In Honest Company...
23 Nov 2024Da5id Weatherwax
"You can't trust any of them!"Cassandra had one of those voices, the nasality and sneering tone that was part and parcel of the upper-class Alioth accent turned up to 11 and when she raised her voice, which she just had, it cut across the dinner table like the whine of an illegal vibroblade. Not that she'd ever heard that aound in the corridors of some shithole of a frontier station, of course, so she had no way of knowing what she sounded like. Pity, that. I'd been enjoying the evening so far.
"I'm sorry, Cassandra," only her husband got away with calling her Cassie, "Who is it you can't trust?"
"Pilot's Federation. All of them are only a half-credit away from being mercenaries or criminals! And Sonja's daughter wants to join up with them! I hope she and Bill put a firm lid on THAT!"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her husband wince. I liked Harry, we were business partners in a lot of ventures, we played golf together and we'd sat around over a lot of beers discussing all that was wrong with the galaxy. We were friends. As a result he knew a lot more about me than his wife did.
"Cassie, dear... I do think you're painting with a bit of a broad brush. What about the independent pilots that rallied to our assistance after the weather sattelite disaster? Or that fought off the Empire and the Federation the last five times they've both tried to bite off part of our territory..."
"Oh, come on, Hal. They all made a profit off it and what did they do against the Empire or Federation that the Alliance Defence Fleet couldn't do?"
The conversation went predictably nowhere from that. I kept my temper until we were past the excellent dessert my chef had prepared and as my guests drifted to the parlour for after-dinner drinks I slipped aside into my private office.
"Computer"
<ready to accept commands>
"Odyssey protocol. Pass phrase: Such a long time to be gone and a short time to be there."
<Carrier activation code sent. Estimated time to power-up, 20 minutes. ETA in Alioth orbit 45 minutes. The hangar is reconfiguring your personal craft.>
I keyed open the concealed locker that my command had unlocked. The worn, but serviceable, flight suit hanging there seemed to mock my decision, years ago, to retire. It was as if it had known, or I had when I stored rather than junking all my gear, that eventually the black would call me again.
Sealing my flight suit I removed the remaining items from the locker and settled my sidearms in place. Stepping out of my office and down the hall, I paused before entering the parlour. I listened to the buzz of conversation beyond the doorway for a few seconds, then stepped in and heard it die in an instant. The sudden silence was broken by a rippling laugh from Cassandra.
"Really, David? You're a couple of weeks late for Halloween, you know!"
"Not even holo-drama directors would dare to put a real shoulder-patch on their costumes, Cassandra. And if they did, there's no actor would dare to wear it." I stood there, letting her eyes in particular, but also everyone else in the room, take in the patches of Elite ranks on my flight suit. "I hope you enjoyed what my chef prepared tonight, Cassandra, because this was the last time you'll be welcome in my home unless and until you show me a non-zero number for how many times YOU'VE had a ship blown out from under you by somebody invading your home nation, or for how many times you've sat in a remlock breathing your own stink for weeks so that your ships lifesupport all goes to the poor refugees in your hold. Can you trust us all to be on your side? No. We come from all parts of the galaxy and other than the Pilots Federation, all our other loyalties are a personal matter. What you can trust of us, Cassandra, is to keep our word. If we SAY we are on your side we are. If we promise to defend you, we'll do it or die trying. Even if that means making sure our own guild-brothers die trying to protect the people THEY promised to work for."
I drew a breath and looked over at Harry.
"Go talk to Sonja and Bill. If their daughter is aboard the carrier "Box Of Rain" within roughly the next 12 hours, with all her application papers, She gets a free ride to Jameson station and I'll use the time en route deciding whether or not I'll personally sponsor her. Whether she's aboard or not I break orbit as soon as I've a full tritium onload."
I drew a breath and raised my voice.
"All of you, feel free to enjoy the hospitality of my estate as long as you wish. My staff will attend to your needs. I, however, will be light-years away by the time you awaken tomorrow morning. And probably in less high-born but more honest company."