother, Penny, but in many ways I am glad that I did
not.
You see, if I had wed Penny Wise and made her Mrs. Casey Maxwell, I never
would have gone back into space. I never would have won the Backasswards in
a card game and never would have truly LIVED. I have never been so alive as
I have been in space. If you've never been there, you will never understand.
Being a Spacer is the best 'Get-rich-quick' scheme there is. If you live,
you make the money. It's that simple. The more in demand your particular
field is, the more money than that you make. Being an Owner Operator is just
a bit different. You cannot just pocket all that money. You have to reinvest
it into the ship. You have to pay your crew, the broker, port fees,
benefits, taxes, tariffs, and licensing fees. It is very easy to dump all of
your money back into the ship and forget to buy food. Well, that is a
mistake you only make once. Then again, almost any mistake you make in space
you will only ever make once. Mainly because 99.999% of all mistakes end up
being fatal, and the other 0.001% don't matter enough to worry about.
But how far back should I start my story? Childhood? Hell, I don't
remember enough of it to make even a few pages of very disjointed text. All
I remember really, is it was not worth remembering at the time, and now it's
been too long ago for me to really remember much of anything.
School? Well, maybe as a side note. I decided I wanted to go into space
almost from the get go, and tailored everything in my life to get there.
Here, you do the math: I am somewhere close to 72 years of age. I have been
in space 45 years. I have owned the Backasswards for 30 of those years. That
means I spent the first 27 years of my life on Earth. At the very least I
that means I spent 16 some odd years actively trying to get into space.
I do not, in any way whatsoever, regret a single second of all that time.
I once met a Tibetan monk who spent 15 years contemplating the breeze. He
told me about it over a fifth of gin in a disreputable bar once. He was on a
bender. He did not regret the time he spent there, he just appreciated the
time drinking, more. Kind of puts it into perspective, doesn't it?
I guess the best way I could start my life story would be to pull a
couple pages out of my own diary from when I met Tracey, and how we figured
out how we were related.
It will also help me figure out where I am in my life right now, and what
I am going to be doing from now on.
As I am sure you are going to discover that I do not take change very
well, and my most recent change is as drastic as anything I have ever done
in my entire life.
* * *
Dear Diary, March, 31st, 2104
Kids these days, no respect for their elders. I've been a Spacer ever
since I first shipped out on the Teenage Wasteland 15 years ago. Sure, I've
had those days. More than I can count. But I'm not complaining none. Who'd
listen? I did good on my hitch, saved my pesos, invested wisely, and got
lucky in a card game or two. That's how I got the Backasswards about 10
years ago, doubled down on a royal flush when facing off against a dead-mans
hand. Neither of us drew down like in the spaghetti-westerns of the 1960's
and 1970's. Nah, RubberDuck was a good ol' bird, only shed one tear when I
offered him a job till he could afford to head off again. He was a good
first mate the two times I launched with him. His heart gave out halfway
back on the triangle run. Buried him at sea as per his wishes … I never even
knew his real name, but that ten reams of paperwork I had to do to register
his orbit will always remind me of him. That was almost depressing; I kinda
thought he'd have just kept going into the great unknown forever. The
Corpsicle Explorer. Yeah, I welded him into an old footlocker and scribed
that onto the door along with those immortal words "To boldly go where no
one has gone before" and "Rest in peace, My Captain."
Anyway, I was telling you about kids. Never found a girl to settle down
with and make a few of my own. Too busy, and now I'm too old. Never bothered
with chemicals. Figured when my time came I'd check out like Ol' RubberDuck
did. As far as family is concerned, men outnumber women like 4 to one on
Terra now, and it's worse than that in space, like 7-2 was the last numbers
I saw. Sure, sure, you get a few surgicals like the DSC once in a while.
Aggressive lays, not the hardest things on the eyes, but dammed close. You
spend two years in space working 18 out of 24 hours every single day and
you'd stick it in the first thing that opened it's thighs, too. Had more
than a couple natural gals too, Few pretty nice. Oh, and I'll never forget
my first and only cherry. Penny Wise. God, what a girl. Her father, Miguel,
was an asno. But Brazilians normally are to Uruguayans. He threatened to cut
my bolas off, and I threatened to drop a rock on his happy ass. Punta.
Well, those were the good ol' days and now things are rough. Being an
Owner Operator ain't as easy as I thought, nor is the pay as good anymore.
Apollo Freight, and a handful of others are running me out of business. They
can move stuff cheaper than I can buy parts anymore, thanks to Space Train
Systems discontinuing the 2050-b model a couple years back, that is.
RubberDuck had upgraded the engines back when you could still afford that
kind of thing. The nav systems, life support, and pretty much everything
else were original. Being just shy of the start of the 22nd
century C.E., that put it all about 50 years out of date. It worked …
mostly. The engines were Grumman Ironworks M.O.P. D-47's, all four of them.
Damn, I couldn't count the number of ships that had used the D-47's at one
time in the past. Things change, or rather, engineers change things.
Anyway, where was I? Ah, yeah… Kids. I was dirtside looking for a new
hand or two to make the triangle run with me. Had one already, he was out
getting his martillo wet or whatever. Could always use another hand or two.
I was coming out of a bar to head back to the space lift and start looking
for some new crewmembers, when this kid runs into me, literally that is. He
apologizes, which is unusual enough, then he noticed my tour patches from
the Teenage Wasteland and gets all wide eyed on me, asks me if I'm a Spacer.
I told him yeah, I'm an Owner Operator. He begs me to hire him, he's
always wanted to go into space and he'd make it worth my while … Like I
said, kids these days. I'm not gonna ship out with a wet behind the ears
brat just cause he's gonna offer his milk money. For me to take him up, show
him the ropes, teach him a millions of peso's worth of skills, then have him
ditch me dirtside and run get a better job. Ain't gonna happen. He did have
an air about him though … looked rather familiar for some reason that I
couldn't put my finger on. Eh, not important.
I polled the staffing agencies during the cab trip back to Launch Control
South America (basically NASA Southern Command, but they hate it when you
call them that) outta Port Shepard, and found a guy that looked qualified to
do the job and was going for cheap. Cheap is good, qualified is better. He
was both, according to the listing.
I placed a bid on it and waited for the call to connect. He answered and
we talked. Small talk. Yes, it was his listing: Yes, he was still available;
Sure, he could ship out on short notice. He'd meet me at the pad for the
orbit trip back to my ship.
Now, I don't exactly travel heavy, but I'm known to pack a bag or two for
a trip to Mars wandering around New Atlanta, or dirtside Terra for a week or
two of visiting the houses of ill repute and some of the better known bars
too. The point is, the guy showed up with the clothing on his back, and a
daypack with one change of clothes. I should have told him to bugger off
right then and there. I didn't, because of the call I got right before he
showed. Carlos, who was my right hand on the last flight I'd made, called
me. He'd got a kid on the way and a manufacturing job at her daddy's biz.
Talk about a set up!
I guess those arranged marriages are handy for something. So I took this
guy. His paperwork spec'd out. No general alarms in my head. I needed the
help. Oh, I coulda run the ship solo, that's not the question. But being
alone in space is one sure way to breathe vacuum. Not something you ever
wanna do. Not since Gordo Cooper or Space Ship One, had any one gone into
space alone willingly, for very good reasons.
Getting the launch going was a cakewalk. It had already been programmed
by Carlos. A parting gift, I guess. He could do that math in his head, he
was that good. Then again, he was gone, and the punk was running the right
seat. He seemed to know what he was doing. He had a few questions because
the layout was different than he was used to, which is not so unusual
considering the age of my bird. This was a contract load for New Atlanta.
Emergency food packs. Nothing hot, or expensive unfortunately. Cause if it
had been, I might have been able to get a few more things fixed and or
upgraded.
Percentage of the load, half up front, other half on delivery, plus
broker fees and taxes etc, etc, etc. Standard fare, really. But things were
breaking faster then I could afford to fix them. We launched. Like getting
kicked in the asno by a mule. Half way to Mars I finally got the idea this
jerk had lied to me. He couldn't read a radar screen, couldn't fix a
zero-gee john, didn't know the first thing about astro-navagation or
propulsion systems. He almost breathed vacuum because he'd never worn an EVA
suit before, and if I hadn't checked him, I'd been down a suit and a hand.
When I finally cornered him, he confessed. He'd never had any formal
training in anything. Read a bunch online and had a vague idea on actual
workings. Three months in space and I find out I'd been babysitting an
invalid. I stranded his anso on Mars and let some one else worry about him.
No coin, no nothing. I figure the on the job training he got made up for the
mistakes he made that I had to correct. I got better things to do than
baby-sit some pounder while my ship and my anso is on the line.
I pulled a load heading to the belts solo. Like I said before, NOT
something you really wanna do solo. Dropped and pulled an ingot load back to
Terra for some peso's and hope to find a hand that has a clue. Things broke,
they always do on this ship. Nothing life threatening, fortunately. But the
four days I had to have the G-ring stopped and working on the plumbing was
something I could only hope to forget. I hate sleeping in zero-G on my own
ship unless I'm strapped into the command console, which I've also done
before.
I pulled into Terra Shipping Authority and dropped off my load after a
year alone in space. Stir crazy comes to mind, but I didn't have all that
much time to sit idly with nothing to do. I took an orbiter down to dirtside
for a little R&R&R. Rest, Recuperation, and Repairs. I also made sure I hit
up NASA, ESA, and ARTA for a new hand to help on the Backasswards.
Unfortunately they had upped their rates in the last two years and I
couldn't afford them on the last paycheck I'd gotten. That on top of more
repairs, and maybe I could afford at least one upgrade.
I got the bird ready to fly and made another solo Mars run. Again,
nothing expensive, as Apollo was winning all the bids they covered… lucky
bastardos. Must be nice. I know Apollo started off as a small time O/O just
like me, but he got of couple lucky contracts early on and grew from there.
Hell, I even passed the Atlas once or twice in the last couple of years,
which was Apollo Freight's first ship. I know The Fred of Apollo Freight
doesn't take anything out of service. And he can afford to keep them up … a
couple more years and I won't have a choice but to sign on with one of them
guys. Maybe, but orgullo won't let me till I've given my all and my bird's
falling apart … of course I know it'd be too late then … but hey.
I hit dirtside again to do my business while I waited for freight. Found
out that Grumman Ironworks had not only discontinued the D-47 line, but were
offering the last update for them as a parting gift. Well, not gift, and not
cheap either. But it was needed. About a 1% boost in efficiency and about
2.5% decrease in maintenance. But the labor to install it was too expensive
for me to bother paying some one else to do. I have almost as much time on
them engines as any of the company reps do. I also looked into a nav board
update, and a general parts order.
Not surprising, things are getting hard to find, and more and more stuff
is coming from "Bob's Discount World of Spacer Junk" also known as salvage
yards. Salvaged from what? Give you three guesses, and the first two don't
count. Wrecked, broken, or hulled ships.
Okay, now here is where things start to get interesting. You know as well
as I do that NASA, ESA, and ARTA don't go cheap, and getting more expensive
as times go on. That's when I decided to call CareGivers. Oh, sure, I'd
heard of them before. All women spacer staffing agency. Hot pink flight
suits. Total Babes. Makes my martillo hard just thinking about them. But I
had not considered calling them for a hand to help on the ship till now. And
amigo, my wallet was dreading that call.
I got a hold of Miss Sandra Chandris, CareGivers Corp Recruiting South
America, first try. I explained very carefully that I was not looking to
join, but looking to hire a spacer as long as they were fully qualified and
not too horribly expensive. She told me that she'd have a look and call me
back. Amigo, when a hot babe like that tells you she's gonna call back, you
take her word for it and thank her!
Two days I waited, not idly mind you. I got a ship to prep and cargo to
find. But as always, all the good stuff was taken even when I tried to
underbid. Dedicated accounts must be nice. That's when I got the call back
from Sister Tracey Chadwick-Robins of CareGivers Corporation.
"Hola" I answered
"Hola, is this Casey Maxwell?" her voice all but purred, and her picture
matched the voice. And that picture took my breath away. I gasped
"Something wrong, senor?" she asked
"No, no. Nothing's wrong. You just remind me of some one I knew many
years ago, senora."
She smiled "Yes, I have heard that a time or two. I am told that I favor
my grandmother on my mother's side quite a lot."
I was almost breathless. Women, as I believe that I have pointed out, are
few and far between these days, thanks to the wonders of modern science.
Making studs of most men and causing a surge in male offspring because
nearly every swinging martillo wanted to have a son to carry on the family
business.
"I hope that now is a good time to call. I can try back later if that
would be more convenient for you, senor…"
"No, no, now is just fine. I take it you're calling about the job, si?" I
asked while trying to get the right head running again
She smiled that award winning smile again "Si, senor. I hope it is still
available."
"Yes, of course it is!" I'd have held that job open for years for her,
just this moment if she asked … but it looked like I wouldn't have to wait
that long.
"Good. I take it that you are still on the planet, correct? Would you
like to meet someplace to discuss my qualifications?"
"Yes I am. Are you here in Montevideo?" I asked. I didn't want her to
have to travel too far on my account.
"Si, senor. Is there a place you would like to meet?"
I thought about this … I figured I could probably use a drink about now
anyway "Have you ever heard of the bar called 'Senoritas Y Toros'?" Oh, and
it wouldn't hurt to offer this lovely young lady a drink, either.
She smiled again "Si, I can be there in about 45 minutes if you would
like."
I'd be there in about 30 myself anyway, so that worked. "That would be
fine. I'll be the grizzled ol' space dog hiding in the back corner as long
as I can shovel my booth open again."
She actually laughed at that "Ok, I will see you then, adiós."
"Adiós." And I signed off. And this thought crossed my mind … I Need A
Shower, … Bad.
* * *
That phone call was twenty-two years ago. It is funny how perspective
changes over that period of time. I recall things now that I completely
overlooked at the time. One of the things that I had overlooked was the
genetic signature line across the bottom of the screen. It was not on the
screen for long, and I was distracted by the young lady who was on the other
side of the screen to notice it at the time, but now I recall it almost
perfectly.
Of course it helps that her and I talk on a semi-regular basis and I can
tell when she calls by that signature line. One would expect a parent to
know their child's G.I.D. line over the vid-phone.
In any case, that signature line so closely resembles my own that I
should not have been surprised to discover we were a little bit later on
that we were related.
But I will get to that in another diary entry. For now I will continue
where I left off.
* * *
I hurried back to the deluxe coffin hotel that I was staying in, hit the
rain locker and dragged out a clean flight suit along with my leather
jacket, (real leather, a gift from my last hitch on T.W.), with all the
patches on it. What's a leather jacket without patches? And boots. Dirtside
I always wear boots. In space I could get away with Velcro slippers, but
dirtside you'd pick up a whole hell of a lot more crap then you'd ever want,
so boots it was.
I got to the bar in about 35 minutes, after a quick shower, as my coffin
was not that far away anyway, walking distance. And sure enough, my table
was taken. I saddled up to the table and leaned over to the three gringos'
there.
"Excuse me, but I believe you're at my table …" I said rather more
politely than I felt.
The ugly one looked up at me sneering, "Piss off punta, Dis be our table
now!"
I leaned forward putting my hands flat on the table, which also allowed
my jacket to hang open revealing the snub nosed revolver I always kept
there, and never let the cops know about.
"I'm sorry, I don't think you heard me. I asked you to leave. Nicely." I
was really trying to hold my temper. A fist fight right before meeting a
lovely young lady was NOT the best way to hire a spacer.
Gringo number two and gringo three saw the gun, and decided that
cowardice was the better part of staying alive. Gringo number one needed a
bit of convincing yet.
"Jefe, we can go, there are other tables, mano." number two said
"Yeah, Jefe, another table. Right. We were just leaving …" number three
piped up.
"I ain't leaving for this washed up Punta. He wants 'is table he can
fight me for it!" Jefe was obviously not noted for his brains, and blowing
them out would have been hard, as they were a very small target.
Time check, 6 minutes to go. I needed to end this without a fight. Or
cops. I pulled the pistol out and stuck it up under his chin, smiled, and
said, "Please?."
He swallowed. "Well … Since you asked so nicely …" He smiled weakly, "How
about a drink? He he he …"
I smiled again, "Sure, I'll buy you a drink to move. Now."
They moved while I re-holstered the six-gun. I took a seat facing the
door and flagged the barman, who sent a waiter over. I ordered my usual and
hoped I'd not get pined before she showed up… you know how women like to be
late for no dammed reason except they can.
She wasn't. Actually she walked in just as my drink made it to the table.
I'm glad I hadn't been drinking it, or I'd have spit it out. It was like
being visited by a dream. I knew her. But that couldn't have been, that was
twenty-two years ago. Every curve, every hair. You never forget a virgin,
it's said. And right now I was seeing her again, walking towards me. I took
a drink, I needed it now. Finished it and waved for another. She even walked
the same, same swing, same pace. Life was in slow motion, and I was drinking
her in. I couldn't talk. I just … Wow.
And it's not like she had that much work to find me. The way the place
was laid out there really only was one corner with a table in it, which was
part of the reason I chose it. Easy to find. There was a bar in two corners,
and a stage in the other.
As she closed on my table, my brain tried to reassert itself again,
noting differences that were not obvious from afar in bad lighting. Her eyes
were the wrong color for one. They were brown like most South Americans, not
blue like Penny's. Her hair was straight, shoulders a bit broader, and the
mouth a bit different too. I stood as she got about 5 steps from the table,
and as if I'd admit it, I was smiling despite myself… And that's when I also
noted Jefe coming up behind her with a rather unfriendly smile on his face.
She must have noted my frown cause she slowed her pace a step before his
hand landed on her shoulder. That, mano, is just something you do NOT do to
a woman, or a Spacer. And you absolutely do not do it to a Spacer woman.
Walking him out an airlock would be the best course … but as we were on
Terra, there weren't too many airlocks handy.
"Hey there little senora. Ignore this punta and come play with me. He
owes me drinks for sparing his life …" was about all he could get out before
she moved. She took a step forward, and spun in place bringing her right
foot up to connect to his jaw. He staggered back holding his jaw and staring
his bloodshot eyes back at her. He spit blood and a few teeth and cursed.
"Perra! You's gonna pay fer dat!" and he lunged, I tried to move around
the table, but she moved faster. she dropkicked any chance of him having
offspring right outta orbit. Every man in the joint cringed in sympathetic
pain. She double fist punched him to the solar plexus, twisted his arm
almost outta it's socket, put it over her shoulder and threw him farther
than I could have on a good day. He landed with muffled harrumph, heels over
head, and slowly fell over.
She dusted her hands off, moved a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and
turned to face me, smiling again.
"Nice place you chose. Usual hang out I take it?" There was laughter and
applause from the rest of the bar. I tried to stop gaping at her and managed
to close my mouth again. She extended her hand to me and introduced herself.
"Sister Tracey Chadwick-Robins. You must be …"
"Casey Maxwell." I took her hand and shook it twice. From somewhere in
the bar I could just hear a question, inquiring if nuns took ninja training
like the Shao-Lin Monks did. And the rejoinder that ninja are Japanese, and
the Shao-Lin are Chinese, not Catholic.
She laughed, and the bar started up with its usual noises that I only
just noticed had stopped completely.
"Combat training I see."
She laughed "Capoeira, actually, but there wasn't enough room to really
get going." A Brazilian martial art that started when the populous was
denied martial arts hand to hand training back during the days of the
British Empire, if memory serves, but I could be wrong, (that's been know to
happen once or twice a millennia). Not too uncommon this side of the Panama
Canal.
I chuckled. "I can see that. Well, shall we sit?" I pulled a chair out
for her, keeping my seat in the only real corner of the room and waving the
bar tender again for a drink order. She picked up the briefcase I hadn't had
time to notice she'd dropped. Honestly, I'd been busy noticing other things,
like the way she tossed Jefe against the wall.
"I presume that you would like to review my credentials and training
docket." She took out a binder with a ream of paperwork in it and handed it
to me
I took a minute to glance at the overview, list of qualifications,
references, and certifications. That was a small chapter in and of itself.
While I was reading, her green tea made its way to the table. She sipped on
it while I read.
Jefe's two friends picked him up and half dragged him out of the bar. I
had a nasty feeling that they, or at least he, would be back.
* * *
Chapter 3
Tracey definitely made an impression that day … In the wall with Jefe. I
still chuckle when I think of the completely perplexed look on his face as
he collapsed into a heap on the floor.
If the truth is to be told, the gun was unloaded, so if Jefe or his
friends had bothered to notice and take offense, I would have definitely
have gotten my anso kicked at the very least.
You might ask what I was doing with an unloaded firearm on my person with
all the restrictions those days. It is simple: The Uruguayan Government
actually thought about the safety of their people. Uruguay only had a
population of approximately 6 million people then, and a very bare fraction
of those were spacers. It was not completely unheard of for some criminal to
hold up an astronaut on his way home from 2 years in space with a pocket
full of credit vouchers. So the government forced an accord through with
Brazil International Spaceport: Allow our citizens to carry "protection
devices" and receive a minor stipend of a kickback … or something to that
degree. I never bothered to look into it really. All I cared about at the
time was being allowed to carry for personal defense.
Of course the space-line decided that any and or all such devices had to
be unloaded and the ammo placed in checked luggage which was completely
inaccessible until after you were well outside of the terminal. Oh, and the
terminal would not allow you to load the 'device' until you were 100 yards
off their property. And then, let's not forget that Uruguay still does not
have a Carry permit instituted for just such a 'device'. All of these rules
were, of course, unwritten. Which means that if you carry, do not ask, and
they will not arrest you for it.
So what did all of those things accomplish for the average Uruguayan
Spacer? Not a Dios dammed thing.
But I am getting away from the story again. I do that, you might have
noticed.
* * *
Dear Diary, April, 4th, 2104
We caught a Pan-Am orbital, which she insisted on paying for, up to Tripp
Station. As I expected she didn't travel too heavy, but had enough to make
life comfy for her, and she had her own suit. Hot Pink. Go Figure. Nice
comset, latest tech, beats the unit I got hands down, and then some. Clothes
and more in reserve I bet, and a Guitar. Not a cheap one either. Fender
Stratocaster with the built in amp/synth.
We got a couple of odd looks and more than a few frowns of disapproval
from the other passengers, because we were suited up and they were in normal
wear. My usual explanation if anybody ever bothered to ask, and a couple
people have over the years, is thus, "I live in space, I know exactly what
can go wrong ..." It's not always received in the best light, but at least
once it cause the person to think about it and go buy their very own suit...
not that they would use it more than once in their life more than likely,
but ...
"Maybe I should you introduce the Backasswards now." I said, "She's 100
meters in length. About 25 meters diameter but not really round. More
squarish with rounded off edges, like an octagon. Her grave deck is 15
meters back from the forward bulkhead, and can almost comfortably house 8
people for around 2 years, plus a couple months for safety, of course. Her
systems are packed in every crevice and crack imaginable, there isn't more
than a square meter of uncluttered wall space in the entire ship... and that
meter is the Boob Tube, dry erase board, and backdrop for my dart board. Ok,
the TV is projected on the wall. A crew's gotta have movies out there once
in a while."
Tracey smiled as I continued.
"She has a docking collar that also serves as an airlock on the bow of
the boat, that's where we'll be entering. It's zero-gee to aid in loading.
She's got another airlock port side, just aft the grav deck about midships,
and another dorsal airlock between the engines where you can easily stick
your head out and eyeball the 5th wheel docking collar for the
cargo pods. That one is very small, not something I like to use often, but
I've been known to have a peek once or twice in my time. Her engines come
off the corners at 45, 135, 225, and 315 degrees. Looks like an "X" with a
fat center, really." I made a hand gesture crossing my hands in the form of
an X.
"Oh, let me not forget to mention that those engines, even before the
upgrade we have to do, could generate enough thrust to kill you if you're
stupid enough not to turn the Duke/Brannick Box Gravity Wave Generator on.
She's designed to pull a million tons of cargo a very long way in not all
that much time. Bobtailing, I once did a 30 gee boost with the Duke/Brannick
Box up to match ... Oh. My. GOD!"
I took a breath, Tracey was listening intently. "Never again." I swore.
"It was like lighting a Saturn 5 that was tucked between your anso cheeks.
The cold jets were going rapid fire just to keep her straight, that much
thrust and no weight behind her to keep her pointed in one direction. I
coulda been all over the sky... Now I know how Jim Lovell and Fred Haise
felt when they fired the booster on the L.E.M. on Apollo 13 to get back to
Earth. I only let her run a few seconds, but it was more than enough ..."
She chuckled, "Must have been one hell of a ride."
I nodded and continued describing my ship. "The interior is a bit cramped
compared to most of the larger craft floating out there these days.
Corridors just wide enough to grab both sides to help move yourself around
in Zero Gee, lots of hand holds, that kinda thing. The grav-deck has a
running track in it... Very 2001, but needed as well as the weight room.
There is something about zero gee that affects the bones., If they aren't
under gravity, your bones start to wither and become brittle. Makes it very
had to get any work done if you pick up a back pack or your EVA suit and you
break your arm because the bones aren't strong enough to overcome the pack's
inertia. But I'm sure you know more about this than I do from what your
docket says."
it was Tracey's turn to nod, not wanting to interrupt my description. I
guess I get passionate when I talk about my baby and she could tell.
"My cabin is first cabin inside the grav deck, closest to the bridge.
Just in case, and by long tradition too. A bit bigger than the coffin hotel
I normally check into on Terra. Queen sized bed, just in case the Captain
has a female that sleeps with him or her as the case could be," I fumbled
not wanting to imply anything.
"The other cabins are double bunked, which fold away for single sleepers.
All have a refresher in them, zero-gee commode, and sink. The galley is
fairly basic, but has aspirations as the most comfortable room in the ship.
That's where the projector TV, my dartboard, and the food are. It's the
largest open room on board. Has the ability to prepare food under 'Normal'
spin gravity and in zero-gee. Oh, there's a refresher off the galley, too,
and that is where the crew shower is. Pull handle type, not Hollywood shower
like the captain's. Saves on water. Figuring there could be as many as 4
women onboard for a 50/50 split of the crew, there has to be a couple extra
refreshers ... Just in case."
Again Tracey chuckled as I fumbled along again to try and cover my
nervousness being this close to a woman after that many years in space
alone.
"None of the propulsion areas are accessible from inside. No need to
waste pressure on them. There are access panels on the outside that get you
into those spaces. Now the power systems are in pressure, the fuel cells and
backup batteries. That sorta thing. The Nuke Pack is in there someplace.
I've never played with it and I don't wanna. I'll let some one with less
reason to live play with that thing. I don't like glowing in the dark." I
smiled "I had to take the Backasswards in for a Nuke Pack check 6 years ago,
and it'll be due in another 4 years." She looked at me quizzically, as if
she didn't already know that. Or more like why am I telling her this. "Yeah,
every 10 years. It's that whole Nuclear Regulatory Commission B.S. makes
sure we don't irradiate space by having a leak... Go figure. I keep
wondering if they're gonna start down checking the sun for its rad leak ...
Burrow-crats. Yeah, I know it's spelled the other way, but I say it the way
they act."
This earned me another chuckle from Tracey. That kind of sound could get
addictive. "How about the Bridge and control set?" she asked
"The bridge is utilitarian at best. Spartan would be a kind why to
describe it. The windows are short but wide, multi-segment, almost panoramic
in their view. I can look over my shoulder and out the window. Blast shields
are just inside and outside the windows. The inner ones keep pressure in if
there is a blow out, and the outer ones keep stuff from poking holes in the
windows. The outer ones are basically and literally, just armor plating that
slap down if the radar reports anything inbound that might hit the ship, or
by manual control on the board. The inner blast shields are C-4 powered and
fired if the window integrity is compromised. They have an air tight seal
and LOCK into position when the shit hits the fan. I'd have to read the
manual to figure out how to unlock them ... but I'd be in no hurry to do
that." She nodded.
"Safety and backups are always desired when you live in space." I nodded.
"Commander's and co-pilot's seat are right next to each other. Ok, I fly
left seat. Old habit. I also do the piloting unless I really trust who I'm
flying with, then I act as commander instead of pilot. I might let you take
her out since you have all the paperwork in order, just to see how you
handle her."
Tracey suppressed a beaming smile. Either because of the honor, or
because I was doing my best not to insult her.
"Controls are NASA/ FASA standard. Cyclic, and Collective. You being
pilot qualified you'll have no trouble."
"Navigator and engineer's stations are right behind the two pilots, and
like the other two, are captain's chairs and lock forward during boost.
Against the rear bulkhead is the down ladder to the rest of the bridge, and
where the other crew must be for boost." Here again I smiled, cause the next
part is kinda funny to see the look on peoples faces when I describe it.
"Now, it trips people out that the floor of the flight deck and the floor
of the lower bridge is the same piece of decking. That's where the
Duke/Brannick box works. Covers the most area for the least amount of
equipment. It's also the backup bridge, and has all the same stuff... well,
it did when it was new. The upper deck's been upgraded, and lower has not.
It all works. I'm not stupid. But I always fly upper deck. Again, Habit."
Not even a grin, Tracey just nodded.
"Keep it simple, stupid. I approve." Was all she said
"Thanks." I almost frowned. "Now the docking collar/airlock runs in a
tube between the two bridge decks, and is wide enough to get most of the
equipment inside the ship thru it. Only the nuke pack has to go out the side
door... or the outer access panel. Oh, the tube is zero-gee. How they
managed that with all the artificial gravity equipment around it is beyond
me ... Any questions so far?"
"What about backup systems? Emergency controls?"
All business. Good.
"Ah yes, let me not forget the Emergency Back-Up Computer. Well, the ship
has a main computer, and a backup comp. They run parallel 24/7. The
emergency backup is a laptop stored on the lower bridge, in an armored
padded EMP-hardened case in a locker right next to the second pilot's seat.
Plugs in right in the middle of the dash. It's rude, crude, and absolutely
guaranteed to keep you alive if the worst happens ... or you get a nice
'we're sorry' card from the folks that made it. I've tested it about every
launch, and it always seems to work, so I put it right back where it goes
and don't mess with it. It was new with the ship, and still goes, so I'm not
gonna touch it beyond the checklist requirements. There is also the fact
that it uses almost the exact same interface that one of the popular video
games used to have. 'L.E.M. Commander' I think it was. I played it when I
was a kid. Come to think of it, I think it was the exact same system ...
Never mind, I don't wanna know." I shook my head.
"Now, the cargo pods. Them are easy. They are unpowered except for
running lights, usually unpressurized, standardized boxes that hook to the 5th
wheel on the rear bulkhead of my ship. Standardized cargo pods. You can
daisy-chain as many as you want back there. The limit is what my fuel
reserve can get moving. Now the first pod is always a fuel pod, and the last
one. The reason for this, is my engines are not articulated .... So instead
of turning the train around, I detach the ship, turn around and fly to the
end of the train. There I re-hook on to fire my engines to slow down ..." I
made hand gestures again to show the ship maneuvering. "So for a while
there, I'm flying with my ass pointed the way I'm headed... Back Ass Wards.
Ok, bad joke. But it stuck." Tracey had the good graces to at least chuckle
at that one.
"I once had a load of pure lead. The whole load was lead. And that took 4
fuel pods, two each direction, to get back to earth. Ya know ... if they
ever do come up with hyper-sleep chambers, I'm thinking of getting one. So
instead of two years being bored outta my skull, I only have to worry about
the first, and last week of each leg. That'd keep supplies to a minimum and
be interesting, I think. Two years later and I'd have aged only a month
total ... probably would age at that rate. Yeah, I think I could live with
that." From the disapproving look on Tracey's face I tried to cover my rear.
"But till Buck Rogers Inc. makes good, there's no sense in waiting with
my thumbs lodged." She nodded.
We hopped a puddle jumper over to Port Shepard, in honor of Alan B.
Shepard Jr., from Tripp Station. As we approached Port Shepard, we looked
out the window, and there she was. Right where I had left her, nosed in to
the airlock.
I pointed her out. "Well, that's the ship. She's not much to look at,
kid, but she's got it where it counts, as the old saying goes." Invoking the
words from the most holy of Trilogies. I could see by the reflection in the
plexi that Tracey was studying her from here.
Ok, next time in port I gotta get her painted. She's showing a couple
surface rust spots, and more than a few sun faded areas. Her registration
numbers were still nice and bold, as was the name emblazoned across the bow.
ISP Regs. At least they don't make me account for my time in 15 minute
intervals anymore.
* * *
Just a quick note, I never did get around to having my ship repainted. I
keep putting it off for a slower day or when I get bored enough to do
something about it. Maybe next month…
* * *
"Parts I have on order should be up any time now. We're gonna have to do
an upgrade to the engines before we go. It's the last one available, so no
problems, I hope. Got some other gear coming, too. Repairs, mostly. The
reclamation system needs hosing out …"
"Fun. How's the air system?" she asked
"Needs a booster, or a flush. It's about due for either, but I can't
afford a flush. Maybe next time I'm in dock."
She looked at me funny, which can be hard to do in a suit. "Who is the
system manufacturer?"
"Natur-Aire Chile, why?" I didn't get a reply, she switched her channel.
Like I said, my comset is old. I have to manually set the frequency on the
side of my helm. Wrist switch is, and has been broke for a while. I'll get
around to it when everything else works. Right now, what I have will do.
She was off channel for a few minutes thru the puddle jumper's comm link.
"How long are we staying in port? When you planning to boost?"
I shrugged, not easy to convey in a suit, so I added "Not sure yet. Still
looking for cargo. Have a sniff or two, but I'm not finding the rates I like
yet."
She switched off again but was only a moment before she was back "No
Problem then. I have some stuff on order and I'll log into CGC-NET and see
if they have anything heading that way …"
"Now hold just a darn minute. I can't afford any more parts, I'm about
tapped as it is, not to mention I STILL have no idea how I'm going to pay
your salary … Not that I even have a clue yet what you were planning to ask
for pay!"
She turned, looked right in my face screen with a neutral expression.
"Have I asked for money?"
"Uh. No. I figured it'd come up as soon a s…" but I got cut off
"Then don't bring it up again. I'm not using your account for the parts.
I'm using mine. If I'm going to ship out on this rust bucket, then she's
going to be up to my minimum specifications. I have standards. I like
breathing, and 45 day old must is not what I wish to smell two days after
boost."
I couldn't argue that one. "But still, this is my ship, and ..."
"No argument there. I'm sure you won't object if I fix a few things to
make myself feel more comfortable on the next few runs. I can have them
un-fixed when we get back, if it bothers you too much …" She smiled. She had
me, and she knew it. I knew it. She knew I knew she knew … Hmmmm. Maybe this
is why I never married. I'd be getting steered around by my ears and be
happy I was getting my way in a very backward kind of way.
I tried another tack that I knew was doomed as the thought hit my array,
but maldición del dios él, I had to try. "And just how do you expect me to
pay you back for all this? I'm not made of money, and my contracts have been
rather slim lately …"
"And I told you not to bring up money again. I will explain it this nice
and slow. I. Am. Filthy. Stinking. Rich. I do not need your money. My
allowance earns more per month than you can make on that thing in a year. I
could buy this ship three times over with the interest I earn alone. I own
everything I could ever want at the moment, and still have money to burn. I
do not even have to take the money CareGivers Company would pay me. I do. I
am not stupid. But I Do Not Need It."
She turned away and took a breath letting it out slowly. "Besides, I am
heavily invested in CGC. So if the company is doing well, so am I." She
looked back at me. I could see the fire in her eyes, the passion that she
was doin' what she loved because she loved it. You can't pay for that kind
of dedication.
* * *
The fire I saw in her eyes that day still smolders today, just as hot
today as it did the day we jumped an orbital up to Tripp. Tracey is not the
only young lady I have met that has that fire in her eyes. Nearly every
CareGiver is that passionate about their chosen vocation. I am honored and
privileged to know them, and ever more so to work with them on a regular
basis.
But again I am side tripping from the story.
* * *
Dear Diary, April, 5th, 2104
We did a hull inspection, part of the pre-flight checklist. Pits,
scrapes, a gouge or two in the outer armor plating. Nothing I would have
worried about, some of them had been there as long as I'd had the ship. We
were on the Buddy System, mag boots, safety lines, the whole nine yards.
Saved more than one spacers life, mine included, but that's another story.
Checked the running lights, visual inspection of the engines, door seals,
ETC ETC ETC. We were gonna have to work on the engines anyway, but I don't
take shortcuts unless a life depends on it. Taking risks like that more
often puts your life in jeopardy. Even checked to make sure the 5th
wheel had enough grease on it and enough in reserve.
Inside, we went over every system onboard, including the backup bridge,
repeating the entire bridge sequence from thing one to last item. Then
continued from there back, through the galley, weight room, and suite of
cabins, and into the shop areas behind the grav deck. This area has a
Duke/Brannick Box as well, but it's offline unless work is being done, same
as the bridge. We triple checked the airlocks, with suits on, and went back
in the battery compartment, water reclamation, and the finally the access
tube to the 5th wheel dorsal airlock.
That done, we hit the net. Me, the brokers, and Tracey on CGC-Net. We had
a bit of time till all the parts showed up. I was not looking forward to the
engine overhaul. That'd be 3 working days worth of work, and that is with a
minimum crew of 4. We were gonna do it with 2. Then there was scrubbing,
flushing, and hosing out the water reclamation system. Restocking the
stores, turning the sheets and fluffing the pillows ... you get the idea.
Let's just say another day didn't make the load options any better on my
brokers' site. The one or two I might have taken got nabbed ... and stuff I
wouldn't give a second look at was all that was left... ok, Time to cut
Mikey off and get a new broker.
I went to the galley to get a cup of coffee and found Tracey there ahead
of me. "Coffee pot needs cleaning too," she smirked. I harrumphed and
grabbed a cup ... ok, she was right ... don't rub it in.
"Any luck with the broker?" I flopped down in a chair and moaned a bit.
"That good, eh?"
"Nothing I'd let my dog fly ... if I had a dog that is."
"Good."
When she said that, I lowered my cup. "I beg your pardon?"
She smiled behind her cup. "I found a load on CGC-Net that will be
preloaded a few days from now. I signed you up for it. It's a pretty hot
ticket, but employees get first pick. And this one was right up your alley.
It's a few meters short on one container, but for what it is worth I think
you will do OK on it."
"Signed me up for, eh? And a couple meters short? Space is money in this
line of work. I'll have to find something to take up that space, make
another percentage. I might be able to get things fixed next time I'm in
dock!"
She took a sip and shook her head. "I already took care of that."
Exasperated I set my cup down and looked at her. "Ok, little lady ... out
with it. My shields are down and hull patch crews standing by. You can't
deflate my ego any more than it already is ... Spill 'em."
She chuckled. "I changed the work orders, added a few things, and picked
up the whole tab. Even got a call from my bank wondering if some one had
hacked my account or if I had picked up a new hobby ..."
"Hobby, huh?" I chimed in
"Shush, I'm not done yet. The repair crews will be here in the morning,
station time." Which is GMT if no one ever told you. "The gentleman from
Grumman was very nice. He's looking forward to working on the engines. He's
never had the privilege to work on M.O.P. D-47's. He is looking forward to
working on about the last remaining flightworthy D-47's. He's even knocking
off the cost of the upgrade, doing it for only the labor ... and that is not
counting his labor."
She smiled like she was looking forward to something that I shouldn't
even be thinking about at my age. "Natur-Aire Chile, will be here about
lunch time for a complete flush and fill. Oh, and I found out they also
support the water reclamation system too, so they will take care of that as
well."
I was going to sigh, but as I took the breath, she continued, so I let it
go with out the show ... "Batteries 3, 4, 12, and 37 need replacing as we
noted in the pre-flight. So I have the boys over in ISP maintenance coming
with replacements and tools."
"That's against Regs. You and they know that!"
She all but purred. "You do not have the right kind of voice to convince
men to do your bidding..." When she batted her eyelashes at me
suggestively,. it took a second for me to remember to breathe.
There is that "being lead around by my ears" thing again ... Why was I
getting used to it? Never mind ...
She chuckled again. "I also faxed the ship's registration info into CGC.
They are sub-contracting you until further notice. Better rates and better
cargo. You will need to stop by Yotori Station for your physical. it's due
anyway, you know, and then all will be ready."
"Yes Mother," I piped up in flippant response. It was sarcasm, but she
got this wide-eyed look and said something in what sounded like Japanese as
she bowed her head to the table.
"Huh? What'd I say? Better yet, what'd you say?"
"I said 'The honor is mine for your thoughtfulness. Thank you very much.'
I did not mean to offend you in using a language you are unfamiliar with,"
she said in a very solemn voice.
I began to realize CGC was a bit more than just a tech school. I pushed
my coffee cup aside and whipped out the best manners I had available to me.
"No offence was taken. It's my fault for implying such." I bowed, not quite
to the table, but it was definitely a bow. She smiled; as an awkward moment
passed in silence.
"So..." I broke the silence "How did I honor you exactly? I was trying to
be sarcastic."
"When you called me Mother. The head CareGiver on a ship is called the
Ship Mother. It is a rank that few obtain, and is a life's ambition of many
CareGivers to achieve."
Understanding broke upon my brow like a 2x4. I looked down and fumbled
with my coffee cup a second. "Well, I guess I understand now. I, uh … I need
a First Officer. I haven't had a competent first officer since Rubber Duck
died and Carlos left. Maybe you'd know a young lady that might fill the post
I have vacant ... ?"
She smiled, and bowed again. "I might indeed, if you would find her
worthy of such a position and honor."
"I would." I told her, returning the bow. We shared a smile. I didn't
want to ruin the moment, but, well ... I'm a guy, it comes naturally. "We'll
need to get you a sword befit a first officer of my flag ship ..." OK, that
sounded just as lame out loud as it did in my head ...
"Got one; wakizashi and tanto, actually. The katana is too long for the
tight confines on board ship, but I have one of those as well. They were
made in the 1600's. It is my honor to carry them as your first officer." She
bowed again, and I returned it.
If I did too much more bowing my back was gonna hate me in the morning.
That's when I remembered something not on the checklist. I told her to
follow me and led her to the armory. No, I won't tell you where it is.
"Handy place for it. Easy to get to. Shotguns, pistols, machetes, hand
axes. What is this ammo?" she asked taking inventory in a glance.
"That's scatter-gun shot for the pistols. Solid slug might penetrate the
hull, the scatter gun shot will shred a guy and put more holes in his suit
than he can patch. In vacuum that's pretty much all you need." I took the
pistol from my armpit, swung it open and showed her the empty cylinder I had
carried up from Terra.
"Thirty-eight caliber. These five shells right here go for it." I pointed
to five lined up in foam right up front. "And there are more in this box, if
it's needed. I hope I never have to use it, but..." I latched the cylinder
and holstered the .38 snub-nose under my armpit.
"Sure, there is nothing more useless than an unloaded handgun. In space
there are fewer things safer than an unloaded pistol. Ok, the scatter gun
loads help a lot. Personally I'd rather not chance it. If some one tries to
board me I think I'd see them coming. I got a military grade radar set,
salvaged and not on record, of course, and I can see a long way off or
really small things closer up. Either way ... it's good to know where this
is."
I secured the armory again.
* * *
Dear Diary, April, 8th, 2104
All of the work is done. For the last couple days I've had nothing better
to do than sit in the lounge out side my ship and watch as over a dozen or
so techs came and went for more than a couple of hours, then it was just the
engine crew. At least twice that I know of Tracey disappeared inside to talk
with the chief tech from Grumman ... I stood guard at the door. Just to make
sure they were not... Disturbed. Yeah, that's a good word to use.
That was also the time when the most disturbing thing happened. 20 goons
in armor with combat shotguns and drum mags showed up at my airlock. The
smallest of them could have been a linebacker, Easy. Tracey fielded this one
too. Only I noted with a bit of pride that her charms had little to no
effect on him. Yay, for my gender striking back. He got his way, and took 12
men inside my ship, while the rest stood guard outside the airlock.
When they came back out he sent a short comm message. All I heard was
static. Then 50 more showed up marching in step. They parted like the Red
Sea and up came a bean counter if I ever laid eyes on one before. He was
pushing a sort of cart. And there where 3 more behind him also being pushed
by bean counters and a security guy carrying tools. An hour later they were
back out of my ship and most of the goons departed. 10 stayed behind to
guard the chief bean-counter. I invited him in, he accepted ... two of the
goons followed him like a 150 kilo shadows, and closed the lock behind him
shutting us inside.
"I am Percival Steinberg, Captain. Your First officer here graciously
offered your services to my employers." He did not offer his hand.
"Happy to be of service, Mr. Steinberg. I hope your employers are as
pleased with their service as I am with my First Officer." I gave a bit of
an eye to Tracey, but turned quickly back to the bean counter, who gave a
forced smile. Protocol demanded it of him or I don't think he could have
managed.
"Yes. I am sure they will. Now. Let me show you what was done and get you
to sign for it." He led us back to one of the cabins. Ok, this burns my
biscuit. Being led by a bean-counter around My Own Ship. I clenched my fists
when I could and clenched my jaw so as to keep from biting my tongue,
literally.
There in the middle of the floor were the carts. Bolted and wielded to
the floor. I almost lost it. I was drawing in a breath to let loose with a
tirade that would have made mama proud, when Tracey pushed me out of her way
and started inspecting the wields and padlocks.
"All seems to be in order here Mr. Steinberg. Are you satisfied with the
installation, Sir?" I guess I missed that this was directed at me.
"Yes. I double checked it several times during the installation. It will
do." He turned to me while his shadows stood out side the door, blocking it
quite a lot. The bean counter presented a clipboard he seemed to have drawn
out of thin air and a silver pen. "If all is suitable, Captain, please sign
on the dotted line." I looked at him, the clipboard, then him again and
decided it'd be far more trouble to undo all this than to swallow more pride
and sign. Hell, I threw in the towel completely and managed a smile too. I
signed and presented the clipboard back to him. He flipped a couple pages
and pulled the quadruplicates out of the original and handed them back to
me.
"The green copy is for your manifest. The orange is the client's copy.
The blue is to be returned to me upon return to Earth space for future
reference, and the Yellow is for ISP when they demand a copy ... which they
probably won't, but will have a fit if you don't have it. So, all seems to
be in order here. This door will be locked by my security chief, and is not
to be opened until you arrive at New Atlanta on Mars. My company's
representative will have the keys and everything needed to remove the cases.
You will, of course, not mention that any of this happened to anyone between
now, when you leave Mars space, and return this paper to my office. You are
bound by contract to exactly that. Any questions?"
Again Tracey got there first. "No, Mr. Steinberg, no questions." He
actually managed almost a real smile.
How does she do it? First me, then the Grumman rep, now the bean counter
... Never mind, I don't wanna know.
"Good. My lady, if you would be as so kind as to show me the door?" I'm
almost flapping now, unnoticed of course. Tracey smiled. He offered his arm.
What in the Heavens is going to happen next? She took his arm and they left
the room. After about 3 seconds my feet caught the message my brain had been
sending and caught up with them. The two security guys stayed behind for a
moment to lock the door. In the lounge the bean counter took her hand in
his, bid her a good eve, then left with the 9 goons in close tow.
I looked at the paperwork in hand, and finally bothered to read it ... My
eyes bugged out. I looked at Tracey, she pointed at the ship and in we went.
With the hatch secure again I blurted it out finally.
"Bearer Bonds? Where en infierno did you get a load of bearer bonds to
buy spacer currency?" I asked. She looked at me archly and chuckled
"I told you I'd find you something to fill that extra couple of meters in
the cargo that you were lacking. Besides, the rest of it, while not horridly
expensive, it is still a good load. And this just fills in the crannies ..."
"And more than triples my take this run, which you forgot to mention ..."
Again she flashed her pearly whites "There is that. On top of the other
cargo, too." We exchanged a look. I lost. Ok, maybe lost is too harsh a
word. Just with what I have welded to the deck I'd make more in one trip
than in the last 4 trips out, easy. Add in the cargo we had yet to maneuver
to go get, and an almost complete overhaul of everything that's been wrong
for the last 10 years.
Oh yes. More work than I was told about was done. I was not always
outside the door, and I didn't see what all was going on outside. I was
"reading" and watching who all came and went from my ship. Anyway the load
waiting on us was worth three times any of my last 4 loads combined. This
was gonna be a Good Run.
(continued)
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