Tales of the Efferdhal Lily/The Tales/The Oregon Trail

From UTRPG

The jump to Oregon

September 15, 320 AS

After almost a week of travel, the slow deceleration that was the approach to Viagra's south slipknot was coming to an end. Derrick's voice came over the ship-wide comms.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're now approaching the south slipknot. Oregon's slipknots are pretty unstable, thanks to the unpredictable gravitational situation there. There might be some turbulence when we get to the other side. So make sure you're strapped in somewhere.

"We'll be decelerating to zero G in the next few minutes, then a bit of maneuvering, and we'll be making the jump about fifteen minutes from now."

The Lily slowed and stopped. For a few minutes the crew could feel the maneuvering jets firing at irregular intervals, each time for less than a second. Then Derrick's voice came over the comms again. "Alright folks, here's the jump. Hold on to your hats."

Suddenly the stars outside the windows shifted. An angry orange light washed through the port windows from the system's central binary star pair. On the starboard side, the sharp blue light of the outer blue giant did the same.

"Your captain here. Welcome to Oregon. The jump went well; we should be on our way within the hour."

Derrick spent the hour following the jump sweating in the pilot's seat. The Efferdhal Lily accelerated at about 1.2G almost all this time, the direction of the acceleration shifting sickeningly as Derrick struggled to correct for the aberrant gravitic system of Oregon. All crew members who were not actively needed for the operation of the ship were confined to quarters, and for the most part they were happy to be allowed to suffer the jostling and continual high-G alone.

Normally a jump correction was just a question of firing the engines at an angle to the current velocity, so that the resultant sum of engine thrust and initial velocity was in the direction you wanted the ship to go. In Oregon, things were different.

There was a powerful gravity source way off the ecliptic, for one thing. The giant blue sun that orbited the inner system made the vector calculations an order of magnitude more complex. As a result the navigation computers took an order of magnitude longer to make the necessary course corrections. This delay was still usually less than a second, but long enough that the system kept over-correcting and knocking itself onto a different incorrect vector. Derrick had to keep switching to manual to get the ship going roughly straight.

For another thing, Oregon contained some captured dark matter. The system was very close to the north face of the galactic plane, and at some point in the distant past had captured a dense clump of the dark matter halo surrounding the galaxy. Derrick didn't know of any example of this happening outside Oregon, but now a (relatively) small amount of dark matter comprised part of the mass of the outer Oregon system. Without any way for ships to know it was doing so, since dark matter was undetectable with modern technology, it occasionally clumped together and complicated matters by adding another gravity source to the mix.

All in all, it was a good thing that the initial vector happened to coincidentally be sending the ship more or less toward the ecliptic anyway. Even buffeted by gravitic waves, the Lily managed to keep its course until it accelerated further into the system and stabilized a bit more.

Setting a course for New Portland

Derrick laid in a course for the largest colony in Oregon, New Portland, and cut acceleration down to a steady 1G. Now that the ship was out of the roughest stretch of the trip, he let the computer take over the navigation and stretched his legs.

He checked the medical computer system. Doctor Hsieh's schedule was empty. Derrick opened the ship-wide comm channel. "This is your captain speaking. I'm happy to say that we're past the turbulence and we've got at least a couple of days of smooth sailing ahead."

Derrick paused. "Doctor Hsieh, please meet me in the ready room immediately. Phezir out." He checked that the navigation computer showed all clear, punched up the duty roster on his data slate and headed off to the ready room.

Preston was very excited to be in Oregon for the first time. He hustled to the viewing deck he liked to call The Glass House. He gazed in wonder at the system through the panoramic windows. It was like a deadly ballet played by giant planets and stars! Then he realized something. He didn't see the Slipknot they were here for. In fact, Preston had no idea where it was. A moment of panic then Preston calmed himself, surely the others wouldn't have let him get all the way here with no idea of where the slipknot was. He would just go ask one of them. So he went off to find one of his trusted comrades to inquire about where the heck they were headed.

Having heard the all-clear, Jett unstrapped himself from the acceleration bed and headed in search of the other crew members. He figured it was probably time that they hash out exactly what the next course of action was to be. "I sure hope Preston knows what he's doing, because we sure don't," he commented, under his breath.

James' voice came over the ship comms. "Unless anyone has anything they want to shag I suggest we remass and blow out of here before I have dealings with the locals again. I have a terrible urge to remap their economy onto the banana, and I'm not really sure what that means."

Jett shook his head. "...And some of us have even less of a clue than others..." He hurried his pace, his search for someone who knew what was going on was becoming desperate.

Course of action

Preston had gathered the crew together to discuss their plan of action.

"Look guys, I don't see any point in playing the blame game. What's important is that we're here and we need to figure out what to do about it. I for one doubt that any of the native barbarians in this system have any idea where the slipknot is. I think Hsieh can back me up on that one. Therefore I feel that docking will only waste time and invite trouble.

"This is what I propose: we are as a group fairly scientifically knowledgeable and technically able. I understand that a slipknot gives off its own gravitational pull of some sort. If we can narrow down where the slipknot could potentially be then identify the gravitational disturbance then we could make this happen. I have some moderate skills with computers and navigation, Derrick is very capable in Navigation and can head that avenue of investigation, James has a formidable ability in computers and can be in charge of calculations and scanning algorithms, Hsieh can lead the scientific aspect as well as provide information on the area, and Jett can hold his gun. Let's make it work guys!"

"Wait," James interjected. "You think we have enough R-mass to slingshot into an unknown system without refuel? Uh, that's pretty insane, especially if we intend on returning. Or is that jump not from this system?"

Preston paused briefly, his mouth hanging open. "I was under the impression we were well stocked for an extended expedition." He looked around, hoping that someone else might accept the responsibility for stocking the ship's stores.

In the Ready Room

Mei-ling shrugged herself out of the acceleration harness in the medbay. She had stowed everything with her characteristic compulsive neatness during the weeklong flight to the Viagra exit point, so the medbay was now in much better shape than it had been before.

When the captain's call came over the intercom, Mei-ling was puzzled. What could he want with me now? Nobody's hurt, or they'd be coming here... She shrugged and headed to the captain's ready room.

She was polite and respectful, though definitely of a civilian rather than military attitude toward shipboard discipline. "What's going on?" she asked, as she entered.

Derrick, leaning against a bulkhead, looked up briefly from the supply manifest he was reading. Mei-Ling hadn't seen him since they had left dock, and got a bit of a shock. Derrick barely looked like the same person as the haggard man who had crawled into the medical bay a week earlier to demand drugs. His hair was tied back, his clothes clean, and his beard was, if not neat, at least trimmed.

Derrick motioned vaguely toward three chairs positioned around a low table, and meandered slowly across the room, still reading from his data slate. He reached up to a ceiling panel and triggered a small EMP generator. The audio pickup James had planted right next to it crashed, and started its reboot and diagnostic sequence.

Derrick immediately put down the data slate and sat across from Mei-Ling. "We have a few minutes of privacy. I want to talk about the last conversation we had. For starters, how would you characterize it?"

"Characterize it? You were at grouch with a hangover and I was furious at getting kidnapped. Not pleasant. I guess that's why we've been avoiding each other. So what now, captain?" Mei-ling put a little emphasis on the last word, and there was a hint of challenge in her voice. As she waited for a response, she swiveled the chair out on the mount at sat down, watching Derrick the whole time.

Derrick raised an eyebrow. "This may surprise you, doctor, but I haven't been avoiding you. I've been busy." He sighed.

"What happened the other day was that I came very close to letting you damage this crew in a serious way. I was going through a rough time, I fell off the wagon, and just my luck, feisty Doctor Hsieh comes by to dress me down.

"Let me see if I can make my point crystal clear." Derrick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's like this: my drinking problem is a secret to nobody. I wouldn't even know some of these people if I hadn't been the self-destructive souse I was a couple of years ago. But this is the first time ever that my crew has started saying things like 'the captain's a jerk' and meaning it. Ever. Do you see what that means?

"This isn't a question of blame. Blame is irrelevant. I'm interested in effects. And right now, I'm in danger of losing the respect of my crew. The minute one of my crew makes the jump from 'the captain drinks, isn't that wacky' to 'the captain drinks, isn't that worrying,' I run the risk of losing their respect. And if I lose their respect, then next time we're in a crisis and I give an order, they hesitate and we're all dust."

Derrick checked his chronometer. "So here's why I'm telling you this, even though you and I are basically strangers. I have a drinking problem. I've gone through therapy for it and all that. But sometimes I still... well, I do stuff that's self-destructive. And I know that's bad for me, blah, blah, blah. But as far as my crew is concerned, I'm fine. Okay? I'm a surly Viagran who sometimes gets drunk and moons pirates. And I'm fine. Nobody must ever get the idea that they need to step in.

"Thing is, someone like me, with an illness like mine, I might sometimes need someone to step in. That's the problem. So I want you to be that person. I mean, it's in your job description, sure. But I need you to maintain the fiction that there's nothing to worry about. Because ninety-nine point nine percent of the time I am fine. And I'm a damn good ship captain, too. But that point-one percent of the time has the potential to fuck everything else up.

"So here's what I want you to do. Do your job as normal. Treat the space scurvy, set bones, deliver vaccines, give advice, whatever. But if there's a problem with your captain, only your captain knows about it. If I go off a deep end somewhere, you sit me down somewhere James hasn't bugged, tell me in your sternest doctor voice that I need to shape the fuck up, and be your stubborn self until I do what's right. And I promise to try to remember that you know what you're talking about, and do what you say.

"But as far as the crew is concerned, everything is five by five. That means that unless it's a life-or-death emergency you cluck your tongue about how I picked up a virus on some planet's surface, or about an immune response to a retro-booster shot or whatever. Then you take me aside before doing your job properly.

"And it means that if I crawl into your med bay and demand pain killers, you wag your finger and give me a stern lecture, and then you fucking give me pain killers. You give me the strongest non-debilitating non-addictive pain killers you have available, because that's what the ship needs. If you're feeling really punchy, lace them with a nauseant so I throw them up as soon as I get to my cabin. But you follow my orders, or the whole ship suffers."

A device in the ceiling pinged softly. Derrick checked his chronometer again, and started a one-minute countdown. "Sixty seconds until the bug finishes rebooting," he said. "Say what you like about this now, or save some for later, but in fifty seconds you're scolding me for not getting a checkup or something, okay? I've put my balls on the chopping board, and given you the cleaver. You can go along with me or ruin me. Your choice."

Several times during Derrick's monologue, Mei-ling started to speak, but he waved her off and she let him finish. Then she said, "All that baring your soul? I think it's a load of Zanan jezzock-turds. What you want, what all drunks really want, is for people to go on enabling them. Well, I'm a doctor, and enabling you I won't be. But..." and here she held up a finger to keep Derrick from interrupting now that she was talking, "... you're right that the ship needs confidence in you, and I can't throw you in a rehab tank until your addiction is worked out. So, assuming you're not going to follow my very serious medical advice and quit drinking altogether, here's what you do. You keep the alcohol off-duty and show up clean and sober on the bridge. And then, if -- when -- a real emergency crops up when you're snockered in your cabin or a station-side bar, you'll get the drugs you need to keep us in one piece."

Mei-ling glanced at the chronometer, about to beep then her data pad. "And while you're at it, since you haven't had a real doctor on board, the entire crew has gotten awful lazy about their proper medical care. Most everyone ought to come see me and get checked out, just to be safe. You haven't had a proper physical in what, 4 T-years? I've got you down for an appointment at 0630 tomorrow. Set a proper example and all that, right?" Her smile wasn't the slightest bit forced.

Derrick smiled despite himself, then bounded to his feet just as the chronometer chimed. The motion sent his chair skidding away. "'Zanan jezzock turds'? You pompous, self-important, condescending, meddling... When you're on my ship you show me due respect!" Derrick's face was red from shouting, but a quick, almost imperceptible wink let Mei-Ling know that he was grateful that she appreciated the situation he was in. "Now get the hell out of my ready room before I get really angry!"

Derrick grabbed Mei-Ling's chair, and she leapt away. He lifted the chair over his head as she palmed open the door and scurried out, then threw it after her. It rebounded against the closing door and skittered across the floor.

Sitting down at his desk, Derrick poured a glass of water from the carafe on the side-table, and drained it. Maybe throwing the chair had been a bit much. Still, if putting on a show for James kept him happy, he was that much less likely to wreak further havoc with the ship's systems.

Derrick refilled his glass. He lifted it to his mouth and paused. The glass was etched crystal. That was out of place in his ready room. The carafe, too, looked like it belonged in one of Preston's smoking rooms, not on a doily-covered side-table in the ready room. Hell, Derrick had never had any side-tables in there before. He looked around the room, noticing quarter-round molding at the bases of all the walls, a small sheer on the porthole, and a two-metre tall faux-wood mass of curves and hooks standing in a corner. Preston had been redecorating again.

Derrick sighed and trundled off to find his friend and patron. In a lot of ways, Preston was the hardest part of Derrick's job.

Wracked with Indecision

The lights in the makeshift conference room had dimmed to indicate a period of "night" had begun on the ship. The low lighting cast eerie shadows over the faces of the taxidermied birds that populated the perimeter of the room, their usually vibrant feathers now muted. Preston gazed around the table at the crew's weary and worried faces. Their deliberations had been long and heated and Preston was not thrilled with the outcome. It seemed the plan was to dock at New Portland and seek some sort of matter catcher that would extend the ship's range. Preston was dubious of a matter catcher's aesthetic despite Jett's assurances. They were nearing the end of the debate but they still needed to deal with how Hsieh would be received in New Portland...

"Why doesn't the doctor stay shipside with me while I supervise the upgrades?" he suggested. "She should probably give a physical of the entire crew before we head out anyways."

The disembodied James voice spoke up. "Finding, purchasing and installing said item is going to take a bit of time. Let me throw out some SAI search protocols of the vastly primitive listing system on this habitat and see what they turn up." A sigh was heard. "I suppose I should also probably turn off this cloak when I go outside."

The Corvallian conflict

Reversal

About three days into the approach to New Portland, Derrick walked into the forward observation deck, where yet another heated discussion was being had about the upgrades necessary before attempting a jump into a new system. He listened to the arguing for a little while, then calmly said, "five minutes to reversal, folks."

Tuning out the back-and-forth, Derrick stood at the railing in front of the tall diamond windows. The ship was passing through a debris field, and the direction of thrust made it seem like giant rocks were falling like rain outside. Everything else faded into the background as Derrick waited for his favourite moment of an approach.

An automated voice spoke over the ship-wide comm channel. "Warning. Free-fall will commence in sixty seconds." The Lily was nearing the end of the first half of her trip, during which the engines accelerated toward their destination. Soon the ship would shut down its main thrusters, make a full 200-grad spin, and then fire the thrusters back up to decelerate for the second half of the trip. In open space the sensation was simply a brief free-fall followed by resumption of 1G acceleration, but every now and then a trajectory took you through a field of debris, an eccentric asteroid belt or something of the like, and the experience was totally different.

Derrick watched the rocks fall. Occasionally one chunk of rock was close enough that it blurred past almost too quickly to notice. Most of the chunks were far enough away that they could be seen clearly as they seemed to fall in a stream from the sky above, with its planetary disc around two bright suns, to the void below, where the swollen blue giant star waited to catch them.

An automated navigation routine took over the controls of the ship. The hum of the engines ebbed, idling. The simulated gravity slipped away and Derrick held onto the railing to keep himself anchored. His frame of reference shifted. Now instead of standing and watching the rocks fall he felt like he was lying on his back and watching them streak across the sky.

Maneuvering rockets fired, sending the ship into a spin. This observation deck was chosen carefully: it sat on the axis of this spin, so Derrick felt no centripetal acceleration. Instead, the flowing stream of rocks pinwheeled across the sky, changing its direction.

The automated voice came on again. "Warning. One gee acceleration will commence in thirty seconds." Soon the flow had reversed direction entirely. Once the maneuvering rockets had finished stabilizing the ship, the giant blue star was nearly overhead and the ecliptic and binary star pair below.

The main thrusters fired and Derrick's reference frame shifted again. He was once again standing on the deck, but now outside the window huge chunks of rock sped upwards, from the direction of the cluttered ecliptic plane toward the blue giant. Chunk after chunk floated up like dark, irregular, kilometre-wide balloons.

Seeing a good reversal was one of the great pleasures of flying. Derrick went back to the bridge, smiling and whistling.

The Corvallian patrol

When Derrick got back to the bridge, a transmission was coming in over the console speakers. A voice intoned, in thickly accented Arestonian, "... you must respond. Repeat, Arestonian vessel Efferdhal Lily, respond immediately or we will initiate hostilities. You now have thirty seconds to comply."

Derrick ran over and grabbed the microphone. "Efferdhal Lily here. Sorry for the delay. What information do you require?" He checked the proximity scans, and saw that there were two ships accelerating to match the Lily's vector. They were closer to the end of the debris field, about a light-second ahead. He issued a ship-wide broadcast: "Would all senior crew get to the bridge, please? We've got company."

Two seconds later, the response came: "You have not passed inspection before entering Corvallian space. This is a violation of the Coquille treaty of 729. You are required to allow us to board your vessel for inspection before continuing beyond the boundary zone."

Derrick frowned. More delays. "I see. Well, at your current velocity and acceleration, we'll see you in a couple of hours. Efferdhal Lily out."

"Holy Titan Bear, what the hell is going on?" James' voice entered the bridge. "When the hell did 'roid-dwellers get uppity enough to require boarding our ship to ostensibly not murder us and steal our ship?" A floating head rushed over to the comm terminal. A short aria was played. "Warming up porn-meme cannons and recto-vision viruses. Spooling up all ECM devices to 'Complete buggery' level. Yes captain I am overreacting, but I for one have a bad feeling about this. What the hell is Corvellian space anyways?"

"Who are the Corvallian's?" Preston asked as he typed furiously on his data pad to pull up the exact treaty they were talking about.

Preston's face lit up with the light of his data pad as the treaty appeared before him.

Mei-ling came onto the bridge as Preston was finishing the question. "The Corvellians are a bunch of idiots who think Oregon would be better off if they just stole any ship coming through the slipknot. Unfortunately, they got their hands on some halfway decent ships God only knows how and the Oregon System Association doesn't think it's worth the time or money to deal with them. Hell, lots of the OSA agrees with them."

James grinned toothily. "Ah, so when they say Corvellian we should hear pirate. Understood. Warming up Infinity Auto-purge protocols. I hate pirates."

"Pretty much," said Mei-Ling. "Though they probably won't actually take the whole ship. The OSA does occasionally give them a slap on the wrist and then they keep quiet for a while. I guess this isn't one of those times?"

Preston looked up from his data pad. "Okay, Okay, Okay I think we're good. um, uh."

article 6 subsection 3: Any vessel requiring inspection may forgo manual inspection by providing proof of ownership of vessel and complete list of cargo providing there is no significant suspicion that either piece of documentation is false

"And uh, we've got:"

article 12 subsection 7: Any action that would escalate an encounter to an intersystem affair requires approval from the acting Space Ward.

"oh! and:"

article 6 subsection 3(a): Vessels with a valid Luxury Cruise License may forgo manual inspection, subject to the same conditions and exceptions as in article 6 subsection 3. Such a vessel is entitled to request an escort from a Corvallian enforcer ship while in Corvallian space, subject to approval from the acting Space Ward.

"And check this out! Bonus!"

article 47 subsection 2: Any civilian craft unlawfully treated under the articles of this treaty by any agent of the Space Ward or the government of Corvallis is entitled to file a grievance with the Space Ward or the Corvallis senate judicial committee, respectively. The owner or administrator of said civilian craft shall receive any fines levied to such agent as a result of this action, less reasonable legal and court fees.

"I uh, I think we're good. Yeah, we're good..."

James frowned as the legalese sunk in. "Ah, well. That's all above board and what not, but... can we guarantee that these people won't still try to steal the ship?"

Preston dismissed James' concerns with a grin. "Well that's why the Lily got those upgrades in Viagra. Then we have a talk with our friend The Space Ward and we stand to make a pretty penny. I think we're good, shall we man battle stations or some such?"

Mei-ling looked at Preston in some amazement. "Wow. I ... had no idea." That Preston was actually worth something, or that there was a treaty about all this, she thought. "Oregon isn't really big on courts and lawyers and that sort of thing, though. I didn't even know there was a job of 'Space Ward.' Although I wasn't exactly paying attention to politics in school, to be honest... But yeah, I think we should treat them as pirates first, and sue them later, if it'll do any good. Which I doubt it will."

Preston put on his best "Captain Colonialism end-of-episode instructional segment" face. "Let's just say that Arestonians played a significant role in bringing law to this region but I'll save the civics lesson for another time."

Jett didn't know anything about Corvallians, or Oregon for that matter. But he did know something about organized crime. "Listen, if these guys are operated in a semi-legalized capacity under this 'System Association,' then they probably don't want to end up pissing them off by grabbing a ship that's got political clout. If the OSA is worried about a bunch of Arestonian warships removing their command of the system, then they might just follow their treaty this one time and grab the next ship coming into the system."

James grinned again. "Do you want me to leave their crews either live or sane sir? I'd like to know who's supplying these people with ships."

It had taken Preston almost two hours to find, read through, and collate all the details he got on the treaty of Coquille. Looking up at the chronometer counting down to the interception with the Corvallian ships, Preston saw he had barely an hour to make sure that all his ts and is were dotted and crossed if he wanted to make any productive use of this new information. "James, can we make sure our entire encounter with the Corvallians is recorded? It could prove to be valuable evidence."

James tapped out a quick drum line. "Hmm, some day we should really buy long range sensors. Activating hull cameras and prepping observation drones for launch. Hmm also seems like the auto-purge SAI is sulking for some reason, huh. Who's a good muderous SAI? Tickle, tickle."

Jett Miner headed to the airlock, his fusion gun producing excited noises as it armed itself. He was pretty sure that these nutso-pirates would see reason, especially if Preston's arguments were punctuated by their life-support computers crashing. But he felt he needed to do something, so he geared up to launch a one-man boarding operation if need be.

Derrick's console showed Jett's radioactive signature moving toward the forward airlock. "Jett, don't run off. If things get violent you'll be more helpful helping the boys in engineering with damage control than running in place in the airlock.

"Damn, I wish we still had someone competent to man the beams."

Jett pouted. "Alright, but I'm keeping the suit on. And if things go south, I'm jump-jetting my way over there and opening their hull like a tin of space-sardines."

Jett spent nearly an hour attempting to figure out how to work the navigational HUD in his brand-new Jettsuit when calibrated for zero-gravity. Most of the cursing was unheard by the rest of the crew as Jett had graciously disabled the mic. Finally, Jett stomped down to engineering and sat down at the damage control station, exasperated.

Mei-Ling opened a channel to the bridge. "Are you going to let them board, Derrick, or try to fight them off if Preston can't talk them down? From everything I've heard, these Corvellian's have no stomach for a real fight, but it just takes one unlucky shot to get us all killed."

"I can help with damage control!" Preston sat at a computer terminal and launched Microsoft Damage Control. A creepy voice came over his console speakers.

"It looks like you're preparing to initiate refueling procedures. Would you like some help?"

"Jett has a very good point there," James' disembodied voice rang throughout the ship. "Everyone put on pressure suits."

Big Damn Hero

Jett, glaring at the engineering station's automated status reports, found he was far too frustrated from his troubles with his suit to recall all the ridiculously overly-complicated systems of an Arestonian ship. He longed for Tombstone's purpose-built, single-minded designs.

"Forget this. I'm going back to the airlock. Good luck with the computers, Pres, but I'm outta here." With that, Jett stormed off.

Jett stood with the airlock's inner seal still disengaged and the airlock still pressurized. In case any of these pirates had designs of boarding the Lily, he wanted to be ready to move to repel them.

Derrick opened a channel directly to the Jettsuit. "Dammit, Jett, I told you you're needed in Engineering. If you want to wear your suit while you work, be my guest, but we need you down there doing your job. And whatever navigational stuff you're doing with your suit's controls, stop it -- it's causing a lot of feedback in the Lily's systems."

Jett felt like an idiot. He hated these situations; they made him feel useless. He had no idea how to deal with an enemy that could only be seen by advanced scanners, and only touched by computer-calculated trajectories. His experience was on a more personal level. That was where he could shine.

"Dammit, alright Derrick. You're the captain."

Jett once again walked the halls to engineering, and took his post. He wished longingly for the page of cribnotes Spaceboss' men had provided for his Arestonian engineering exam. It had had all the big words spelled out phonetically.

"Damn right I am," Derrick muttered to himself as he powered up the huge panoramic nav display built into the helm. It rarely got any use since it was a huge power hog, and not very helpful in most situations. But this was exactly the sort of scenario it was designed for. Derrick was never eager to get the Lily into danger, but a part of him was excited to see what the new defensive targeting software upgrades were capable of. The display's backlight cast a pale glow on the ceiling of the bridge, and non-critical systems lagged briefly as the tactical computer executed bloated tracking and maneuvering subroutines.

"Now, we're already outnumbered two to one, and we don't know yet if there are more ships ready to flank us. I should be able to keep us more or less out of harm's way as long as I'm checking our six as we go in. If these bozos try to use the old "surround-and-ambush" pirate tactics, let them try -- they don't scare me." Derrick began programming sensor sweeps and alarm triggers into the ship's computers.

On board the Red Star

On board the Corvellian interceptor Red Star, Captain Preb grinned a slightly crooked grin. "Does it sound to you like they're going to let us do our duty and give them a full inspection, Jacobs?"

"I have to say, sir, they didn't sound... cooperative."

"I didn't think so. Well then, this'll be just like we practiced."

The inquiry was routine, at Oregon System Association Headquarters, but the functionary answering it smiled as he relayed the answer. The Efferdhal Lily had had its Arestonian flag privileges revoked by the consulate pending 'investigation of conduct unbecoming', and that meant for once Oregon didn't have to kow-tow to the colonial power's technology.

Contact!

Two hours later, the debris was lessening but still a hazard to navigation, and the Lily's maneuvering was punctuated by the occasional firing of maneuvering thrusters as she skirted the hazardous materials.

The communications sytem came to life again. "Efferdahl Lily, this is the Red Star. Please maintain current trajectory and prepare to receive an inspection party. We'll make this as painless as possible for you, don't worry." The voice on the other end was cheery and friendly, although there was perhaps just a hint of nervous stress to it.

James could read the scan data on his terminal and noted there were two incoming ships, coming in from slightly divergent trajectories to attempt to close off more escape paths. The Captain on the other side was either good, or practiced, James realized, but the ships weren't particularly good. They were very large (Huge) for the acceleration they were displaying right now, and judging from their profiles and heat signatures, heavily armored as well. Their digital signatures identified them as the Red Star and Red Eagle of the Corvallian Patrol Detachment. They looked pretty typical of Oregon's insystem space vessels, which really couldn't hold a candle to Arestonian ships -- but then, these were dedicated military ships, not freighters, so best to be cautious...

"Good to see you Red Star, My name Is Preston Feckless Wilkinson, owner and patron of the Efferdhal Lily. Before we begin docking procedures there's just a few bureaucratic inconsistencies I would like to clear up. Firstly I must reference both article 6 subsection 3, as well as article 6 subsection 3(a) of the treaty you have referenced which excludes us from a manual search by a boarding party. We are however perfectly happy to send you a full listing of our cargo as per the procedures noted in the aforementioned articles. I should also warn you that should you choose to ignore procedures and board our vessel we will be forced to dispatch you with all the power within these hulls and to report your actions as a violation of article 12 subsection 7. This report will also trigger legal action against your organization as per article 47 subsection 2.

If you could kindly resolve these concerns of mine we would be happy to pull over and let you aboard, until then, Captain, we will be continuing on course.

Preston out."

On board the Red Star Captain Preb laughed. "Fancy-pants lawyer over on that pretty ship! I knew they wouldn't just let us board. Well, let's hope we don't break too much when we fire."

Over the comm, the cheery voice answered, "Your threats against our lawful business here are noted, Mr. Freckless. Your cargo listing is gonna be worth less 'n the electrons you waste sending 'em, but go ahead and send it and we'll send some boys aboard to see if you're lying more or less than the usual. So cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. You have 30 seconds; I'm not wasting a warning shot on a lawyer."

James chuckled. "Huh, huge and heavily armored eh? Ah and an asshole on the comm, excellent. Lighting up all ECM devices. Loading Alien Ass Action 99 attack memes and visual overlays.

Let's disable ourselves some pirates."

James grinned and muttered at his console's readout of the Red Star. "Pppst, jerkbag. Yeah you pirate scum. Waggle your turrets, you're on Intergalactic Shitlist Camera."

"Captain, do not waste your limited resources pursuing us, I am no stranger to dealing with scum and the last fool who thought he could get away with what was mine ended up in a prison on a planet he nor very many others knew existed."

"Attention crew of the Red Star, after we repulse your primitive attacks I will hold any of you still alive as accountable for your actions as your leaders. I only pray you don't have any families, as my lawsuit will be harsh and merciless."

After Preston's follow-up, the cheery voice was suddenly a lot less cheery. "Twenty seconds. Red Star out." The transmission was abruptly cut off.

1.0: Detection

"Yeah, I thought so. They're trying to box us in." Derrick sighed. "It's like they're trained on fifty-year-old Halogian action novels." He spoke into the ship-to-ship line: "Roger, Red Star. Beginning approach now. Please transmit docking protocols."

Derrick frowned at the communication console. A red "X" appeared beside the text "Transmission failed. Error -2341". Derrick swore and looked up the error code, which turned out to mean that a simultaneous message had blocked the line. Checking the logs, Derrick saw that Preston had been in the middle of a transmission, causing Derrick's to fail.

Oh, great. What's he getting us into now?

After the Detection phase

1.1: Positioning

Derrick was confident that these pirates' backwater ships were no match for him. He was cruising confidently towards a vector which would effectively eliminate one of the ships from the fight -- too fast in the wrong direction -- but just as he was preparing his burn the proximity alarm sounded, blaring as the sensors, trained on the opposing ships, belatedly picked up a chunk of nickel-iron in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sweat standing out on his forehead, Derrick veered hard to starboard. He fired a steady burst from the landing rockets, sending the Lily into a slowly corkscrewing trajectory. The sudden change in acceleration was noticed across the ship. Tables skidded across rooms, teacups overflowed, and paintings tilted drunkenly on their mooring hooks.

Instead of crushing the hull, the spinning chunk of ore only grazed the Lily's prow. A metallic bang resounded throughout the upper decks as it did, and a moment later a warning light blinked on the control console. A fist-size shard of plasteel had been gouged out of the prow, and had punched a hole through one of the solar sails. Derrick swore as he maneuvered to restore his original vector, dreading the announcement from Engineering that the sail was laddering and that they'd have to go EVA to repair it.

To his relief, the damage was flagged as "minor; delay repair". Frell it, that was close. That'll cost us a bundle once we get to dock. I need to remember that I don't know the terrain here. Now let's see if I can make good use of it. Derrick grinned as he flew toward the contact point with the Red Star.

"Right... where... I want you." muttered Preb as he evaded the debris field. The Red Star was too close for clean torpedo solutions, but he had practiced this -- his main function here was to prevent the target from escaping, while the Eagle took the dangerous job of blocking the target's first choices of exit vector.

As if on cue, a sudden flare erupted from the Eagle's drives as it took a 4G burn, enough that his companion ship's track noticeably curved.

"Ooh, pretty," James commented when he saw the drive flare. "I think the 'roid-dwellers are serious. I wonder how long they can sustain that kind of burn."

"Right... where... I want you." muttered Derrick. He matched the Red Star's acceleration, keeping an eye on the Red Eagle almost directly behind. When the IR-band sensors picked up a heat buildup in the Red Eagle's engines, Derrick punched the overdrive. Just as the Eagle's engines flared in a hard burn, so did the Lily's.

The sudden change in acceleration sent the Lily on a course that put a cluster of debris between her and the Red Star. The Lily accelerated to put herself into a wide arc, circling around to the Red Eagle. Unable to see their opponent, the crew of the Red Star scrambled to compensate.

As well prepared as the crew of the Red Star may have been by their captain, their experience was mostly with ships that would give in easily and allow them to board. Catching a glimpse of an impending real fight with a far better-equipped ship made them hesitate long enough for the Lily to lose them entirely.

The Arestonian pilot was good, and had a good ship, Preb realized. He wasn't going to let them get away quite so easily, though, oh no. Punching the throttle accelerated right through the debris cluster that pilot had maneuvered him into. The Red Star lurched as bits of space debris lodged themselves in the privateer's heavy armor, but no serious damage was done, and there on the other side was the Lily, her vector off line but still well within reach. And the Eagle was, Just like we practiced there, waiting, still within range of the Arestonian yacht.

A stream of static came over the speakers in the bridge of the Efferdhal Lily, punctuated with distorted snippets of a distorted voice. *kshhhhh* the Arestonian Yacht *kshhhhh* on my mark *kshhhhh* twelve degrees port, declination *kshhhhh*

Derrick started. This sounded like inter-ship communication. Could it be the Corvallian ships talking to each other? He looked over at the communication station. James was grinning from ear to ear.

"It's pretty patchy right now, but I think I can get more. I told you this whole incident is being recorded."

"And you're trying to add their ship-to-ship comms to the record? James, I would hug you if I were up to date on my shots!" Derrick listened carefully to the intercepted transmission. There wasn't much being picked up, but there was enough information to give the Corvallians a nasty surprise.

The Red Star burst through a cloud of debris, accelerating toward the Lily's position. As soon as the Eagle saw where its companion was headed, a frantic burst of static and warnings came over the speakers. *kshhhhh* your position *kshhhhh* obscuring some *kshhhhh* urgently *kshhhhh*

The Lily continued on her vector around the Eagle, and Preb saw what his subordinate had been yelling about. That smug Arestonian bastard had placed himself between the Red Star and one of the rogue chunks of nickel-iron that made this region so hazardous. It hurtled past the Lily as she moved aside, missing her hull by less than fifty metres. At her current velocity, the Red Star was on a direct collision course.

Derrick wiped his forehead and neck free of sweat. The Red Star veered off to avoid the trap he had set, and he started plotting a new course to engage the Red Eagle. It probably wouldn't take long for the Corvallians to figure out that their lines were tapped, but for now Derrick intended to take full advantage.

After the Positioning phase

1.2 EW

Having been almost distracted by his labyrinthian game of Dwarf Fortress 11.0 James shakes out of it enough to press a giant glowing button on one of the various holoscreens surrounding his station several inches above his console marked 'Give Preston Access to the Enemy's Comm System.' With that, SAI routines began a systematic attack on the Red Eagle's computer systems that would slave their comm system into that of the Efferdhal Lily.

"Hey Preston," James remarked offhandedly, "I pressed the button. You should be able to talk directly to the enemy ship's crew in a minute. Also Derrick, I am pretty clean. And I will have you know I own that ship out there."

His hands flew across his console miming out a Gregorian chant. "And now, to steal all their Roots." James' horde of SAI viruses was unleashed upon the hapless core of the Red Eagle.

The Red Eagle's data systems were old and primitive, but the range to the Eagle was still far enough that the lightspeed delay was kicking in. Although his viruses were primed to kick through any standard firewalls and most non-standard one, this one was working on hardware from before James was born, and there were none of the standard inquiry ports for the viruses to infiltrate through. A second and a half later, the reports started coming back on James' terminal -- access denied.

Inside the Red Eagle, the crew was oblivious to the ferocious tide of data assaults against the firewall. "Torpedo tubes A and B, arm and ready," crackled over the internal communication system of the privateer.

James was suprised when the computers on the the enemy ship repulsed his attack. Getting his bearings he remembered something he did in his training in the army and sent a second attack underneath the current attack.

"I wonder where they got those defense protocols from?"

Preston looked down at the MS damage control display and the talking paper clip had some bad news. The enemy's torpedoes were primed and ready. Preston pulled down the console's microphone "Missiles incoming, All lasers redirect off the dance floor and prepare to intercept. Engineering, you guys ready for some action?"

Jett hollered into the comm station, "Yeah, that's me. I mean, engineering reporting, Preston. Hope someone's at the beams ready to shoot down those missiles, 'cause I ain't no engineering genius. They're probably packing some serious firepower."

Derrick watched the Red Star careen wildly out of range. He grinned. It wasn't often that he got to run his Lily through her paces like that.

Wait. Did Preston say "missiles"? Fuckfuckfuck. Derrick brought the short-range defense grid online. Why the hell don't we have an automated missile defense? Must remember to bring this up with Preston. Still worn out from the exertion of steering the ship into position, Derrick waited for the missiles to arrive within range. "I'll do my best, Jett. I'm on the guns but I'm pretty tuckered out from showing that Corvallian what a real pilot looks like." Derrick frowned at himself. I used to be able to pull this stuff off without putting down my sandwich. Now I just want to take a nap. I guess I'm not getting any younger.

Preston sounded thoughtful. "They will likely want the ship in more or less decent shape so they will target vital systems, likely the engine." James indicated that Preston now had access to the comm system of the enemy. Preston grabbed the microphone. He wasn't really sure what he was going to say so he started winging it:

"Attention crew of the Red Eagle, the Red Star is too far to help you now and after we repulse your primitive attacks I will hold any of you still alive as accountable for your actions as your leaders. Your only recourse is to surrender or flee."

On board the Red Eagle, the young computer tech manning the boards there wiped his forehead. "Sir, I think I've got him contained, mostly, for now, but there's a worm flicking between the systems so fast I can't keep track of it. It hasn't gotten whatever activation code it needs yet, though, because it's not doing anything, but I think we'd better not rely on the computers for too much until I get this thing out of here."

That was when Preston's voice came over the ship's comm. "Cut that off!" shouted the captain, but Preston was finished long before the tech finally reported, "I think that's done it, sir. It showed me where it was, taking over the comms like that. I hope there are no more surprises."

But the crew of the Red Eagle was clearly rattled by Preston's message, and the fact that it got through their systems.

Derrick flew with one hand on the gun controls, waiting for the Red Eagle to fire the first shot. He had a feeling they would, and that Jett was right about their offensive capabilities. At this range, that meant they would probably be sending a missile barrage, and when they did Derrick would be ready to shoot it down. If I can keep my eyes open. Am I coming down with something? In the meantime he steered the Lily more or less back on course — and toward the Red Eagle.

On Derrick's heads up display, two separate flares suddenly lit the display. No extraneous mass, just rocket, fuel, and warhead, the torpedoes were accelerating at a pace that was fast to begin with and only increased with time, as they shed their reaction mass for even faster rates. Twin plumes flared in the black, along with a clear signal picked up by the Lily's sensor arrays -- gamma ray peaks advertising the nuclear warheads on the torpedoes.

Derrick punched the ship-wide comms. The intercom chimed three times, indicating a priority message. By the time the third chime died down the entire ship was silent.

"All hands, we have incoming nukes. Contact in nine minutes. Everyone get to decks six and seven portside; we're going to try to shoot the torpedoes away off the starboard bow.

"Damage control teams, suit up and get ready to act fast. This is what you've trained for. Sick bay, prep radiation treatments. We don't know yet how dirty these nukes are going to be.

"For the record, the Red Eagle has initiated hostilities by firing torpedoes. The captain's recommendation is that we close and return fire. Do we have authorization to do so, Preston and Christya? You're our 'diplomatic corps'."

As the minutes passed Derrick cut acceleration and put the Lily into a slow spin, to show the torpedoes her starboard flank. When the nukes got a little closer he would give the engine a quick kick to try to get out of their way, but it wouldn't help much. These were guided torpedoes, and they certainly didn't have to score a direct hit to cause problems.

When the torpedoes were about four minutes away the nuclear proximity alarm went off -- a bone-chilling klaxon that echoed around the ship. Alright, Derrick thought, here we go. He activated the evasive maneuver he had programmed in. It would take them almost at right angles to the torpedoes' paths, hopefully requiring them to adjust their paths more quickly than they were able. There was no hope of outrunning these torpedoes once they'd gotten up to speed, but with a little luck they could be made to overshoot and have to circle back.

Still, the Lily's best hope lay in the defensive guns. Derrick slipped the targeting helmet over his head, grabbed the twin handles controlling the defensive grid, and gritted his teeth in anticipation.

The seals hissed as Jett's suit pressurized. His gloved hands squeezed tightly on the space-spanner. He really wasn't liking the idea of getting nuked, just after he had cleaned up all the old laundry from Tombstone.

This just wasn't Jett's space year.

The order to launch torpedoes was given with a feeling of glee. Most ships just gave up when confronted; it was kind of refreshing to be able to use the weapons again.

The combat stations alarm blared and the tactical display calculated trajectories. The warheads armed and the engines were primed.

With a nod, the captain of the Eagle released the torpedoes. They accelerated at a frightening speed away from the Eagle, and the bridge crew bore predatory grins as the trajectories of the torpedoes intersected with that of the Lily.

Suddenly, something went wrong. The Lily's pilot managed a tricky evasive maneuver, and the poorly maintained torpedoes seemed sluggish to respond. Their guidance systems hadn't been calibrated correctly for months. Whether their engines would be able to compensate in time to score a hit on the Lily was now simply a matter of luck.

For a moment, Derrick thought that that maneuver would be enough, as one of the torpedoes engines sputtered and gave out with the correction needed to stay inside the targetting envelope. Almost, though, was not good enough, and luck this day was against the Lily, as the engine re-ignited and came roaring back, stronger than before -- perhaps an obstruction had been cleared. The twin missiles bore down on the Lily.

Derrick fired off volley after volley at the torpedoes. One of them was knocked far enough off-course to collide with an asteroid. It detonated, atomizing the rock. As the particles were heated by the explosion they shone with a brilliant light, dazzling Derrick and the ship's sensors just long enough for the second torpedo to slip through the defenses.

The nuke got within one kilometre before detonating. There was a short flash, and a moment later the EMP generated by the blast made all the computer systems on the ship went haywire. Superheated particles from the missile housing and surrounding debris collided with the Lily, burning holes through the hull. Several of the starboard cabins depressurized, bulkheads slamming into place to protect the rest of the ship.

The nuclear proximity alarm died down, and Derrick checked the initial damage report. He let out a low whistle. "Repair crews, we have depressurizations on decks 3 through 5, probably a hull breach. Also, I'm reading radiation levels at 150% of nominal. The EMP was mostly blocked, but the auxiliary systems control is stuck in a bootup loop. We can take care of that later; just get those leaks fixed for now."

Jett invokes Labyrinth of Novelty and Too many suns (-2 FP, 2 FP remaining) to bring it down to 2 stress.}}

"Derrick, this is Jett in engineering. Looks like there is a minor hull breach, but taking the blast to the starboard side turned out to be brilliant. Don't worry, we're not in as much trouble as it looks from up there.

The depressurized decks only contain Preston's sauna and the arboretum. Nothing critical was damaged, and the Lily's fancy-pants automated systems have already sealed off those decks.

The rads you're seeing aren't from the blasts; the missiles were too far away. The readings you are getting are from all these space-damned suns. Keep flying like this, and we'll have these bastards against the ropes in no time."

Jett pecked away with his two index fingers on the holographic control display. Literally dozens of systems were reported damaged or non-functioning. His eyes glazed over as they rolled past.

"Air perfumers... dramatic wind gust generators... laser dance floor display..."

Finally, something pertinent caught his attention. A pinhole breach on deck 6. He wasn't all that great with this kind of technological repairs, but he was damn good at hitting things with a space-spanner. And with a pressurized hull patch, that was probably all this job needed. He wasn't just some layabout when the space combat was down. He was going to fix the ship. He was a space-damned hero. It felt good.

"Jett, this is Derrick. I'm on a private channel because I don't want Preston to hear. I noticed that both aromatherapy rooms have been decompressed, which means that all the oils and perfumes and other crap are lost by now. Don't utter a word of this to Preston, or he'll miserable until we can restock on Zana II. He never steps inside those rooms, but insists that they are critical to his well-being. With a bit of luck we can keep him from noticing the damage until we get to dock.

"Great job on the patchup, by the way. That pinhole you sealed was in danger of becoming a serious breach. Glad to have you on board."

Preston looked over the carefully-redacted damage reports. "Agh! My ship! The humanity! I'm going to need some serious aromatherapy after this..."

"Oh how cute, nukes." James glared into his comms console. "That's it. I think switching off all their power is in order."

Jett, repairing a scarred bulkhead, grumbled to himself. "When we get some downtime, I'm going to have some target practice with those guns. I don't like the idea of getting blown up in a space ship without being able to do anything about it..."

2.1 Positioning

On board the Red Eagle, there were mutterings amongst the crew. Though there had been excitement when the torpedoes came close, the report of no visible damage -- and from a good salvo, too -- was disheartening.

"What do you mean, no effect," roared Captain Preb from the Red Star, out of fight but still in communication with the Red Eagle.

"Just that, sir. We saw a little atmosphere leakage -- I think we cracked a few airlock seals -- but their drive function is unimpaired. I don't think we could catch them without melting the primary thermocouplings, if they wanted to get past us."

Preb grunted. "Those overconfident Arestonian sons-of-bitches won't run. They think they hold all the cards. We'll show them! Preb out."

Aboard the Red Eagle, warning lights flashed. Their guidance system, always on the fritz, had started a reboot and self-diagnostic. The nuclear explosions had caused a number of faulty readings to be taken, and caused a fatal error in the system.

The Red Eagle was far from helpless, however. This happened all the time. That's why they had the manual overrides. Of course, they usually took a minute or two to initiate...

Preston pinged Derrick. "Captain, our adversaries appear to be attempting to abscond. I propose we disengage and seek some more reputable authorities."

James' voice came over the line. "Mmm. Opfor Guncam footage, mixed with irate ship owner footage. Interstellar incident-alicious. Well worse comes to worse maybe my worm might live free in their mainframe."

End of Conflict

The Red Eagle's manual overrides did indeed take a long time to reset, several minutes in fact, and by the time they came back, the Efferdhal Lily had put herself comfortably out of the Corvallian privateer's torpedo envelope.

Shortly after Derrick sounded the all clear, a bit of data came streaming in from James' worm, still lodged in the Red Eagle's computer banks. The data was a decrypted communication log, between the Red Eagle and the Red Star.

The data was a pretty complete log, including a transcript of a three-way conversation with Giresh Paldi, apparently a bureaucrat of some sort -- he refered to 'my boss' a couple of times in the conversation, as in, 'my boss won't be pleased', and 'so then what do you have to show my boss?' as well as those between Preb and the junior captain on the Red Eagle.

Captain Preb was clearly displeased with his subordinate for letting him get away, and subjected him to a royal chewing out.

It was not immediately apparent where the three way connection was to, although it was several light-seconds distant.

Salem

Derrick was coordinating damage reports with Engineering, compiling a list of resources expended during this episode. "Bad news, Preston. We lost a lot of r-mass to those nukes. We're not going to be able to make it all the way to New Portland unless we move at a crawl the whole way. I can try to get us a gravity assist, but even with that it looks like the only major settlements in range are Salem, Corvallis and Yushi. And I don't know about you, but I'm not keen on following the Red Eagle into the heart of Corvallis."

James piped up. "I say we go to Corvallis, for a spot of murder, I mean r-mass. There's also Yushi, its handy for a spot of murder, I mean r-mass."

Preston was silent for a moment. "Hmmm, Doctor Mei Ling, what can you tell us about the other two planets, am I correct in remembering that Yushi is the settlement you fled?"

Derrick let out a low whistle. "Damn, Preston, even I'm more tactful than that. 'Hey, you have a traumatic history with your homeland. Why don't you tell me all about it?'"

Jett shrugged. He had just come back from conducting repairs, and his pressure suit was filthy. "We seem pretty good at fixing what's broke at home. At least, that's kind of what happened in Tombstone with me. So I think yeah, if Mei-ling wants to tell us about it, we go murder people who pissed her off and put the people she likes in charge, then set off back into the black, I think she should. "If not, we land on that other place and refuel there. Six of one, half a dozen the other, from where I'm standing..."

Mei-ling bit her lip, hard, to try not to scream at Preston. She had spent the episode sitting at one of the bridge's auxiliary stations, careful not to actually touch anything, as she had no real knowledge of how to operate ship systems.

"You don't want to go to Yushi." I can't go back there, she thought, and the thought was pretty obvious to anyone with even a modicum of empathy. "Corvallis will let you dock and then not let you leave if they fancy the ship, so that's out. Salem at least is pretty civilized. I might still know some people at the University that could help with the physics behind a slipknot."

"Ah yes, Yushi." James sighed. "No disrespect Mei but that place was not a good place. I say we head to Salem and contact the system authorities while we remass. Then we should go to Corvalis on our way out. I have this prototype of a habitat destroying virus I want to try out. I love it when we interfere with the politics of other systems." James' cloak disengaged revealing him to be dressed in grey Erewhonian formal wear. "Doing a system sweep, making sure we didn't lose anything when we got hit. Also, I need to fiddle with some stuff here."

"Excellent," Preston said. "then its off to Salem. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the aroma therapy complex."

Jett nearly jumped in front of Preston. "Uhhhh, Preston! Before you head off to aroma-therapy, there are some important, um, engineering things that I need to show you. Yeah. Just, ah, come this way..."

Preston nodded. "I suppose that's plausible, however I do insist on bringing a SpritsDrone." Preston entered the follow command to the SpritsDrone and after a moments consideration sets the Scent Theme to "surprise me."

Mei-ling took a deep breath. "Yes. It's not a good place for a girl to grow up," she said, looking around to find James. "I still owe you a great debt for getting me out," she added, when James materialized. "But I must be fair to my parents and teachers. I learned a great many things from them, and I would not be who I am without them."

"Yeah, the closest thing I ever had to a father was Spaceboss." Jett paused on his way out. "He plucked me from the ventilators when I was still biting ankles. Taught me everything I know. Then I stole his guns and eventually we murdered him.

"Sounds like you had a better parental situation than me. I'd say we avoid Yushi for a time. If you've got complicated feelings, we're not the kind of crew that uncomplicates things. Kind of the opposite, actually..."

Jett wrinkled his nose. "Space, Preston, what is that bot spraying at us now?"

James sniffed. "Lemon delight."

Mei-ling stared at Jett for a moment, unsure of what to say, then found an excuse to break it by checking her ship-suit's built-in radiation dosimeter. "Captain, I'll be going to medbay. Any crew whose dosimeter shows more than a deciseefer or so should come see me for a radam pill. Mine is showing just a couple milliseefers, so hopefully there won't be any, but extra rads are nothing to fool around with."

Without waiting for anything more, she left the bridge.

Derrick was listening to the conversation while leaning back in his seat, his feet resting between the wildly-spinning casters of an overturned YesBot. Mei-Ling's parents, huh? If we ever make it to Yushi I have to remember to ask them how they managed to put up with her. His eyebrow twitched as a disturbing thought occurred to him. What if they're like that too? Maybe I should talk to their neighbours instead. He stopped short of extrapolating behaviour patterns to the entire colony, and grinned dryly. "Now I'm just curious," he muttered.

The YesBot's crushed speaker array let out a tinny "Excellent idea, sir!"

Preston stopped in his tracks. "Oh that reminds me James, could we still open communications with our friend the Space Warden from here? I am overcome with a strong desire to fill out some paperwork."

James thought about it. "Should be able to unless someone's jamming us and I don't think any of these roid dwellers have the capability. Hey also, what do you think? Should we sort out these Corvellians while we are here?"

Preston looked down his nose. "What, like shoot at them? That sounds like a frighteningly costly venture that will likely result in further damage to my Lily so I think not if that's ok with everyone."

"No no. Shooting at them would be silly. I was thinking of tattling to Ariston. Shooting up envoys and all that is rather frightfully rude." James grinned evilly.

Preston smiled humourlessly. "Well ideally we will do the maximum amount of tattling possible."

Jett raised his hand. "I vote we go to Salem. They seem like the most straightforward of our refuelling options. We don't want to end up somewhere where they're gonna strand us without R-Mass. And they probably have a decent ramscoop Preston can buy.

"Wake me when we dock. I'll be in my bunk."

With Preston distracted from his aromatherapy room, Jett left the room listlessly. He headed for his quarters, and once inside, removed the empty can labelled 'Space Yums!!' from under his sleeping mat. Unscrewing the lid, he removed two matte blue dermal patches from the bundle inside, replaced the lid and returned the can to its hiding place.

Jett didn't do well with complicated feelings.

Marion Station

September 22, 756 OSY

Domingo Cutillo, the chief mechanic at the Salem shipyards, let out a low whistle as the Efferdhal Lily slid into the maintenance bay. She'd never seen an Arestonian yacht up close. The Lily's sleek lines and shimmering solar sail were in stark contrast to the blocky chassis and rusting joins of most Oregonian ships.

On the other hand, the ugly bomb-scarred gash in her side looked like it was going to be difficult to repair. The shipyards didn't have access to that much plasteel on such short notice. It would be a treat to work on this ship, but its crew would have to make do with polyuminium patching.

When Chief Cutillo saw the requisition order for the Arestonian yacht, her eyes widened. Install a mass scoop? On this beauty? That's practically vandalism! She looked up at the ship's captain on her screen to get some hint that he was kidding about bolting one of Cutillo's scoops onto a ship whose fission drives were decades ahead of anything her techs had ever built, but he was serious.

"Okay," she said, shaking her head. "But it won't be pretty."

The crew of the Efferdhal Lily filed out of the ship and into Marion station. They all wore e-suits, helmets carried or strapped to their hips. Atmosphere pressure was usually fine, the station attendants had explained, but safety protocols required that anyone on the station be at most sixty seconds from safety in case of depressurization. For people from off-station, the safest way to ensure this was to stay suited up until they learned how to find a positive-pressure shelter.

An eager young guide named Marlen led the crew toward the transport bays, where they would be taken to Salem Proper. The visitors looked around nervously as the decks creaked under their feet. It was difficult not to imagine the air hissing out of the patched-up cracks in the system's walls.

Marlen explained that Marion and Salem Proper were two of three habitats orbiting the local barycenter of an asteroid cluster. Marion was largely full of shipyards, although there were also some other types of machine shop, as well as local residences for the people who worked there. Gravity was about 0.25g across the station, so it wasn't a great long-term habitat.

Salem Proper (or just "Salem") was the largest of the three habitats, and was home to most of the 137 million citizens of the nation of Salem. This was kept at a stable 1g, Marlen explained, and had more reliable atmospheric controls.

The same was true of the third habitat, Polk. Polk housed the Oregon System Association's offices and halls. It was a popular tourist attraction, but Marlen said he didn't see the appeal.

The crew arrived at the transport bay, where a small shuttle was waiting. Marlen ushered them inside and wished them a good trip. The grizzled man at the front of the shuttle growled back into the cabin, "Hold onto your asses!" With a lurch the shuttle swung free of Marion and began the short, terrifying trip to Salem.

Derrick was going back over the Lily's budgets and accounts. She was bleeding funds every time they showed up somewhere with an empty hold, and the extra crew they would have to hire on for this new expedition didn't make the situation any better. So when the station mechanic called back to give Derrick the results of the initial inspection, he was feeling less than optimistic.

The grainy image of Chief Cutillo's face appeared on Derrick's communication console. "Hi Captain. Er, bad news. We just don't have enough plasteel to fix your hull. We'll have to have it imported, and that'll take time. I think I know someone in New Portland who can supply it, but that'll jack up the cost of the parts, and there'll be delays. I wish there was something else I could do."

Derrick sighed. The whole crew was antsy about getting back on course. They would need to stay in Salem at least a couple of days already; having to be here long enough to wait for some shipment to arrive would stretch anyone's patience. He grimaced and asked, "If I give you a list of nonessential structures in the ship, can you cannibalize them to make the repairs?"

Cutillo considered this. She made some calculations on a bulky handheld, and cautiously ventured, "Well, maybe. It'll take quite a bit of material. Just how much of your mass is in 'nonessential structures'?"

Derrick chuckled weakly. "Depends whose definition of 'nonessential' you use. But I think we can pull together enough material. I'll send you a rough survey of what we can spare." As far as Derrick was concerned, they could strip out all the bowling alleys, smoking rooms, water parks and libraries they needed, but he had to make sure Preston was happy in order for the rest of the crew to be happy. He started putting together a mental list of sections of the ship that could be stripped without Preston going too ballistic.

Cutillo nodded slowly, aware that there was some extra context to that exchange that she wasn't privy to. Alright, I'll wait for your transmission. Cutillo out."

Preston felt sick, he wasn't sure if it was radiation from the nuclear attacks, the knowledge that his lovely Lily was going to be mutilated by backwater mechanics, or just the stench of their filthy despicable shuttle pilot. He clung tightly to the side of the shuttle with one hand and held his messenger bag with his other. In the bag was all the paper work he needed to file his grievance to the Space Ward at the System Association's offices. He hoped this bit of righteous retribution would ease his fretful self.

Mei-ling stowed away the last of the medical supplies in the med-bay, trying not to be too worried. James had assured her that, as far as anyone outside the Lily itself was concerned, she wasn't Hsieh Mei-ling, fugitive from Yushi, but Kestya Norbitt, from Viagra system. Her ethnic Chinese features wouldn't be so easily concealed, but it wasn't completely implausible -- there were other groups that bred and genengineered for ethnic looks of all sorts. Mei-ling didn't doubt James' expertise in the slightest, but that didn't stop the knot of worry in the pit of her stomach. She'd only visited Salem a time or two, but some of her NPMC classmates were from here and many would have come home after graduation and might recognize her. She wasn't even sure where Kyl was, now. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Probably settled down back in New Portland with a bunch of kids... Mei-ling blinked back tears, and pulled a clasp tight in preparation for docking.

Her hair was tightly pulled back and wrapped in a bun, tucked away where it would not interfere with the helmets. She was familiar with Salem safety protocols, and it was the sort of place that needed them. Odds were good they'd be through at least one depressurization warning. She kept her face stoic as she sat down in the hard plastic seat of the short-haul shuttle, and buckled herself in.

(GM)

The shuttle pilot paused in the middle of a story about two chickens, a dyslexic prostitute and three bags of quick-drying cement. He twisted around and leaned back toward his passengers, waving to get Preston's attention.

"Hey! Hey, buddy! Hey! Don't pull on the wall railings like that! Those are structural!" When he saw Preston go white, drop his hands from what he had taken to be an armrest to his lap, and sit bolt upright in his seat, he turned back to his controls just in time to swerve out of the way of a similar shuttle jockeying for position in Salem Proper's entry lanes. "Whoah! Close one!" The pilot let out a phleghmy laugh and continued his story. "So anyway, I bet her two thalers that she couldn't reach them both at the same time..."

(James Trevelyan)

"Don't worry," the comm chimed. It was James. "You'll be fine. Now about this rust bucket of a transit vehicle, well that I can't help you with."

James felt out of sorts. Ever since the fight with the two Corvellian ships he had felt wrong. What was it that tugged at his mind and heart and that had made him pull out that mainframe destroying virus. Was it because of that dead girl on Viagra? Hopefully some atmo would help him sort himself out. Maybe he should get some of whatever Jett was taking. And that was another worry too, why did Jett want the internal security circumvented. James resolved to take measures in that regards after he got back to the ship.

(Jett Miner)

The harsh bursts of acceleration the shuttle underwent reminded Jett of Tombstone, of home. This was a proper ship. One built to function. One that could easily kill its occupants if they didn't know what they were doing. He grinned. He could probably get a proper drink somewhere on this place too. Something fermented in a reactor and chilled against a fusion coolant conduit.

His jetsuit's faceplate was recessed, but would close automatically and pressurize if the suit detected a significant drop in pressure. His fusion gun was running a self-diagnostic; he suspected there was something wrong with the polarity. He smiled to himself. He had been tinkering with it for hours last night, and he was hoping to get a chance to try out the new improvements.

Jett reflected that a station with clear depressurization safety protocols would mean less collateral damage if he happened to pierce the hull with a fusion blast. He had a feeling he was going to like Oregon.

(GM)

The shuttle's cabin was windowless, the only outside view through the scored and pitted front window. Through it, the crew of the Lily could see Salem Proper. Two enormous parallel cylindrical structures sat at the relatively stable local barycenter. One rounded end of each cylinder faced directly toward the binary pair of suns at the centre of the system. From the other end, huge mirrors swept up and out, reflecting and focussing sunlight onto the cylinders. No, into the cylinders, they saw. Each cylinder's length was divided into six panels: three opaque and three transparent.

The two cylinders were rotating slowly, but noticeably. There were clusters of other structures around the main structures. Some had obvious functions, like the structures at intervals along the loop of small transport pods running from the end of one cylinder to the other and back again. Others were more enigmatic, like the ring of linked modules rotating around the sunward end of each cylinder.

The terrifying shuttle ride ended at a complex that included one terminus of the inter-cylinder transport loop. The pilot turned around and said, "Thiry-five Thalers." Preston pulled out a slim data slate and looked up expectantly, waiting for the pilot's merchant code. The pilot frowned back until Mei-Ling, exasperated, handed over some plastic currency cards. The airlock hissed open, and the crew exited into Salem's arrival bay.

The port complex was on the end of the cylinder opposite the suns, built surrounding the axis. The approach was almost entirely inside the shadow of the habitat, but inside the station was bright and warm. Large windows opposite the docking bays looked down over a wide strip of land, bits of greenery dotting its otherwise brownish landscape. Atmospheric haze made it impossible to see to the other end of the habitat, but from this height the full width of the strip was visible, almost 500km from edge to edge.

Where the land stopped, black sky began. Two strips of darkness extended as far along the cylinder as was visible, reaching up to form an upside-down horizon with the two other strips of land. For the crew, this was the most jarring aspect of Salem. Even Mei-Ling, who had grown up in a toroid habitat and had visited several colonies built like this one, was not used to seeing such huge swaths of land hanging in the sky, one on either side of the suns.

The crew passed through the security checkpoint in the station. Jett managed to convince the officials that he needed to perform some maintenance on his fusion gun, and to let him register it and bring in into the colony. They did force him to leave behind all his power packs, though, and only take in the chassis. Anyone else carrying a gun was not so lucky -- the security team confiscated all of their weaponry, locking it in a case for pickup upon departure.

The port was high off the cylinder walls, so there was little external atmosphere and gravity was light. The crew took a transport down to the surface, a sort of diagonal elevator/monorail that rocked and swayed as it descended. It plunged down and through the light cloud cover in near-free-fall, and deposited its passengers at the edge of a busy commercial hub, where the gravity was up to 1g.

The sounds and smells of a busy city surrounded the Lily's crew. Masses of people milled about, going about their business. Some shoved rudely past the gathered off-worlders, hurrying from one place to another.

(James Trevelyan)

(Jett Miner)

"So Pres, you want to go check out some offices or something? Make a formal complaint? I'll head over with ya."

(Hsieh Mei-ling)

Mei-ling said quietly, "You do that. I want to keep out of official bureaucracy as much as I can. I'm going to go visit the university, see if I can dig up anything that might help us with the slipknot. James, I could probably use a hand if there's anyone trying to conceal stuff here?" she said, queryingly, obviously not willing to demand James' attention. "Preston already has all he needs in the recording, right?"

(Preston Feckless Wilkinson)

"Yes, James helped me compile all the video onto my data slate and I made sure it was fully charged. Just in case they don't have electricity at their offices. Have fun at the school Hsieh but you really must explain that absurd plastic currency they use here, how do they make large transactions?"

Preston saw Jett was already heading towards the offices. Not wanting to be caught alone in a city of brutes Preston hurried after his burley escort before his rant was complete.

(Hsieh Mei-ling)

"The same way you do. The plastic lets them avoid reporting the transaction and paying tax, is all."

(James Trevelyan)

In reply to Preston Feckless Wilkinson (msg #154):

"No electricity? Come on Preston, they're not that bad. Though I would stay away from the 'Vat juice'. It's some kind of fermented crap they make using algae from old air scrubbers." The lights dimmed just a bit and displays went haywire. "Er, ok also do not try to use all the bandwidth your personal comm-rig can take to do SAI searchs their local servers for news. Its a bit over the available bandwidth for a section and could cause a power outage." James' pushed his slightly ostentatious silver cloak over his shoulder.

(Preston Feckless Wilkinson)

seeing James' cloak made preston realize he needed some flashier duds. He pondered this revelation as he walked.

(Jett Miner)

"Alright Pres. I think the first order of business is that we get some Thaler chits so that we can hire a shuttle to Polk. I had a buddy who visited there once. Said they had the most space-awful music.

"Maybe we should look to exchange some of those chits for ear plugs..."

Jett tried to suss out where a trustworthy money-changer was. He wasn't familiar with the system, and certainly not this hab, but he was sure he was a sure he was going to have to keep an eye out for urchins who would try and rob fancy-pants Preston. Space, fifteen years ago HE would have jumped if he had seen Preston walking by.

(Preston Feckless Wilkinson)

"hmmm, I trust my fortitude more then the cleanliness of any ear plugs here. I will endure whatever tribal music they can conjure. But you are write about their money tokens, do you see a place that could do conversions?

(Jett Miner)

Being just outside a port, there were a number of money-changing businesses set up nearby. Jett looked for the one that would have the least favourable exchange rate, and therefore the most interest in keeping its customers returning. When a suitable one was found Jett steered Preston inside, looking over his shoulder in a paranoid fit. He realized that his new Jetsuit didn't make him look all that poverty stricken either, though probably a harder target. Hopefully he looked like a private bodyguard (pretty much the truth) so that petty thieves would steer clear of the both of them.

(GM)

(Preston Feckless Wilkinson)

it was a time before preston finally agreed to do a currency exchange, he just had a hard time shaking off the feeling he was buying really expensive plastic chits...

(GM)

It took a while for the sheer size of Salem Proper to sink in. The two habitat cylinders were named Lansing and Grant, and each housed over 60 million people, with room for much more. Large swaths of the habitats were wilderness, especially toward the central regions. The original ecosystem installed by the architects of the Salem habitat had grown and developed, and while it didn't have the vibrancy and diversity of a terrestrial ecosystem on Areston Prime or Viagra 4, by all accounts it had grown into a self-sustaining system.

The settlements in each cylinder were clustered toward the ends. The sunward, locally referred to as "south", region of each housed most of the scientific and industrial outposts. Here, also, most of the nation's food was grown in two great rings of specialized agricultural modules centred on the cylinders' ends.

The anti-sunward ("north") regions were more densely populated, as a result of their proximity to the interplanetary spaceports at the northern ends. Whereas the southern region of each cylinder had one main settlement and a number of satellite outposts, in the north there were several independently governed metropolises of varying sizes.

September 24, 756 OSY

After a couple of days of getting used to Salem, registering with the appropriate organizations, arranging for short-term lodging and so forth, it became a little easier to move around and get things done. The crew of the Efferdhal Lily had first arrived in the city of Lancaster, in northern Lansing, but it quickly became apparent that in order to communicate with the system's scientific community, Mei-Ling and James would have to go to South Lansing, where the universities and research centres were much more active in the physical sciences.

Preston and Jett, on the other hand, would have to leave Salem Proper and go to Polk if they wanted to get involved in any of the system's political and legal machinations. Being allowed entry to Polk required filing for legal recognition by the Salem government and applying for various necessary permits. Preston was generally good at navigating such bureaucracies, but was unfamiliar with the Oregon legal system -- he hoped he could do it without taking an unreasonably long time.

(Preston Feckless Wilkinson)

The whole affair made Preston surly and this foreign system was not helping. He got the job done, but he sure wasn't happy to do it.

(GM)

(Hsieh Mei-ling)

Before heading to South Lansing, where she would hopefully be able to exract some useful information from the scientists there, Mei-ling spent some time digging through network-accessible archives. It would not do to be going into this blindly.

Mei-ling rubbed her eyes and turned to James. "This isn't going to be easy. Scientists here don't really understand slipknot principles. I mean, no-one really understands them, even the stuff from Areston mostly admits they don't really know why they exist. But the journals here have a ... blindness. There's not much published about slipknot science, in the public domain at least. But, I do have one lead. There's a Professor Porlin at the Lansing Scientific Institute, who published a graduate thesis focussing on slipknot physics. Since then, he's barely published at all... but he still was hired on here at one of the systems better universities and made top rank in the hierarchy in record time. What do you think?"

(GM)

(James Trevelyan)

"It's worth a shot," James responded. "I worry about the sophistication of this chap but I bow to your familiarity with the area." James fretted as his rig hummed quietly search SAIs buzzing through the local grid. Were they being followed? Was Mei-Ling's scan being watched from elsewhere in the system?

(Hsieh Mei-ling)

"I've been here only a few times, actually, and I've certainly never met the man. It's just his thesis turned up in a pretty short list of slipknot-related papers published here. Maybe you can help me find out what he's really been doing lately? I'm guessing something military and hush-hush, but maybe not."

(GM)

(GM)

(GM)