prissi

  He felt like a Kstzuran was crawling all over his brairied to lift his head but the increasing pain stopped him immediately. The attempt was to open at least one eye. That worked somewhat, there were some dim blurry lights.

  Ok, first cheg his status. Marik Lndradro?, 17 standard years old, C3 css pilot. Last been on Ribbentoa station after limping home with Simon. As expected for an insurance scam, no one wahe crates in the cargo hold whily tained scrap metal from Cobasian. And the station did not want a ship close by with a hot fission core. Luckily, someone had bought the ship as it was still good enough for some years of inner system service. At least, Simon would not be scrapped. But he was without a ship, and broke without the sed half of his mohe money for Simon was in an escrow at until released by the Cobasian owners, so he would probably never see it) and without a job, again, a familiar state. A good reason to go to the drinking hole, whatever it was called there, a high on the local liquids. They were safe for humans, he had been assured. There had been quite some humans there, so it robably true. And he had not died. Yet.

  He tried to focus again. Very slowly, tours emerged from blurred circles and sliding zigzags. Not like 4D, at least. Then he waited a little loo be sure of what he saw. Si was a cockpit. hat he reized but no doubt a cockpit. And with his other senses slowly rep to duty, they were nearly weightless. So, he was no longer oation.

  "puter, status." Ug, the words echoed in his skull.

  "Coils at 211%, run up since 7301 for jump with 0.1 g towards Hrrst 20456892. Overall state 9.8."

  It took a long time to process this info with the echo. And he her reized the voior the at. Time to get a little more awake and aware.

  "puter, full identificatioination, cargo, crew." At least the echo had died down a little.

  "Silen from Samur, #00521/24747/AARRTS#. Final Destination: Fallerian. Cargo: tract Workers (modified), hibernating. Crew: Marik Lndradro?, Pilot, Flight time 7302, jump in 2607."

  He processed this. And then again.

  "puter, which" He stopped. "What, modified tract workers? Sounds like sves?"

  "No data, no official freight ma."

  In other words, illegal w sves for a y. Great. "puter, is there any ma on my payment?"

  "Board and lodgings. You get your ID back at Fallerian, it is travelling via courier."

  Damn, as he had feared. Drunken, he had probably forced his story on everyo getting away quiough until somebody had found a C css pilot for for an odd-job. Ugh, and it would be so easy to please him. Why couldn't just a regur freighter need a copilot? He didn't have any bigger ambitions. But shanghaied for illegal cargo, he could barely sink much lower.

  He looked around. They had brought his bag, at least, sitting on the floor o the chair. "puter, how long till the jump?" he sighed.

  "2162"

  "puter, do you have painkillers?"

  "Any specific preference?"

  "puter, something for my head, please."

  "This patch should do. Give it 0005, if there is still pain, ask for another."

  He took it from the patch dispenser. He had some time till the jump, he should check the ship. Slowly he got up. A lot of people got si near weightlessness. He was not affected and in his current state, 0.1 g helped a lot: no need for quients, slow was best. He took his bag and climbed dowch.

  The crew space was tiny. The dder ended in the bined galley/mess/workshop, the only living space. There were two tiny s to one side, just capsules in the wall with a mattress all around. Certainly not fitting a Cobasian, not that he would expey of them here as he was oher side of the gaxy. He opened a luggage drawer in the capsule. It was empty, so he put his bag onto the bed and started to fold his clothes into the drawer. Apart from his ID and his pad, nothing else was amiss. Aill had the SI-OP around his neck which robably the most valuable thing he owned. And probably so rare that his kidnappers had no idea. He id down for a moment.

  When the painkillers ich had dulled the headache, he crawled out of his capsule again to clude his iion of the ship. There was an equally tiny toilet-shower unit across the galley, the same size as the airlock to the engiioo it. Iween were several ste ets. And there was a rge hatch to the cargo hold, with the ret addition of a high-quality and tamper-proof lock. But it was a wide hatch with four hinges on his side. He could just remove the hinges. But that would need some more time than what had been scheduled until the uping jump. He o postpo, he would not jump with an open cargo hatch.

  tinuing his iion, he opened a ste et, which was full of cheap Fallerian i instant soups, the cheapest 'food which fuelled the gaxy(TM)'. Luckily, he had been raised on it and really liked it; although he preferred the real over the instant variants. Stiil, a hot soup was what he o get the ugly lingering vomit taste out of his mouth.

  He checked the other lockers: Apart from the soups, there were just fur meals. With the cup with hot instant Krantasoup in his hand, he climbed back up into the cockpit.

  "puter, please project the route, in 3D."

  A dispy came to life but flickered out immediately. "Sorry, 3D is unstable. Please use the main s."

  So no 3D, great. "puter, there seems ration number for our flight pn?"

  "There is only a flight pn filed for Fallerian, the final destination." The answer was expected, illegal cargo goes of course on an uered flight. At least, he had asked.

  "puter, please give me access to the full status."

  He went through it while he absentminded shovelled the Krantasoup with the pstic spoon into his mouth. There was dangerously little fuel, barely enough for a single jump and then he had to e out very close to the p in the destination system. He might be still able to return to Ribbentoa station, although that would mean 20 days on Krantasoup. But given that this was an illegal operation, a return to Ribbentoa station would certainly not bode well with whoever had put him on this ship. So he would have to jump.

  , he checked the few other star systems withiheoretical reach. All of them were human or empty. Since he needed fuel, he could not jump to ay system. And arriving in a human world with an uered flight pn with a cargo of sves and without an ID would certainly lead to his arrest, he had seen enough dramas to not look forward to that. Moreover, only two systems had shorter 4D transit times than the curreination. But the vectors for these two would mean a slow turn around half the Ribbentoa system for which there was not enough food for him or faster acceleration for which he had not enough fuel. Whoever had shanghaied him, had thought of everything. He would have to jump to the set destinatio refuelled there and then see tions e up.

  He sighed. "puter, I firm your route. Do you have a name?"

  "I prefer Bckbeard."

  "puter, ok, Bckbeard." He did not like that all.

  He still held the empty cup in his hand, so he went back to the galley, made some instant ice tea and threw all the tainers away. He just nibbled some roasted kribats and cursed silently that they did not leave him his pad. With nothier to do, he went back to the cockpit again. "Bckbeard, do you have better data on the destination system? There seems to be no station."

  "There is no station, we will do a reentry and glided nding. Hrrst 20456892 has 0.35 g surfad less than 40 % pressure of the standard atmosphere."

  "But, Bckbeard, I am ot qualified?"

  "Be assured, I have nded unassisted before. I am reentry rated." Great, a bragging AI.

  "Bckbeard, How long till jump?"

  "0047."

  It would be time enough for a quick shower. But he would need oer the jump anyway. Thus, he looked further at the destination system, even though there was really nothing. Just the sole barely habitable p of a system with only four ps in total. And their entry point was already as close as he dared.

  Finally, there was the jump warning. And the room unfolded properly into four dimensions. His hand with the patch ected with his cheek and knocked him out.

  * * *

  He was again in 3D, drifting in 0 g, and he felt like vomiting. Maybe the painkillers a alcohol had formed a bad union with the patch. Or he simply did not react well to the local variation of the drug. No matter why, he hasted down to hurl through the vacuum lid of the toilet into the howling su.

  After some water gargling in 0 g with the hooded sink, whi itself was ugly enough, the worst was over and he floated back to the cockpit.

  They had e out quite far, almost too far. It would be three days of braking and their delta v was really tight, even at the optimum deceleration of 0.13 g. "Bckbeard, the entry was a little far. Braking with 0.13 g."

  "If dog for a station, yes. But with atmospheric reentry, there are higher tolerances. And a lighter ship is easier to glide to nd safely."

  Great, a backtalking AI. Although, being lighter sounded reasonable. He had to take the AI's word for it since he had not even started to look into the atmospheric reentry and atmospheric flight needed for an D and E css lises. "Bckbeard, do you have flight manuals or a simutor?"

  "There is a retively simple simutram. The manual should be iop left er now."

  "Bckbeard, thank you."

  He pyed around with the simutor. It was only a little more than a game sihere were none of the forces, just a s. And a game which he sucked at. His first five attempts never even reached close to the nding strip.

  After several more attempts, his stomach had settled and he felt the hunger after a jump. He started with another instant soup, leaving the st three bigger meals for ter. And even then, he would arrive quite hungry, and that included already his small stash of sweets that he had bought first thing when arriving at the station.

  And then back to the simutor. After a few tutorials about the theory of flight and many more failed attempts, he had his first successful touchdown just after half a day. However, the simutor soon stepped up the challenge, now he had to find the nding strip first. Frustrated, he had another soup and two chy Kresslian bars from his stash.

  He was tired from all the near and wider misses at the simutor. And still smelly and sweaty from the jump. It was time to shower and call it a day.

  The tiny shower had an equally tiny water tank, just four minutes of lukewarm mist ed almost nothing, just wetted the dirt so it stuck better to the dry wipes. Either way, the sweat was gone, and he was solo anyway. He fell asleep as soon as he entered his mattress capsule.

  * * *

  "Good m, we have an answer from the p."

  It took some moments until the message had filtered through the lower circuits and reached his higher itive system whily slowly got up to speed. "Bckbeard, yes," he yawned.

  "We have the nding coordihey will provide enough LOX and hydrogen for takeoff. They want you to verify the cargo."

  "Bckbeard, tell them there is a lock."

  "Please, do yourself. Rec." Great, no time to get angry at the AI.

  "Hello, this is the pilot. The cargo hold is secured by a lock for whieither the AI nor I have the code. Also, may I ask for some food, please? The pany had not stocked enough oure."

  "Sending reply."

  As close as they were, there should be less than 0006 of dey. But there was no response. Likely the radio station on that backwater world was monitored just a few times a day and had not stant AI wataybe someone had to k a wheel for it to operate. Not that they needed much guidahey were clearly the only thing in space, apart from the three huge terraf/sor harvestiher orbital ptforms in a close locked orbit around the p.

  His stomach growled menagly, So a real food package for breakfast. And then to the simutain. Way too soon, he would o nd this ship on a p, or at least be ready to nd if the AI had trouble nding it. Lots of pressure to do better. And now, he had the coordinates so he could train for the real thing. Giveight fuel budget, he would ehe atmosphere he equator and then desd to the north. The only challenge would be to avoid the downlink microwave beam from the energy-harvesting orbital ptforms.

  When he made the break for another instant soup, it was already past 7000. But his success rate for nding had reached nearly 30 %. After half a day at it, he o do something else. He still wao check his passengers.