Wordy Wednesday

      So it appears that there is going to be a second volume of Tales Around the Supper Table, and I've been asked for a submission.  I've been having a really difficult time writing lately and my lack of posts here can serve as evidence. I've managed to wring about 1300 words or so out of my brain so far. Still waiting to see if this thing is going to develop into a story or not. If it does, I think the target is a Christmas release unless plans have changed without my knowledge.

     As always, opinions and suggestions are welcome.

-Wayne

     Scott was flat of his back on the creeper under his lander realigning and cussing the "gods-be-damned hydraulics" on the right, rear landing gear again.  He was doing that after almost every landing lately, no matter how gently he touched down. He grabbed the hydraulic cylinder that actuated the gear and yanked it back into place. His hand slipped on the leaking hydraulic fluid and slammed his knuckles into the bulkhead.

     "You piece of shit! Let me get one more really good job, and I'm gonna replace your worn-out ass! If I can find another lander that isn’t just as big of a pile and will fit in the shuttle bay of the hunk of junk I work out of before the inspectors force me to take its damned near obsolete ass out of service. Fuck my life."

     He stabbed the wrench up into the access to tighten everything back down only to realize he'd grabbed a twelve-millimeter spanner instead of the ten.

     "Damned ten mil wrenches have stealth capabilities." He turned his head to the side to find the wrench he needed only to have his gaze land on a pair of well-polished dress shoes and the legs of an expensive looking pair of pants. "There's only about three people in the 'verse could ever sneak up me, and two of them are dead. What do you want, Sir?"

     The voice of his former commanding officer, Colonel Raymond Davies, a voice that up until now had only haunted his dreams replied, "Can that 'Sir' shit. We're not Troopers anymore. Can't a guy just drop in to check in with an old friend?"

     Scott went back to tightening down the adjustment bolt on the hydraulic ram he'd just finished aligning, locking it into place. When he finished, he rolled his creeper out from under the lander and sat up. "You? No, Sir. Not you. You need something, so spill it."

     Davies grabbed a nearby rolling stool and took a seat. "Ok fine. My company lost a shipment in Kovachian space. The diplomatic atmosphere isn't all that favorable to getting it back through the regular channels. Besides there may be a second, undocumented cargo on the freighter that the regular channels might find unacceptable and not return to me. I need someone in good standing with the Kovac, and failing that I need a ghost to get it back for me. Luckily, I know someone who meets both of those needs."

     Scott took the pack of smokes out of his shirt pocket, tapped one out, and lit it up without offering one to his visitor. He took a long pull on the cigarette and blew the smoke at Davies. "On any other day I'd tell you to fuck right off. Luckily for you, today is not any other day. What's the payday?"

     Davies waved his manicured hand in front of his face to fan away the smoke. "Straight to business huh? That's what I always liked about you, Scott. You're just so damned matter-of-fact about everything. Half a million galactic for successful return of the cargo. You're probably going to have to abandon that flying hunk of scrap you call a ship, so I'll transfer the title for the one the Kovac have captured into your name. Keep it."

     Scott shook his head and took another drag of his smoke once again blowing it towards Davies. "My impartial, down to business approach to things is why the Kovac deal with me. How do you know they haven't already taken the cargo and scrapped the boat? I mean, that is S.O.P. for those knuckle draggers. May not be much of anything left for me to recover."

      The second cloud of smoke brought a cough from Davies. "Can't believe you haven't given those damned things up. As for the ship and its cargo, we know it's still intact because F.I.D.O. won't let them on board. It'll overload the engines and destroy the ship before it will allow anyone, or in the case of the Kovac, anything, to enter the ship without proper authorization."

     Scott sat forward at the mention of a Fully Intelligent Defense and Operations A.I. "A F.I.D.O.? Are you out of your damned mind? Those things are fucking dangerous! Anyway, I thought they were outlawed after that one spaced the entire crew of a battle cruiser because it determined that they 'endangered' the ship."

     "Don't worry, Scott. This is a next gen version that we developed in-house. We haven't gotten clearance to give it a crew yet, but it is allowed to make short trips into contested space on its own provided the ship is unarmed, which is why the Kovac were able to capture it. It's primary programming will not let it destroy the ship or cargo unless the hull is breached. If that happens, we get a coded message notifying us of the event. No message yet means the ship is intact, which is where you come in."

     500k galactic plus a ship with a cutting edge A.I. What the hell are they sending me after that could be worth that? Davies was always into some sketchy shit when we were troopers, but there's not enough dope in the quadrant for that kind of payday. Guns maybe? That's his legit business though, why risk that with illegal arms? Hell, for that kind of payout, I don't really care.

     "Know what? I'm in."

     Davies stood up from the stool and reached into his jacket breast pocket. He pulled out a card and handed it to Scott. "Be at this location tomorrow at noon. Don't use your geo-locator to find it. Gotta go 'old Earth', all analog and paper to keep this off the wrong screens. You'll be meeting with me and my business associate. See ya then."

     Scott watched him walk away. He looked down at the card and recognized the address as being in the warehouse district on the west side of the city. He tucked it into his shirt pocket and rolled back under the lander to check the other two landing struts.

      This just feels off, but it's awfully elaborate if it's a setup. Besides, why would Davies bother with setting me up? More his style just to have me shot. Looks like I'm gonna have to scout it tonight, so I can know what I'm walking into.

***

     The warehouse district of what was once Corpus Christi, now part of the Houston Megalopolis that covered most of what was once Texas's coastline, served both the space port as well as the traditional water borne shipping ports and was almost always busy. Lurking around the area after dark without a work permit was sketchy. Merchant vessels were always looking for crew, and shanghaies were not unheard of. Luckily Scott had a reputation for being a person not to be trifled with. A reputation he well deserved for leaving more than one merchant marine laying on the docks in his own fluids.

     It didn't take him long to find the warehouse that belonged to RayCorp. It was the only clean and freshly painted building in the area. It was also one of the largest and well-lit buildings in the warehouse district. The entire facility including the parking area was surrounded by an eight-foot fence that was topped with razor wire. Armed guards patrolled inside the fenced perimeter and the only access point visible was a guarded gate. There was also a rail gun style hull piercer mounted on the roof of the warehouse to discourage incursion from above.

     I guess when you sell things that go bang and/or boom security is kind of important. All that shit would be just as effective at keeping someone in as it is at keeping them out. Davies always was overly cautious bordering on paranoid. I've already told him I'd take the job. Guess tomorrow will show me how well and truly fucked I am.