Status Quo Page 3

  Red nodded. They were heading down towards the south-west, towards Galcop central. There were lots of reasons. Reet was worried about the Thargoids, having no confidence in the repeated Galcop denials that outlying systems were in no danger. He said he could smell them coming. Economically, pickings had been thin in the Pulsar Worlds, and the systems were richer in the South. Right now they were barely making ends meet. The Boa’s maintenance service was already overdue. They didn’t need a witchspace misjump to add to their troubles.

  It would take them a few months to get there, but barring any unforeseen issues they should be okay. Rebecca had already plotted a complete route via the Corporates and Democracies; there was no sense in taking any unnecessary risks.

  'One for the road then!' Jenner cried, signalling to the barman to float down to him. Jenner was very similar to his sister, Jante. A significant beverage gut was developing. He’d nicknamed it his ‘passenger airbag’.

  'You don’t need anymore with that gut.' Jante teased.

  'This?' Jenner stretched impressively, his tunic straining to contain him, 'This is the awning over the toy shop, darling.'

  'Gross.'

  'No time for this; we’ve got to go.' Red said, irritated. 'Where’s Rebecca, by the way?'

  There was no sense in interrogating them as to where Coran was: nobody knew, nobody would know, and nobody asked. He always appeared thirty seconds before departure, accurate to the millisecond. Weird guy. Rebecca, on the other hand, was not quite so reliable.

  'Haven’t seen her, I think she was down in the docking bay.'

  'Yeah,' Jante added, rolling her eyes, 'she was hanging out with the boy racers again.'

  Red sighed. 'Wonderful. You lot get back to the ship immediately. I’ll get her.'

  'Prak off!'

  The lad was all attitude and spiky hair. He was with his mates, leaning nonchalantly against his bright orange racer. It was a classic boy racer vehicle, one of the new Hatchling VTS models, and customised at some expense. Plasma blue running lights, flared gun housing, custom chrome arch work over the engine exhausts. It was lowered on its undercarriage to such an extent that the nose of the ship actually touched the ground. That counted for a lot with boy racers apparently. Nobody outside their particular sphere of influence understood why. For the cost of the modifications he could have bought a decent ship, like a Mk3 Cobra.

  Rebecca told him so.

  'It’s fragging stupid!' Rebecca didn’t bat an eyelid.

  'Yeah? You think you know better? Cobras are pish, this is where it’s at.'

  'All you’ve got is a fuel injector with a paint job. No grace, no style, and the handling is just totally smirched by all that chrome hanging out the back. You guys just don’t get balance, do you?'

  She was stirring and she knew it, but it was fun to wind these rich kids up. They thought they were so tough, but it was all talk and no trousers.

  'So, what you got then?'

  'My ride is a Sidewinder. But I’m saving for a Mamba.'

  The lads laughed at her, Spiky in particular.

  'A Sidewinder? What, your grandsire give you that, did he? What does it run on? Fusion power?'

  The lads behind Spiky laughed. One of them whispered in his ear. He laughed.

  'Yeah man, I reckon so.'

  Rebecca eyed them aggressively. 'What’s the joke?'

  'Serge here wants to show you his Sidewinder.'

  Rebecca looked around the hanger area; there were only three of the orange Hatchling ships present, 'Where?'

  The lads were jostling each other now, laughing.

  'Anywhere, honey girl, but here is right fine,' said the one she identified as Serge. He thrust out his hips and wiggled them suggestively.

  'Very funny,' she gave him a disdainful look, 'I bet you’ve only got a worm down there.'

  The other lads thought this was funny, but Serge didn’t. He glared at her, trying to intimidate her. 'No one frags my rep,' he growled.

  She glared back, 'Yeah?'

  '…What you staring at?'

  She raised an eyebrow and pouted, 'Nothing much.'

  Serge pushed forward, 'You want to back that up with something more than words, trader pish?'

  The lads clustered round her, chanting. 'Fight! Fight! Fight!'

  'I’ll race you,' she said.

  'When?'

  Rebecca looked at her interval timer. 'Thirty minutes.'

  Serge laughed, 'What, in your Sidewinder? Give me a cram!'

  'No, in my Krait.'

  'Krait?' Serge laughed even louder. 'I’ll dust your ass, trader girl.'

  'Try me.'

  The chant had changed to, 'Race! Race! Race!'

  'Hyperspace marker and back,' Serge said, staring directly into her face.

  She shrugged. 'Yeah, s’pose. If you don’t want a real challenge.'

  'What?' Serge’s face was mask of confusion.

  'Any son of a Goid can do a sprint. I’m talking real flying, with turns.'

  'Yeah? Doing what?'

  Rebecca picked a name out of the air. 'Any of you ever done the Kessel run?'

  'Kessel run? What the parsec is that?'

  'Undock, sprint to the marker, through the ad-boards, thread all four station struts at ten metres. No injectors.'

  'Ten metres?' Serge looked a lot less comfortable now. He had reason to be. The station was a dangerous thing to fly close to. It was a pair of huge wheels over five miles in diameter, linked by four struts to a central hub. Each strut rotated around the hub faster than many ships could manoeuvre, particularly near the outside edge. The station, along with its astronomical mass, was protected by enormously powerful shields. An impact would be fatal.

  'Go outside that and you lose automatically, checked with range finders.' She paused, and then said sweetly, 'Of course, if you want to forfeit, I’ll understand.'

  The lads were silent, looking at Serge. Spiky nudged him. Rebecca was only a little over five feet tall and as slim as they came. Serge towered over her. He felt unsure of himself. She simply wasn’t being intimidated. Nobody had ever faced up to him like this before, particularly not some little trader girl. What was her game?

  'No way!' Serge spluttered. 'Race on, girl! What’s the stakes? I got one thou says you lose.'

  Rebecca shook her head. 'I don’t have that kind of cash.'

  Serge paused and then sneered. 'No prob. If I win, you get introduced to my personal Sidewinder.'

  The lads laughed uproariously.

  Cheaper than a thousand credits! But I never lose!

  'One thing,' interrupted Rebecca.

  'What?'

  'I need a small favour…'

  Red found Rebecca leaving the hangar bay. He could see a group of obnoxious boy racers hanging around on the lower level. What a nuisance, rich kids with nothing better to spend their money on than harassing decent folk. He wished Galcop would take them seriously and penalise them. There was so much worthy stuff they could do rather than wasting their lives on this stupid trash.

  'Are we ready to leave?' Rebecca asked sweetly.

  'We are,' Red acknowledged.

  'My turn in the Krait, I believe.'

  'Just until we get to the next system, then your hours are up.'

  'That’s fine.'

  They walked back towards the opposite hangar where the larger ships were housed. The Eclipse was moored there with its escort fighters, alongside a number of other large vessels. Red looked at his sister. She was shorter than him, with delicate, attractive but not particularly remarkable features. She easily got lost in a crowd. Her mousey brown hair cut in a simple medium-length style and matching eyes allowed her to blend in anywhere. She dressed casually, looking for the most part like a normal deckhand. Red knew when she tried she could look quite alluring, but she hardly ever bothered. Most of the time she liked to be able to up and go without any fuss. ‘All go and no show’ was her own summation of herself.

  She also looked like Weeviloid relish
wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but he knew she was as tough as a Mk2 Wolf. She had a sparkle in her eye, one that he was familiar with. It had gotten him into a lot of trouble as a kid. She’d always been a schemer, and he’d always copped the blame.

  She was also biting her lower lip, a clear give-away she was thinking about something.

  Red stopped walking. There was no alternative with Rebecca but to confront her head on.

  'Stop right there, sis. What are you up to?'

  'What?'

  'Don’t play innocent with me, I know that look.'

  'I swear I’m not up to anything.'

  'You listen to me,' Red said severely, grabbing her arm. 'No messing, no games. We fly straight and true. No spins. You know our situation. We can’t afford any extra problems.'

  'Ease up, bro! You don’t need to worry about me,' Rebecca snapped, pulled away and walking off in a huff.

  It had been like this in the last few months. They were no longer as close as they had been. Rebecca used to confide in him, now she was insular, detached from the family. She clearly had plans that didn't involve them. He too felt the urge to break away from the families routine drudge around space, but he knew his father needed him. Rebecca knew this too, but clearly didn't care.

  She's grown up now. She's not just my little sister. She's a woman, and she's going to do her own thing. We have to be ready for that…

  'I know that,' Red said to himself, 'it’s the rest of us I’m worried about.'

  Reet watched them entering the hangar where their ships were housed. Two minutes ’til the docking slot. Lance and Jenner were having one of their interminable arguments.

  'I tell you man, the Mk1 Cobra is a design classic.' Lance was always going on about Cobras, the man was one-subject encyclopaedia. 'First multi-purpose design, first compact hyperdrive, first injector fitment. It’s a piece of history. We should preserve them, there aren’t as many left flying as people think!'

  'Maybe it was good once,' Jenner generously admitted, 'but it’s trash now. It’s totally outclassed by, well, everything.'

  'You’re missing the point, they don’t make ships like that any more —'

  'Thank prak.'

  Jante came into the hangar behind them, rolling her eyes.

  Reet grinned at her, 'Have they got to the fistfight yet?'

  'Give ’em twenty. They’re just warming up.' Jante jogged over to one of the nearby Sidewinders.

  Rebecca and Red came in together, Rebecca heading directly for the Krait.

  'All set?' Reet called to Red as he jumped aboard the Eclipse.

  'I think so,' Red replied reservedly.

  'What’s up?'

  Red shrugged, looking around. 'Don’t know. Keep an eye on Rebecca: she’s up to something.'

  'What else is new.'

  Reet looked at his interval timer. Forty seconds. He counted down to thirty.

  Coran walked into the hangar and headed for his Cobra Mk1.

  Reet shook his head. 'Spooky.'

  He punched the airlock seal control, the big hatchway closed up and locked in place. The Boa was ready to leave.

  The Eclipse launched first, followed by the Cobra Mk1, the two Sidewinders and finally the Krait. Behind them Reet saw a small formation of Worm landing craft lazily heading towards the planet. A formation of the Tianve Liners were queued up in the distance. Passengers would be boarding the opulent ships, anticipating a pleasurable and excessively victualled trip to the distant pulsar. Reet could see it eerily spinning in the distance.

  Really must go and see it some day.

  The Boa slowly cruised past the enormous floating ad-boards that marked the approach lane to the huge station. Reet flicked on the rear viewer and watched the enormous Tori station rotating slowly behind them. It really was a beast, far bigger than the more familiar Coriolis or Dodecahedron stations of yesteryear.

  Reet waited until they were all clear of the station. He angled the ship away from the witchspace marker and increased the engines. It wasn’t like the old days, thank prak. Time was when you had to drive all the way back out to the in-system witchspace marker, halfway out in deep space, before you could witchspace! Nowadays you only had to drive in after your witchspace entry. Maybe one day they would crack how to witchspace directly into station space. That would stuff the pirates and save a hell of a lot of time. Today they only had to clear the immediate range of the station before they could trigger the jump.

  'Fleet form up,' Red said into the narrowband, looking at the astrogation console. He was mildly surprised to see that Rebecca was behaving herself. She’d lined up in formation immediately and was keeping station. Normally she mucked about on the way to the jump point. Red counted five ships. He’d only expected four. He quickly targeted the ident computer.

  'What is it?' Reet asked.

  Red frowned at the readout. 'One of those boy racers. Look at that ship.'

  There was an orange Hatchling racer rolling about behind their neat formation, looping and twisting.

  'Just ignore him; he’ll go away if we don’t react.'

  The comlink buzzed on wideband. 'Hey! Krait girl! Why don’t you get yourself a decent ship rather than that old piece of trash?'

  Rebecca, rather uncharacteristically, didn’t react. She maintained comm silence, exactly as she should. Red looked at his father in surprise.

  'You sure that’s Rebecca flying your ship?' Reet said sardonically.

  'Why don’t we do a few rounds, Krait girl, or are you syntho pish? I hear you took down a PCC, why don’t you prove it?'

  The boy racer ship came out of its loop. Then it fired on Rebecca’s Krait. Reet saw it buck and shudder, the shields flaring red, repelling the blasts.

  'Dad, he’s firing on me! Permission to break formation!' Rebecca’s alarmed voice came over the link on tight band.

  'What the frag?' Reet exclaimed. 'Red! Get on the comm to the station! Rebecca’s in trouble!'

  Red keyed the comlink again, 'Tianve orbital approach control, this is Boa class freighter Eclipse. We have a Hatchling firing on our escort! Galcop response required!'

  Red saw the Hatchling firing again. Still Rebecca did not react. She was showing amazing restraint. The last time somebody had done that to her she’d shot them up before he’d made the call. Perhaps she was finally growing up after all.

  There was a pause on the comm and then a slightly slurred voice responded, 'Sorry Eclipse, no Galcop ships currently available. Suggest dumping cargo.'

  'Prak you!' Reet shouted. 'Fragging useless, as always! What do I pay my frakkin' taxes for!'

  It was a convenient fiction that there were Galcop Vipers poised ready to launch from every orbital station at the first sign of trouble. Truth was, more than half of the stations in Galcop had no police force at all due to inter-regional cost cutting and consolidation of the different police forces. Every year there seemed to be fewer police and higher taxes, regardless of what they did. Unless it was just about giving the top chiefs big payoffs to go and retire planetside. That seemed much more likely to Reet. Nice work if you could get it.

  Tianve usually had one or two Vipers about; apparently not today. Probably eating doughnuts.

  The Hatchling twisted and fired again.

  'Dad, my rear shields are fragged!' Rebecca called. 'Give me clearance!'

  Reet looked at Red, who shrugged, gesturing with open hands.

  'Break off and lose him.' Reet instructed, knowing she could cope with a boy racer easily enough. 'No missiles, and don’t kill him. We’ll get witchspace clearance. Disengage and run at thirty seconds; we’ll keep you posted.'

  'Copy that.'

  Reet and Red watched as the Krait performed a loop and headed away from the fleet, the Hatchling in close pursuit, both at full throttle.

  Red frowned, the Hatchling was no longer firing, despite having a clear shot. Maybe he’d overheated his laser.

  'Copy that.' She flicked the wideband comlink to receive only and grinned. '
Race on!'

  Rebecca immediately pulled the Krait into a tight turn and pushed the throttle to the stops. Then she triggered her own astrogation setting programs, the ones she kept secret from Red. The ones that she’d paid Lance to keep quiet about when he’d found them in the Krait’s computer, the ones that increased the resolution of the scanner and pushed the engines into overburn.

  The Krait’s top speed was officially point-three lem, so not quite so quick as the Hatchling. With her tweaks the speed advantage was minimal, though it would mean they needed to replace the flux inverters a bit ahead of schedule: the overburn tended to coke them up good and proper. Red had never figured out what caused it. Rebecca had always played along with innocent bafflement.

  It was a neat set of programs, she affectionately called them ‘Peek’ and ‘Poke’. With the speed equal, it all came down to the flying. That was how she liked it.

  'On your ass, trader girl.' Serge’s voice came over the narrowband.

  'So impress me,' she snapped back, dropping the throttle slightly as she neared the hyperspace range marker, ten kilometres from the station entrance. Serge shot past her, close enough that she could see him grinning from inside his cockpit. The Krait rocked in the Hatchling’s engine flux wake.

  'Witchspace approved,' her father’s voice came over wideband,'Witchout in two minutes.'

  Serge had entered the corner too fast. As he turned the hatchling washed out in the turn, yawing sideways. The computers were programmed to automatically compensate for and dampen yaw immediately. They did, but only by cutting engine power. Rebecca executed the turn without triggering the computer, neatly sliding into the lead again.

  The station was directly ahead of her, slowly growing larger. The Hatchling was back on her tail. She imagined Serge was spitting rivets in his cockpit.

  'Very flash,' came his voice, 'but you ain’t got the thrust, trader girl.'

  'Guess you need that thrust when all you’ve got is a Worm!' she taunted in return.

  The Hatchling was overhauling her, even with the overburn. At three kilometres the hatchling was in front again.

  'Eat flux, trader pish!' Serge shouted as he passed her. He cut in front of her recklessly, causing her ship to buck wildly at the close approach. She steadied the ship out, keeping the thrusters at full power.