A divorced mother of two boys fights for child support payments.

Approx 2,166 words

The Star-Trader

©2004 by W. E. Lopez

“I’m sorry, Warner, I have no choice in the matter. The Sheriff has delivered a court order requiring me to impound your ship. I’m afraid I can’t allow you to lift off-planet until the lien has been satisfied.”

Warner Dickson glanced at the legal papers handed to him by the port captain, but he didn’t really understand them. The star-trader asked, “Does that mean I won’t be able to unload my cargo? I have optical instruments, medical instruments, and prescription drugs from Earth, all of which will bring a handsome profit here on Harmony. Items greatly needed by the colony.”

“The court order says nothing about cargo, Warner, just the ship itself. If you can sell your cargo and satisfy the court the lien has been lifted, I’m sure your ship will be returned to you in due course. Don’t take it personal, buddy,” the port captain told his friend of more than ten years, “I don’t want your ship and don’t want to see it sold at auction just because you neglected to pay a little child support. I’ve had to pay a large portion of my salary over the years, until my kids turned 18, and I think it’s a raw deal, but that’s the law for you.”

“Thanks, I guess, Bob. I know you’re just doing your job. Well, I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted. My null-mass field generator has been operating intermittently, and I could barely average warp 3 on this last leg. While I sell my cargo, can you get Kinsky’s tech over to check out my ship?”

“Sorry, Warner, no can do,” the port captain said. “Kinsky has a swell contract with the federation military. He’s moved his main office over to the patrol base, half-way around the planet. Tell you what I can do for you, I can ask him to put a tech on the next shuttle and check out your ship here, but I know he’s gonna charge you for time as well as transportation.”

“No problem, Bob. I’m out of business until I can get the field generator repaired. Michelle will never get her child support unless I sell the ship, and then I’ll be on the beach and in your hair for life.”

“We sure don’t want that, Warner.” Bob Franklin most certainly did not want Warner Dickson confined to this planet. He simply had not figured out a way to help his old friend without getting in trouble with the authorities. He climbed into his runabout and switched on the engine. “I’ll head for the office and put in a call to Kinsky, Warner. You go ahead and get your cargo off-loaded and try to get a good price for it, but don’t raise ship without my okay.”

Warner gave the port captain a friendly salute. “Aye, aye, Captain Bligh,” he said as the port captain pulled away with a whining of the electric drive motor. Glumly he walked back to his ship and ascended in the cargo bucket. He wouldn’t have any trouble selling his cargo, but he had been in space four years and the delinquent child-support would eat into his profit and perhaps not leave enough to pickup another cargo when he lifted from Harmony. There was no problem with his field generator; he had only tossed that into the conversation to keep his options open.

In his cabin, Warner made a copy of his manifest and faxed it to the several jobbers he regularly did business with on Harmony. A star-trader seldom plays favorites, dealing with only one jobber. The key to success is to offer the cargo to the highest bidder. Most jobbers have access to drawing accounts with the local bank, but Warner had to insist upon payment by sight-draft this time, which meant he would probably have to settle for a lesser price. He knew if his funds were placed in a local bank, Michelle could get at them on the strength of a court order.

An hour later Bob Franklin buzzed the star-trader on the field intercom. “Warner, Kinsky’s sending his best tech late this afternoon. He’ll give you the once over, but can’t stay to make repairs because Kinsky has two patrol ships in for overhaul at this time.”

Warner Dickson mentally reviewed the status of ships funds. He had certificates for at least 12,000 grams of fuel-grade thorium, the universal medium of exchange throughout the civilized planets. A technical inspection should not set him back more than a thousand grams. Transportation for the technician might cost him 200 grams additional.

“Okay, Bob, thanks for helping me out. With luck, perhaps it’s only a software glitch.”

“You wish, Warner. You’re an eternal optimist!”

“In my business, you have to be an optimist, Bob. Catch you later, buddy.” He cleared the com-circuit.

Late that evening, a bleary-eyed drive specialist arrived at the star-trader’s ship and asked permission to board. Warner sent down the basket. “Sheesh! You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” he told the tech when he entered the cargo hatch.

“Yeah, been sort of busy, captain. Kinsky’s got more work than we can handle now, but the pay is good. Now, what sort of problem have you got?”

“Before we discuss my problem, can we settle my bill,” Dickson asked?

“I won’t know what to charge you before looking at your field generator, captain.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my field generator, but I need a report saying it can only be repaired over at Kinsky’s yard. Can you do that for me?”

“Huh? I don’t understand,” the tech said.

“Look, here’s the thousand for your inspection,” Warner laid crisp certificates on the table. “And I think two hundred will cover your transportation. Will you agree with that?”

“Go on… what are you getting at.” The technician pocketed the cash and waited.

Warner laid another thousand on the table. “This is for you. In exchange, I want a written report stating the null-field generator can be repaired in a matter of a few days, but the work can only be performed in Kinsky’s yard.”

“I don’t know what your game is, captain, but I can certainly give you a written report. You got a memo-writer on board?”

“Of course I do,” Warner said. He pushed a receipt book across to the technician. “Sign this first, for the payment to Kinsky. I certainly don’t need a yard lien placed against my ship. No receipt for your payoff, that’s yours, off the record.”

The technician smiled. “Off the record, I like that. Okay, let me get at your memo-writer and you’ll have your report in jig time.”

“Take your time, take your time. I’ll have the auto-chef brew some coffee for you and rustle up a meal. We have to make it look as if you really did give the ship a thorough inspection. When you’re finished, you can spend the rest of the night in town and catch the first shuttle back in the morning.” Warner smiled. His plan was coming together nicely.

An hour later, Warner Dickson drank dark rum from Sirius V as he looked over the report he had purchased for 1,000 grams. In non-technical terms, the report explained a minor malfunction in the null-mass field generator, that essential piece of equipment which generated a negative mass, canceling the ships mass and making it possible for the vessel to exceed the speed of light. Several paragraphs of gibberish explained the simple repairs proposed, and an estimated repair cost amounting to 128,000 grams. The star-trader was well pleased with his purchase. Warner Dickson finished the evening with two more glasses of rum and went to bed.

* * *

At 1000 hours in the morning, with a sight draft for 750,000 grams locked in the ships safe, Warner knocked on the door of Bob Franklin’s office and entered. In his hand he had the report of survey he had paid 1,000 grams for.

“So you see, Bob, I’m not jumping off to hyper-space, merely hopping around the globe where I can get work done on my ship. In a few days, when the work has been finished, the bank drafts for my cargo will have cleared, and I can pay Michelle the child support she deserves.” Warner deliberately chose a phrase which sounded appeasing.

“Alright, Warner, when do you plan to move your ship to Kinsky’s yard?”

“I flashed him this morning, Bob, and he said he can probably put a crew on it right away, if I can get there by 1800 tonight. Allowing a few hours for me to have my tanks topped up with go-juice, would it be alright if I lifted ship at 1400?”

The port captain looked at his arrival and departure schedule. He needn’t have, except for the shuttle which had taken off earlier, there were no operations scheduled for today, it was simply a habit.

“Okay, Warner. 1400 it is. I’ll send the refueling tankers out to your berth to top off your tanks.”

“Thanks, Bob, you’re a life saver, really. I’ll be back in three or four days, you won’t even have time to miss me.”

“Just don’t put any dings in her while you’re away, Warner. We can’t get a very good price if we have to auction a damaged ship. After settling Michelle’s lien, there might not be anything left for you.”

“She’s my own special baby, Bob, and I always treat her as such.” The two shook hands and Warner went out to his ship, ascended to his control room and began to go over his star-charts. “Where can I pick up a good cargo next?” he thought.

* * *

Harmony’s sun was several degrees past meridian when Bob Franklin entered the control tower. “Afternoon, chief,” Ken Vasic said. “You’re buddy’s warming up now and should twist her tail in a few minutes. You come to watch the blast off?”

“Just a routine observation of port activities, Ken.” Inside, the port captain secretly hoped his plans would soon come to fruition. Bob Franklin and Michelle Dickson had been dating seriously for the past three years. He thought well of her two sons and wanted to marry the woman, but she still carried a torch for Warner, her star-trader ex-husband. Until Warner was once and permanently out of their lives, the relationship could not go further. If Warner took the bait provided by the port captain, that day might not be far off.

The speaker over the tower operator’s console crackled with static. “Harmony Commercial, this is Chicago Clipper on berth 8. Requesting immediate departure for high-orbit to Harmony Patrol base and Kinsky’s shipyard on scheduled flight plan.”

Vasic glanced briefly at the port captain, inquiring if he had any objections. Bob gave a curt nod.

“Clipper, this is Harmony. You are cleared for immediate takeoff. Happy landings, buddy!”

“Roger, Harmony. Have a good day. Clipper is off.”

The base of the star-trader’s ship spouted flame and she rose, slowly at first but visibly gaining momentum. The tower operator followed her departure visually until the ship ascended directly into the glare of the sun, and then he switched to the radar scope. Dickson’s ship passed 40,000 meters altitude and 2700 km/hr velocity before it was lost among the background clutter of solar radiation.

“Looks like a perfect lift-off and orbital insertion, captain. He should emerge from the background radiation in about 120 seconds.”

“I doubt that,” the port captain thought silently. “As least I hope he doesn’t.”

Time passed while both of them divided their attention from the count-down clock, now counting up, and the radar screen. After 120 seconds, there was no sign of Dickson’s ship. 140 seconds. 160 seconds. 180 seconds. Still nothing.

“Do you suppose his reactor went nova?” Vasic asked the port captain.

“Not very likely, Vasic. Kinsky had a technician survey the ship last night. It’s in top-flight condition except for a fluctuation in the null-mass generator.”

“Then where is the ship?” Vasic asked.

“If you ask me,” Bob Franklin said, “Warner Dickson made a course adjustment when he knew we would not be able to see him because of the background flare of the sun. He’s probably accelerating past Atlantis by now.”

“But, I thought his ship was restricted from deep space?” Vasic put in.

“Yes, yes it is. Wait another twenty minutes or so and send a communication to System Patrol Headquarters advising them Warner Dickson has made an unauthorized change in flight plan as well as an illegal departure from this planet. Have him arrested and his ship seized the moment he returns to this system.”

“Right away, chief. Do you think he’ll be back soon?”

“You can never tell,” the port captain said. Inwardly he thought, “He’ll never come back to this system unless he’s just plain stupid, which he’s not.” Bob Franklin was pleased with himself. Now there was no reason he and Michelle could not soon be married.