A Trip Worth Taking, Part 3

Tripper was in the helium cloud by Erie, he planned on spending an afternoon making a little bit of profit.  A six year old boy was in the passenger’s seat, looking out the starboard window.  Dave had a sister whose son wanted to join the Navy when he grew up, and she thought it was about time to introduce him to space.  So, Dave offered Tripper a week of free beer if he took him up.  Tripper thought mining would be a safe excursion to take the kid with him. 

It was hard for Tripper to imagine anyone never being in space.  He was in his early twenties before he had a place called home that was on a planet.  Being a miner’s son and growing up on an interstellar transport was an upbringing that was far removed from this little boy he now had as company.  Tripper’s father always told him they were going on trips.  He used to say: “That little Demetrius is the six year old that has been on the most trips in all of human history.”  Once this was pointed out, Demetrius was given the nickname ‘Tripper,’ and he has gone by that name ever since.   

Tripper looked over at Morris, the little boy was pointing out the window at a rock.  (OOC note, this is based on a conversation I had with my six year old boy who came in to watch me play for a bit) “What is that?”

“It’s a rock, Morris.”

“How did it get there?”

“Uhh. . .”  Tripper had honestly never thought about that before.  “It just. . . formed there.”

“Oh.”

The hull of the cargo ship reverberated with the recoil of the guns being fired.  The rock Morris was pointing at blew into an expanding dust cloud.

The boy’s eyes grew large.  “Wow!  Why did you do that?”

“There are some elements in it that I want to collect.”

“What are elmemits?”

A smile came to Tripper’s lips.  “Elements.  Let’s just say there are some things in the rocks I want to collect.”

“Oh.”  The boy looked out the window for another ten minutes, oohing and ahhing every time a rock got shot and the tractor beams pulled in the suspended helium.  He then turned and looked at Tripper and said “what was that orange cloud we saw on the way here?”

“Oh that, it’s a nebula.”  Tripper realized that even thought he often used it as a navigation point to find the Texas jump hole, he has never learned what that nebula was called.  He hoped that Morris wouldn’t ask.

The boy just smiled a bit.  “Can we go there?  Orange is my favorite color.”  A smile came across his face as he thought of flying through a ploofy cloud of orange snow, and making a snowman out of it. 

Tripper saw the bewilderment in the boy’s eyes and said: “not today, it’s too far away.  But if you join the Navy, you’ll get to see it someday. . .” and finished the sentence in his own thoughts.  ‘if the war is still going, you will fight in it, and stain the beautiful cloud with the blood of Rhinlanders.’

For a moment, Tripper considered trying to talk the boy out of being in the Navy.  But when he looked at the smile on the boy, lost in the story playing out in his six year old imagination, he decided not to.  The kid is only six, plenty of time to change his mind and follow a different path. 

Morris’ smile fell, and his eyes focused past tripper’s shoulders.  His finger flew up and pointed at something? “Who is that?”

Tripper turned around and saw three ships on an intercept course that the ship’s computer has marked as hostiles.  “Xenos.  Strap in solder, we’re going to get in a fight.” 

Morris did as he was told.  Jumped in the chair and put on the five point harness.  He looked up again, fear mingled with excitement.  “What do they want?”  Seemingly to answer the question, the communications console lit up, and a gruff voice crackled out of the speakers: “You seem to be in our path, you know there is a fine we charge for making us fly around you.”

Tripper hated the raiders a little bit more then he usually did.  They don’t check to see who’s on board, or what your intentions are,  they are just looking for a raid, and don’t care who crosses them, or even why.   They are going to put Morris in jeopardy, only for money or a chance to fight.

Trying to stall, Tripper responded over the communications while scanning the enemy ships to see what his chances were.  “Well, if you would have broadcasted your flight path, we would have been well out of your way.”  The scanners were reporting encouraging things. 

The communications box squawked out the response:  “The Xenos do not broadcast their intentions.  Now, pay us 200,000 credits for the bother of not blowing you up.”

A whimper came from the boy, who brought his legs up and hugged them.   Tripper spoke over his shoulder at him.  “Don’t worry Morris.  These scum have nothing on me.”  Then to the enemy: “I think not.  You should alter your course and fly home, little man.  I’m working and cannot be bothered with the likes of you.”

Each of the three ships fired a couple of warning shots past Tripper’s ship.  “You will regret speaking to us in such a disrespectful tone.  Your bill just jumped to 500,000 credits.”

Tripper’s smile was one part pleasure, and one part anger.  “I pay my debts to the Xenos with fire and pain.”

***

Ten minutes later, Tripper was in his cargo hold, showing Morris how to properly restrict a man.  “See, Duct tape wrist to wrist, elbows to knees, ankles to ankles.  That way, they can’t sit, stand, or struggle very well.  Your job,” he handed the boy a crowbar, “is to hit them on the head if they try to move.

 We’ll be at Battleship Gettysburg to get rid of these three in about five minutes.”   One of the Xenos pilot’s eyes widened, and his head started to shake.  Tripper could hear the guy trying to speak, but couldn’t make out the words through the tape. 

Tripper thought to himself: “pirates look really, really good in tape,” and turned to go to the pilot’s compartment.  He said out loud.  “you know Morris, I love my job.”