Expert Assistance

Chapter 1 - Hired!

Questor Corporation's space station Q-12 strongly resembled a yes-man. It was small as corporate stations went, with only six dual-ship docking ports connected by the slenderest of transit tubes. In the middle of the six spindly spokes was a fragile cylinder of low-cost composites. Q-12 was built by overworked accountants, cheap contractors, and economized constructor-bots. It screamed of dealmaking and pliant praise.

The "Skuld" was the latest starship to dock at Q-12. It was wildly out of place next to the station. Although much smaller than the station, it was dark, sleek, and tough. If Q-12 was built by accountants, Skuld was built by military officers in the field.

The starship was owned by one Jake Bonner. He was not a military man, but a working spacer. He was too smart to be recruited, and too in love with space to stay grounded. He had lucked across Skuld on his travels. He had hoped that its power would bring him profit.

He had not yet been so lucky.

As his ship docked with Q-12, Bonner walked onto the ship's bridge. It wasn't an accurate term, but it was the best he could come up with. The "bridge" was divided in two. One part was a conversation pit with a large video screen, a couch opposite that, and comfortable chairs surrounding them. Up a half-dozen steps was wide desk with two seats, lighted panels, complex displays, and sophisticated read-outs. Bonner plopped down in one of the seats and waited for the controlling computer to update him.

"The station is acknowledging," it reported a moment later. Its voice was clipped, precise, and a shade on the stuffy side.

"Patch us in, Odin." It was an obvious name for the computer; the ship's name was the Norse word for "future." "This is Jake Bonner, owner and operator of the free starship Skuld, requesting permission to dock, Q-12."

"Mr. Bonner, this is Station Q-12," a polite female voice answered. "Your identity is confirmed. Please stand by to be escorted in."

"Escorted? Why?"

"Our financial records show a debt of 8,467 cred-units owed, by you, to this station. You are hereby ordered not to leave this station until the debt is paid back in full. If your debts are not paid within seventy-two Earth-standard hours, your ship will be impounded.

"Thank you for visiting Q-12." The voice was actually earnest about the concluding sentiment.

Jake held off screaming at the station voice. He screamed at the computer instead. "Odin, why didn't you tell me I owed them 8,000 creds?"

"Because it is not my duty to watch over you. Or so you have repeatedly told me."

"Well, don't just idle, do something!"

"Your debt to the Questor chain has been logged into the main financial computer already. There is nothing legal that I can do."

"So do something illegal!"

"I refuse to engage in illegal operations just to prevent you from paying your obligations."

"Now, wait a minute here! Who owns who, anyway?"

"I suggest you cease this emotional display. Allow me to transfer the funds from your savings with Enterprise Banking, Insurance, and Salvage to the Questor Corporation."

"Oh, alright. How much is in there, anyway?"

"Eight hundred cred-units."

"All I have is a lousy eight hundred?"

"Not anymore. Your account is now drained."

"I thought there was 12,000 in there."

"There was. Seven days ago, your debts to Blake Stations, Incorporated, were paid off. By court order."