The Finstar F6000-series was designed to be an inexpensive, single-family
starship destined to introduce a new income bracket to space travel and make
a lot of money for its developers. What those developers neglected to
realise was that the target market for the F6000 was quite happy using
liners and freighters to travel, when they bothered to do so. The only
people who really wanted personal starships were rich enough to afford the
high-end models. It looked like the F6000 was destined for failure when an
executive thought about all the smaller planets (in a political and economic
sense, of course; most planets are around the same size). Their rich were
right in the target market for the F6000. This is how the Rifba family
ended up the proud owner of a small, unremarkable starship that, despite its
great cost (in Foobarhian terms), contained no trappings of luxury
whatsoever.
Orliss SoFah, student of Interstellar University and captain of the
Rifba family’s Finstar (because the others didn’t want to argue about it),
looked about the cramped cockpit, where his cousin Horlun was watching the
computer precalculate their course through overly-hyped space. Actually,
since the computer worked at a speed far faster than the human brain—
faster than the display’s refresh rate, in fact—the data onscreen was
unreadable, not that anyone seemed to mind. Orliss quickly scanned the area
outside the ship. Nothing.
Behind him, Anme Rifba entered and sat at an empty seat. She was not
too pleased that Horlun had convinced her to borrow the ship from her
father, who, to hear her talk, had gained his wealth and power solely by
oppressing the working classes. “Are we ready to go?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” Horlun answered. “I’m sure we’ll have a fun time at—”
He was cut off by an unimpressive burst of light that briefly flooded
the cockpit. When it faded, they saw a rather large (in comparison to the
Finstar, that is) vessel before them.
Orliss was the first to speak. “An unidentified vessel,” he said. “You
know what this means?”
“It means we leave now?” asked Horlun.
“No,” replied Orliss. “Only a villain would travel in an unidentified
vessel such as this. It is my—our!—duty to stop whatever nefarious
schemes this vessel’s crew may have.”
“It is not our duty,” Anme protested. “Furthermore, we are a small,
recreational starship, while they look to be armed.”
“I guess we could hail them,” Horlun suggested.
“Right,” Orliss said. Horlun worked at the console for a few seconds,
then gestured at Orliss. “Unidentified Starship: please identify yourself
and your mission.”
There was a brief pause.
“Hello,” came the response, “This
is the Futility. We’re, um,
looking for some people.”
“The Futility?” Horlun asked. “Isn’t that kind of a depressing name
for a starship?”
“Well, probably.”
“So who are you looking for?” Orliss asked. “Perhaps, as space heros,
we can help.”
“We are not space heros,” Anme added.
“Shut up,” Orliss noted.
“Well, I’m not sure if we can describe the ship all that well—”
“I’ve got a picture,” said a different voice.
“You took a picture?” asked the first voice.
“We all did. Remember the combat recorders?”
“Oh. Them.”
“Well,” Orliss suggested, “let’s link up so we can discuss without all
that electronic filtering.”
“Do they breathe our atmosphere?” Anme asked.
Orliss sighed. “Do you think they’d speak our language if they evolved
in a different atmosphere?”
“Well, no, but….”
“This is the ship that took them,” George Daniels said, pointing at the
picture onscreen.
“Hmm,” Orliss said, looking up from his attempt to remember the names of
everyone in this “Green Squadron”. He looked closer. “I can just make out
the identification…. It’s the Imperial Zakavian Starship Absurd Physical
Harm, assigned to the Zakav Eighth Fleet.”
“Ah,” Rick Hydrospok, leader of the squadron, said. “Who are they?”
“Some new group of interstellar conquerors.”
“Swell.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. “I have an idea,” Orliss said at
last.
“Heavens preserve us,” Horlun muttered.
“What?” asked Orliss.
“Nothing.”
“Anyway, I’ve heard that the Eighth Fleet is in the Crelm system, no
doubt spreading terror and destruction. Why don’t you,” he said, indicating
the Green Squadron, “go there. We’ll go straight to Planet Gloom, their
capital, in case they went there instead.”
“What makes you think they went there?” asked Roy Gaelen.
“Nothing, really. But it sounds like an interesting place to visit.”
“Sounds gloomy to me.”
“Indeed.”
After another brief pause, Hydrospok stood. “Okay, shall we get
started?”
“In a moment,” Orliss said. “I think we’ll want to take two of your
people with us.”
“I’ll go,” Gaelen offered.
“Hmm, we need four people to run this thing,” commented Hydrospok.
“Could you take just one?”
“I could go,” a new voice suggested.
“Really? That’s … waaait a minute.”
The young human smiled weakly as she became the center of attention.
“It’s Megan Kadar,” Gaelen said, “Who, no doubt, has come along to help
look for her sister, Jen, for whose squadron we are currently searching.”
“That was pretty stilted,” commented Daniels.
“But accurate,” added Megan.
“You stowed away?” demanded Hydrospok. “What were you thinking?
Didn’t you ever read ‘The Cold Equations’?”
“Yeah,” Megan said. “I never understood why they didn’t just scan the
ship for stowaways before they launched.”
“Well, because … um. That’s a good question.”
“In any case,” Orliss said, eagar to get started, “this has worked out
for the best. If you two will come with us, we can get started for Planet
Gloom.”
“You know,” Anme said, “I don’t recall ever wanting to visit Planet
Gloom.”
“Relax,” Orliss grinned, “it’s an adventure.”
In the Finstar, Orliss, Horlun, Anme, Roy, and Megan sat in the cockpit and
watched the Futility vanish into overly-hyped space.
“All right,” Horlun said from the pilot’s seat. “Next stop: Planet
Gloom.”
Anme grumbled. “I’m liking this vacation less and less,” she said to no
one in particular.
“Tell me, Orliss,” Roy said, “do you think we’ll find them at Planet
Gloom?”
Orliss considered that. “Well, probably not,” he admitted. “But as a
space hero, I’ve got to check out the headquarters of my enemy, right?”
“You are not a hero,” Anme said, flatly. “You’re still a student. A
student minoring in heroism at that.”
“Minoring in heroism, huh?” asked Megan, looking interested. “Sounds
like an interesting school. What’s your major?”
Orliss grinned. “Comparative Literature.”