Miami Pete 16:

Space around the station was in chaos.  Usually space is so large, that the chances of accidentally colliding with another ship was next to zero, but with three, maybe four ‘rus ships firing both missiles and particle beam weapons at everything in sight any ship that could was detaching from the station and scrambling for safety.  Some were flying away from the station, some were trying to dive beneath the station in an effort to put the station between them and the attacking ‘rus ships.  A few brave souls were powering up weapons and trying to defend themselves.  Those, of course, died first.

Gracie gasped, “The Pride is gone!”  She was sitting at the sensor station, watching as the attack unfolded.

 

“What?  They’ve left us?”  Al asked, obviously stressed.

“No!”  Gracie screamed, “She’s GONE!  She was there one minute, and then was hit by a missile and destroyed.  Everyone is dead!”

Al, who had been jumping from console to console, trying to help in any way he could collapsed into the seat at one of the stations.  He appeared to be in shock.  No help from that side any more I guess.

Just then I saw an opening and punched it.

Hauley isn’t all that big for a freighter, but she has some BIG engines.  So when I “punched it”, I mean we went from relatively nothing, to some serious hauling of the proverbial ass.  I didn’t know what kind of performance the ‘rus ships had, but I was hoping it would be enough to get us out of there.

Since we didn’t all die a dramatic, explosive death.  I guess it worked.

“Punching it” isn’t something I usually do with Hauley.  In fact, this may have been the first time that the Hauley had ever gone to absolute full power.   Yea yea… I panicked a little.  Hauley’s chassis is from a military cargo vessel that would have once been used to transport troops and equipment, and land them planet-side.  The engines, however, are from a large long-haul freighter.  So they have some serious thump to them.  Even Pete refused to push them much past seventy percent because he feared much more than that might damage either the structure that mounted the engines to the hull, or worse yet, tear the whole thing free, which would probably kill us all.  I would have to dock Hauley somewhere so that I could look to make sure everything was alright, but so far everything seemed to be ok.

Normally, just taking huge engines designed for a large vessel and putting them on a much smaller vessel wouldn’t work out so well.  What you would end up with is a lot more power (of course), but it would only translate to a tiny increase in speed.  Unfortunately, the engines would also use a huge amount of fuel, all with little benefit.   However, over the years various engineers have been tweaking Hauley’s engines and making adjustments to overcome the issue and allow us to turn all that extra power into speed without bleeding our fuel tanks dry.  I was just the latest in that long line of engineers.  Apparently, we had done something right, because OH THE SPEED!!!!

Needless to say, we escaped.

Now to deal with a crying Grace, and a zombie Al.  Oh bother.

A few hours later, and we were a surprising distance away from the station.  Sitting on the bridge, I heard a soft voice behind me.

“Where are we heading?” a still bewildered Al asked.  I had put them in the VIP cabins, separately.  Initially I tried to put them in the same cabin, but was informed by a rather disturbed Grace that she and Al were NOT together.  I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but I could have sworn that I saw Al flinch when she said that.  Perhaps there is some drama?  I didn’t know, and didn’t want to.

I pulled up the nav chart and pointed out our course. 

“We’re heading for this jump point here.” I answered.

“I’m not familiar with that one, where does it lead?” he asked.

“Morgan’s world.” Was my reply.

“Are you out of your MIND!” Al shouted.  “Morgan’s?  They shoot first and then shoot again.  They don’t even bother asking questions!”  He really goes from nothing to shouty in nothing flat.

“What’s going on?”  Came the soft female voice of Gracie as she entered. “I heard shouting.”

“Our automated friend here has blown some of her circuits!  She’s taking us to Morgan’s!” Al spat.

“Oh my!” came the shocked reply.

“Relax everyone!”  I felt like I needed to explain myself quickly, but that made me mad.  “This is MY ship.  I decide where it goes.  THERE is the airlock if you want to get out and walk!”

I got two blank stares.

“She’s angry.”  Grace pointed out to Al.

“No, she LOOKS angry.  It’s just a programmed in response.  Probably brought out because I yelled.”  Al replied.  “Cyborgs don’t have real emotions; those get preceded by the cyber device.”

“Al, you idiot.”  Grace replied.  “I’m an empath.  I know the difference between anger and programming.  She’s angry….  And getting angrier!”

“SHUT UP!  I’m right here!  Just SHUT UP!”  I didn’t know what to say.  They were talking about me like I was a thing.

“Al, for star’s sake, I keep telling you; she is not a cyborg….  Well she is, but somehow she’s still a person.”  Grace told Al, then to me. “I’m sorry dear.  That was very rude of us, especially after you saved us and let us onto your ship.  Please accept my apology.”

She seemed to mean it.  Then she hit Al.

Al jumped. “Yes, we’re very sorry.”  He said as he rubbed his chest where Grace had hit him.  “So very uncivilized of us.”

“Now, what is this about taking us to Morgan’s?”  Grace asked.

“Pete and I run hauls for Morgan’s from time to time, so they know the Haul-o-caster there.  They shouldn’t fire on us unless we do something stupid.  If there was anyone who could do something about the ‘rus, if there is anywhere that would be safe, it’ll be Morgan’s.”  I explained.  “After that, I don’t know.”

“No way, you are not putting us off the ship on Morgan’s.  They… they… I’ve heard things!” Al said.

It was clear that Al had heard all the rumors that everyone hears about what goes on on Morgan’s World.  None of which were likely to be true.  I didn’t know.  Yes, Pete and I had run hauls for Morgan’s.  We had even set Hauley down on Morgan’s World a few times, but I had no idea what went on there.  We were always directed to either a station, or a landing strip in the middle of the forest.  We were always warned, politely but sternly, that we were not to leave our ship.  We weren’t even allowed into our cargo hold while Morganites loaded and unloaded the cargo.  Most of what I knew was that Morgan’s traffic control had one particularly nice young woman, with a nice voice that was often on duty when we would arrive, and she and I would chat while she was directing us to wherever we needed to go.  I always wanted to meet her in person, but Pete said it would never happen. Nobody is ever allowed to mingle with the Morganites.  Pete warned me in no uncertain terms not to mention it or ask any stupid questions.

I made it clear to Al that we were going where I said we were going, period, and I wasn’t going to put up with static from him over it.  Grace, who seemed to have switched sides and was agreeing with me, for the moment anyway, gave him a stern look and he went back to his cabin without saying another word.

After that, the trip to the jump point was relatively quiet.  I pulled the engines back down to seventy percent as soon as I was sure we were in the clear.  I didn’t know if we got away because the ‘rus didn’t want to bother chasing us down, or couldn’t keep up.  When I looked at the logs and noted the speed we had obtained, I was floored.  I wasn’t sure if even purpose-built currier ships went much faster.  It was something I needed to think about.

The jump to Morgan’s was relatively uneventful, although we finally broke our streak of there being all green lights after a jump.  Thankfully, it was nothing serious though.  I would have to track them down and get them fixed soon, but none of it was life, or ship, threatening.

Right on cue, the comm bleeped an incoming message.

“Haul-o-caster, this is MSS Vanguard.  You are not currently authorized to jump into Morgan space, please advise.”

 “Vanguard, this is Haul-o-caster Actual.  We are looking for a port in a storm, and to pass on important news from Otford Station.”  I said, not sure how much to say, or how soon.

“Haul-o-caster Actual, please stand by.” Came the reply.

“Haul-o-caster Actual, this is Vanguard Actual.” Came a strong voice a moment later.  “I happen to know the Captain of the Haul-o-caster, and you sure don’t sound like him.  Either turn tail and jump out, or start explaining.  You have tree fingers.”

“Three fingers” is a Morganite expression that refers to the hands on a clock.  Pete told me about it one of the times we were on Morgan’s World.  It isn’t exact, but three fingers usually means somewhere around fifteen minutes, which seemed to me to be pretty generous in these circumstances.

“Vanguard Actual, this is Haul-o-caster Actual.  To my sorrow, I must inform you that Miami Pete is dead.”  I sent.

“Prepare to heave to and be boarded.” Came the reply.

Oh crap.