Consul thought Most Cops Are Bastards. Maybe that was a relic from teenage years, when a poor Brazilian from the slums was likely to draw their attention, even if he dressed up to go to the clubs, hoping that another hot rich chick into slumming would consent to go back with him, if not to his shabby little place, still shared with his mom, then the more respectable apartment his richer friend had lent him the keys to.

He did mollify a little when they started cheering every time they saw him carry a paralyzed mugger or car thief over, yeah, that hadn't been so bad.

The Class 5 Teleporter had been surprised when Consul had arrived at her station, impatiently rapping on the windows and then tapping his feet on nothing but the void while the woman rapidly suited up. An unusual call, in her eyes, since she knew that Console was usually capable of making his own way about in interplanetary space, even if interstellar was pushing it.

The jumps had been long, if not rapid, still faster than Consul could go unless he'd been accelerating to a sizeable fraction of c for a while. While he could do 200 gees, it was exhausting, and for sustained flight he defaulted to a much lower number, still respectable for a Terragen Warship.

Consul still found himself immensely bored; at least when he was flying himself, he had the job of astral navigation to occupy him, constantly orienting himself by the distant glow of Jupiter, that little dot there Venus. Sometimes, he brought navigation aids, but they often failed when he ran into the minuscule amount of debris that lurked between worlds.

Right now, he had nothing but time, since the contrite teleporter told him that it would take about an hour or two to make it to Mars. Disappointing, as far as he was concerned. They gave him Class 5s as the bare minimum in AC, usually a 6 if they could spare one. He wasn't particularly aware of how much demand there was on their time and attention, the woman carrying him was paid millions a day for the job of sitting around watching soap operas until she was needed. But then again, the people who had hired him had paid more than a trillion, it was annoying that he was being wasted for a good part of the slot, billions per minute.

There really wasn't all that much to see. His vision was no good at spotting something as tiny as a station, unless they had him beamriding on a laser, or perhaps with more navigational markers. It was mildly entertaining to watch the more obvious signs of human activity, such as the distant yet bright glow of amat engines, or the odd cylindrical O'Neill that advertised itself with blazing lights.

Mars had been weird, he noted, whenever he had time to observe it getting steadily closer as the tired Teleporter told him she needed a break. Cute woman, even if he still preferred blondes. It still gave him a small boner when she held him close to make the jumps easier, not that he was particularly capable of copping a feel through her bulky, micrometeor hardened suit. Anyway, he'd seen some very bright flashes around Mars, initially dismissing them as his own imagination, but then the woman had concurred, and now, just a little further away, he'd seen them outshine the sun for aching moments, though it seemed quiet now.

"Sir, is this close enough? Or do you want me to keep jumping despite me getting slower?" She asked him deferentially, her voice muffled in the bone-conduction headset she'd leant him. He couldn't really hear her otherwise, and his new employees hadn't had the time to hand him something that would accommodate what he perceived as a disability almost as bad as the now extinct deafness or blindness.

"You're sure I can get there faster than you can? Or are you just being lazy?" He demanded, but he was already stretching himself, ready to go full tilt for a little bit.

"Yes sir, there's something wrong, we're this far away but my jumps are getting a lot weaker. I'd say it was a Reality Anchor, but I've never heard of one this strong." She explained, looking at the planet which had gone from the merest hint of red to something a little more obvious.

"Bullshit. I don't feel it at all, and I know what they're like because- never mind." He didn't want to explain the many procedures he'd had done on him with the device set to max performance, not that it had ever worked. At most, it made things uncomfortable. "Would a billion change your mind?" He told her. It was chump change, and while he'd get paid the same regardless of whether he arrived in time or not, he prided himself on his work ethic. He was sure he'd have made it out of the slums on his own back, even if it took another decade of slogging.

"I mean it sir. I don't dare take the money and still get you there late. May I ask who's employing us today, assuming it's the same people?" She queried contritely.

"If they don't want you to know, then you're not supposed to know. Anyway, tell my staff I told you 'October India Lima Lima', and they'll give you a billion regardless. Nobody can say I don't tip for good service." He magnanimously waved.

"I'm honored. I hope I was of service." She bowed, with difficulty in the clunky suit, but he waved her away again and she vanished without a sign of her existence.

Right. He cracked his neck, shaking off the gradual sense of weariness he felt in his bones these days. He was only forty or so right? Did people get old so fast in those days? His grandma certainly complained a lot when climbing the stairs, even if it was a ploy for getting her muscular and handsome grandson she was so proud of to carry her up the rest of the way.

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He missed her too. He didn't believe in SAMSARA as a Deity, and some Penitents worshipped him too. Odd people, he found such unreserved adulation a little unnerving, he didn't feel like a god, not these days. They weren't supposed to slow down and die eventually were they?

No matter. He's on the clock.

He accelerated hard, trying to prove to himself he hasn't really slowed down, that it was all in his head. And in this, he succeeded, Mars getting just a little blue-er, though when nobody was looking, he gave up on the Superman pose and just laid sideways so his neck wouldn't hurt from looking 'up'.

Wait. That flash of light. It was familiar. Ah, wasn't that the signal someone told him they'd designed to catch his attention? That specific pulsation of light?

No time for that, he had to get to where he was going.

The pulses got more insistent, brighter, to the point of being distracting. Too close to Mars, or else he'd just close his eyes.

If most cops are bastards, Space Cops are doubly so, he told himself, chuckling, the sound weird without air in his lungs.

Then they served him a ticket, in the form of a railgun sabot that must have had excellent targeting or some terminal guidance, because it hit him right in the chest.

What the fuck? Did people not have any respect these days?

He slowed down, unable to stop outright, and looked for what had mildly annoyed him.

There, that was it. A drone. A big one, about the size of the Boeing 747s he'd seen landing before, dreaming he could afford the ticket. He'd bought three, they had been cheap after they become obsolete.

Lasers flashed in his eyes, trying to convey some message, but he blinked in annoyance, he kept forgetting Morse code, and right now, it wasn't the three dots, three dashes and another three dots that told him someone was asking for help.

The drone boosted closer, far too slow for his taste, so he approached it himself, feeling the flashing get frantic, as if he cared.

Now close enough to see properly. Fuck, those flashes had been really bright, the headset had melted. He pried it off in annoyance, uncaring of the molten plastic and metal trying to stick to his hands.

The makeup was still intact, that's all that mattered.

The drone stopped before him, their relative velocity canceled out. It seemed uncertain, not that he could read the body language of a spaceship.

It didn't have the color changing paint, nor any external displays. Maybe it didn't expect to ever be seen by human eyes?

After pondering each other for a moment, the drone sprayed the void with a cloud of minuscule droplets, and then shone its lasers on it, spelling out blurry text.

ACCESS FORBIDDEN

INTERDICTION ZONE

WARNING SHOTS FIRED

LOW INTENSITY SHOTS FIRED

YOU ARE COOPERATING

WE WILL NOT FIRE IF YOU CONTINUE

Fuck, this was awkward. Could it read lips?

I LACK THE SOFTWARE TO UNDERSTAND

AND YOU ARE WEARING A MASK

Mask off then.

NO

DO YOU KNOW SIGN LANGUAGE?

He didn't, he'd gotten bored of the lessons, and the weird gestures seemed ungainly. Even his teacher had been rusty, she hadn't needed to use it outside museums for years.

He gestured at Mars, and then waved goodbye to the drone.

CONSUL

PLEASE DO NOT PROCEED

I WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO STOP YOU

Yeah, its unchanging paint had been a fetching shade of blue. Almost police blue, without the yellow he remembered from the patrol units in Brazil. It annoyed him, brought back bad memories.

He moved, just a little bit.

ALERT

FINAL WARNING

DO NOT PROCEED

UN+TURING EMBARGO

He laughed soundlessly. Sure, he usually followed the rules, but some glorified CCTV camera wanted to stop him?

He turned his back on it, and accelerated again, a little slower, since he had to keep Mars fixed and avoid gaining too much lateral velocity. He didn't want to hit it if he could avoid it, that always made the paparazzi post headlines that were uncomfortably close to the truth. "Is Consul suffering from dementia?" Had that been it, the one time he'd ploughed into Europa? He'd told them it was intentional right? The submarine was sinking and he had no time to be gentle. Filho da puta.

The next railgun impact knocked him sideways, and the lasers were so bright that his suit was burning up. Motherfucker, that was a good suit, one of the first he'd bought when he had real money.

Anyway. The drone was now dead, knocked into an orbit where it could hassle ghosts instead of people who had places to be. Things to do.

Maybe the ghost of his dad would be proud if he saw his boy working so damn hard eh?

Oh shit, the makeup was damaged, he shouldn't have turned to face it.

Consul approached his destination with confidence, even if he started to suspect the woman hadn't been lying about a very strong interdiction field. Or may he really was getting slower as he got old.