An Unrefusable Offer (Part 5)
Posted on Sat Dec 14th, 2019 @ 3:58pm by Fordyce Kirschler PhD
Mission:
Mission 10 - Temperance
Location: Lithios Prime, Francien Nebula, & Near SS Mary Rose
Timeline: MD 10 03:13
2179 words - 4.4 OF Standard Post Measure
Previously, in "An Unrefusable Offer (Part 4)"...
After negotiating with the computer for a moment, allowing it to process the spike's pre-programmed instructions, he removed the device and waited thirty seconds. He was taking one of the biggest risks of his life: he'd either get where he needed to be or have his body ripped apart at the molecular level.
Although Lucienne had assured him that her "tech people" had assured her that it was completely safe, it was still a total gamble as to whether or not the Bank's micro-transporter would actually accept organic material of his mass. He wasn't sure if the pattern buffers were even large enough to deconstruct and rematerialize something as complex as a sentient being, or if there was some hidden in-built security algorithm that prevented the movement of sentients through the system. If it was possible, he wondered what sort of unknown enterprises the Bank of Bolias might involve itself in. The possibilities for sentient trafficking alone were enormous.
The computer beeped to acknowledge that it was ready to carry out the transport. He had the option of declining or confirming, and Ford let his finger hover over the green "confirm" button on the console for a long moment.
Oh well. Dematerialization was better than hanging from a street lamp.
Right?
Now, the conclusion…
"Hello, Dr. Kirschler. It's good to see you again. We are behind schedule."
Ford had been in the process of patting himself down to make sure he wasn't missing any appendages when the voice of his very expensive traveling companion, a Personal Engineered Autonomous Robotic Laborer (P.E.A.R.L.), nearly made him jump out of his skin. Apparently, he'd made it from the bank branch to his ship in one piece.
"I thought I was supposed to beam you out of storage. How'd you get on the ship?" asked Ford, cutting his eyes at P.E.A.R.L.
"When it appeared you were unable to adhere to Director Bex's timeline, I altered my part of the plan and departed storage to ensure that we would be able to adhere to the timeline. Upon approaching the dockworkers, I indicated there were critical maintenance needs aboard the ship that needed to be addressed and that I was the maintenance unit assigned."
"I thought you couldn't lie?" asked Ford skeptically.
"My behavior adaptation programming allows me to adjust to the behavioral patterns and needs of my proprietor."
"You calling me a liar, P.E.A.R.L.?"
"You often show a preference for expressing an alternative interpretation of facts and events, and I followed your example by providing the dockworkers with the interpretation of events they were most likely to find acceptable."
"You're worth ten times what I paid for you."
"Thank you, Dr. Kirschler. I appreciate your valuation."
"We've got to get the ship prepped," said Ford as he moved through the Couronne from the transporter pad up to the cockpit.
"I have taken care of that, Dr. Kirschler."
"You have?" asked Ford slowly.
"I have," confirmed P.E.A.R.L..
He took a look at the nearest read out and noticed they were, in fact, ready for departure. Even so, he did his own run through of the ship's systems. The Raka-class corvette, rechristened the Couronne shortly after purchase, had been the most expensive acquisition of his life. He'd even bought it from a legitimate shipwright, not one of those shady outfits welded to the side of an asteroid floating around some nebula. He wanted quality craftsmanship, quality parts, and an investment that would hold together long enough to pay off.
At the time, it helped that he was dating a loan officer from the Bank of Bolias, particularly given his creditworthiness. He'd reviewed it in his head, and even he couldn't piece together whether he'd been dating her solely to acquire the loan or if that just happened to be a benefit of the relationship. Sometimes Ford's motives were so complex, so buried and obscure that even he had trouble wrapping his head around why he did certain things. His savings covered the down payment and the first few months; he swindled the loan officer out of the rest.
Or, rather, tried to swindle her out of it. Taking a loan, making the purchase, and skipping town had seemed like a good plan before he met Lucienne Bex.
"May I inquire as to how Director Bex has arranged our departure with the Lithian authorities?"
"I don't know, P.E.A.R.L., but she said they wouldn't bother us. Not sure if she counted on me murdering a couple of people, though."
"That is unfortunate, Dr. Kirschler," said P.E.A.R.L. in the detached sort of way that only a could manage.
'The plan' didn't say anything about contacting traffic control, so he didn't. For all he knew, Bex had hacked the Lithian sensors, and he was invisible. Or she'd paid some people to take a few convenient coffee breaks. Or someone had been unexpectedly called out of town and replaced by a more malleable junior associate. Or maybe a bomb was supposed to go off at traffic control. Or a planet-wide power outage. Honestly, the more their relationship evolved, he was never quite sure what Lucienne Bex was and was not capable of doing.
P.E.A.R.L. handled all the technical details involved in disabling the Nebula-class vessel's primary sensor palette. And it worked perfectly. Whole thing went off without a cinch. They skated right by the ship, evidently caught in the blind-spot of every other blockading vessel, and found themselves on a course toward Dijkstra's rendezvous in the Francien nebula at a comfortable warp six. Just like that he was off Lithios Prime, through a Starfleet blockade, in possession of an item of untold importance, beyond the reach of a vengeful despot, and hurtling toward a payment of sixty-seven bars of gold-pressed latinum.
The luck felt unreal. And almost like it couldn't possibly hold...
He spent some time onboard taking a sonic shower, though no amount of scrubbing could make him feel like he'd gotten rid of all the murderous nanites. It was all in his head, but he thought he could feel them crawling on him. He got dressed again as best he could given the leg, limped his way back to the bridge under the power of the assistive device, and took up the pilot's seat. In less than a minute, the minor sense of relaxation had him crashing down from the stimulants. Seconds late, he'd passed into darkness.
The extent of his disorientation could not have been overstated when he regained consciousness. He was aware of his leg first as the pain was immediate and overwhelming. It felt like it was held in an industrial swivel vise dipped in the electrified plasma of an O-class star. It lessened only slightly when he managed to disengage the motorized assistive device and jab his leg with another quick-releasing analgesic. It was physical relief but really only served to clear his mind enough to see what was going on around him. That led to a whole other sense of discomfort.
"Are we crashing, P.E.A.R.L.?"
"I am taking corrective action."
That didn't exactly answer his question. And 'corrective action' just looked like the surface of a moon racing up toward the cockpit's primary viewport. It wasn't until he saw poorly aimed disruptor fire go streaking past their hull that he understood what she meant.
"Who the fuck is shooting at us!?"
"Unknown assailants," said P.E.A.R.L. as calmly as if they were having tea and biscuits rather than engaged in atmospheric dogfighting. He thought his entire digestive system was going to prolapse when the Couronne suddenly made a very abrupt course correction to face their attackers and begin returning fire with short bursts of nadion energy.
"What the hell is going on?" asked Ford as he repositioned himself in the seat and tried to make some sense of the readings on the panel in front of him. Beside him, P.E.A.R.L.'s holographically projected face displayed serious concentration.
"I was unable to rouse you when we arrived at our destination, so I conducted the exchange with your associate's associates. Were you aware we were transporting contraband? Once the exchange was complete, we were ambushed by these unknown assailants. I regret to report that your associate's associates perished in the initial exchange of weapons fire," replied P.E.A.R.L. She added, almost as an afterthought, "Their shuttle was poorly designed for atmospheric maneuvering."
The panel in front of him indicated some damage to the Couronne's systems but the shields were still up, weapons were functional, and P.E.A.R.L. was putting her tactical module to good use. Nevertheless, the situation didn't seem too promising. The sensors were showing three small, heavily armed craft attacking them. The ships had terrible targeting systems but every hit they landed really pounded the shields. Unsurprisingly, they had no transponders, meaning they could have been anybody - authority was fluid on these nebular pirate outposts.
"It feels like we're not winning, P.E.A.R.L."
"Your analysis of the situation is correct as usual, Dr. Kirschler. Would you like for me to disengage?"
"I'd like for you to get us out of here!" said Ford incredulity. Then, he seemed to change his mind. "Wait, did we get the latinum already?"
"All sixty-seven bars of gold-pressed latinum have been verified and secured in the ship's cargohold, Dr. Kirschler. Your associate's associates were surprisingly reliable."
"It happens," he said, adding, "Rarely."
The panel to his left dimmed tellingly as one of the ships strafed them with disruptor fire, causing a temporary power drain. According to the sensors, they were still well within the moon's atmosphere, which limited their options for escape. Or did it?
"Jump to warp, P.E.A.R.L."
"I believe that would result in catastrophe, Dr. Kirschler. Engaging warp engines in atmospheric conditions is highly likely to create an unstable warp field. I cannot guarantee the structural integrity field could compensate for the instability. There is a high likelihood the ship will tear itself apart, and we will perish," said P.E.A.R.L. Around them, systems alarms started sounding as the damage became more critical. His assistant continued to speak, unphased by their deteriorating situation. "Additionally, we have not plotted a course, and engaging the warp engines will require us to lower shields. My assessment is that would be inadvisable given our current tactical situation."
"Well we're not going to clear the atmosphere before they blow us out of the sky, and I don't think escape pods are much of an option. Let's see if the day's luck holds," said Ford as he reached for the navigation controls. Within the span of a few seconds, he plotted a blind computer-assisted course, lowered their shields, and engaged the warp drive.
"This... is inadvisable."
If sound could carry through space, the Couronne would have literally come screaming into the system. As it was, they abruptly dropped out of warp some distance from the Mary Rose and its Yeager-class companion as their unstable warp field finally collapsed. Every alarm in the cockpit seemed to be activated, which was causing Ford's head to pound. He had no idea where they were, what distance they'd traveled, or whether they were about to be consumed in a matter-antimatter explosion. If it was the latter, he'd at least like to go out with some silence.
"P.E.A.R.L., shut all that shit off."
The cockpit went eerily silent immediately. Every interface panel continued to flash but at least it was quiet. He just needed a moment to brea-
"There are two vessels in close proximity, Dr. Kirschler. I am pleased to report that they do not appear to be hostile. One vessel is unidentified and does not correspond to any known vessel databases. It appears to be in a state of disrepair. The other is identified as the SS Mary Rose, a civilian ship with Federation registry. It also appears to be in a state of disrepair."
"I don't think we have much room to talk. What are they doing? Use the maneuvering thrusters so we can get a look."
"The maneuvering thrusters are offline."
"Well, okay. Impulse engines?"
"All navigation systems are offline."
"So we're dead in the water?"
"I believe it would be more apt to say that we are adrift in space."
"Thanks, P.E.A.R.L."
"You are welcome, Dr. Kirschler. I am pleased that I could be of assistance."
OFF::
Dr. Ford Kirschler
Engineering Consultant
Bank of Bolias
