Chapter 14
The uniform provided was a khaki ensemble, loaded down with pockets and bearing a patch with “TRAINEE” written in bold capital letters. Combined with the wide-brimmed hat that accompanied it, wearing it made him feel like the tour guide on a safari ride. He’d had more dignified outfits, but at this point, a tutu would have been an improvement over the flight suit, which he was fairly sure was beginning to ferment. The shower and change of clothes, though recuperative, didn’t do much to do away with the alcoholic stupor he’d managed to achieve. Either that rum had more of a kick than he was used to or he really was a lightweight.
He sat on the edge of a bunk, scratched at his unshaven face, and sorted through the facts.
“Let’s see. I’m on an out-of-the-way planet, being essentially held prisoner by a well-educated sociopath, sitting in borrowed clothes on a bunk in an empty dormitory . . . again. This is a weird little rut my life seems to have gotten into,” he muttered, “but on the plus side, a pretty lady said she’d rather me be a slave than a corpse. I’ve got that going for me.”
“Alexander,” growled Hendricks.
The sudden comment startled Lex’s sluggish mind, causing him to slip off the edge of the bed.
“God! Were you there the whole time? You didn’t watch me shower, did you?”
“Mr. Patel wants you,” he stated, ignoring the question.
“I’ll bet he does. This is something I’m going to have to get used to, isn’t it? On call, 24-7.
“On Operlo, it is 35-9. Get moving.”
“You use a different number of days in the week?” Lex said, bundling up his belongings and tucking them under his arm. “Now you’re just being contrary.”
“Move!”
“Okay, okay!”
Hendricks quickly ushered him out of the complex and into the harsh sun, where the silly-looking hat suddenly became well-appreciated. It may not have been fashionable, but it certainly kept the burning rays off of his face. He was brought to a slightly-better-cared-for hover cart and driven to his borrowed ship, which was surrounded by a small work crew bearing hefty looking tools and irritated expressions. Nicholas Patel was among them. He wore a similar hat and a pair of sunglasses, as well as a glossy black gadget that wrapped around the back of his neck like a collar. Miss Misra was standing beside him and was similarly equipped. They, notably, were the only ones who weren’t sweating in the baking heat.
“Mr. Alexander!” Patel said brightly.
“You called? And what’s with the fancy neck gear?”
“A blood conditioner. Chills the blood passing through the carotid artery, as I understand it. Quite effective at combating the heat.”
“Man. Rich people get all of the best toys.”
“Rich people get all of the best everything, Mr. Alexander. It is the primary motivator for becoming rich. And speaking of toys, I tip my hat to you, sir. You’ve got an excellent security system in place,” he remarked.
“Do I?”
“Indeed. My men here tried all of the usual methods to pop the cockpit, and received repeated warnings about . . . What was the wording, Preethy?”
“Utilization by individuals with level 2 access or lower is not permitted,” she supplied, after a glimpse at her datapad.
“When they shifted to more direct methods of access, the ship powered up, electrified the hull, and warned of self-destruction.”
“It is also attempting to establish a secure communications link,” his assistant added.
“Wow. High-class stuff.”
“Very much so. Would you kindly deactivate it?”
“No.”
The generally pleased and jovial expression that seemed to be a staple of Patel’s face hardened slightly.
“Mr. Hendricks, please motivate him.”
Behind him, he heard the chunky mechanical sound of a good, old-fashioned slug thrower chambering a round. Say what you will about the flashy new microwave, laser, and plasma based firearms, you just can’t beat a hand-cannon for intimidation potential. He glanced aside to see a weapon pointed at his ear that, if fired at this range, would probably leave him with more hole than head.
“Look, it isn’t a motivation issue. I just can’t! I told you, this thing is a loaner. I didn’t even know I had a security system, so I sure as hell don’t know how to turn it off!” Lex quickly assured.
“Well, now would be an excellent time to learn.”
After a second glance at the gun, Lex reluctantly stepped toward the ship. The other workers had given it a fairly wide berth, and were watching him with interest as he approached. Aside from the engines humming and all of the system lights lit in the cockpit, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. When he was close enough to touch it, he turned again. The workers were watching with morbid interest, no doubt waiting for him to take a heart-stopping jolt.
“Uh . . . ship? DAR? Ma?” he said, hoping that there might be voice control that he’d been unaware of. Usually that only worked from the inside, but there was a first time for everything.
There was no reaction, save from the workers, who snickered amongst themselves. He gingerly reached out toward the ship, squinting his eyes and turning his head away. Finally his fingers touched the surface. They almost sizzled from the sun-broiled metal, but there was no bolt of lightning or other excitement. After breathing a sigh of relief, he climbed up onto the recessed steps and tapped the control for the cockpit, which opened.
“I guess it’s okay now,” he called over his shoulder.
“Right, get to work, boys,” Hendricks ordered.
A worker with a lit cutting torch stepped toward the ship. When he came within a meter of the ship, the cockpit suddenly snapped shut.
“Unauthorized personnel within minimum proximity. Please clear the hull and stand by for electrical defense activation,” warned the external address system, speaking in what appeared to be one of Ma’s many voices. Evidently this was one of the donor systems for her vocal interface.
“Whoa, hey, okay, back off!” Lex shouted, dropping to the scalding hot ground and covering his head.
When the worker moved away, the ship chirped and proclaimed, “Proximity clear, defense disengaged.”
“I am losing my patience, Mr. Alexander,” Patel said sternly.
“Okay, everyone stay back, and I’ll get in and try to turn it off,” Lex said.
“And what is to keep you from simply escaping at that point?” asked Patel.
“Well, the mooring cables, for one,” he suggested.
This did not seem to satisfy his host.
“Fine, I won’t get in. I’ll just reach in. That way Mr. Trigger-Happy over there can shoot me in the ass if I try something.”
“Do it,” Patel said warily.
Lex climbed up, popped the cockpit, and reached inside. Stretching as far as he could, he managed to reach the command button on the console.
“Voice interface activated,” the ship stated.
“Computer, deactivate security system.”
“Modifying safety and security settings requires level 0 access. You have level 1 access.”
“Um . . . grant access to these other guys.”
“Increasing access list requires level 0 access. You have level 1 access.”
“Anyone have any ideas?” Lex called over his shoulder.
“Stop toying with me, Mr. Alexander,” Patel growled.
“I’m not toying with you! This isn’t my ship! How many different ways do I have to say it!? Look, I’ll just grab the case and hand it over, and then you guys can blow the stupid ship up, for all I care.”
“Very well,” Patel said.
“Move slow, Alexander. I’ve got your balls in my crosshairs,” Hendricks warned.
“I assure you, I wouldn’t dare do something that would endanger my groinal region.”
Slowly, Lex bent over the edge of the cockpit. The case was under the seat, and reaching it from the outside was going to be tric
ky. His fingers had just brushed against the handle when a blinking red light on the console suddenly turned green.
“Secure link established,” the ship proclaimed.
“I swear to God I didn’t do that!” Lex squeaked, crossing his legs.
“Finally!” came a voice over the ship’s com system. It was Karter. “What are you trying to do, steal my ship? Control override.”
Instantly, the ship lurched upward, taking Lex with it. He scrambled for a grip, sending his wadded-up flight suit tumbling inside. A bullet ricocheted off of the hull an eighth of an inch from his thigh. A moment later, the ship reached the ends of the mooring lines, coming to a complete stop. Lex was not so lucky. He continued under his own momentum until his back collided with the open cockpit hatch. He bounced off painfully, and landed fully in the cockpit. Hendricks’s gun barked a few more times, joined a moment later by a few more in the fully-automatic range.
“I told you it would take seventy-two hours. That means you come and get your old ship in seventy-two hours! No more gallivanting, I’m bringing that bird home. Automatic Pilot: engage. Manual Control: lockout. Destination Select: home. Activate.”
The engines groaned and strained against the mooring lines as bullets continued to pepper the belly of the ship, now joined by some of the more colorful energy weapons. With a clank, the cockpit hatch locked shut again. Finally, the engines flared and the mooring lines snapped, sending the DAR launching into the sky. It was out of the atmosphere and well on its way to FTL speed before Lex managed to climb into the seat.