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Danger Pay In Zero Gravity Ch5

Deviation Actions

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The owner laughed uncertainly while McCaine cut his ties and loosened the strap around him.
"Oh, thank you, thank you," he said, gushing praise and, McCaine hoped, nothing else.
He ran into the toilets, which McCaine had yet to have the pleasure of using.
She waited around on the sofa, rolling her head around. It certainly had been a stressful few days. She was looking forward to a holiday in Spain, Earth's primary holiday location, with the entire coastline one long, gorgeous beach, after extensive groundwork to make it so.
Much of the sea water was artificially heated, too, so even if the weather was bad, you could warm up in the ocean.
The owner took much longer in the bathroom than was really necessary. When he finally emerged she asked him, "Were you trying to find a way to escape? You do realise we're in space, don't you?"
"Yes, I know, I wasn't, I'm sorry, here, I'll be tied back up now."
McCaine sighed, "I don't really want to tie you up. If you promise to be good, I'll leave you alone."
"Oh, I promise!" the owner said, feeling a bit patronised but more than willing to go along with it if it meant not being tied to his own space-sofa anymore.
McCaine said, "Well, alright then. Just hang around here, make yourself comfortable."
"Oh, thank you, so much," replied the owner, with dangerously low sincerity.
McCaine shot him a look that said that he was not yet beyond being tied up again and that perhaps if he does not wish to be tied up again he will shut up.
The owner got the hint and shut up, choosing to select a book off the space-shelf. He sat down on the sofa and flicked it open. Inside was an eye-pleasingly contrasted display. He pressed the screen to flick the first page.
McCaine floated back on to the flight deck.
"I've let the pilot go," she said, "he promised to be good."
"He'd better be," said Clarke. "I've sent another message updating the situation."
"Did you include the course the uranium transporter was heading on?"
"Don't start this again," warned Nick, choosing to nip that one in the bud.
McCaine stretched herself, an activity that so much more enjoyable in zero gravity.
When she was quite finished, she said, "So, what else there to do now?"
"Nothing, we've done all we can. Nick here said he was going to watch the radar for any suspicious looking contacts." Clarke rose from his seat. "I'm going to inspect this craft's most likely wondrous toilet system."
"You do that," McCaine said, as he floated past. She kicked off the wall and swung herself into the pilot's seat.
"Did you really say you were going to watch that radar?"
"Well, I didn't say I wouldn't," said Nick.
McCaine sat back in her chair and rested her feet on the console.
"He did set the autopilot on this, right?" she asked Nick.
"Yes," he replied, "I checked."
McCaine settled into her seat with her hands behind her head. She closed her eyes and smiled. It would be nice to relax for a while.

* * *

By the time they had arrived back at the Venus Superstation, McCaine had found the time to fall asleep and have some rather amusing and surreal conversations with Nick, who was diligently watching the radar.
Nothing of considerable interest happened on their journey back, except Nick becoming quite concerned with that was actually a large bottle of human waste products hurtling in the vague direction of the sun.
As they approached the station, they were hailed on the communications link. Since McCaine was still asleep, Nick decided to take the call.
"Ah, hello there, Blue Dragon, we are sorry to announce that we are currently in a state of lock down and are not accepting any boardings. We have mobile fuel tankers where you may purchase any fuel, but that's about it, sorry."
"Uh, we're from the SIO, Agents Hall, McCaine and Clarke."
"That's great, sir."
"No, really, we are. We're important, we're here about the, uh, lockdown."
"You are, are you?"
"Yes, look, I don't wish to be rude," Nick checked McCaine was still asleep, "but, uh, can I speak to someone... more senior."
"I'm thirty four, sir," the traffic controller said.
"I mean, oh, sorry, I mean higher up. In command."
"Uh, oh, are you, well, uh... hold on..."
There was a shuffling sound and a few moments later, a voice that sounded familiar spoke.
"Hello? This is Mr Dicks speaking. I believe you wished to speak with me. I am Chief of Traffic Control."
"Well, chief," began Nick, who couldn't resist, "we're with the Special Intelligence Office and we have important business regarding the lockdown."
"Alright, I heard you would be coming, head down to Dock 132, down the bottom."
"Thanks," said Nick, who quickly turned to face McCaine. She looked quite peaceful to Nick, even if her mouth was hanging open.
"Hey, McCaine," Nick said, giving her a gentle push. "Lucy, wake up, Lucy."
She stirred and said, "Urgh, what?"
"We've got to dock. At Dock 132. Right now, as well."
"What? We're here?" she yawned.
"Yes, I don't know how to do it!"
McCaine lazily pushed herself up from her seat. "Come on then," she said.

* * *

They eventually landed at Dock 132 and were greeted by Agent English, who looked quite impatient.
"Took your time," he said, "Did you take the scenic route?"
The owner of the ship, who looked a few years older than when they'd first kidnapped him, stumbled out of the craft and floated down to the floor.
"Oh, am I free to go?" he asked.
"Certainly," said McCaine. "Thank you, you may have saved thousands of lives."
"Jobs," corrected Clarke.
"Same thing, to some," she said, in what she hoped was a wistful, melancholy tone.
Agent English escorted them through the station, where even the most direct route was the scenic one also, to where Agent Leon Cormack was currently sitting.
On the way, English said, "I don't know what the hell you guys said to get this to happen, but you've managed to seal yourself off an entire space station."
McCaine shrugged her shoulders and said, "I dunno!"
They reached the room where Cormack had set up, which was past a reassuring number of armed guards. Nick wasn't sure if he was just making it up, but the guards seemed to observe him with a little more respect now, as if all the guards had a chart with a sliding scale on, ranking him.
"Okay, we're here," English said. He smiled at them all and pushed open the doors.
Inside, a group of men sat around a table, Cormack one of them, all stood and clapped slightly more than politely but not as much as one would clap, say, a veteran's heartfelt speech.
It was a very professional clap, the kind of clap you can just wheel out day after day.
"Well done, well done!" Cormack beamed, "Please, sit down."
All three of them took seats at the end of the table, with McCaine unashamedly claiming the end seat.
Cormack, who was seated at the other end of the table, spread his hands before him.
Nick thought this made him look like a Mafia boss.
"What can I say? Not only should you be praised for your tracking and reacquisition of the stolen uranium, but your obvious bravery and not to mention what could turn out to be the coup of the decade within the SIO."
McCaine cocked an eyebrow. "Sir?"
"This deal you mentioned, the selling off of the uranium. It's attracted every crackpot terrorist out there. Our ships are already intercepting and capturing some people we never thought would appear above ground again."
"Oh, well, that's great," McCaine said.
"Yes, it is. We'll debrief you properly at 1800 tomorrow, here. For now, get some rest, enjoy the space station, I love it here. It's so weird!"
"Thank you, sir," McCaine said.
"Thanks, sir," Nick and Clarke muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed because they thought that maybe Cormack would think they were only saying thanks because McCaine had when that wasn't the case at all.
They stood and thanked them again, to which they were counter-thanked, then left.
When they were outside and the door was firmly closed, Clarke said, "Right, I'm going to get a stiff drink and then probably go to bed. It's been a real blast, guys, we should do it again some time. Just not any time soon."
He turned and floated off lazily down the corridor, spinning in the air as he went.
Nick and McCaine looked at each other.
"What time IS it?" Nick asked.
"Late, is what my body tells me," McCaine replied.
"You want to go get a bite to eat or something?" Nick hazarded.
McCaine looked at him and arched her eyebrows. "Not really, I just want to go to sleep."
She quickly added, "But, tomorrow, I will be hungry tomorrow so... then?"
"Okay, tomorrow," said Nick, brightening up.
"Call me!" McCaine said, who floated off down the corridor in the same direction was Agent Clarke. "Just not for twelve hours!"
Nick stood in the corridor, alone except for the sentries posted further up and down it.
He would quite liked to have gone in the same direction as McCaine, as that is where he presumed the hotels were, but he thought it would be a bit strange if he just followed behind, but a social faux-pas if he didn't try and catch up and talk to her, which itself was something Nick didn't feel he was ready for at this time.
He instead turned left, back where he had came from, towards the docks. He floated around the ship, admiring the flora and generally arsing around before going in the direction McCaine and Clarke had gone.
He followed signposts until he reached the commercial district of the city, which was a lot more populous than the rest of the spaceship had been since the lockdown.
He eventually came upon a hotel and, upon remembering that it was not really him paying for the room and subsequent mini-bar, had himself a whatever-the-hell-time-it-was cap and went to bed, setting an alarm for nine hours later, a time he considered suitable for a secret agent's mission well done sleep.

* * *

He awoke next day to what was rapidly become his least favourite song-cum-alarm clock tune.
He rose and showered and headed into the shopping district without breakfast, sincerely hoping he could find something both sweet and pretzel related.
Nick decided that his mission for the morning before he met McCaine was to get some new clothes.
All the shops Nick went in, the clerks looked depressed.
"Is the lockdown hurting business?" he asked one of the prettier depressed looking people.
"Oh, you noticed?" she replied, "None of the tourists can get in, but they can leave just fine. This lockdown sucks. I prefer the ones where nobody can go outside."
Nick wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. He picked out some clothes that weren't too smart and weren't too casual and got changed into them, dumping his old clothes in the recycling.
He ambled around the district, looking for somewhere that might be nice to eat lunch.
His problem was not that there was nowhere nice to eat, but that everywhere was so nice. There was a real waterfall in one restaurant he investigated and the prices were reasonable, considering it would not be his money he was spending.
At 1pm, Earth time, he decided he would call McCaine.
"Hello?" she said, suspiciously.
"Hey, it's Nick," he replied. "So what's up?"
"Just wondered when you'd be up for a bite to eat," Nick asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. It's not that was nervous, but he knew that he might sound nervous and had to make the effort to stop that.
They agreed to meet an hour later at the large water feature that stood at the front of the entrance to the commercial district, which Nick was reliably informed by McCaine was actually called The Jungle.
Nick didn't believe her and still didn't believe it when he read it on a small plaque attached to the water fountain.
'Welcome To The Jungle' it said.
He sat on the edge of the water feature, which was a large spout of water fired upwards, which hit a shaped piece of metal that directed the water elsewhere, leading it on a weightless journey all the way to a small hole in the ornamental spaceship perched at the very top.
Nick thought it was a triumph of modern engineering, even though it did get him a bit wet.
McCaine sauntered over almost exactly on time, which Nick thought was nice of her.
"Hello," she said. "New clothes?"
"I think I got some blood on the old ones," Nick explained.
"Oh right, of course," she said, smiling at him.
They strolled into the Jungle, which McCaine insisted was the proper name.
"Man, I slept like a baby," McCaine said. "I always sleep better out in space anyway."
"Oh, I don't," said Nick, "I always find it hard to sleep when floating around. I don't like to be strapped down too tight but I'm always worried I'll end up knocking my head against... things..."
He trailed off, realising he wasn't really saying anything interesting.
"You worry too much," McCaine said.
"I guess," Nick replied.
"Actually, you worry about the wrong things."
"I do?"
"Well, you should be worried about whether that uranium made it all back here and whether anyone is after us after foiling the biggest black market refined uranium sell-off in human history."
Nick's face fell. "Er, should I be worried about that?"
"Well, probably not," she conceded, "you should be worried about what you're having for lunch!"
They floated down the main street through the shopping district. There were few people around, mostly local spacestation dwellers who were going about their business.
"We should probably just go to a cafe," McCaine said, "I doubt the big food places will be up to much today. This place is dead."
Nick looked around, feeling a little bit guilty, which he was, of course, but he didn't like how he felt bad about it.
"I wonder how long the station's going to be locked down?" he asked. "And why is it locked down?"
"Classified information, I'm afraid," McCaine said.
Nick turned in the air and floated backwards. "You mean you know?!"
McCaine laughed. "No, of course I don't, we've not been debriefed, yet."
"You shouldn't lie to me so much!" Nick said.
McCaine shrugged. "I'm a secret agent, what do you expect?"
They both had a fried breakfast from a friendly looking cafe they passed and enjoyed a nice friendly chat.
As Nick ate and considered how generally 'nice' it was to be sharing a meal with a young lady, he remembered what his mother had told him.
She'd said, "There's two things to look for in a woman. Someone you can have a chat with and someone you can eat with. That's all you'll spend your life doing together."
Nick had somewhat disregarded her advice, as he considered her priorities somewhat different to his, the issue of having sex being a lot more important to Nick than his mother.
Nick didn't like to consider how often his mother had sex, but he only thought about it inside his own head, so he just got on with it, made his conclusions and carried on as normal.
It's not like it was written down, or anything.
After lunch, McCaine asked, "So, what do you want to do now?"
"Dunno," said Nick, who found the inventive plastic dome holding his fried lunch within his vicinity rather alarming. Quite a lot of fat floated around inside it.
"We could take a walk through the gardens," she suggested. "It's quite nice down there."
"Gardens, eh?" said Nick, catching a rogue crumb as it floated past his head. "Sounds... nice."
They stood up and left, McCaine leading them down through the Jungle and towards the gardens.
As they walked down the corridors, which became ever increasingly tree lined, a klaxon sounded.
Nick and McCaine stood still.
"That doesn't sound good," Nick said.
McCaine gave him a withering look. "We should probably... get back..."
They turned and made their way back to where the SIO had set up in the Venus Superstation. They moved as quickly as they could, although it felt frustratingly slow as most of the time was spent floating towards the next surface to push themselves from.
They eventually switched to the magnetic floor and shoes combo just because it felt like they were going faster because it made them more tired.
They even had to ride an agonisingly slow lift, which was just the icing on the cake, really.
All the time they were running or floating or swinging around corners because it was really fun with no gravity, the spacestation's cleverly disguised tannoy system announced that everybody should return to their ships and homes and that nobody had anything to worry about. It also mentioned they were under attack.
They made it to the area the SIO had set up in.
"You, freeze!" a guard said, apparently referring to only one of them.
"Which one?" McCaine said, raising her hands.
"Oh, it's you two. Sorry about that."
"What's going on? Why are we under attack?"
"You'd better go through," the guard said, "all the bigwigs are down the hall."
"Thanks," said McCaine.
She and Nick ran down the rest of the hallway and burst into the room they'd spoken to Cormack in the night before.
"Whoa, fucking hell, where's the fire?" Cormack cried.
"Oh, sorry, sir," McCaine said.
"Did you run all the way here?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Nick breathed, steadying himself against the door frame.
"Are we under attack, sir?" McCaine asked.
"Well, not us," said Cormack, looking around uncertainly. "But there most certainly is some attacking going on."
"What?" McCaine said. "Sir?"
"Well, the uranium freighter arrived about thirty minutes ago. The ship was absolutely trashed, took them ages to push it back."
McCaine giggled nervously.
"And, well, a few of the pirates who were after it appeared to have clubbed together and are attacking the station. It's almost a shame the army division we had moved here will wipe them all out, there's a lot of names out there we'd like to see tied to a plastic chair with two black eyes."
The men who were seated around the table nodded solemnly.
"However, there's no need to worry or to start bursting into meeting rooms, we'll be fine, the army is taking care of matters and we assured it will all be over soon."
Nick found this reassuring and hoped this meant less dashing around weightless environments.
"Er, well," McCaine said, feeling quite and embarrassed all of a sudden, an emotion Nick had hitherto believed she could not express. She continued, "Er, should we come back for the debriefing later, still?"
"Yes," said Cormack.
"Just checking it's not cancelled or anything..."
"No."
"Right, sorry, bye," McCaine said, pulling the door closed after Nick had scurried out.
In the corridor, the alarms sounded a lot louder.
"What should we do?" Nick asked.
McCaine shrugged. "I guess we listen to the scary disembodied and omnipresent voice."
Nick, who wasn't quite sure what she was getting at and not quite sure he wanted to, said, "What?"
"The alarms, telling us to go home."
"But we can't go home!" Nick said.
"I was referring to our hotel," she said.
Nick, who liked the sound of 'our hotel' agreed and together they floated back.
They ended up sat in the bar, along with the rest of the hotel staff who had very little else to do other than abuse the fact the manager was away and couldn't get back because the station was in lockdown.
"We shouldn't get too drunk," McCaine warned Nick as she sipped at her third pint of bitter, because lager was... weird, in space.
"You're right, we have important business in a few hours."
They knocked their glasses together and laughed.
"So, how long do you usually get between assignments?" Nick asked.
"Well, for ones like this, I'd bet we get a week off. Most cases aren't usually like this, though."
After two hours of drinking, they hazily realised they needed to be sober for their debriefing.
They hurried out of the bar and into a Starbucks, which was quite brilliantly named for the space age, the kind of forward thinking that makes businesses a success.
"Four large coffees, please, with extra... coffee-ness," said Nick, who did not often frequent coffee shops.
The coffee shop worker glared at them.
"Now, please," McCaine said, slamming her fist down on the counter.
Nick watched in fascinated horror as the coffee was produced, using rather complex machinery that emitted suction noises at various intervals.
They made their way outside and sat on a wall. They placed their space coffees in the air in front of them, being careful they didn't float away while they tried to cool and drink the ones in their hands.
"So, what are you going to get up to on your rest leave?" Nick asked.
"Hmm, don't know, probably going to Spain."
"Sounds nice," said Nick.
"Yeah. You going to do anything nice?"
Nick sipped at his coffee, which certainly did taste full of coffee-ness. "I think I'll just go see my parents," he said, "I've found a new appreciation for life, over these past few days."
McCaine smiled. "Yeah, this job can do that to you."
They drank some more of their coffee with as much haste as they could muster.
"Oh, urgh, it's so hot!" said Nick.
"No pain, no gain."
They managed to drain their coffee and stood up, grabbing their other cups out of the air.
"We should go," McCaine said. "We don't want to be late."
They made their way out of the Jungle and up the lifts, sipping their second round of coffee as they went.
"Feeling sober yet?" McCaine asked.
"So sober my mouth hurts," replied Nick.
The sirens had stopped, but the tannoy periodically reminded people to stay indoors during this troubled time.
They passed the guards and approached the door of the briefing and debriefing room. McCaine and Nick left their coffee cups either side of the door, hoping the sentries wouldn't mind.
"Don't mind us," the door guard said.
"Yeah, don't mind us."
"We'll pick them up after!" Nick said.
"You'd better," the guard said, looking menacing.
McCaine knocked on the door.
"Enter," said the door.
Nick and McCaine sauntered in, quickly rearranging their smiling faces and positive composure into something more fitting with the rest of the room.
"Sit down," Cormack said.
Nick and McCaine sat quickly and looked expectantly for whatever bad news was likely to come.
"The uranium has arrived here safely and is secure."
"That's good," McCaine said.
"Yes," Cormack agreed. "But not all of it's here."
Nick and McCaine said, "Oh."
"Something that may or may not be relevant, also, is the shooting of several police officers on the Offworld Orbital, which is based off Earth."
Nick swallowed the rising lump in his throat.
"It would seem that the primary individual involved is a certain, ooh, what was his name..."
Cormack shuffled through some paper on his desk.
"Anthony Boss..." said McCaine quietly.
Cormack grinned with his massive mouth. "Ah, yes."
McCaine said, "We captured him, but left him in the hands of the local police. We had a uranium ship to chase."
Cormack sighed. "I understand. You had to make a call and you made it. It might not have been the best call but it's done."
"Sorry, sir," said McCaine.
Nick really wished he'd gone to the bathroom.
"In hindsight, though, you made the best call."
McCaine said, "Huh?" which Nick didn't think he'd heard her say before.
"Boss split the uranium shipment. He's on the run with it to Neptune, we think. He got caught trying to off load some to nut somewhere around Io, where a patrolling ship thought they were in trouble and got right up close."
Cormack threw a photo across the table to McCaine and Nick, which is the kind of thing that takes a lot of practise to get it reliably good looking.
"Where's this?" McCaine asked, picking up the photo. It was of a space station.
"The Far Star, a space station orbiting Neptune that functions as a sort of capital for the mining community that far out," Cormack said. "Boss is going there. Want to go finish the job?"
McCaine looked at Nick, who looked like he wanted to just go home and get a job being punched by a robot for the rest of his life.
"We'll do it," she said firmly.
"Excellent," Cormack said, sitting back in his seat. "Your ship leaves in the hour. Agent Clarke and Agent England will accompany you. Your mission is to capture Boss, alive or dead and safely or unsafely obtain the stolen uranium."
Cormack looked at them both. "Ring Agent Clarke to find the ship. You may go."
"Thank you, sir," said Nick, who was getting in there before McCaine ruined it for him.
"Thank you, sir, said McCaine.
Before they closed the door as they left, Cormack said, "Hall? McCaine? Keep up the good work."
They smiled and shut the door.
"Right," said McCaine, taking a deep breath. "We need clothes and food."
"Right!"
They sprinted off down the corridor towards the lift downward. After the lift had closed and they had descended, two empty coffee cups glided gently into the doors.
"Bastards," said the door guard.

* * *

Four hours later, they were well on their way to The Far Star, a unique name for a space station, which Agent England had said was just the kind of crazy shit they got up past Jupiter.
"It's a whole different world out there," he explained to Nick. "It's the lack of sun, some say. Sends you a bit... weird."
"Really?" said Nick, who was fascinated but at the same time would rather be discussing the finer points of something or other with Agent McCaine.
"And it's not just the lack of sun," he continued, "it's the attitude. Nobody is out there to carve out a life. It's all about money, that's the only reason anyone is there. It's full of backstabbers, thieves and swindlers."
"Sounds awful."
"And imagine this, Hall," said England, who waved his hand in front of him expressively. "Tattoo parlours, as far as the eye can see."
Nick raised his eyebrows.
England reassured him, "It's true, it's true! There's so many! You seriously will not believe your eyes!"
"I'm sure I won't," Nick replied, who would rather not even set eyes upon The Far Star, it sounding like a truly terrible place to go.
"And I tell you something else!" England said, with newfound enthusiasm, "It's so dark! I'm not even kidding! All the miners are used to darker lighting conditions so the entire space station is a lot darker than you'd expect. Darker than this cabin. It's really weird. And a bit spooky."
Nick yawned out of desperation.
"Oh, you should get some rest," England said.
"I suppose I should," Nick said, who realised he hadn't enjoyed that much sleep recently and that he was also beginning to enjoy the many advantages of weightless sleep and, more importantly, Adaptive Duvet technology, which intelligently used small jets of air to reposition itself in space and provide you with constant comfort.
Nick excused himself and retired to the sleeping cabins, which consisted of hammocks, one of which was inhabited by a snoring Agent Clarke, who, even in sleep, had managed to outwit his Adaptive Duvet, which flapped helplessly in his grasp.
Nick pushed off the floor and floated into the top hammock, strapping himself in lightly and curling into the duvet provided.
He doubted he would get much sleep, as the ship was a lot louder than any other he'd been on. It was also a lot faster. Looking out of the cabin window, he saw Mars beneath them, dramatically large as they swung past it, using it's gravity to swing them on a path towards Neptune.
It was funny, Nick thought, as he laid back, he'd always been taught that the planets were all neatly arranged in a row when really, they were all over the place. It was quite a poor model to teach people.
He was certainly feeling the effects of his previous coffees, although it was the feelings of his caffeine high ending. He drifted off to sleep quickly, despite the engine noise, knowing that when he awoke, he would be at The Far Star.

* * *

Sure enough, when he awoke, he was approaching The Far Star.
"Come on, wake up," Clarke said irritably, "we're almost there."
He span Nick around in his sleep until he woke up in a state of utter confusion. The human mind is not suited to waking up while spinning around.
"Wh... what? Are we... what?"
Clarke stopped spinning him and said, "Come on, get up, we're having a briefing soon."
Nick released himself from his duvet, rather hindered by the efforts of the duvet, which itself was trying to get untangled.
He took a moment to freshen up by slapping himself in the face, as he couldn't just throw water over himself on a spaceship.
Nick sauntered into the briefing room, which was just the main passenger cabin with a big picture of Anthony Boss hung up on one wall.
"Morning," said Agent England, who was stood beside the picture.
"Is it?"
"Well, it's not anything. Have a seat, I'll give you a run through of the plan."
Nick sat down, next to someone whose name he didn't know.
Agent England cleared his throat.
He said, "Right then. This handsome young man here is Anthony Boss, a man wanted in connection with murder and theft of refined uranium. We believe he is going to try and sell off the uranium he has in this area and quickly. He has about ten crates of the stuff, which is about thirty tons and the men upstairs would dearly like to have it safely back in the hands of maniacs we know, rather than maniacs we don't."
There was a ripple of laughter. It seemed to Nick that Agent England had spent quite a lot of time planning this briefing.
He continued, "We believe the best course of action is to set up two buys, clearing him of his stock. We are cleared to use whatever funds it takes to get it back, but there is obviously quite an emphasis on getting Boss."
The crowd of five watching nodded.
"Quite an emphasis," he reiterated, "I'm sure you've all purchased incredibly illegal goods before, so I'll leave it up to you. We'll split in two teams to set up the buys. McCaine and Hall, you're with me. Clarke, you're with Walters and Smoke. We have some basic disguises and such here, which I believe a few of you should be taking a very keen interest in, having already met with Boss."
Agent England walked in front of the picture to the other side. "Now, one last thing, The Far Star is a weird place..."
Nick rolled his eyes.
"... and it's quite a paranoid population. Information is worth a lot there. Don't get up to anything suspicious that might jeopardise the buy. That means no sight seeing, not that there's much to see. You see, it's also very dark..."
By the time Agent England had finished his briefing they were being fed down a docking tube into a large hanger bay, which housed many similar small spacecraft.
He finished his speech with, "Here is a box. It is full of guns. You will need them to complete your disguise. Guns are illegal on The Far Star, of course, but you'll be suspicious if you haven't got one.
Nick rose and grabbed a pistol from the box, which England had pushed towards him. Nick had lost his previous armoury back on the Venus Superstation, where he chose to give them to someone who did not shake when they held guns.
The ship rumbled as the docking finished and their ship was strapped to the ground.
Nick watched as England pulled a pistol out of the box himself and holstered it in his chest holster, which Nick was suddenly very jealous of as he realised it wasn't just something to make yourself look dangerous with.
"Oh yes, also, everyone," England said, "we have a box of horrible old overcoats for you to wear, so you fit in more."
He proceeded to pull out a large dark blue coat, which was thick with layers and heavy with what looked like concrete stuck to it. He then pulled the box up from the magnetic safety flooring which kept the box stuck down and flung it across the room.
When they had suited up, McCaine floated over to Nick.
"Look at you," she said, laughing, "you look like you got buried."
Nick took offence. "You can talk! You look like you're just about to... I don't know... bury someone."
"Great comeback, kid."
England floated towards them. "You ready to go?"
"Yep."
"Let's do this," Nick said, with what he felt to be misplaced enthusiasm after the look McCaine gave him.
They proceeded towards the exit hatch, which the pilot had already opened.
Outside, it was quite obviously a lot darker than inside the ship.
"I don't think I would want to see it with bright lights anyway," McCaine said as they floated down to the floor.
Nick, who had rather misjudging his kick off from the spaceship, was spinning forward slowly, which was quite embarrassing.
They landed on the deck and England quickly led them to a hanger exit.
"Come on," he said, "the other group is waiting behind while we leave. We're going somewhere to eat."
"Oh, I'm not really hungry," said Nick.
England turned in mid-air while he continued floating to the exit. "I don't care if you're hungry or not, we're going somewhere to eat and you'd better damn well eat like a miner or you'll blow our cover."
"I don't think heated debates in the middle of hanger decks are doing much for our cover," McCaine commented, which certainly shut Agent England up.
They stepped out into a wide corridor which stretched away from them in both directions until they curved out of sight. England consulted the signposts. The official station signposts looked old and ill-looked after. Underneath them and sometimes even on top of them were hand-written or poorly printed signs that various shop owners, drug dealers and prostitutes had added themselves.
As they proceeded to what was promisingly called, "The New London Shopping District."
"I'm starting to see why this place is called The Far Star, now," McCaine said.
England replied, "Is that because it's a shining beacon of civilisation and a familiar place to call home in an otherwise desolate and lonely part of the arse end of the solar system?"
McCaine thought about this and said, "No, it's just really dark."
They floated on. Nick saw that the floors were magnetic, so they could fake-walk if they wanted, but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. He did not often distrust floors, but this one had a certain 'je ne sais quoi' that he would rather not know about.
They eventually reached The New London Shopping District. As Nick suspected, it was just as run down as the rest of the space station, except now there were neon lights illuminating various points of interest, if you were interested in poorly maintained man-made space living facilities.
"This looks nice," Agent England said, walking into what Nick hoped was an eating establishment and not, as it appeared, a recreation of a scene from 'Blade Runner'.
They walked up to the counter of the cafe, where a fat and greasy woman turned to take their order or shoot them, depending on what they said.
"Three coffees and three bacon rolls," England asked, being careful not to say please.
Without taking her eyes off England, she pressed six buttons on a large machine next to her and three plastic cups of coffee and three rolls, presumably containing something that was once part of a pig, appeared in a small hatch.
"And, er, what else do you have?" England asked, leaning closer.
"What are you after?" the woman replied, also leaning closer.
"Who's asking?" England said, "Are you a cop? I swear to God, if you are, I'll-"
"No no no, keep your voice down! I'm not a cop! Look, what is it you're after?"
England looked left and right and whispered, "Weapons."
"Oh right? What kind?"
England resisted the urge to do the shifty eyes thing again and said, "Big ones."
"I'll see what I can do. So... hmm, how much do you owe me?" she said, winking.
England pulled out a money card and typed in on the inbuilt keypad the amount of money he considered prudent for the food and a large amount extra for her information. He showed it to the woman, who raised her eyebrows.
"You must need some really big ones," she said.
"Is this enough?" England asked.
"Oh, yeah."
England thumbed the 'send' button and passed the card to the woman, who held it against her own card and pressed 'receive'.
The money card was handed back, along with the coffee and food. England scooped it up and led them to a table. The cafe had about twenty tables, which made it quite a large cafe by Earth standards. Such things were necessary on The Far Star, though, as nobody liked to be sitting too close to anyone else.
The cafe was about a third full, with various figures huddling and talking quietly or just sat on their own.
McCaine led them to an isolated table, where they all sat.
"Did you notice that?" Nick said, "You didn't even get a choice of coffee. It's binary coffee, you either have coffee or you don't. I personally like mine with three sugars."
"That's disgusting," England said.
"No, this is disgusting," McCaine said, trying to keep her face from contorting as she prised apart her bacon roll to peer the contents within.
"Rookie mistake," England said, smirking as he bit into his roll. "Comf onf, eaff upf."
They sat and ate and drank coffee while they waited for the woman to come back to them with information.
"Is everywhere here like this?"
"What do you mean?"
Nick leaned closer, keen to maintain the conversation so he didn't have to eat his bacon roll. "I mean, can you just go in anywhere and ask for something and get it?"
"Pretty much," said England, the self-proclaimed Far Star guru, "everybody knows somebody and they're all easily swayed by a bit of cash. The system works."
Nick nodded and sipped at his coffee, which certainly was not as nice as the last cup of coffee he drank.
Presently, the woman who had served them earlier walked towards them.
"I have spoken to a few... people. They have agreed to meet you."
"That's great," England said.
"Not you. Only you." She pointed at Nick, who played it cool and silently inhaled a bit of bacon.
"Okay," he croaked. "When?"
The woman cocked her head. "Now?"
"Oh, right, okay," he stammered, suddenly going very red. It was an awkward and unfamiliar social situation for Nick, purchasing black market uranium.
"Follow me," the woman said.
Nick walked after her, his eyes lingering on McCaine, who was giving him a very meaningful look of sympathy, inspiration, menace and a little bit of sexy. Of course, to Nick it just looked like her bacon roll had disagreed with her.
Nick was led out of the back of the shop and into an alleyway. The woman looked around slowly and then said, "Go to the taxi rank across the street there."
"There's a taxi rank? On a space station?"
"Yes, of course there is," she said, giving him an odd look. "Go over there and wait for a black car to arrive."
Nick's gaze wandered and he saw a row of black cars. "Right," he gulped.
The woman continued, "A man in a car will ask you if you want to go to Funtown. Say yes. Inside the car, say 'Dortcheska sent you'. Now go."
Nick nodded. "Thanks, Dortcheska."
The woman, who was halfway back inside her fine eating establishment, said, "My name isn't Dortcheska, you idiot. That's just the code phrase." With that, she slammed the door shut.
Nick felt like he'd been slapped across the face with another illegal arms dealing faux pas. He walked out into the street and approached the taxi rank. It looked quite out of place in an otherwise pedestrianised area, but the streets were large enough to drive down.
Nick stood and waited. While he did the aforementioned waiting, his eyes were drawn to a sign which detailed the many pleasing amenities to be found in Funtown, which Nick was surprised to read was a real place.
The sign read:

Come to Funtown!
Just ask your taxi driver to take you there!

Reasons to come to Funtown:
[  ]  -  Licensed prostitutes!
[  ]  -  Licensed drugs!
[  ]  -  Safe, clean and Fun!

Say you rode a taxi there and get a free ten minutes or a free hit!
(Offer subject to availability and Funtown's discretion.)


As cheery as the poster sounded, it conjured up some grim images for Nick.
Sure enough, a black car pulled up, blending in nicely with the taxis. A man leaned out of the window and, apart from being in desperately in need of a shave, said, "Do you want to go to Funtown?"
Nick, who quickly tried to think like a secret agent, said, "Yes."
"Get in," the man said, ducking back into his car.
Nick, who was not entirely sure when he should use the secret phrase, wondered if the Special Intelligence Agency had a helpful pamphlet designed to explain everything he ever wanted to know about black market trading but was too short-sighted to ask about.
He decided to act confident and just come out with it. He said, "Er, Dortcheska sent me."
The taxi driver shifted in his seat to face Nick. "You what, mate?"
Nick experienced a sinking feeling. He went on, "Er, Dortcheksa? She sent me?"
"Did she?" the driver said, arching his eyebrows and turning back in his seat. "That's great."
Nick turned in his seat and looked at the taxi rank. Another black car pulled up, just outside.
"Stop!" Nick shouted, "I need to get out!"
"What?!"
"I'm in the wrong taxi!"
The driver again turned his seat. "They're all the bloody same, mate!"
Nick faced the driver and cried in desperation, "No, they're not!"
The driver stopped and Nick quickly leapt out.
"Sorry!" he shouted as he ran off.
The taxi driver leaned into the back to pull the door closed. "Bloody Funtown attracts all the nutjobs," he muttered.
Nick ran down the street, feeling a little foolish as he did so, having still not mastered the art of proceeding quickly along horizontal plains in zero gravity environments.
The car that had recently stopped at the taxi rank now began to move off again, towards Nick. As it approached him, he began waving his arms.
"Stop!" he cried, hoping Agents McCaine and England were not watching him.
The car slowed as it drew level with Nick and a window was wound down.
"Who are you?" the passenger asked, pointing a gun at Nick.
Nick took a deep breath. "Dortcheska sent me," he said.
The passenger looked at him without expression. After a moment he pointed his gun elsewhere, presumably making the dashboard very nervous and said, "Get in."
Nick clambered inside.
"Are you new?" the passenger asked.
Nick, who thought honesty was the best policy and that the best way to tell lies was to keep them as close to the truth as possible, said, "Sort of. I'm not very experienced in this sort of... thing."
The passenger laughed. "That's why I always tell them to pick the young looking ones. It makes life a lot more interesting!"
Nick wasn't sure how dull arms trading could get, but he said nothing.
The driver of the car pulled off and drove them down the street. There wasn't much scope for manoeuvring on The Far Star, as the road appeared only to curve around the entire station in a big loop. They drove for five minutes, with the passenger and driver saying little as they went.
So far, Nick thought, the arms dealers were quite nice. He was getting quite worried about arriving, because he wasn't sure if Anthony Boss would be there. He knew that if he was, he was going to just have to shoot him before he himself got shot. It was not going to be an easy induction into the life of a secret agent, Nick thought, who hadn't, as far as he was aware, killed anyone, ever.
If he had been given more time to prepare, he might have worn a disguise. He surreptitiously tried to change his hairstyle, although to little effect, as his hair only had one style, which was 'Whatever His Hair Felt Like'.
"So, what are you after?" the passenger said, turning in his seat.
Nick, who felt he had to keep a very straight face, said, "I'm after fifteen tons of weapons grade uranium."
The passenger raised his eyebrows and the driver spluttered.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me. I just thought you wanted a rocket launcher or something."
"Can you not help me, then?" Nick said, "I will be glad to pay for information on where I can get that."
"Look, mate, weapons grade uranium doesn't just grow on trees."
"What are trees?" the driver asked.
"Nevermind. The point is, pal, I can't help you. And I don't think anyone in this shithole can."
Nick looked calmly at the passenger. He felt he rather had the upper hand, now, having rattled them. He said, "I have obtained some very good information that there would be more than that on sale in this area. Can you make enquiries for me amongst your... associates? I will pay you up front, of course."
Nick pulled a money card out of his pocket and smiled.
The passenger said to the driver, "Stop the car."
After they had pulled up, outside what looked like a hotel designed precisely for people who liked to think they lived in horror movies, the passenger said, "You'll have to wait outside."
"Okay," said Nick, looking outside nervously.
"First, the money. You have to pay to prove you're not a lunatic."
Nick wondered where the logic in that was, since a lunatic would probably pay a lot more than Nick would, given the funds.
Nick pulled out a money card. He turned it on and typed a six figure number into it. Remembering all the adverts he had seen, he was careful to lock the card so that only his fingerprint could re-activate it and he showed it to the arms dealers.
"Well, even if you are insane, I can't say no to that."
They paired their cards, Nick reactivated his and the money was transferred instantly.
"Alright, hop out," the passenger said, checking it had worked.
When Nick had slammed the door, the driver said, "Did it work? Did he really have that much money?"
The passenger nodded grimly.
"Let's see if we can find some uranium," the driver replied.
"We're probably going to get shot by someone just for asking."
"I don't wanna think about it. I'm going to ask Tony."
Outside the car, Nick stamped his feet walked around a little. He looked into the distance, where he hoped to see Agent's England and Clarke shadowing him. When he saw no traffic on the horizon, he had images of them laughing over some kind of chocolate-based cake and some binary coffee.
Inside, the driver and the passenger were both talking on their telephones. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw some frantic hand waving, which he hoped was a good sign.
While Nick was waiting, he considered leaning against the car, which would have looked cool but he wasn't sure if he'd be beaten up for doing so. He didn't have to think about things for long. The passenger wound down his window and said to Nick, "Hey, man, come here."
Nick walked over. "Any joy?"
The passenger said nothing, choosing instead to display a phone number on his phone's screen.
"Is that it?" Nick asked.
The passenger nodded. Nick pulled out his phone, hoping the arms dealers wouldn't notice it was apparently SIO standard issue and saved the number.
"Hopefully we'll never, ever see you again. Pleasure doing business with you, though," the passenger said, winding up his window while the driver gunned the engine into life.
"Hey, hey wait!"
"What?"
"Can I get a lift back to where you picked me up?" Nick asked.
The passenger laughed and was still laughing when the car jumped away and sped off down the only available road. Nick, who was not surprised and would probably have found something about that in the arms trading leaflet, decided to call McCaine with the good news.
"Hello?" she said when she answered.
"I have a phone number," Nick replied. He could have sworn he heard the clinking of forks against plates. It was a noise the human ear is especially sensitive to.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. On my way to Funtown."
"Funtown?"
Nick heard Agent England in the background splutter, "He's in Funtown?"
"Keep your voice down!" McCaine hissed. She said to Nick, "What are you doing in Funtown?"
"I'm not in Funtown, I was on my way there."
"Well what were you doing on your way to Funtown, when you should have been doing something else."
Nick, who was feeling the urge to himself wave his hands around frantically on the phone, said, "It was part of the job! I had to!"
Nick heard England say, "What is he doing in Funtown?"
"He got a phone number," McCaine said, helpfully.
"From Funtown?!" England cried.
"Shut up! From Funtown?" McCaine asked Nick.
"No! Look, where are you? I'll meet you there, if I can get a taxi."
McCaine said, "We're in the same place as you last saw us. We had cake."
"I'll give you cake," Nick grumbled, "I'll see you soon."
Nick crossed the street, mostly just to get away from the scary looking hotel he was stood next to, where he swore he could see curtains twitching. It was probably a design feature, Nick thought, as they were most nervous looking curtains he'd ever seen.
The area he was in was sadly devoid of helpful signage and he had no recollection of any Far Star taxi service numbers, most of their signs being pasted over by promises of disease free sex for a nominal fee.
He did not have to wait helplessly for long. A black car that certainly looked like a taxi approached. Nick waved a hand and said, "Taxi!"
The car slowed as it approached and the man he'd bought Boss's phone number from earlier popped his head out of the window. "Fuck you, man!" he cried. The car picked up speed and drove off.
Nick's heart sank and, since he was certain he could remember the way, he decided to walk back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and proceeded to do so.
He arrived back at the café in twenty one minutes. He'd been counting.
Walking inside, he quickly approached Agent England and McCaine, who rose to meet him.
"I could murder a coffee," he said.
"No time," McCaine said, "If you have the contact, we've got to move."
"But you just sat here and-"
"Let's go, Hall," England said, patting him on the back as he passed him.
Nick sighed and followed them out of the door and back onto the street. It reminded Nick of walking out into the early evening, so dim was the lighting. The shops lit most of the space themselves, with lights like stars dangling off the high ceiling.
They walked a little way down the street.
"Do you want me to call him?" Nick asked.
"Er," said England, who obviously didn't like the sound of that.
"Sure," McCaine said, "you earned it!"
"Oh, thanks," said Nick.
"I'll make the call. He's spoken to you before, remember."
"Alright, here," Nick said, handing over his phone. "I saved it under 'Boss'."
Agent England dialled the number and walked away from Nick and McCaine.
"So, how was it?" she asked Nick.
"The buy? Pretty hair raising. I got into the wrong car."
"You did what?!" she laughed, "How?"
"I was told to meet a black car. I ended up in a taxi."
"Oh, that's brilliant," she giggled.
"I had to flag the real arms dealers down. I looked like a lunatic."
McCaine wiped a tear from her eye and said, "I wish I'd followed you. I would have loved to have seen that."
"I'm glad you didn't," Nick said, revelling in the mirth he had created.
England finished up the call and walked back. "Come on, we've got to go to the library."
McCaine smirked. "That's a funny place to buy uranium."
England gave McCaine a piercing stare, which served only to make her laugh more. He said, "We need to find out where asteroid B-445-B2-EEER-78 is and then we need to land on it with something big enough to transport fifteen tons of uranium away. We have twenty-four hours."
McCaine instantly sobered up. "Me and Nick will procure transport. You go track down a big rock."
"I was hoping you'd say that," England said.
"I was hoping you were hoping that," McCaine replied.
"I was- infact, nevermind," Nick finished lamely.
"Good luck," McCaine said to England.
"You too."
"See you later."
"Bye."
The three of them stood staring at each other.
"I don't know where anything is."
"Me neither," said McCaine.
They both looked expectantly at Nick, who said, "Oh, yeah, like I'd know!"
They all walked to the taxi rank that Nick suggested and got into separate taxis.
"See you later," McCaine said.
"Bye! Again!" England replied.
Inside the taxi, McCaine told the driver, "To the shipyards, please."
"Which one?"
"The biggest one?"
"They're all big," the driver said.
"Any! Any one will do," McCaine said testily. "Just go to the nearest one."
The driver considered this for a moment. He said, "The nearest one is not one of the big ones."
"The nearest big one!" McCaine almost screamed.
She settled back into her seat, pouting.
"I had a lot of trouble with the taxis here, too," he said sympathetically.
McCaine smiled but then remembered where she was and reapplied the pout.
Nick decided to leave her alone and look out the window at the sights.
The story begins here: [link] where links to all the other chapters can be found!
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