[fic] Choppers | 2
Title: Choppers 2/?
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: PG / PG 13 ish.
Notes: Thanks to mikkeneko and onthecontrary for providing second opinions, and jamjar for putting up with my attention whoring. Much love!
The title is taken from the song that inspired this fic. It's called "Choppers" and is by Headless Chickens. That pretty much says it all.
Summary: Tim's beginning to have second thoughts about his mission. Bernard and Bart are not helping.
The ship was harder. Bernard spent three days dragging Tim all over the city chasing reports he’d had of a chaser that was just what they wanted, an old freight handler that was going cheap but could be fixed up, and various other finds that always turned out to be just sold, or completely out of their price range.
By the time they found a ship that was met all Tim’s specifications and was within the required price range, Tim was willing to agree to anything. He okayed the ship Bernard said was perfect before he’d seen it.
Which, in retrospect may have been a mistake.
“You didn’t mention the engine had been damaged.”
“Owner was halfway through the repairs when he was reported missing,” Bernard assured him. “The mechanics had secured the necessary parts by then, but when he failed to show for a quote -- well, they held off on doing the repairs. Shuttles been sitting there the better part of a year, gathering dust and taking up valuable hold space, and the owner decided it was time to recap his losses and sell the thing as it was.”
“Are you sure this is legal?”
“At least as legal as those charts of yours, soldier-boy -- to say nothing of using League funds for your own private treasure hunting expedition.”
Tim snorted. “That was positively clumsy.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Bernard shrugged.
“A lot of people would take offense at that,” Tim said, moving in to take a closer look at the side of the ship where the plating had been removed to make repairs. “I mean, do I look like I’m embezzling funds?”
“Will this effect my cut?”
Tim shook his head, and stepped away from the machinery. The interior was suprisingly rust-free, and repairing it shouldn’t take too long. It was more technical than Tim himself could manage, however. “How much do the mechanics charge? They’d still have the original schematics --”
“Forget it. No one works on this ship but me.”
Tim looked up to see the junkyard kid, scruffy as ever, standing in the hangar doorway with a backpack. Without waiting for an invitation, or even, in fact, a greeting, he made his way over to the shuttle, putting a hand to its side reverently.
Bernard was waggling his eyebrows at Tim in a self-congratulatory way, but Tim ignored him. “You’re qualified as a mechanic then?” he asked. “What level?”
The kid didn’t answer. He seemed to be . . . well, it looked like nothing so much as feeling the ship up.
“Are you sure about this?” Tim asked Bernard.
“Trust me,” Bernard smirked. “His whole family is like this. Best mechanics turned pilots anywhere.”
There was a metallic clunk and Tim looked back to see the kid had dropped his bag and was leaning into the part where the plating had been removed to make repairs. There was something vaguely porny about the way he wriggled to get a better look at the circuitry and Tim frowned instead at the grubby looking bag the boy had dropped. “You can’t just leave your stuff,” he started, picking up the bag and frowning. It was surprisingly heavy.
The kid didn’t seem to mind, or indeed be paying him any attention at all. Tim opened the bag. Most of the space was taken up by the kind of case mechanics used to transport tools. The measure of a mechanic is his equipment, his father had told Tim, and Tim didn’t feel at all guilty about opening the case.
Everything else the kid owned was battered and scruffy but these . . . these were handmade, patched, some new, some antique, but all very well cleaned and cared for . . . He would give the kid a chance, Tim decided, closing the case. “How long do you think you’ll need?”
“Oh, ah, um. How long?” The kid considered this. “Two days should be good.”
Two days? A team of mechanics couldn’t finish the job in that time. Tim opened his mouth to say this, but Bernard got in first.
“Taking your time then?” he drawled lazily.
The kid bristled. “I’ve never had a ship of my own before,” he said. “I want to make sure it’s right.”
Bernard clapped him on the shoulder. “Course you do. Look, here’s my number. Call me if you need any parts. Otherwise, we’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’re going.”
“Mmm,” said the kid, already distracted by a shiny piece of engine.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Tim said darkly as they left the hangar to return to the residential zones.
“Hey, I am the best at what I do,” Bernard said smugly. “That’s why you came to me in the first place, isn’t it? Anyway, I think you must owe me a few more drinks by now -- not only do you have a pilot-mechanic who hasn’t even brought up wages once, the ship is modern and within your price range and the owner said we can use the hangar for free until it’s fixed.”
“Getting drunk at my expense will have to wait,” Tim said. “I’m on duty tonight.”
“On duty, is it? My.” Bernard waggled eyebrows. “You going to try and tell me you’re not with the League now?”
“What would be the point?” Tim shrugged. “Don’t contact me unless it’s really urgent.”
“Hey, no sweat. I got you covered.”
---
Tim dropped by the hangar before his shift the next day and was mildly relieved. The shuttle engine was humming, and the kid was making further adjustments to the boosters and anti-grav ports. He had an audience; Wally, dressed in the same grungy coveralls, and an older man, who had to be part of the family to judge by his grease splattered clothing, were watching and making suggestions. While this meant Tim did not have the chance he’d hoped for to talk to the kid alone, he did discover that what Bernard had said about his family being reputable mechanics was true.
“So, you’re the one behind this expedition?” the older man asked mildly. “Nebula quadrant C hardly seems the place for a pleasure cruise.”
“It’s not a pleasure cruise,” Tim said, carefully. “We’re taking every precaution -“
“Except the precautions the League could give you,” Wally pointed out and Tim was reminded he had yet to ask Bernard what gave him away. “Is this illegal? We going to regret letting the kid get involved?”
“There is nothing against taking a non-combat vehicle into free space,” Tim said. “A vessel was lost in Quadrant C decades ago. The League has no interest in recovering it, ruling any expedition too costly or dangerous. I think a small unarmoured but more maneuverable vessel could succeed where a League vessel would not.”
“Several decades?” the older man looked mildly surprised. “It must have quite the cargo.”
“I believe it does,” Tim said simply.
Wally and the older man looked at each other, then at the kid.
“He better come home safe,” said Wally eventually and there was just enough threat in his voice that Tim had to nod.
“We’re holding you to that,” the older man said, patting Tim on the shoulder heavily. It was most definitely a warning.
---
Finding the final crew-member took the longest.
“Discreet,” Tim reminded Bernard. “No ties to the League but I don’t want to end up harbouring criminals either --”
“Breaking and entering is a fact of life out here,” Bernard argued. “It does not a criminal make. But if you insist, Lord High and Mighty --”
Tim told himself to relax and let Bernard handle it. He’d handled everything so far --
He was still pondering the possible logistics of making the trip with only 3 crew at his console in the League Spaceside Units Deployment Deck hours later. The strange appeal Quadrant C held for their pilot aside, few were willing to navigate it and even fewer would do it fot the price Tim offered. Those few usually had terribly unsuitable motives and Tim did not want to add aiding criminals and junkies to his League record.
He hadn’t solved the predicament when the courier arrived. “Cipher from General Wayne to your Captain,” he reported, and Tim straightened at his desk.
“Right. Yes. Thank you. Do I have to sign?”
Tim couldn’t blame the second Lieutenant on shift duty for being nervous. For all General Wayne played at being an aristocratic layabout, he still had political clout and the rank of General had been earned, not bought.
The courier saluted smartly. “Could you spare someone to direct me to the officer’s wing?”
Hesitation.
“I’ll do it,” Tim said. “I go off duty in five anyway.”
The second Lieutenant nodded, relief evident. “Send your replacement up on the way.”
Tim bowed, all in keeping with his pose as an eager, if polite and properly subservient Junior Officer and led the courier out of the deployment deck without further words.
It was common knowledge that the Generals often used couriers as spies, in fact the tactic was so well know that the League’s secret-service was known as the Post-Office. No one wanted the task of entertaining the courier, while at the same time fearing that any perceived hostility or slight would be reported against them.
Tim kept conversation as short and brisk as he was able. “Not particularly busy, no. But then Quadrant C is a backwater.”
“Don’t think I could hack it myself,” the courier noted as they passed a section of corridor from which the baked orangey clay of the planet surface was visable. “If the planet was liveable, maybe --”
“If you wish to relax there are planets nearby with liveable atmospheres and facilities for rest and relaxation.”
They reached the lift at the end of the corridor. An intern about to enter the lift with them blanched as he saw the courier’s badge and decided to take the stairs instead.
“Tell me about these planets,” the courier said, slipping a hand into his jacket and pulling out a long thin cylinder, roughly the size of a pen.
Tim recognised it immediately. Radiowave disrupter -- any device monitoring the conversation would be blocked. “Green -- that’s G303AG -- has primitive swamp forests that make great hiking,” he said. “And I believe its moon has thermal energy pools --”
“And you can save the travel agent spiel till later,” the courier announced. “We’re clear.”
Tim resisted the urge to roll his yes. “Dick. It’s nice to see you but was that strictly necessary?”
“Hey, it’s procedure for a reason, kiddo.” Dick ruffled Tim’s hair. “I’ve got strictest orders to take you out to dinner and whatever passes as entertainment around here.”
The orders were from Bruce, and they could have gone to any of the glittering hotels that served off planet specialities to the officers that frequented them. Instead, Tim chose a quieter place that served hamburgers freighter-style.
“Slumming with the locals?” Dick asked.
“Trying to be discreet,” Tim shrugged. “With the side-trip I’m about to do, I really don’t want any more attention than necessary.”
“How’s that going anyway?” Dick stole one of Tim’s fries as an afterthought.
“Let’s see. So far, I’m short one crew member, my ship is being repaired by the pilot who is younger than I am and alien to boot, and my manager keeps trying to drag me into bars. I suspect he plans to get me drunk then pump me for information.”
“That well, huh?”
Tim did roll his eyes this time. “So why are you here?”
“Bruce wanted me to talk to you. He said he needed to be sure you were doing this for the right reasons. Didn’t tell me anything more than that.” Dick reached across the table to pat Tim’s arm. “Tim, look -- I know I gave you a hard time at first. We all did. We didn’t want another Jason -- well, you know how it was. But you’ve more than proven your worth. You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” Tim corrected him. “I do have to do this. But not to prove anything.” He paused. “Dick, I think this is it.”
There was a longer pause. “For real?” Dick said at last.
Tim nodded. “It all adds up. Little things mostly, circumstantial, but it’s there. It could be the opening we need --”
“I can join you,” Dick said immediately. “Give my assignments to Cassie and Dinah and --”
“No,” Tim said firmly. “Bruce needs you with him. The Mendon campaign --” He looked hard at Dick. “You know I’m right.”
Dick hesitated then scribbled a number down on a napkin he then folded and pushed over to Tim. “This frequency will get through to me no matter where I am. Don’t hesitate to use it.”
Tim nodded, surprised at how much the gesture meant.
---
Two days later, Tim had just finished his usual flight simulation practice -- League officers in the pilot stream were required to log 3 hours of practice a week. Tim always logged 5 at the very least -- and was about to head to the off-duty lounge when a familiar voice startled him to a halt.
“What do you mean? I pay all the membership fees on time -- for grife’s sake, what more do you want? Let the kid fly.”
Bernard here? Tim kept his shock off his face and joined the intern at the desk. “Is there a problem?”
The intern at the reception desk looked very relieved to have a more senior officer there. “Officer Drake, I was just telling Mr uh --” he glanced at the membership card in front of him. “--Dent that civilian memners of the pilot’s club are barred from bringing guests inside --”
“Look, the kid just wants to use the simulators,” Bernard appealed to Tim. “Only one of us allowed in? That’s fine. He can take my card and I’ll wait here.”
The intern looked uncomfortable. “The privileges of the membership card are limited to the actual owner only --”
“Kid studying for the League entrance exams?” Tim asked, glancing at Bart. Bernard had got him into clothes that were, if not new, presentable and clean. “I suppose we could make an exception, just this once. You remember cramming for the flight exam, don’t you?”
The intern nodded glumly. “Should I put him down as your guest?”
Tim nodded. “Might as well.”
“Thank you, Officer -- this will really help his preparation a lot --” Bernard was appropriately grateful, motioning the kid over to the reception desk.
“I’ll need your full name,” The intern told the kid, getting out the appropriate form.
“Bartholemew Allen,” the kid said, first words he’d spoken so far. “Thanks a lot.”
The name reminded Tim of something, but before he could work out what it was, the intern demanded his attention. “I’ll need your signature too, Officer Drake.”
“Of course,” Tim signed, doing his best to avoid looking at Bernard.
“We really appreciate this,” Bernard repeated as a guest card was produced for the kid.
I bet you do, Tim thought sourly. “Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug. “I remember my flight exam only too well. I’ll show you to the simulators.” He led them down the corridor towards the flight machines.
“What does the T stand for?” Bernard wondered. “Trevor? Toby -- you don’t look like a Toby --”
“Tim.” This was going to be trying, he could tell. “What on earth possessed you to come here?”
“Hey,” Bernard flashed him a grin that was thoroughly unrepentant. “I am a member.”
“You can fly?”
“If I have to,” Bernard shrugged. “Wouldn’t pass the League tests but I do have a licence.”
“Why don’t you practice in the air then?”
“No PIN --” The kid started.
“Quiet,” Bernard told him, pushing hin into a free simulation botth. “No PIN, no proof of human status,” he explained as Tim followed them inside. “No proof of human status, well --” he shrugged. “You know the laws.”
Tim leaned against the back of the booth to watch as Bernard and the kid -- he had a name, Tim reminded himself -- set up. The kid kicked the thrusters into power first try, with a smoothness that belied experience, and keyed the starting sequence correctly, but Bernard had to remind him to turn on and connect the head set, and neither thought about the seatbelt. That was minus 15 points right off the bat.
He managed the obstacles with ease, but the manevers gave him trouble and he made more than a few clumsy mistakes.
”This isn’t like you,” Bernard said, leaning over the kid’s shoulder and Tim wondered when he’d had the chance to find that out.
“It doesn’t handle,” the kid said with frustration. “I can’t feel it.”
Bernard laughed. “Of course you can’t. Simulator, remember. Pay attention to the readings, not the instruments.”
He piloted by feel? Tim was not feeling any happier about this, even if the kid stopped making clumsy mistakes to show considerable piloting skill.
“Asteroids,” Bernard announced, pressing the button to start the sequence. “You ready?”
The kid nodded calmly, but Tim couldn’t help but feel nervous. This would be the true test. “Bring it on.”
They weren’t more than a few seconds into the simulation when Tim slammed the pause button to halt the test. “What the hell are you doing? When you encounter an asteroid field, the correct response is to evade -- not to accelerate!”
The kid looked at him. “Asteroids don’t mind at constant speeds,” he told Tim with an air of great patience. “Look. This second one here is actually coming faster. If I speed up now, I can get to this pocket here, before it passes and avoid both.”
“That would require impossible precision,” Tim protested. “You can just go under --”
“And get caught in the gravitational field of this one?” I think not.” The kid scoffed, and took the controls again. “Look, just leave the asteroids to me.”
“You’ll never make the pass,” Tim said, hitting the button to restart the sequence. “It’s not --”
“Humanly possible?” the kid grinned and hit the speed.
“Now that’s more like it,” Bernard said as they finished the simulation, the kid’s score at 100%.
“What’s next?” Bart asked.
“You’re finished,” Tim said faintly. “That’s as high as this simulator goes.” He’d never heard of anyone getting a perfect score on the highest levels of the asteroid fields --
“It can’t be finished,” the kid protested. “That wasn’t anything! I want --”
“Hey, hey!” Bernard said cheerfully, disentangling the kid from the simulator. “Who was it said they weren’t leaving their ship for some stupid flying programme? You made me promise not to keep you more than a few hours -- Tim, grab his other leg will you?”
The kid was forcibly ejected from the simulator. “I’m not finished yet!”
“It’s still three months to the exam!” the intern encouraged him. “You can do it!” He watched with Tim as Bernard managed to shove the kid out the door. “Flying nerves. I was exactly the same.”
“Ha,” said Tim and wondered if it was too late to pull out.
---
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: PG / PG 13 ish.
Notes: Thanks to mikkeneko and onthecontrary for providing second opinions, and jamjar for putting up with my attention whoring. Much love!
The title is taken from the song that inspired this fic. It's called "Choppers" and is by Headless Chickens. That pretty much says it all.
Summary: Tim's beginning to have second thoughts about his mission. Bernard and Bart are not helping.
The ship was harder. Bernard spent three days dragging Tim all over the city chasing reports he’d had of a chaser that was just what they wanted, an old freight handler that was going cheap but could be fixed up, and various other finds that always turned out to be just sold, or completely out of their price range.
By the time they found a ship that was met all Tim’s specifications and was within the required price range, Tim was willing to agree to anything. He okayed the ship Bernard said was perfect before he’d seen it.
Which, in retrospect may have been a mistake.
“You didn’t mention the engine had been damaged.”
“Owner was halfway through the repairs when he was reported missing,” Bernard assured him. “The mechanics had secured the necessary parts by then, but when he failed to show for a quote -- well, they held off on doing the repairs. Shuttles been sitting there the better part of a year, gathering dust and taking up valuable hold space, and the owner decided it was time to recap his losses and sell the thing as it was.”
“Are you sure this is legal?”
“At least as legal as those charts of yours, soldier-boy -- to say nothing of using League funds for your own private treasure hunting expedition.”
Tim snorted. “That was positively clumsy.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Bernard shrugged.
“A lot of people would take offense at that,” Tim said, moving in to take a closer look at the side of the ship where the plating had been removed to make repairs. “I mean, do I look like I’m embezzling funds?”
“Will this effect my cut?”
Tim shook his head, and stepped away from the machinery. The interior was suprisingly rust-free, and repairing it shouldn’t take too long. It was more technical than Tim himself could manage, however. “How much do the mechanics charge? They’d still have the original schematics --”
“Forget it. No one works on this ship but me.”
Tim looked up to see the junkyard kid, scruffy as ever, standing in the hangar doorway with a backpack. Without waiting for an invitation, or even, in fact, a greeting, he made his way over to the shuttle, putting a hand to its side reverently.
Bernard was waggling his eyebrows at Tim in a self-congratulatory way, but Tim ignored him. “You’re qualified as a mechanic then?” he asked. “What level?”
The kid didn’t answer. He seemed to be . . . well, it looked like nothing so much as feeling the ship up.
“Are you sure about this?” Tim asked Bernard.
“Trust me,” Bernard smirked. “His whole family is like this. Best mechanics turned pilots anywhere.”
There was a metallic clunk and Tim looked back to see the kid had dropped his bag and was leaning into the part where the plating had been removed to make repairs. There was something vaguely porny about the way he wriggled to get a better look at the circuitry and Tim frowned instead at the grubby looking bag the boy had dropped. “You can’t just leave your stuff,” he started, picking up the bag and frowning. It was surprisingly heavy.
The kid didn’t seem to mind, or indeed be paying him any attention at all. Tim opened the bag. Most of the space was taken up by the kind of case mechanics used to transport tools. The measure of a mechanic is his equipment, his father had told Tim, and Tim didn’t feel at all guilty about opening the case.
Everything else the kid owned was battered and scruffy but these . . . these were handmade, patched, some new, some antique, but all very well cleaned and cared for . . . He would give the kid a chance, Tim decided, closing the case. “How long do you think you’ll need?”
“Oh, ah, um. How long?” The kid considered this. “Two days should be good.”
Two days? A team of mechanics couldn’t finish the job in that time. Tim opened his mouth to say this, but Bernard got in first.
“Taking your time then?” he drawled lazily.
The kid bristled. “I’ve never had a ship of my own before,” he said. “I want to make sure it’s right.”
Bernard clapped him on the shoulder. “Course you do. Look, here’s my number. Call me if you need any parts. Otherwise, we’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’re going.”
“Mmm,” said the kid, already distracted by a shiny piece of engine.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Tim said darkly as they left the hangar to return to the residential zones.
“Hey, I am the best at what I do,” Bernard said smugly. “That’s why you came to me in the first place, isn’t it? Anyway, I think you must owe me a few more drinks by now -- not only do you have a pilot-mechanic who hasn’t even brought up wages once, the ship is modern and within your price range and the owner said we can use the hangar for free until it’s fixed.”
“Getting drunk at my expense will have to wait,” Tim said. “I’m on duty tonight.”
“On duty, is it? My.” Bernard waggled eyebrows. “You going to try and tell me you’re not with the League now?”
“What would be the point?” Tim shrugged. “Don’t contact me unless it’s really urgent.”
“Hey, no sweat. I got you covered.”
---
Tim dropped by the hangar before his shift the next day and was mildly relieved. The shuttle engine was humming, and the kid was making further adjustments to the boosters and anti-grav ports. He had an audience; Wally, dressed in the same grungy coveralls, and an older man, who had to be part of the family to judge by his grease splattered clothing, were watching and making suggestions. While this meant Tim did not have the chance he’d hoped for to talk to the kid alone, he did discover that what Bernard had said about his family being reputable mechanics was true.
“So, you’re the one behind this expedition?” the older man asked mildly. “Nebula quadrant C hardly seems the place for a pleasure cruise.”
“It’s not a pleasure cruise,” Tim said, carefully. “We’re taking every precaution -“
“Except the precautions the League could give you,” Wally pointed out and Tim was reminded he had yet to ask Bernard what gave him away. “Is this illegal? We going to regret letting the kid get involved?”
“There is nothing against taking a non-combat vehicle into free space,” Tim said. “A vessel was lost in Quadrant C decades ago. The League has no interest in recovering it, ruling any expedition too costly or dangerous. I think a small unarmoured but more maneuverable vessel could succeed where a League vessel would not.”
“Several decades?” the older man looked mildly surprised. “It must have quite the cargo.”
“I believe it does,” Tim said simply.
Wally and the older man looked at each other, then at the kid.
“He better come home safe,” said Wally eventually and there was just enough threat in his voice that Tim had to nod.
“We’re holding you to that,” the older man said, patting Tim on the shoulder heavily. It was most definitely a warning.
---
Finding the final crew-member took the longest.
“Discreet,” Tim reminded Bernard. “No ties to the League but I don’t want to end up harbouring criminals either --”
“Breaking and entering is a fact of life out here,” Bernard argued. “It does not a criminal make. But if you insist, Lord High and Mighty --”
Tim told himself to relax and let Bernard handle it. He’d handled everything so far --
He was still pondering the possible logistics of making the trip with only 3 crew at his console in the League Spaceside Units Deployment Deck hours later. The strange appeal Quadrant C held for their pilot aside, few were willing to navigate it and even fewer would do it fot the price Tim offered. Those few usually had terribly unsuitable motives and Tim did not want to add aiding criminals and junkies to his League record.
He hadn’t solved the predicament when the courier arrived. “Cipher from General Wayne to your Captain,” he reported, and Tim straightened at his desk.
“Right. Yes. Thank you. Do I have to sign?”
Tim couldn’t blame the second Lieutenant on shift duty for being nervous. For all General Wayne played at being an aristocratic layabout, he still had political clout and the rank of General had been earned, not bought.
The courier saluted smartly. “Could you spare someone to direct me to the officer’s wing?”
Hesitation.
“I’ll do it,” Tim said. “I go off duty in five anyway.”
The second Lieutenant nodded, relief evident. “Send your replacement up on the way.”
Tim bowed, all in keeping with his pose as an eager, if polite and properly subservient Junior Officer and led the courier out of the deployment deck without further words.
It was common knowledge that the Generals often used couriers as spies, in fact the tactic was so well know that the League’s secret-service was known as the Post-Office. No one wanted the task of entertaining the courier, while at the same time fearing that any perceived hostility or slight would be reported against them.
Tim kept conversation as short and brisk as he was able. “Not particularly busy, no. But then Quadrant C is a backwater.”
“Don’t think I could hack it myself,” the courier noted as they passed a section of corridor from which the baked orangey clay of the planet surface was visable. “If the planet was liveable, maybe --”
“If you wish to relax there are planets nearby with liveable atmospheres and facilities for rest and relaxation.”
They reached the lift at the end of the corridor. An intern about to enter the lift with them blanched as he saw the courier’s badge and decided to take the stairs instead.
“Tell me about these planets,” the courier said, slipping a hand into his jacket and pulling out a long thin cylinder, roughly the size of a pen.
Tim recognised it immediately. Radiowave disrupter -- any device monitoring the conversation would be blocked. “Green -- that’s G303AG -- has primitive swamp forests that make great hiking,” he said. “And I believe its moon has thermal energy pools --”
“And you can save the travel agent spiel till later,” the courier announced. “We’re clear.”
Tim resisted the urge to roll his yes. “Dick. It’s nice to see you but was that strictly necessary?”
“Hey, it’s procedure for a reason, kiddo.” Dick ruffled Tim’s hair. “I’ve got strictest orders to take you out to dinner and whatever passes as entertainment around here.”
The orders were from Bruce, and they could have gone to any of the glittering hotels that served off planet specialities to the officers that frequented them. Instead, Tim chose a quieter place that served hamburgers freighter-style.
“Slumming with the locals?” Dick asked.
“Trying to be discreet,” Tim shrugged. “With the side-trip I’m about to do, I really don’t want any more attention than necessary.”
“How’s that going anyway?” Dick stole one of Tim’s fries as an afterthought.
“Let’s see. So far, I’m short one crew member, my ship is being repaired by the pilot who is younger than I am and alien to boot, and my manager keeps trying to drag me into bars. I suspect he plans to get me drunk then pump me for information.”
“That well, huh?”
Tim did roll his eyes this time. “So why are you here?”
“Bruce wanted me to talk to you. He said he needed to be sure you were doing this for the right reasons. Didn’t tell me anything more than that.” Dick reached across the table to pat Tim’s arm. “Tim, look -- I know I gave you a hard time at first. We all did. We didn’t want another Jason -- well, you know how it was. But you’ve more than proven your worth. You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” Tim corrected him. “I do have to do this. But not to prove anything.” He paused. “Dick, I think this is it.”
There was a longer pause. “For real?” Dick said at last.
Tim nodded. “It all adds up. Little things mostly, circumstantial, but it’s there. It could be the opening we need --”
“I can join you,” Dick said immediately. “Give my assignments to Cassie and Dinah and --”
“No,” Tim said firmly. “Bruce needs you with him. The Mendon campaign --” He looked hard at Dick. “You know I’m right.”
Dick hesitated then scribbled a number down on a napkin he then folded and pushed over to Tim. “This frequency will get through to me no matter where I am. Don’t hesitate to use it.”
Tim nodded, surprised at how much the gesture meant.
---
Two days later, Tim had just finished his usual flight simulation practice -- League officers in the pilot stream were required to log 3 hours of practice a week. Tim always logged 5 at the very least -- and was about to head to the off-duty lounge when a familiar voice startled him to a halt.
“What do you mean? I pay all the membership fees on time -- for grife’s sake, what more do you want? Let the kid fly.”
Bernard here? Tim kept his shock off his face and joined the intern at the desk. “Is there a problem?”
The intern at the reception desk looked very relieved to have a more senior officer there. “Officer Drake, I was just telling Mr uh --” he glanced at the membership card in front of him. “--Dent that civilian memners of the pilot’s club are barred from bringing guests inside --”
“Look, the kid just wants to use the simulators,” Bernard appealed to Tim. “Only one of us allowed in? That’s fine. He can take my card and I’ll wait here.”
The intern looked uncomfortable. “The privileges of the membership card are limited to the actual owner only --”
“Kid studying for the League entrance exams?” Tim asked, glancing at Bart. Bernard had got him into clothes that were, if not new, presentable and clean. “I suppose we could make an exception, just this once. You remember cramming for the flight exam, don’t you?”
The intern nodded glumly. “Should I put him down as your guest?”
Tim nodded. “Might as well.”
“Thank you, Officer -- this will really help his preparation a lot --” Bernard was appropriately grateful, motioning the kid over to the reception desk.
“I’ll need your full name,” The intern told the kid, getting out the appropriate form.
“Bartholemew Allen,” the kid said, first words he’d spoken so far. “Thanks a lot.”
The name reminded Tim of something, but before he could work out what it was, the intern demanded his attention. “I’ll need your signature too, Officer Drake.”
“Of course,” Tim signed, doing his best to avoid looking at Bernard.
“We really appreciate this,” Bernard repeated as a guest card was produced for the kid.
I bet you do, Tim thought sourly. “Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug. “I remember my flight exam only too well. I’ll show you to the simulators.” He led them down the corridor towards the flight machines.
“What does the T stand for?” Bernard wondered. “Trevor? Toby -- you don’t look like a Toby --”
“Tim.” This was going to be trying, he could tell. “What on earth possessed you to come here?”
“Hey,” Bernard flashed him a grin that was thoroughly unrepentant. “I am a member.”
“You can fly?”
“If I have to,” Bernard shrugged. “Wouldn’t pass the League tests but I do have a licence.”
“Why don’t you practice in the air then?”
“No PIN --” The kid started.
“Quiet,” Bernard told him, pushing hin into a free simulation botth. “No PIN, no proof of human status,” he explained as Tim followed them inside. “No proof of human status, well --” he shrugged. “You know the laws.”
Tim leaned against the back of the booth to watch as Bernard and the kid -- he had a name, Tim reminded himself -- set up. The kid kicked the thrusters into power first try, with a smoothness that belied experience, and keyed the starting sequence correctly, but Bernard had to remind him to turn on and connect the head set, and neither thought about the seatbelt. That was minus 15 points right off the bat.
He managed the obstacles with ease, but the manevers gave him trouble and he made more than a few clumsy mistakes.
”This isn’t like you,” Bernard said, leaning over the kid’s shoulder and Tim wondered when he’d had the chance to find that out.
“It doesn’t handle,” the kid said with frustration. “I can’t feel it.”
Bernard laughed. “Of course you can’t. Simulator, remember. Pay attention to the readings, not the instruments.”
He piloted by feel? Tim was not feeling any happier about this, even if the kid stopped making clumsy mistakes to show considerable piloting skill.
“Asteroids,” Bernard announced, pressing the button to start the sequence. “You ready?”
The kid nodded calmly, but Tim couldn’t help but feel nervous. This would be the true test. “Bring it on.”
They weren’t more than a few seconds into the simulation when Tim slammed the pause button to halt the test. “What the hell are you doing? When you encounter an asteroid field, the correct response is to evade -- not to accelerate!”
The kid looked at him. “Asteroids don’t mind at constant speeds,” he told Tim with an air of great patience. “Look. This second one here is actually coming faster. If I speed up now, I can get to this pocket here, before it passes and avoid both.”
“That would require impossible precision,” Tim protested. “You can just go under --”
“And get caught in the gravitational field of this one?” I think not.” The kid scoffed, and took the controls again. “Look, just leave the asteroids to me.”
“You’ll never make the pass,” Tim said, hitting the button to restart the sequence. “It’s not --”
“Humanly possible?” the kid grinned and hit the speed.
“Now that’s more like it,” Bernard said as they finished the simulation, the kid’s score at 100%.
“What’s next?” Bart asked.
“You’re finished,” Tim said faintly. “That’s as high as this simulator goes.” He’d never heard of anyone getting a perfect score on the highest levels of the asteroid fields --
“It can’t be finished,” the kid protested. “That wasn’t anything! I want --”
“Hey, hey!” Bernard said cheerfully, disentangling the kid from the simulator. “Who was it said they weren’t leaving their ship for some stupid flying programme? You made me promise not to keep you more than a few hours -- Tim, grab his other leg will you?”
The kid was forcibly ejected from the simulator. “I’m not finished yet!”
“It’s still three months to the exam!” the intern encouraged him. “You can do it!” He watched with Tim as Bernard managed to shove the kid out the door. “Flying nerves. I was exactly the same.”
“Ha,” said Tim and wondered if it was too late to pull out.
---