prissi

  In the end, Marik left Fallerian III on his own, there were no enforcers with him. There should be some in the background on Fallerian VII, at least they hi it.

  As soon as he left the dog regime, he prepared the ship for the intrasystem jump. He was unsure whether to take a patch or not, the jump would only take 0007. In the end, he decided to take oo underlihe image of being a young and inexperienced pilot and therefore he did overjump and was otherwise harmless. He would even apply it during the tdown.

  It felt strange, he had not jumped without a taste of 4D for what seemed like forever. And he had been out for 0030. They had e out at the edge of the ining intrasystem window for Fallerian VII and were slowly drifting towards the station.

  "Bckbaerd, well done."

  He peeled off the spent patch.

  "We received a message, here is the decoded text."

  He rubbed his temples, even the low-dosage patch for such a short jump had given him a headache. Then he read the message. It was quite ral, stressing that the dog had to be at port A22f, in the low gravity zohe station's nadir. No scolding for being te, nothing. Probably still the pre-recorded message from before he had ehe Fallerian system. He replied encrypted as requested, listing the cargo as 'two crates of spices' and attag the forward tract for refuelling and station taxes from Fallerian III. Of course, Fallerian VII should also have the key by now and could listen in.

  "Fallerian VII, this is Silen from Samur. We request dog at A22c."

  "Silen from Samur, A22c has been reserved for you. The deposit tract has been activated and is now effective for 1+5000. Your inal flight pn specified an arrival from Hrrst 20456892."

  "Fallerian VII, we overjumped and had to refuel at Fallerian III."

  " Silen from Samur. We uand. We have cleared a course to follow."

  "Fallerian VII, we have received."

  The course was a very servative one as if they did not trust his abilities. Nearly two spiral orbits in the dog zone were quite unusual. He did not care, the fuel would allow it. And the station probably needed more time to prepare. He sent another encrypted message with these details and their estimated time of arrival at about 0460. He added also a low-bandwidth message directly to Fallerian III, just in case.

  Still no reply but for normal dog protocols. Had they gotten wind of it?

  "Bckbeard, if you wao do the approach manually, just say so."

  "No, I am fihis is not a challenge."

  * * *

  It would take less than 0080 and still no response. As they tio spiral in, there was a stant acceleration of more than 0.1 g. He used this to brew the two st remaining instant soups. The now smelled of cheap Kranta and fermented Gorid, a bit like Fallerian III. He drank the first cup and climbed into the cockpit with the sed.

  Not all ships had real windows. So he ehe view of the rge station sloroag against the rotating stars. Bckbeard was doing his job well, the smooth corres and steadily increasing acceleration did not cause any ripples in his soup.

  Their dance around the station would soon e to an end. The nadir of Fallerian VII filled two-thirds of the external view. The engines were already firing at 0.22 g. Then, with a very slight jerk, they locked into the dog port. Only the s indicated that the engines were off and gravity was now provided by the spinning station.

  "Bckbeard, well done."

  The usually talkative AI was silent.

  He went down the checklist to cold standby oation's power. One system after the other ut on idle until only basic cooling and life support were left, both running oation's power.

  "Bckbeard, farewell, I doubt we will meet again."

  "Farewell, Marik. Thanks for not telling them."

  "Bckbeard, just try to cut it down when jumping."

  "I am aware. A dog officer is waiting."

  So still no sign of his 'employers'. That relieved him, he was not looking forward to a fight.

  He took the two crates of spices from the sed and brought them to the airlock. The low gravity of 0.23 g meant that he could easily hahem together, despite them being more than half his weight and with his bag on top of them.

  The outer lock opened and there was the dog officer, a oera beetle. He eaking in Standard, in case he was being eavesdropped. "Greetings, Officer. I am to disembark. My ID will be sent by courier, it should arrive soon."

  "What's in the bag?"

  "Clothes and personal effects."

  "And the two crates?"

  "Spices from Hrrst 20456892. I have no idea what they are called, but I tasted them on the phey are quite hot."

  "Open them, please."

  The crates were unlocked, so he opehem and the officer sed the spices with a bulky device. His final verdict was "Krozt and Yazzotra. About 3.3 Jerrotz each, estimated value 26400. There is a 10% tax on them, so 1320, please."

  "Sorry, I have no money. I am waiting for the pany. we add this to the existing forward tract?"

  He took out his childhood pad whiaplo? had brought to the ship when he mentiohat he had nothing. And even though the officer had his copy of this tract, he still read it on the child's study tool.

  "No, not good. I will take it i. Sign here." The officer produced another tra his pad.

  This was highly unusual, especially as the value of the spice had not been verified by a third party. He looked at the tract. It was in Fallerian, a normal tract, 10% of the weight for the 10% tax, 0.33 Jerrotz. It did sound fair but he hesitated. Oher hand, these weren't his spices (at least not yet) and if he was going to py the stupid pilot, he should probably agree. He pressed his thumb on it, human style.

  The officer was well prepared and immediately produced a scale. The weight was correct, but the quantity looked like more than a tenth. This firmed the general prejudice of the iations against the outer ones and gave anood reason to avoid Fallerian VII iure.

  "Please close."

  As soon as the crates were closed, the officer pced a seal over each lid. The yellow liquid solidified into a plex pattern.

  "You may ehe station with the spices and make tracts as soon as you have your ID. Have a nice day." And then the officer left.

  He was fused. Frankly, it did not look as if Fallerian VII had made any effort to find the culprits. Just to get their profit and be doh it. So the spices were his now. But he did not want the spices, he wao stop the human traffig, and he wanted his ID and, most importantly, his wallet. Aill had the ship's key. Surely someone would want that. But there was nothing he could do, only wait.

  He stacked the crates to create a seat and took out the pad again. The educational games were well below his level, apart from a few crosswords. But he was in no mood for them. He tried the news. But after two years out of the loop, most of them were meaningless without more background. Wait, weren't there some books on the pad? Yes, including ‘The Riverbeetle’. He had read this cssiy times: The story of a traveller, not through space, but on a river, and all the different vilges with strange habits he entered. The story that inspired him to bee a jump pilot. Looking back over the st two years, he had indeed lived the life of the Riverbeetle. And like him, he had not ied with the local societies. Now was the first time that he had actively tried to make a difference. How ironic that it happeo be in his home system.

  He was halfway through the book when the warning light on the dog port o him started fshing and pying the approach warnings. Only in Fallerian, he realized, although there were plenty of aliens oation too.

  Now the suspicious dog officer came back with a small package. "Marik Lndradro?, here is your ID, your lid your wallet."

  "You found those responsible?"

  "Yes, they have been stripped of all their possessions and are no longer allowed to do business with or on Fallerian. Please sign here."

  And that was it? And he should sign it? No way! "Sorry, the main victim is under a temporary family tra Fallerian III. As such, I ot sign without her seeing the tract. Moreover, there is already an initial tra pce, so I will have to make ges to it with the Fallerian III enforcers. Please send me a copy and I will get to it as soon as I get back."

  "Just sign on your ID and be dohe dog officer got angry. Mentioning the enforcers made him clearly unhappy.

  "This is a Fallerian ID. Cuse 104 of the General tract prohibits signing tracts based on ID." He was just stating the facts from school. He had had enough of this dog officer. "I will not make a tray ID."

  The officer got really upset. "You should have residered, my offer will be less profitable. Now leave the station and go to Fallerian III."

  "I will leave as soon as possible, rest assured. But I will not leave without my ID and my wallet."

  The officer angrily shoved the package into his stomach, turo the dog port and stood there as menagly as he could. Luckily, the strength of the officer's middle arms roportional to his size, only half his height, and he was not hurt. He was happy to finally get his ID card, lice, and wallet. The first check was on the ba it seemed that the biometricryption had held.

  Now he had to find a buyer for two crates of spid a means of transport back to Fallerian III and then talk to the enforcers to up the corruption here. Indeed, he wanted back as quickly as possible. Lnaplo? should still have es to restaurants, he could certainly sell the spices. He looked for the shuttle to Fallerian III, but there was just a daily one, and that had left 2500 ago. He still had the key to the Silen from Samur. But he could not take the ship until it was officially decred a profit which this dog officer would certainly not do. He looked up some short-term charters aals.

  At the port, the passenger airlock opened. An old cat emerged, very unusual. Cats were on visitors to the Fallerian system, as their only home world was one short jump away. The cats also had a fondness for Fallerian food and imported a lot of it. But he had never seen a cat like her, bck fur with grey strands like an old human, and rather small. Behiood another unusual cat, even smaller but very muscur, with short, white fur.

  "Wele to Fallerian VII. The dog tax is 421. For a free day at the station with all services it is only 721 per cat."

  "Nadir dog tax is 310 acc to the manual. Eation for 1000 in single day free," said the sed cat in a mispronounced but uandable Fallerian.

  This officer did not have his lucky shift today. He immediately sympathised with the cats.

  "That's outdated information," the officer tried.

  He quickly pulled up the information on his pad. "No, the cat is correct, 310 for a nadir dog port. Stays shorter than 1000 are sidered transit and not to be charged."

  Only now did the cats notice him.

  The furious officer turned. "I told you to leave."

  "I will leave as soon as my business is done and I have found a transfer."

  "Where do you want to go?" the shorter cat called from the airlo Standard.

  "Fallerian III."

  The cat closed her eyes for a few seds, as if ihought. "Yes, I take you there, 480."

  That was expensive, but he could still charge it to his tract. "Deal."

  "Why are you making a deal with her but not with me? She's not even Fallerian and that's expehe shuttle is just 85."

  "Because today's shuttle is gone and she will be the fastest option."

  The cat in the airlock stared at him for a few seds with her ears and tail doing funny movements. Much more than Lalleli. "Huh, how do you know?"

  Now they all looked fused. The older cat spoke to Marik. "Since you are Fallerian, I am supposed to pick up a chartered ship, the Silent Samul. Maybe you ..."

  "Registration #00521/24747/AARRTS#?" he read from the key.

  The cat looked at her pad. "Yes, er, how?"

  "I flew it uhe name 'Silen From Samur', but since I was shanghaied into human traffig, it may have ged its is docked o yours. Catch!" He tossed her the key and headed straight for the cats’ airlock, passing the older cat as he tugged at the spice crates.

  "Let's go," he said to the cat standing in the airlock.

  "Penny, I'll see you ter," the white cat called to the older cat.

  "And the dog fee has been pletely paid in advance," he shouted also, turning to the officer, "and I will report you to the revision if you overcharge her." Well, he was intending to do that anyway.

  The white cat was already inside. He closed the hatch by hand. Good riddance, Fallerian VII.