“Are we there yet?”
Gareth smiled. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Saw it in a story once- It was something children said to annoy their parents on a long trip back on Old Earth.”
“It’s working.”
“Did I annoy you?”
“No more than usual. And, no, we are not ‘there’ yet, but according to the itinerary, we should come out of warp in a few minutes. And then, we’ll be ‘there.’
Dallas looked out the window at the black outside, and wrinkled his face up a bit. “Space is boring, Gareth,” he said. “When’s the exciting part happen?”
“You’re twenty, Dallas. You’ve not yet learned to appreciate just how happy life can be because of the ‘boring’ parts. Much of life, in fact, is satisfying only because of the boring parts. Waking up, doing your job, taking children to an event, cleaning your little house; these things are boring when you are young, but they become the thing you crave when you are older. Or when life is too exciting for too long. You begin to look forward to having a dull evening, where nothing at all is scheduled and no one depends upon you or expects the least from you.”
“That’s never going to happen to me!” Dallas said, looking out at the stars sliding like little white streaks through the foot-thick glass.
Gareth smiled again and looked at his wrist. “Chrono says we’re due to drop out of warp in about a minute. Then you’ll see your first space station.”
“Is it like New Avalon, but in space?”
“Not really. One out on the border of the core worlds’ll only be twice the size and population of New Avalon.”
“Twice?”
“Yes. And that’s a smaller station. Remember: what you thought was big before? That was only compared to what you saw before. Your definition of ‘big’ is going to be significantly widened from now on. Here- do you recall how big Galatine looked when you first saw it?”
“Like it was something out of a dream. Maybe a nightmare. I remember thinking about how happy I was that it was on our side, and how terrified I’d be if that thing came after us for any reason.”
“Well, yeah. You may not wanna hear this, but the Galatine isn’t all that special in the big scheme of the galaxy.”
Dallas paused. “What?”
“You heard me. Where we’re going? A piece of work the size of Galatine is just over mid-size as far as mechs go out here. There’re a lot smaller- some as little as ten tons. But the really big monsters? There are ones a hundred tons or even a little bit more.”
“A hundred? How can they make a chassis big enough to hold that kind of weight? How does it move in anything like regular gravity? The physics…”
“Yes, and the power, the resources they need to run one of those, Dallas, are insane by our standards. The good news for us? The Galatine has some seriously competitive hardware strapped to its chassis, so it can stand in the same room with a lot of these shinier models and not get pushed around. If it’s honor we’re looking for, we’ll find it if we knock on the right doors and don’t get mixed up with the wrong crowd of mercenaries.”
“Mercenaries? We’re going to fight for pay?”
“Unless you want to mow lawns and trim hedges, yes. What else did you think you were going to do out here?”
“Invest my trust fund. By an estate and set up the Galatine by it, the way it was back home. I only thought I’d take it out to fight if someone threatened our…I mean, my place.”
“Yeah. You thought wrong, kid.”
There was a tap at the door. Having been warned by Gareth about ‘accidents’ that sometimes befell travelers in their position, Dallas grabbed the hilt of his sword, his eyes focused on the side of the door that would open first. Gareth’s left hand went to his pistol on the small nightstand, and his mechanical right hand flexed underneath its glove.
“Who is it?” Gareth said gruffly, the paternal kindness he’d expressed to Dallas up to this point completely gone.
“Jes’ lettin’ you know, sah,” said the voice on the other end, “we’re gonna dock enny minute. Cap’n wants ta see you te go over some t’ings.”
“Tell ‘im we’ll be up soon. And no funny business from anyone, or there’s gonna be trouble for ‘em.”
“Yessah.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Gareth counted ten steps as the sailor walked away and looked at Dallas. “We’re not out’ve the woods yet. Hansel and Gretel might get eaten by witch still if we’re not very, very careful.”
“I thought you said they wouldn’t do anything to us? Bad for business an’ all that.”
“Like I told you; sometimes on these trips, ‘accidents’ happen to passengers. I don’t know exactly what these guys are like, but I’ve got to assume the worst until we’re on the station and we can count on at least a semblance of law and order.”
“How much longer, then?”
“When this boat docks, then we wait another little while until they offload the Galatine into the station bays. They won’t try to steal it unless the captain’s a total fool; stealing a passenger’s mech is the surest way to get on every blacklist in the galaxy. But, no one ever got rich betting on the intelligence of a ne’er do well bunch like these boys are turning out to be.”
“Why do they all speak funny? And each one in a different way?”
“It’s called an accent Dallas. You’ve been raised your whole life in the same place, so you don’t even notice yours and everyone else’s seems odd. Then, and only then can you effectively-”
A heavy thud interrupted him, followed by two more smaller thuds that shook the ship. Less than another minute passed before there was another knock at the door.
“We here, boyz,” said a different voice, “Cap’n iz onda bridge, wait’n for yous.”
“Tell ‘im we’ll be there soon,” Gareth said.
“Right.” Ten steps, Gareth spoke again. “Okay, listen up. While we’re on this boat, there’s still things that can happen to us if we’re not careful. And you are going to be very, very careful, understand?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Now, here’s how this has to go if we want to be sure of getting off of here with all our body parts intact…”
#
In five minutes, they were at the door to the bridge.
It slid open, and Dallas had to stifle both a surprised look and a gagging sensation.
Dallas was more than a little surprised, but kept his face still as he could. His world growing up had been one of noble gatherings, clean-shaven men and elegant women. Mother had read him stories at night and father had checked in with him several time a week. The dwelling was always clean, and the few times he’d accompanied his father onto the bridge of a vessel the captain had always worn a trim white uniform, with clean-shaven sailors at stations who were in uniforms of similar crispness and knife-edge ironings on sleeves and pantlegs, highly-polished shoes and straight backs, forward-facing eyes and words uttered with a snap and yes sir!
What met his eyes when he entered the bridge was as close to a diametric opposite to all he’d seen.
Men dressed in casual, sometimes tattered outfits turned slowly to face him, with all the interest of a sleepy dog watching a cow stride by. Holes poked through the knees of pantlegs, unshaven jaws and neckbeards competed with scraggly hair, shirts of all different shapes, sizes and apparent ages, hands that were dirty, sometimes crusty with who-knew-what and Dallas didn’t want to know.
And the captain.
The captain swiveled in his chair, which squealed and yawed like an injured cat when it pivoted on its joint. He was overweight, unshaven, and his smell reminded Dallas of the several occasions he’d taken too long to do his laundry when he was younger.
“Well, Mister Dallas Morgan! It’s an honor and a pleasure to finally meet you, sir! Up ‘til now, it’d only been you and my communications officer chatting with each other.”
“Yes, thank you, Captain,” Dallas said. He’d been trained for this; the protocol officer had always taught him to be quiet, stone-faced and respectable when facing someone of rank in the midst of their underlings.
Gareth, however, didn’t seem to have taken the same class. “What’s the problem?” he snapped as soon as the lsat sound had left Dallas’ lips. “We’re ready to get off your boat, now.”
“Of course, of course,” the captain said in a very oily voice. “Makes perfect, perfect sense. Look, guys, er, gentlemen, there’s just been a little-ah- development since you boarded the ship that we need to clear up.”
Dallas was about to speak when Gareth cut him off again. “Well, develop it and then open your doors so we can get off. Assuming we’re not in the middle of space, still.”
“Oh, absolutely, sir. Here’s the, ah, development I was talking about. Rads?” he said with affected and exaggerated deference and respect, “would you please post the new development on screen?”
“Yes sir,” one of the crewmen said, disdain dripping from his voice as he tapped several places on his station without looking at his captain.
On the main screen, a blue field emerged, followed by a headshot of Dallas on the right side. LInes of white text appeared next to his head, written in simple Common text that most in the core or rim worlds would have been able to understand:
WANTED:
DALLAS MORGAN
ACCUSED:
THEFT, PROPERTY [BATTLEMECH]
REWARD:
10,000 TDs OR 50,000 CUs
FOR HIS RETURN TO NEW AVALON,
ALIVE AND UNDAMAGED
EQUAL REWARD GIVEN FOR RETURN OF BATTLEMECH GALATINE, LAST SEEN IN POSSESSION OF THIS SUSPECT.
“...that is the new development, Dallas Morgan,” said the captain. “A reward’s been issued for you that’s just shy of twice what you paid for passage, and another reward just as big for your mech.”
“You can’t do that, though,” Dallas said, looking at Gareth. “We have a contract!”
“And I delivered,” said the captain, his feigned niceties suddenly gone as he leaned towards them from his chair. “But now it looks like I’m going to finally get the kind of payday that I’ve been waiting to get for a long, long time. One that’ll get me out’ve debt and make me…and my crew, quite wealthy!”
The crew looked at the captain with disdainful looks on their faces, as if similar promises had been made before.
“Why are you telling me this, then?” Dallas said. “Why not just keep us locked in the room while you call the gendarmes?”
“Simple,” Gareth said, “he wants to see if you can bribe him with your own funds to let you go.”
“What?”
------
TO BE CONTINUED....