In which Kara gets some shoes
O
nce the danger from P17 was over, and the safety circuits in the advised that it was convenient to return, Kara materialised the cylinder back in the hold.
“Are we safe now?” She poked her head out of the hatch.
“I think so," said Tom over the communications system. “P17 has decided it’s in love with you, and promises not to blow itself up. Shall I let it back inside?”
“Please do," said the tinny voice of the drone. “My only desire now is to serve the delectable hybrid known as Kara-Tay. Would that be her enchanting presence I now detect?”
“Is it?” said Tom.
“I suppose so,” said Kara, stepping carefully over the doku-pats. “Let it in, but P17…”
“Yes, my darling?”
“I want you to keep out of my way. You can park in the hold, but don’t get frightening the doku. There’s enough mess in here already.”
“Your wish is my command. I will be merely grateful to remain within proximity of your greatness.”
“Fine," said Kara. “Let it in, Two-Dan, and you lot can get back to work, instead of blighting the inside of my cylinder with your lewd behaviour.”
Groat and Spigot managed with difficulty to unbuckle the extra-safety belts in the cylinder and returned to their usual stations.
“Where to now, captain?” Groat was in the cockpit, staring at the controls as though he’d never seen them before.
“I guess back to Skagos for restocking,” said Tom. “Set a course.”
“What course?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Your home, if you like.”
“I can always find my way there,” said Groat. “It’s the Call.”
Once back in orbit around the Skagan planet, Tom asked about taking the Bereavement Notable as a bargaining tool in his conversations with STOP, concerning the unfairness of the parking premiums. However, following concerns from the newly-born Skagans that the planet-killer might be used for violent ends, he was denied access. The new generation of Skagans seemed to have become milder, and valued nature, education and being indignant, over their parents’ favoured pastimes of sex and war. Pete was not happy either, as Tanda’s younger sister, Moonbeam, seemed to prefer gazing into the heavens and discussing quantum physics, rather than developing her sexual prowess with him. When she told him that she might be sensitive to the radiation from his games console, he finally gave up, and joined the Magus, Groat, Spigot, and Kara to re-crew the Fortune. Tom had persuaded the others to stay on, with promises of ale, violence, poetry evenings and shoe raids respectively.
Kara still was reluctant, even with the assurance of infinite footwear, but when Tom suggested it would be very dangerous, and she might witness his demise without any effort on her part, she agreed to go along. She made sure that Arianne’s cylinder was ready for immediate take-off in the cargo hold, so that she could make a quick exit when the inevitable happened. There was no way, she reasoned, that Tom’s crusade around the galaxy could ever succeed, so the chances of his demise were greatly increased. As far as the rest of the crew were concerned, the cylinder was an escape ship. All but Tom and Groat were also convinced that the venture was doomed, and they shuddered when they heard the message from Groat over the intercom...
“Sail ahead! Clear the decks and prepare for engagement.”
“I thought I told you about those nautical references.”
“Captain, do I need to tell you the name of the vessel we are about to attack?” Groat sniggered. “Oh, and the decking in the cargo hold is covered with doku-dung again and needs a hose-down… and I’ve asked Spigot to marry me, so we’ll be needing to make the nibbles for a party after this incident.”
Tom’s sigh was audible even through the cheap speakers. “Prepare to fire a warning shot, and this time don’t make it too much of a warning. Pete, are you ready?”
The muffled pizza-chewing voice of the newly-dubbed ‘weapons officer’ came through. “Ready when you are, captain.”
“Fire.”
There was a chuckle from Groat as the doku-shunt discharge took the top fin off the target freighter, Sail Ahead.
“Oy!” The voice came across space on the ‘pionio’ connection. “Stop knocking bits off my transport. Are you aliens? It would be great if you were... first contact and all that. Phoistin’ ugly ship you’re driving, so you must be aliens. Nobody I know would be seen dead in something like that.”
“I can always hope,” Tom heard Kara mutter.
“We are not aliens,” said Tom. “This is the pirate vessel, The Black Empress Kara’s Good Fortune. We have Ruth the pirate queen and Neckbeard, terror of the space lanes, on board.”
“Hi,” said the Magus. “Good to meet you.”
“This is Captain Wang of the Federation of Footwear Fitters, or F-oFF to you. We are out of Glenforbis by doku-drive, carrying a consignment of waterproof vegan shoes, made of leather from vegetarian animals, for the people of the Planet Out. If you are aliens, I suspect that the sizes we have on board will be of no interest to you. It is common knowledge that aliens have different shaped feet. A lot of modern shoe-shops do cater for them, though. You might have noticed if you’ve tried to buy a pair recently.”
“I don’t think we’re aliens,” said Tom. “You say you launched from Glenforbis. You cargo wouldn’t comprise items made of doku-leather?”
“The very best,” said Wang proudly. “The pelt has been cured under the manure highlands of Politico for a period of two years.”
“I know that mountain range,” said the Magus. “When the burger wars began, a lot of the by-products of the doku were stored away from harm. Much had been lost, as the burgermeisters fought each other for control of the illegal meat supply, the ‘Burger Wars’ as they were known. My very good friend, Ludwig Gottstein, was sucked into that, as he tried to throw his considerable weight about in the fast food industry. When last I spoke to him about it, he reported that the authorities had all but stamped out the prohibited trade of animal-protein-in-a-bun, but they suspected there were stockpiles of materials still to be discovered. A number of expeditions were made to the mountains, most ending in disaster, as clean air and supplies ran out and the native bearers deserted. Odd that they had to carry the natives. You would have thought the natives would have carried the supplies, like in those old films.”
“Probably where they went wrong,” said Tom. “I presume you heard that, Captain Wang, because, despite the fact I have the pionio on ‘mute’, no doubt something else in here is picking up our words. What have you got to say about the fact you have contraband aboard?”
“Yes, we can hear you through the egg poacher,” said Wang. “You should switch it off when not in use; the remains of the last meal will go hard and make it very difficult to clean.”
“About your goods, Captain?”
“We bought this consignment in good faith. The sweat-shops of Glenforbis have been working day and night to produce these quality, itch-free, high performance foot embellishments with dissolvable thread for neatness. We are kind to our workers. We give them one day a month off to go to kindergarten or to tend to their invalid mothers.”
“Commendable,” said Tom. “Now hand the cargo over.”
“Never!”
“Neckbeard,” said Tom. “The Flag.”
“Righto,” said the Magus. There was a metallic squeaking as he wound up the ensign.
“See that, Captain Wang? Do you know who we are now?”
There was a pause from the other end of the pionio link and they could hear muffled discussions going on.
“We don’t believe in piracy,” said Wang eventually. “We only believe in foot embellishment. You will be reported to F-oFF for this, and they will tell you in no uncertain terms what you should do.”
“It looks like you leave us no choice. Pete, will you target their engines, and stop them running away?”
“I’m not sure I can,” said Pete. “As you know, I am a vegan myself, apart from the occasional doku-burger and meat-feast pizza. It is against my principles to destroy a vessel containing such valuable commodities where no animals have had to die to clothe the human condition. Oh, hello Kara. What can I do for you?”
“Shoes,” said Kara, firing a salvo of broken asteroid fragments and used Biros from the doku-shunt. “I want, and I have no scruples. Two-Dan promised me shoes and it seems he has not reneged on the agreement. You will not stand in my way.”
Groat gave a whoop as the main engine on the Sail Ahead was torn away from the ship. “Shot! Now stand down.”
“Stand Down is our sister ship,” came the hurt voice of Wang. “Have you got the wrong vessel? The damage is going to take some time to fix, you know. Have you any idea how much a refurbished doku-drive costs?”
“I’ve just realised you have a doku-drive.” said Tom. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s a Nishant special. We sourced it through Dearheat Enterprises, at a very reasonable cost, I believe.”
“Rannie,” muttered the Magus. “How could you?”
“She said she would sell anything to anyone,” said Wang, “if the price was right. Have you not seen the company logo?”
“Not recently,” said the Magus through gritted teeth. “Has she been peddling other stuff to our enemies as well?”
“Who are your enemies?”
“Everyone,” said Tom. “We are pirates, you know.”
“My ship is damaged. We can’t go anywhere now, without proper safety checks,” said Wang. “I’ve sent out a distress call, so something will turn up soon. You can ask them yourself.”
“You’d better send over your cargo right now then,” said Kara. “I need a few new pairs of shoes.”
The Sail Ahead did not resist as Spigot and Kara ferried the shoe boxes into the hold of their own ship. Kara stared at her feet as she called the Magus. “The hold is full of doku again,” she said. “Why do you keep loading them on?”
“I don’t,” whined the Magus. “I don’t know where they come from and why they keep following me.”
“You need to bloody well find out. This place stinks like a festival toilet. We are never going to get the smell out of the AstroTurf, and the atmosphere scrubbers in my cylinder have had to divert power from the gravity lift. It’s a real pain going for a shower.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
The ship rocked as something hit it.
“Oh, now what’s happening?”
“The killer drones have found us,” shouted Tom. “Spigot, can you give us the engines now?”
“What, with dung all over my shoes?”
“Never mind that. We can clean them up later.”
“It might take some time,” said the engineer. “I switched them off before I went over to the Sail Ahead. You should never leave engines running unattended... I mean someone could lose a finger, or something.”
“Leave it to me,” said Kara. “I’ve no intention of dropping this shipment so soon after we stole it. P17, are you in here?”
“Yes, my angel,” came a metallic voice from high in the roof support girders.
“What are you doing at the moment?”
“Gazing with adoration at your wonderful form.”
“Would you pop outside then, and ask the ‘P’ units attacking us to blow themselves up or something. You do still have the command codes, I trust?”
“Of course, my angel of enchantment. Please vacate the cargo deck while I open the main doors. I will give you and the ship time to escape, even though I will probably die trying.”
“That is true love,” said Kara from the internal hatch. “I will always remember you.”
“It is all I can ask,” said P17.
As Spigot restarted the engines and tried to scrape dung from her shoes on the accelerator pedal, P17 accosted the small fleet of killer spaceships outside. There was an exchange of communications where P17 argued that this was not the ship they were looking for, and then an exchange of gunfire as the pursuit ships disagreed. Strangely, several of them blew up without apparent cause, and some of the remainder were pulverised by P17. Finally, the friendly drone took a hit from one of the survivors and spiralled away, its engines dead. Pete managed to get the shunt from the Fortune working and destroyed the last few enemy.
“We will collect P17 when we are finished here,” said Tom. “It put up a fine show. There may be some spare parts we can use for the celery dispenser.”
“Very spectacular,” said Wang’s voice, “but I hear that the main F-oFF fleet is approaching rapidly. You’d better F—off before they get here and take you apart. They are not pleased with you stealing our cargo. They broke a lot of whips on the children making them.”
“You’ve got our loyalty card,” said the Magus. “Show that to them. For every three acts of piracy you get the right to free passage for the fourth, as long as you aren’t carrying anything we need.”
“It’s no compensation,” said Wang.
“When I get my company back, I’ll compensate you properly for any losses,” said Tom. “It seems we have to go now. You can understand our situation.”
“About this loyalty card,” said Wang. “Can I have one for my second-in-command too?”
“Are you trying to delay us?” said Tom. “That’s mean.”
“You can’t blame me for trying,” said Wang. “The loss of this consignment will be docked from my wages.”
“Again, you have my apologies,” said Tom. “What more can I say?”
“You could tell me your opinions of the shoes, I guess. Would you be able to fill in a survey about how satisfied you were with the plunder today, and if you would return for a repeat visit... and perhaps recommend us to your pirate friends. It will make a favourable contribution to my personal development plan.”
“Why have we not yet captured Neckbeard, Terror of the Sapristi Main?” Ferdinand Poordraw, now assumed head of the continuously-name-changing STOP Foundation, was looking at the latest reports of skirmishes with the Fortune. “I mean, how many drones do we need?”
“There have been ‘issues’ with the software,” said Montague Errorcode, “and by the way, you didn’t need to send a squad of traffic wardens, in black uniforms, to get me out of bed at 2 a.m., to bring me back here to talk to you. I would have answered the phone, had you called first.”
“We tried, but it appears that you are in the process of a change of supplier, and are cut off at the moment.”
“I wasn’t to know that my old provider would disconnect me when I told them I was moving to ‘Nishant Communications’ because they were cheaper, more reliable and not a load of bastards. I am still discussing the reconnection charge. I don’t see why, when I already have a decent network connection, switching it over in the cabinet is going to cost as much as ninety drachmae. I sent a man to look into it, but he came back with a wiring loom wrapped around his neck. Apparently, the Nishant engineer didn’t like being told what to do while he was trying to unravel the cabling.”
“Be that as it may,” said Welby, “you are here now, and they are not ‘traffic wardens’, but ‘Transportation Progression Superintendents’ to hide from the public the fact that they are actually ‘Revenue Generation Facilitators’, and nothing to do with keeping the traffic going. We get fifty percent of our income from their efforts, so I hold them in high regard. That’s why they have such nice uniforms.”
“I did suspect as much,” said Errorcode, “when they broke into my garage and put a ticket on my car. I intend to protest.”
“Bad move,” said Poordraw. “You know the rates of interest.”
“But it was illegal; trespass, breaking and entering, being unnecessarily polite, and filming me without my permission.”
“There may be some compensation when we screen the footage on prime-time TV. It’s already gone viral on the ‘YouTwat’. People are dying with laughter out there, like flies don’t seem to.” He regarded the ‘Glenforbis Fly-Trap’ plant on the windowsill, which was desperately trying to swallow a succession of brightly-coloured dung-flies buzzing around it. “I really don’t understand where all these pests come from.”
“Probably traffic warden training schools.”
“I meant the flies. Anyway, enough of the banter. You haven’t given me an explanation as to why the drones are not working.”
“I haven’t,” said Errorcode reluctantly.
“Go on then.”
“Thank you, your honour. I will get back to my office, then.”
“Not before you have explained about the drones.”
“It’s money,” said Errorcode with a sigh.
“You have money. SCT was a profitable organisation.”
“Yes, but since I awarded myself those bonuses, and outsourced, and corrected that major outage, and paid for the lawsuits, we don’t seem to be quite as profitable as we were. I could do with some extra funding in order to expand.”
“And how is the technology advancing?”
“Ah.” Errorcode smiled. “We have contacts in the new spacecraft manufacturing plant on Skagos. All I need is a wad of cash to persuade them that they can share the technology with us. I’ve already paid to put tracers on the beasts that keep following Neckbeard.”
“Following?”
“We don’t know how they do it, but wherever he goes, they manage to track him down. It is said that they consider him some sort of deity. It works to our advantage.”
“That would be beasts like those outside?”
Errorcode looked out of the window. “I can’t see anything.”
“Take off the income-filtering glasses.”
“Ah, you mean the doku chewing their way through the bushes on STOP Roundabout.”
“That would be it... and where did all the people come from?”
“They are walking to work, I believe,” said Welby. “Our parking policies mean most have decided that owning a car is beyond their means, so they walk everywhere now. Some are regretting living so far out of town; it takes more than a day to get here by obeying the 10 mph national speed limit, so they are having to rent more locally. ‘STOP Property Holdings’ is doing fabulously, as are ‘STOP Eating’ and ‘STOP Drinking’ and ‘STOP-r-Us-At-Home-in-the-City’... and the general public are getting healthier with all the exercise, and the air is improving without all the fumes. We are saving a packet on healthcare, and even improving the environment. Which is why we are now promoting the STOP organisation as ‘people friendly’.”
“You are,” said Poordraw, “but we aren’t in it to benefit the populace; only for our own profit. It’s in the Articles of Association. We take advantage of the stupidity and loopholes in the system.”
“It seems to be working,” said Pietro Fairway. “As ‘Minister for Vehicle Storage and Excessive Road Signage’, I have been promoting our policies. There have been kind things said in the ‘House of Expense Claims’ about our contributions to a better life for all. If we held an election today, the result would be a landslide.”
“I said it was a stupid place to build a polling station,” said Welby, “under the slurry storage mountain.”
“‘STOP Dumping’ got a good deal on that contract,” said Poordraw.
“But people are at risk.”
“Nobody of any significance. Put your glasses back on, and then you won’t worry. Come back Montague.”
Errorcode froze halfway through the door. “Er, I thought that the interview was over,” he said. “I was going to get back to work. I will be having words with our engineers about what they are doing wrong.”
“Will that improve the quality of our drones?”
“Mx. Dullman has put in a process for penalising the technicians. Every time we lose a drone, the system makes an automatic salary deduction. It’s amazing how focused they’ve become.”
“All credit to you on that one. Motivation definitely seems to be your strong point. I will expect to see an increase in performance, and look forward to you apprehending the renegades, and reconnecting our supply lines. You realise the importance of this?”
“And the money for bribing our contact to share the new technology?”
“Take it out of your last bonus. Now go.”
Errorcode shot the man a poisonous glance, but Poordraw was already gazing past the fly-trap, puzzling at the way the bushes on the roundabout seemed to be disappearing without cause as he watched through his spectacles. The door slammed behind him.
“You really shouldn’t wind him up like that,” said Welby.
“I’ll do what I like. I am the majority shareholder.”
“I thought we agreed that it was equal sway on the Board.”
“How can it be?” said Poordraw. “We need strong leadership. Your ideas about job satisfaction and employee welfare are misplaced. We pay our operatives generously, and give them free parking spaces. That’s all they should need.”
“He’s right,” said Fairway. “Sit back and enjoy the income, and don’t rock the pedalo.”
On the roundabout below the STOP meeting room, the Magus sighed and put away his long-range listening device. He tilted his detective’s fedora to a slightly less investigative angle, and shoved his way through the herd of doku. Being an investigator was in his blood, but the way the doku kept following him around was a real problem with undercover work. The transmitter in the fly-trap had worked, though, and he was relieved that the STOP executive hadn’t associated the insect infestation with his animals, and therefore himself. He had news to take back, but the thought that there was a spy in their midst gave him the frissons. How could any of their dedicated followers be so corruptible, and where the Phoist had that Pig-Ugly he had used as a shuttle from the pirate ship gone?
