Logbook entry

CCC3 - part 14, things hotting up

Thequa Sector

"What in Hell happened?" Michael Strang shouts, slamming his fist on the table. "Two ships lost and only three jumps into the route."

The fleet has come to a standstill while he presides over a post-mortem conference on board the flagship. Around the conference table sit the commanders of the remaining seven Type-9s, laden with antihydrogen scooped from Thequa AA-A j0.

Second-in-command, Commander Lancing, squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

"As far as we can tell," he says, "they are unrelated incidents – two separate sets of circumstances."

"Which are?" Strang says.

"The first accident was caused by activation of the wrong fuel scoop. We think that Commander Verdi didn't switch across to the regular scoop after we finished in the antimatter system. She scooped hydrogen into the antimatter containment unit and, well – Goodnight Venici."

Strang's first decision is easy. "Nobody moves until all the remaining ships have their antimatter scoop deactivated. I will personally tour the fleet to check this is done. So, what was the cause of the second incident?"

"Commander Otto jumped into a neutron system and got too close. The ship's systems overheated, and the power plant failed. Without power, the containment unit let go of its antihydrogen and – again, enough said."

Strang momentarily regrets dispensing with the services of Crispin Paunch, Chief Engineer on the antimatter scooping project. But there are other engineers in his service, mechanical and electrical, people whose loyalty he doesn't doubt, people whose dedication to the cause is beyond question.

"We need to rig some kind of uninterruptible power supply that will cut in if the main power plant fails."

"That'll take some time to design and install," Lancing says.

Time is against them, Strang knows. He has an appointment with his comrade, Eldrin Dood, either in Gandharvi or, failing that, at the fleet carrier that's stationed in the Festival Ground.

"We have no choice," he says. "We can't afford to lose another ship."

"I'll get onto it," Lancing says.



Caravanserai, Gandharvi

Heat Sink is an out-of-the-way bar in a quiet thoroughfare of the Caravanserai Ocellus starport. It's dimly lit, and in its darkest corner three men sit in earnest conversation. Their demeanour is conspiratorial as they lean their heads in to each other and occasionally look around to see who might be listening.

The man in the middle, Eldrin Dood, is expensively dressed; his hair is immaculately coiffed and his beard closely trimmed. The hand that closes around his drink is manicured to perfection. The men flanking him are wild and scruffy in comparison, their clothes ill-fitting, their nervousness and discomfort more evident. As fugitives, they're trying to hide their identities with dark glasses and hats pulled low.

"We've been here too long, we can't wait any longer," Eldrin Dood says. "If we're going to make our deadline we need to make a move."

"What do you suggest?" Ethan Strang says.  "We can't use the cannon until we have the antimatter."

"But, we can't take the Corvette to the Festival Ground and then to Colonia; it's doesn't have the jump range," Kurt Vile says. "Probably we should take it to the Colonia region and meet with Michael there."

There's a pause while they think, each man draining his glass.

"How about this?" Dood says "Ethan and I go out to Festival and join the fleet carrier; I need to know that Michael was successful – without that we have no way to strike. You, Kurt, should take the Corvette to Colonia and wait for us there. You could go over to Polo Harbour and pick up the neutron highway – that would help you make good progress."

"I'm up for that," Ethan Strang says. "It'll be good to see Mike again and my ship is already on the carrier."

Dood taps the device in his right ear. "Sybil, tell me about the ships available in Caravanserai."

He listens intently for thirty seconds, makes a decision, and issues his commands.

"Sybil, buy me a Keelback; maximise its jump range; fit a fighter hangar if one is available; put in some cargo racks then arrange to transfer my stock of rares from the Corvette."

They order another round of drinks and surreptitiously make a toast.

"The revolution!" they say almost inaudibly before clinking glasses and swallowing in one draft.



Eagle's Landing

We've decided we need to go to Caravanserai in the Gandharvi system, and to get there as soon as possible. We leave the moon behind and plot a course for Sacaqawea, thinking we'll take the chance to keep the ship in good condition.

We land at Sacaqawea and make a touch-and-go visit to Starport Services.



Then it's on to Gandharvi where we arrive feeling tired and somewhat space-mad. Mai and Jaquelyn, who have relaxed in the luxury cabin, say that they will go and explore the station and find out what they can about Dood's movements.



If there's a chance of combat, I think about my own Corvette which is in storage at Jameson Memorial. It's a valuable and well-fitted ship and I'm curious to know how much it would cost to ship it here.

Shipyard services tell me it would cost 488 million to transfer it. What's more the delivery would take nearly two days. This is a double-whammy; I'd love to have the firepower and the comfort of the shields, but it's more than I can afford right now and it would take too long.



From the cockpit I see Mai and Jaquelyn hurrying back to the ship.

"There's good news and bad news," Mai says.

"Always the bad first," I say, "then we can end on a positive."

"Eldrin Dood and Ethan Strang left here yesterday, destination unknown."

"But," Jaquelyn adds excitedly, "he left flying a Keelback and his Corvette is still here, and so is Kurt Vile!"

"We need to act quickly, before he leaves." I say. "We need to make sure that cannon doesn't leave the station."

The news gives us a rush of adrenaline; Tay is already looking at the Contacts in Starport Services.

"Head of security is Ilana Velazquez," she says, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door. "Coming?"

I leap up and we head out together to find the Authority offices.



Ilana Velazquez is a hands-on manager of her police and militia force. When we arrive, she's standing in the reception area giving a briefing to a squad of rapid-reaction pilots; she finishes her talk with: "Get to it!"

She turns to us with a keen eye and strikes me as the kind of person who keeps on top of her job.

"What can we do for you today?" she asks, addressing Tay. This gives me time to think. I don't want to rush into anything too hastily.

"There's an escaped con at the station and we thought you might like to know."

Velazquez pounces on the information.

"Name?" she says quickly.

"Kurt Vile."

"Oh, yeah, heard about him; with the Strang gang isn't he? Hold on a minute."

She goes to the reception desk and says briskly to the duty sergeant: "Put out an all-units locate-and-apprehend order for…"

"Chief," I interrupt her, "before you make the arrest, I have a proposition for you."



Kurt Vile sits alone at the same table in Heat Sink that he shared recently with Eldrin Dood and Ethan Strang. A half-bottle of Sol champagne from the house of Moët & Chandon rests on the table, bubbles rising vigorously in the low atmospheric pressure.

After his companions left, he went to a tattooist and covered his face with ink; then he went to an under-the-counter optician and bought some highly reflective contacts designed to block remote iris and retinal scans.

He's decked out now in a new, well-fitting flight suit and is wearing skin-tight gloves that leave no prints. He feels invisible, but it can't be so because a shifty-looking, middle-aged guy is heading his way. I mustn't look threatening enough he thinks as the man presumes to take a seat opposite him.

"Evenin', Guv'nor," the stranger says, "which way you headed, bubble or Colonia?"

Vile is cautious, alert to danger. "What's it to you?"

"Well, it's just that, if you were going to Colonia I have a tasty transport contract for a pilot with, how to put it, an ethical deficit."

"If you mean 'smuggler', I ain't interested; I got bigger fish…"

"Pity," the man says, leaning in, "You look just the sort of hauler I'm looking for. It's only a small consignment for the black market in Jaques Station. It pays fifteen mill, and there's more where that came from for the right pilot."

Vile eyeballs the man and repeats: "I told you, I ain't interested."

The would-be entrepreneur pauses, like every skilled negotiator would at this point. He sighs, as though admitting defeat.

"I suppose I could stretch it to twenty, but my children would go hungry tonight."

Vile considers this. It's twenty million credits for a journey he's making anyway. He could deliver the goods easily enough – smuggling is one of his specialty skills – and then be about his business. No need to undersell, though.

"Thirty million and we have a deal. What is the cargo, anyway?"

"You're killing me here," the dealer says. "It's only a small quantity of Imperial Slaves."

Considering that his bigger mission is the liberation of the masses from the yoke of Federal and Imperial domination, Vile places a fairly low value on human life on this more intimate scale.

"Got no qualms about that," he says. "I'll do it for thirty mill – half up-front."

Again the slave trader sighs, though in reality it's gone down exactly the way he expected.

"Excellent, we have a deal. I'll have the consignment delivered and in your hold before the hour is out."

"And I want them fed and watered before I go – don't want the hassle of carin' for 'em."

The trader nods and leaves. Vile sets about finishing his bottle, one gulp at a time, before all the bubbles have gone.



Whoever spends an evening in the delightful company of Messrs Moët & Chandon invariably spends the next morning with their less companionable alter egos: Mr Aldehyde and Mr Ketone.

As the chemicals throb through his brain, Kurt Vile emerges from sleep to the realisation that he is now behind schedule. He should have gone yesterday. It's a long haul to Colonia and the Corvette's jump range is abysmal.

He thinks that a triple hit of caffeine and a few tabs of performance enhancer is a worthwhile investment of his time and while the chemical counterattack is under way he checks the ship.



He sees the fifteen million boost to his account and, checking the inventory, sees that the Imperial Slaves have been installed. Should he go and talk to them? Nah, no point. He's hoping the small extra mass will not dent the Corvette's range too severely, but if it does he'll ditch them. Knowing who they are would only complicate things.

The one remaining concern is getting out of the starport without being detected. If the authorities see his illicit cargo or if they identify him as wanted there could be a fight. Eldrin had said he should avoid this at all costs.

Another decision he needs to make is whether to navigate in a straight line to Colonia or to transit over to Polo Harbour where he can pick up the neutron highway – the sequence of neutron stars that give a huge boost to jump range at the cost of damage to the frame shift drive.

Although some combat ships carry a field maintenance unit to make running repairs to internals, this ship doesn't have one. Eldrin Dood, whose ship this is, has never been in a fierce enough battle to need one. Kurt Vile also disparages them; his combat skills are such that his shields are almost never taken down.

On balance, and with the extra benefit of not stopping at another outpost, Vile decides that the direct route will be best and he lays in the course.

He requests a launch – permission granted.

He lifts the landing gear and thrusts upwards until he's on the rotational axis of the starport. He applies reverse thrust to take the Corvette to the back wall of the docking bay and he waits for the other ships to clear the area.

Then he looks at the pattern of circling authority ships, patiently waiting for a gap to appear. There it is. He taps the boost control and jerks the throttle fully open. The surge of power is thrilling. He hasn't flown a Corvette in a while but muscle memory is strong in him and he aims for the centre of the access corridor.

He's out, and the A-rated power distributor enables him to boost again. He sees that his first target system on the route is behind him, so he keeps boosting to break mass-lock and then boosts again to get well away from the no-fire zone. Dood has certainly put a fine ship together in this one.

He pitches through one-eighty and looks around. He's alone, except for some puny Orca cruising away from the starport. He charges the frame-shift and, when it's humming eagerly, he taps the boost again and gives the thrusters their head. Goodbye Caravanserai.