“None taken. Your people have gone a different way than most, but I suppose it works. You’re still basically extortionists, but it’s an elegant sort of extortion, the kind that even you think is a public service. I suppose I can live with that. I deal mostly with ones who just pick it up by choice or as a job of opportunity.”
“So our protection is extortion while your smuggling is just unrestrained business. That right?”
“That’s about it, laddie. But the big difference is that to you this is the end, the purpose of things, while to me the gatherin’ of money and whatever it brings is just the means to an end. You’ll never even understand the sort of dreams we mortal folk have.”
“Just because we’re built differently and to different purposes doesn’t mean we can’t understand such things,” the sergeant noted.
Murphy gave a low chuckle and muttered to himself, “Aye. I had a neutered dog once.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. Nothin’ of importance. But where is—ah! Looks like our pilot has arrived.”
Lieutenant Chung was smaller and thinner by far than Maslovic or any of the others Murphy had seen aboard. Not that she had a figure; she reminded Murphy less of a warrior caste than of a girl permanently frozen before reaching puberty, and, like all the others, she was hairless. But if most of the navy types were built for weight lifting and fighting, the pilot class were acrobats, built for lightning-fast action and reaction, with perfect balance and genetically heightened senses, all the better to meld with their machines almost as if one and the same. He also suspected she wasn’t as helpless as her tiny form suggested. That same lightning quickness and superior senses made for ideal experts in the martial arts.
Her voice, too, was high and seemed more a child’s voice, yet the tone and confidence it projected suggested a lot of experience.
The sergeant came to attention but did not salute. You didn’t salute inside when on a mission. He towered over her; Murphy figured that three or four of the pilots could be made out of the protoplasm in that tough marine. Still, he was properly and professionally deferential. She was, after all, an officer.
“Stand easy, Sergeant,” she said crisply, putting down her own kit. “Is everyone here?”
“No, sir. The three passengers have yet to arrive,” Maslovic told her.
She nodded. “Very well. I’ll get everything prepped up front. Then we’ll wait. They’ll either show up or they won’t.”
The pilot went forward to the flight deck and began going through the preflight sequence. The deck had two large chairs, either one of which could have swallowed her, and a complex set of instruments, screens, and control pads. Each chair also had a headset of light mesh that would conform itself to just about any size head. While now attached to the seat back, it actually came off and was normally worn much like a cap. Chung reached up, brought it down, examined it closely, then put it on and sat back in the chair, eyes closed, hands pressed together in a fashion that made it look as if she were praying.
She remained like this for a couple of minutes, and then, without her moving an apparent muscle, the interior lights blinked and there was a sense of low vibration. In front of her, the previously inert and rather featureless console came to life, the lights and screens now actively showing data, diagrams, lines of coded numbers, and all sorts of other information that was meaningless even to an experienced pilot like Murphy. Slowly, methodically, things went on and off throughout the shuttle, from air vents to the food server controls and doors, the lights and hatches.
Murphy understood the drill and said, “Well, she seems in good shape. All we need are passengers.”
Maslovic started for a moment, then remembered that the old man, for all his looks and manners, was in fact a licensed interstellar pilot himself. “Could you fly her in a pinch?”
“Oh, probably, but I wouldn’t know what half the stuff was. Probably dump fuel in the coffee dispenser and go orbital upside down and backwards after putting us all into cryogenic suspension accidentally. And, of course, it wouldn’t recognize me in any event. No, I take ’em out of orbit, feed ’em the navigation data, stick ’em on autopilot and sit around until we get there. The likes of an old freighter, it ain’t that hard. This, now—this is a speedster. I got to say I don’t feel comfortable in ships that are most definitely smarter than I am.”
Maslovic looked around at the food service ports. “Would you like something while we wait? Who knows how long it’s going to be before the others arrive?”
“I don’t think they have the recipe in there for what I need this trip,” the old captain responded. “Unless that thing can dispense a good, fillin’ dark ale that would feel comfy in an Irishman’s gut, I guess I’ll pass for now.”
Maslovic shrugged. “Let’s see.” He turned and said to the console, “Ale, seven percent, malt brewed, very dark.”
There was a tinny kind of whistling sound from the port, and then a bell sounded and the small drink compartment door slid back. Inside was a large molded cup with a bubble top on it. The sergeant took it out and handed it to Murphy, who looked at the drink suspiciously. He removed the lid, since they had gravity and no potential motion problems, sniffed it, then sipped it. There was foam on the top. Surprised at what he tasted, he gave an approving nod and quite literally downed the entire cup in one continuous series of swallows.
Maslovic was impressed, not so much by the drink as by the manner. You had to have long practice to gulp down a heavy brew like that.
“Not bad at all,” the old captain said approvingly. “Where the devil did they get that recipe? I’ve had better, but it’s pretty good.”
“We have data and formulas for just about every known cuisine, food and drink both, in the big ship, and this is just a subset. We ourselves don’t generally eat or drink too much exotic, but the ability is there. We have to cater to guests now and then, and we’ve also found that the formulas are often quite welcome on some of the colonial worlds. It breaks the ice, I think the old term is.”
“Indeed it does! The only thing that it needs is to understand that you drink ale in liters, not in dainty little cups!”
“Well, I doubt if those kinds of liter-or-more vessels would fit in there, but you have a nearly unlimited supply so it’s all the same, isn’t it?”
“Not quite, laddie, but it’ll do. Damn! Wonder where in the world them girls are. I hope they didn’t get lost or decide to get into more trouble instead of gettin’ outta here. They couldn’t have been much farther away than I was!”
There was the sudden sound of girlish laughter in the air, both right there and yet as if from afar, raising the hairs on the back of Murphy’s neck. As he stiffened and tried to look around, the main hatch connecting the shuttle to the frigate closed and locked with a hissing sound, and then the outer lock did the same. Murphy looked back through the aft hatch, past the bedroom area, and saw that the main door was now closed and sealed and had a red light flashing on top of it. The light steadied after a moment, and there was a second loud hissing sound, like air brakes being applied. The air quite clearly was being pumped out of the lock.
“I think our guests have arrived,” Sergeant Maslovic commented dryly.
Murphy looked around. “Girls? That you? C’mon, now! Your old captain’s got an old man’s heart. He can’t take but so much of this spooky business! Come! Give me a hug I can see and let’s be off this cold place!”
He didn’t get the hug, although he wasn’t sure if he’d feel comfortable getting one from some unseen presence anyway. He did get more ghostly giggles, and it was Maslovic, who seemed far less nervous than the old captain, who said to thin air, “Lieutenant, our guests have arrived. I believe they want us to depart before they’ll show themselves and things get back to normal.”