Chapter Five
“Balga Central Control, this is the Celiker, on high orbit approach requesting clearance,” said Guiora.
“Copy you Celiker, this is Balga control. Name your protocol.”
“Jonix 10.4 – Galactic version.”
“Copy you, Jonix 10.4 please stand by.”
Turning to Isacus. Guiora said “I hope these guys have these protocols in their system.”
“Relax,” replied Isacus, “Jonix is as stable as it is popular. Plus everyone uses it.”
“Yeah, well I still get the creeps when we have to hand control of the ship over to some damn desk jockey.”
“You know full well that they don’t fly us at all – they get their precious computers to do it. Besides, how many ships do you think there are around here?”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Would you let ships come screaming into your house at full speed? I know I’d be happier with a way to keep them in control. Besides, when was the last time you heard of a -”
Isacus was interrupted by the voice from Balga Control. “Okay Celiker, we have interface ready to go. Send your access codes.”
“Copy that Balga, sending now.” One could almost hear the data being squirted back and forth from the little ship and the giant space station. Every ship approaching a major station had to give the station access to their main computers. The station’s computers would then interrogate the ships computers for maintenance issues, environmental anomalies to see if there were more people aboard than were supposed to be and dozens of other routine details. Some of it was for the paranoid customs officials who didn’t want unwanted or angry visitors. Some if was for the benefit of the local repair and maintenance companies so they could know in advance what services approaching ships would need.
“Balga to Celiker, you check out 511. Handing you over to Flight Control. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you Balga Control. ETA?”
“Traffic is good, no major hold ups. You’ll be docked and locked in about five hours.”
“Thank you Balga Control, Celiker out.”
“Smooth as always,” said Captain Powell.
“That’s why you hired me,” replied Guiora with a grin.
“So,” asked Isacus. “What are we going to be doing about Box HBF-32146?”
“Tell the truth,” replied Powell. “The loaders on Balga will know that it’s meant to be there but isn’t, if they don’t already know from the analysis that control just did. And if they don’t notice and we successfully unload then the receiver will know when they do their checks and it’ll get back to us anyway.”
“Stop trying to cheer me up,” moaned Papo.
“We’ll keep everyone aboard after the customs inspections to show that nobody has taken anything off the ship and then advise the steward on Balga about the discrepancy. Hopefully they won’t rip the ship apart too much and we’ll get away with just a fine.”v
“No, please. Stop cheering me up already.”
A morbid gloom settled over the bridge.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins. This was the night before his big performance. Ricky “The Rocker” Raylene was nervous. And excited. And angry. Too many conflicting emotions. The rehearsal was going fine, for the most part, but he wanted, no, demanded the best from his performers. His band. His family. They had been on tour for eight hundred and thirty seven days straight. Or something like that.
“It’s F sharp dammit, SHARP! Not F flat!’
Renegade and Rabid were screaming at each other again. It was driving Ricky mad. And which asinine, thesaurus-challenged manager had talked them all into changing their names to names starting with R? It was stupid. The whole universe was stupid.
“It was sharp, you’re just damned tone deaf you ratus!”
The bickering was getting worse. Any minute, they would throw down their screamers and jump on each other. The show was tomorrow night. One night only. The place had been sold out for weeks in anticipation of their arrival. The publicity wagon had been through, hyped them to hell and back and now Rabid and Renegade were in danger of beating each other senseless.
“Who you calling a ratus you lazaro?”
Ricky watched the ruckus. The other band members and the backup singers looked around nervously, not sure whether to step in or ignore them and achieving nothing. It would take too much effort and too little reward to pull those two meers apart. One day, they would start beating each other on stage.
“No, I called you a tone deaf ratus. You freaking stacker!”
Actually, mused Ricky, a fight on stage might not be a bad thing. Create a bit of controversy, sell a few more tickets and might even end the show early. Now, how to engineer it so that they would stay mad at each other until the start of the show without going at each before hand, but not get distracted by the performance. Wouldn’t be that hard, surely?
“Hey! Settle down you two!” yelled Ordovus. He was the band’s manager, promoter and generally ran everything. “If you two don’t stop bickering like this then it’s going to end up interfering with the show. You guys want to put on a bad show?”
“Like I really care right now,” said Rabid.
“Sod that – I can go home if the shows a stinker,” said Renegade.
“Okay then, it’s settled. We’ll cancel tomorrow’s show, and end the tour ten days early. That way, everyone can go home.”
“Great,” chorused Rabid and Renegade together.
“You’ll be able to rest and relax and not worry about performing. You won’t have to worry about traveling from system to system and checking in to the best hotels. You won’t have to worry about not being able to sleep because of all the screaming fans chanting your names.”
Rabid and Renegade looked at each other.
“Actually, you’ll probably be able to get really into the relaxation groove, since the label won’t pick up a band that’s quit before a tour is over. You won’t have to get onto the stage in front of thousands of people again for a long, long time. You’ll be able to spend all your time relaxing, getting fat and spending your money. And when the money runs out, you can go on talk shows on backwater asteroids talking about how you were in a famous band once.”
Rabid and Renegade looked at the ground. Like all the performers who reached this level, there were massive demands to perform over and over again. They had to in order to stay popular. But it wasn’t that they didn’t like what they did, and they were certainly addicted to the publicity. It was the attention of the screaming fans that they craved more than any drug. But the constant pressure was enough to wear anybody out.
Ordovus looked around. He’d managed to diffuse the situation. “Okay, we only have ten more days of this tour, with three more shows. I know it’s been long and hard, but we’re nearly there.” Looking around, he addressed everybody. “Right, everyone take an hour for lunch. Be back on this stage in one hour precisely. Anyone who’s late gets left behind when we leave.’
Everyone on the stage drifted away, glad of the chance to take a break. Ordovus drove them hard, but they needed to. Very few performers were able to rise above being popular in their home system and actually make it into intergalactic stardom. And once you got there, the only way to stay ahead of the bootleggers was to tour constantly. A performer who couldn’t tour was a performer who wouldn’t be able to sell merchandise. And if they weren’t selling, the label promoting them dropped them like a rotten cantaloupe.
“It’s not on this manifest. That’s why you don’t have it.”
“Excuse m?” asked Papo.
“Right here, see?” Merl handed his tablet to Papo and indicated the spot where the expected cargo was listed. “Box HBF-32144, HBF-32145, HBF-32147, HBF-32148 but no Box HBF-32146. You’re data work is screwy.”
“But it was on our manifests when it was loaded. It’s on our invoice!”
“Look mayo, I look at this list and see the shipment I’m supposed to get. I look at what is actually coming off the ship. I compare the two. If they don’t match, all hell breaks loose and lots of angry men with lots of angry paperwork show up. I have to fill in forms, sign all sorts of useless garbage and I end up missing dinner. On the other hand, if they do match, then everyone is happy.”
“But…”
“Now, if you want the company to haul you over the exhaust manifold for losing a box that doesn’t exist, then I can make one quick call and make everyone grumpy very quickly. But let’s cal that Plan B, okay?”
Papo looked at the portly man. He certainly seemed on the level. There could be all sorts of reasons for the stock receivers tablet not showing the box. And admittedly, Papo hadn’t actually seen Box HBF-32146 with his own eyes, but it had to have been there. He’d checked everything carefully when it was being loaded.
Seeing the confusion in the other man, Merl continued. “Now look, you seem like a reasonable chap. I’ve been loading and unloading cargo on this station for longer than your daddy was shaving. I’ve seen all sorts of things and I’ve seen all the scams under the suns. But this is the first time I’ve seen a crew trying to confess to stealing something that wasn’t there.”
“So… that’s it then?”
“Oh yes, no problems at all. I’ll thumb it.” Merl pressed his thumb against the tablet, and then against Papo’s tablet, formally ending the transaction. “Look, all the data work is in order, everyone is happy except you. Let it go and move on to your next delivery.”
“But what the hell happened to that box?” mused Papo.
“Eh, who knows, who cares? Maybe the space fairies came in the night and stole it while you were sleeping.”
“Impossible. The proximity sensors would have alerted us before a ship could get within a thou of us.”
“Not pirates,” corrected Merl. “Fairies. Just put down that fairies stole a box and changed all the data work in your report to your boss.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Then don’t put down anything at all. After all, you never told me anything about a missing box. I already thumbed it all as having arrived and since it was all here, that’s the end of it as far as I’m concerned. Now, I have other loads to see to. So I bid thee a good day, and have a nice flight.”
Merl moved off to see to the next ship that was arriving. The rest of the crew from the Celiker stood around silently. Powell might be the captain, but when it came to matters about the cargo, Papo was the one who had final responsibility.
“So, where does this leave us?” asked Guiora.
“Since the receiver wasn’t expecting it, then nobody is asking questions. Since we haven’t filed our final reports, nobody else knows about the missing box. So we can either send a message back to Condell and let them know what’s going on or we can say nothing and get on with it.”
“You know my policy,” said Isacus. “It’s easier to remember the truth than to remember which lies to you told to which people.”
“Withholding information isn’t lying,” said Guiora.
“Prisoners have been saying that for millennia, but they’re still in prison,” replied Isacus.
“All right. Everyone file the report you deem you should be filing,” said Powell. “I’ll be reporting everything as I saw it. I’ll go see our Rep and find out what we’re carrying next and where we are going. Tell the others they are free to leave the ship and everyone is on shore leave. Be back here in about ten hours local when we should be ready to leave.”
Isacus and Guiora went back aboard to tell everyone else the good news. Papo and Powell left to go see the Rep. The company representative was the local man on the ground. He would have received their flight plan and capacity and would have already sorted out what their next load would be.
Most everyone was glad of the chance to have something other than the same small maze of corridors to look at. There were all sorts of things to be organized while the ship was docked, ranging from fresh consumables such as oxygen to replacing all the filters and scrubbers to loading the next block of cargo. Most of that had already been set up, since the crew had had very little else to do on the flight in.
Even as the crew was disembarking, the cleaning teams were on their way aboard to scrub the ship down and clean it up. Out of sight, various hoses were connected to pump things in, or pump them out depending on what they were carrying.
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