Drift Stories/Hands Off the Merchandise: Difference between revisions

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“Time is fictional in the Drift,” he shouted back, his voice already disappearing down the corridor.

Quartz had barely settled back into her seat on the bridge when an alert sounded from her console.

“Contact!” She yelled over the din, “Guild ship on long-range scan, looks like a small one but she’s got weapons signatures. Five hundred K and closing.”

Ilyar ran over to see for himself. “They’re still beyond visual range; Quartz, you know how the signature projector works?”

“I got a crash course before we left, I can work out the rest,” Quartz replied with a grin, her fingers flying across the controls. “We want something they won’t question too much… Right, got it!”

With a flourish she flipped up a molly-guard and toggled a switch; the ship shuddered slightly, the scanner displays reset, and a new larger blip replaced their previous indicator.

“As far as they know right now, we are a Guild heavy freighter. We’ll just have to hope they don’t want a closer look.”

Ilyar nodded, looking up at the empty expanse of Drift before them. “Sol, set a course to avoid visual range.” He glanced over at Bentley, who was hurriedly stashing away the snacks they had been eating and wiping their hands clean. “Sync in and take us around them, Engine; no tricks, you’re flying one of the least manoeuvrable vessels in the Drift now.”

Bentley laid their hands on the pads, and the ship began to yaw slowly to starboard. “Ah, she doesn’t like greasy hands. Sorry, old girl.”

The radio set began to crackle, and Quartz piped it out through the bridge PA. A faint, stern-sounding voice came over the noise. “Unidentified vessel, this is Guild Cutter ''Grand Repose''. We read your signature but your transponder signal is unclear. Do you have a malfunction on board?”

“Shit, the transponder!” Quartz flew to work on the controls. “I’ve got her squawking a Guild reply code now, captain. Care to reply?”

“We cannot outrun a cutter,” Solivane added, studying the charts. “They must not come into visual range.”

Ilyar took the headset from Quartz and keyed up the transmitter. “''Grand Repose'', this is Heavy Freighter…” He glanced around in a panic, his eyes alighting on the crumpled bag stuffed under Bentley’s seat. “… ''Cool Ranch''. Apologies, our transponder has been malfunctioning lately. We are carrying a volatile load bound for Passenger-382-C. Advise maintaining distance, our Drift wake is potentially dangerous to small craft.”

The reply came quickly. “''Cool Ranch?'' Logistics Corp sure have run out of ideas. What is this ‘volatile load’? We have orders to inspect cargo in transit through this sector.”

Ilyar glanced down at Quartz, who quickly mouthed a suitable answer. He smiled, keying up again. “We are carrying fifty tonnes of Drift isolate. Our hold is locked down but I ''strongly'' advise against any attempts to scan it.” Bentley was watching from across the bridge, eyes wide with delight. Drift isolate, pure concentrated narrative energy, was just about the most unstable substance in regular traffic; the cutter’s crew knew as well as they did that one scan could blow the entire sector out of existence.

There was a long, tense pause before the next reply came, a much less confident voice this time. “… ''Cool Ranch'', proceed on your route. We will maintain distance.” Another pause. “… Good luck.”

Ilyar signed off the radio, and Quartz looked up at him with unconcealed amusement. “They’re pulling back, captain, almost out of scanner range.”

“They’re all off changing their trousers!” Bentley cackled.

Ilyar strode back to the front windows, cupping his hands behind his back. “Full ahead on course, Engine. Keep the projector running until we approach Passenger.”

Bentley set the autohelm for full ahead, disengaged from the console, and retrieved their snacks from under their seat. “An inspired choice of name, captain, if I do say so myself,” they mumbled between mouthfuls. Looking across the bridge, they caught Quartz’s eye. A smile spread across their face. “Good job, kid. Well done.” Quartz just smiled back and gave a mock salute.