Doc demands the computer relinquish control of the ship to him. It complains, but he's able to override it. He points the ship west. If he can get to Germany, they might at least be able to blend in.
Doc tries to get a grip on the tactical situation.
Shields?
There's a magnetic field for protection against charged particles and solar discharges, probably what just saved his life. The hull is made of layers of parafin and lead for resisting neutrons and x-rays respectively sandwiched between two thin sheets of titanium to resist hull breaches from micrometeorites, a subdermal ceramic layer to resist the heat of re-entry, all coated in carbon fiber to further deflect the damage of impacts.
None of this sounds like it would do much good against anyone making an honest try to kill you. The blackened carbon stains on the windshield are testament to that. A few more shots might have broken through.
Weapons?
None.
The good news is that their persuers won't have any weapons either. Doc hopes.
Doc checks the aft view. They're closing in fast, but they're not shooting anything at him. He opens the throttle as wide as it goes. The sleek Python slips through the sound barrier with a gentle thud and races faster and faster.
The other ship is keeping pace with Doc's acceleration and is still closing.
"I know this thing can go faster," Doc says to himself aloud. He studies the controls. The engines have several modes and works similar to a car's transmission, at least from a driver's perspective. Liftoff is a subsonic turbojet powered electrically and thermally from the fusion generator. At supersonic speeds, the intake and exhaust nozzles reconfigure themselves to further compress and heat the air, like a RAM jet. Faster still, and the nozzles adjust into a SCRAM jet configuration, allowing the ship to reach hypersonic speeds. After that, the intakes close and the fusion rockets take over completely, blasting the ship to escape velocities and interorbital trajectories.
All these phase shifts are automatic, but also have manual overrides. There are numerous safeties attached to this control, since suddenly throwing into high gear at full throttle would be a lot like hitting a concrete wall at 90 miles an hour backwards. There is, however, a control which allows him to engage more of the fusion rocket into the exhaust, giving him a sort of afterburner effect. However, there are safeties attached to this as well, not the least of which are legal.
"You are not licensed to exceed this velocity," the computer complains whenever he hits the button.
Doc is at top "legal" speed, and the other ship is still closing. Apparently they're allowed to use their afterburners. Doc calls Dr. Ritenrong.
"Steve!"
"Are you clear?"
"Not yet! Help me override the stupid safeties on this thing! "
"Let's see. I could alter your ID data, but you'll have to land, get out, get back in, and take off again to reset it and I'm not sure you have time to do that."
"Not really."
"Okay, I can hack the system, but it will take some time. If you've got any tricks, use 'em."
Doc indeed has some tricks to pull. First he weaves a bit, left and right, up and down. The enemy ship gains on him. He lets them. He makes an easy turn south towards Irkutsk and starts to lower the altitude and slow down. The enemy ship follows and is almost on top of them.
Suddenly, he pulls hard up-right and guns the throttle. The ship wants to disobey and strains against him, but Doc convinces it to forget about physics. The ship banks hard and goes up and over their persuers. This puts the ship on an orbital trajectory. The computer, now believing he wishes to leave the atmosphere, finally obliges him and engages the fusion rockets.
With a sudden burst of energy, they tear out of Earth's protective blanket into the cold of space, leaving the men in black sixty miles below them in almost an instant.
Doc eases the ship into the spacelanes, joining traffic and trying to look inconspicuous. The butterflies of gravity leaving them as Doc eases off the throttle mix with excitement and adrenaline. Doc's never felt so good.
Mark vomits.
Chase Scene!
Not So Loud!
"Sober up boneheads! We've got company!" Doc shouts over the clash of Nordic dirge versus Turkey in the Straw.
The two fall silent as Doc points out the second ship and the man in black standing between the two.
Doc calls Dr. Ritenrong again. "Steve, the men in black are here. Can we call the cops on them? You know, maybe tell them they're smuggling drugs and they have fake IDs? "
"Good God, no. Who are they going to believe, the guys with the fake Government IDs or the guys with the fake civilian IDs? At least their fake IDs give them permits to carry guns. You guys are fucked if you get searched, and you will because the cops will do a weapons scan before they even show up. Besides, anti-drug laws were abolished when drugs like SoberAll and ToxiCleanse were invented."
"So what can we do?"
"If you can't sneak past them you'll just have to beat the shit out of them. Move quickly, they're probably scanning for you now. This channel is encrypted, but we can't use it too much or they'll catch on. Don't call back until you're clear." Steve hangs up.
Doc takes a moment to retrieve the assault rifle from his satchel and assemble it. He plays with the computer to try to get a tactical view of the situation, but this van's navigator is just not designed for that kind of task.
"Okay, boys. We've got to be quiet. There might be more of them, and they're probably better armed than last time. We're going to sneak onto the Python."
Doc readies his new weapon. It's all charged up and ready to do some damage. Mark pulls out the ION pistol, and Thunderhorse clutches his new axe. Doc slowly slides open the door and steps out.
Thunderhorse is not used to moving slow, especially when he's been drinking. He trips and stumbles out of the van, rather loudly, pushing Mark out in the process.
"Hey! Watch it!" Mark practically yells and pushes back. Thunderhorse falls on top of Doc, nearly pushing him to the ground, shattering any illusion Doc had about being quiet about this.
Doc clenches his teeth and readies his weapon. Amazingly, the MIB has not moved a bit. Their loud clambering out of van has not attracted his attention.
Doc tries to keep low and slow as they make their way towards the Python. The two wastrels behind him are pushing each other and arguing in a loud whisper. Doc turns around, angry and forgetting himself. "Would you two knock it the fuck off?" He almost shouts.
He stops again, remembering, and waits for the MiB to come running towards them. Nothing. He's not moving. They continue forward. They're halfway there.
"Stop pushing me, you big dummy!" Mark says aloud.
"Shut Up!" Doc accidentally yells. DAMNIT! He thinks. Amazingly, the man in black is still not moving. He must think they're just some family with two rowdy kids walking to their car.
Finally, they reach the Python. Doc opens the side hatch and they all hop in as quickly as they can. Only then does the Man in Black notice them. He comes running around the side of the ship, but not in time to reach the hatch before Doc closes it. He's shouting and yelling outside, inaudibly.
While Doc starts firing up the engines, the hatch of the other ship opens. Another MiB steps out, pistol in hand. He grabs a radio device from his pocket and starts shouting into it. He opens fire at the cockpit with his pistol.
A burst of blue light splats and crackles loudly against the cockpit window right next to Doc's head, then another. Doc has to take a moment, a mere instant, to check if he's still alive. No worries, he's okay. Mercifully, the engines are at last fully charged and Doc lifts off.
The two men in black shout into their radios again, then get in their own ship. Doc punches the accelerator hard. The Exkorean ship is quickly in the air and giving chase.
Back to Yakutsk
Doc grabs his I-Browse and runs out the cabin door. Dmitri rants and screams at him as he leaves.
"Don't come back you demented pervert!" is the last thing Doc hears him yell.
Doc hops into the van and throws the door shut behind him.
"So, how'd it go?" Mark asks sarcastically.
Doc answers honestly, massaging the bruise on his forehead. "Not so good." He climbs into the drivers seat and orders the van back to Yakutsk. The autodriver politely obeys.
The little car zips back along the old, broken road.
Doc pulls out the medkit, pops some painkillers and slaps an iodized bandage on his now bleeding head. A quick check in the mirror reveals that stitches will not be required, but some rest would do him some good. It's now almost 10 am here, but to them it's 9 o'clock at night. It's been an incredibly long day, especially considering it was 1835 when they woke up this morning.
Doc calls up Dr. Ritenrong. His image comes up at low angle, his watch looking up at him from the desk. He's staring at a screen with his hands on a keyboard. His face is lit only by the array of monitors he sits in front of.
"Hey," says Steve, obviously distracted by whatever he's working on. "How's it going?"
"We came up snake-eyes. What do you want us to do?"
"Did you talk to Dmitri?"
"Yes. He was somewhat beligerant."
"Did you get anything?"
"Not much, just a brief family history. Nothing really about his personal life. He said he never went to college, but he's read a lot about star drives and technical stuff. He said he tried to sell his stuff to VelociTech, but that they threw him out and stole his designs. Now he's a paranoid schitzophrenic worried about people stealing his ideas with mind rays."
"Yeah, he's probably right. Didn't go to college, eh? What did he say about his family history?"
"That the Valia's were a noble family up until the end of the 19th century when they sided with the Marxists and became Revolutionaries. They've been poor laborers in Siberia since World War 2."
"How'd they end up in Siberia?"
"An ancestor of his, Sergi Valia, I think, tried to defect to the west to get away from Stalin, but was captured."
"Hmm. This might be enough. Send me what you've got- no, nevermind, I can get it from here." Steve picks up his watch. The perspective changes to his full, grey bearded face. He manipulates some controls on the device. Doc feels like he's on the other side of a GameBoy. His conversation with Dmitri begins to play back at Steve's end. "Okay. I'll analyze this and see what we come up with. You just get back here and pick me up."
"How about the Pear? Any word on it?"
"I've got a lead, I'm processing it now. I should know by the time you get back."
"Okay, see you soon." Doc ends the transmission.
Thunderhorse is staring blankly at his satchel.
Mark is smacking his lips. "Hey, there, is it party time yet?"
Doc tosses them the bottle of vodka. Thunderhorse snatches it up greedily.
By the time they get back to Yakutsk, Mark and Thunderhorse are competing to see who can sing the loudest. It's quite a cacophony of atonal shouting and arythmic knee slapping.
They pull up to the parking lot where the Python sits.
It has a twin.
It's parked right beside the Python on the opposite side from them. Same black arrowhead shape. A thin whisp of smoke rises from between them. From beneath the Python, Doc can see a pair of legs supporting a body leaning agaist the aft section of the other ship. The legs are wearing black slacks.
Meet Dmitri, Part 2
"Mr. Valia, in all honesty, I am not who I say I am. I have lied to you and I am truly sorry. I have misrepresented myself, but in my defense, I did it to protect you."
Dmitri is unmoved. "To protect me from what? Knowing that you would steal my secrets? Does your mind ray not work if I am aware of it?"
"I have no connection to VelociTec Stardrives, and while I'm certain your ideas are brilliant, I couldn't care less."
"I don't believe you." Dmitri slams back another glass of vodka.
"My name IS Dr. Lucas Shaw and I am a historian for the Smithsonian museum, and the ID card is correct. You see, Mr. Valia, as unbelievable as this sounds, I'm not so much interested in you as I am the daughter you never had."
Doc has caught his attention at last. "What are you talking about?"
"You see, I am a time traveler and I find myself caught up in saving the universe. It turns out that this can't be done unless you sire the greatest pilot the universe has ever known. Her name is Alyss Valia and her mother is Nadine McClaren. Here are their pictures and histories." Doc gives him the I-Browse, displaying the files of the mother and daughter.
"Hah. Time traveler." Dmitri takes it and looks closely.
"There. I've laid all my cards out on the table. I'm in trouble bad and you are the only person in all of time who can help me. I need to find a person who doesn't exist and you are her dad. I have just come from her would-be mother and I find myself on your doorstep and at your mercy. If you cannot help me, everything that has ever been or ever will be is lost. From all of my research, you SHOULD have been hired by VelociTec Stardrives. You SHOULD have met Nadine McClaren and have found your soulmate. You SHOULD have reaped billions in patents and enjoyed the life of the independently wealthy and pursued the experiments and inventions of your dreams. Forgive my deception from before, but there are those who would seek our demise. And these people will stop at nothing to insure that we wink out of existence in the blink of an eye. You are wise to be a little paranoid and block their transmissions with the foil. That has proven very successful in several of the case studies I've read. In essence, Mr. Valia, I've come to set things right and I can't do it without your help. I've come to turn back time and give you the break you should have gotten. If you turn me away now, you may as well shoot me in the head, as I could never bare to witness the end. You come from noble stock and I'm certain that there is good in you. Would it be too much to risk telling me a few tales of yourself in the small chance that it might save the universe? I know that this is more than a little to odd, but you are my only hope. So how about it?"
Dmitri pauses for a moment. He looks closely at the portrait of his daughter. He looks up at Doc. He throws the I-Browse at him and threatens to do the same with the bottle of vodka. "GET OUT!" he shouts. "Why do you say such evil, heartless things?! What kind of trick is this? Playing on the heart of an old, lonely, broken man! You will never get my secrets! They will die with me, as my family dies with me!" He throws the bottle.
The face of the bottle hits Doc square on the forehead with a glassy thunk! It spins backwards to the ground where it shatters, splashing the 100 proof alcohol all over the floor and Doc's pants.
Meet Dmitri
"Mr. Valia? Hello, my name is Dr. Lucas Shaw. I'm with the Smithsonian Museum and I'm writing a book and I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Doc produces his Smithsonian ID, careful to discretely obscure the century old expiration date.
Dmitri snatches the card from his hand and looks it over carefully.
"This ID expired almost a hundred years ago." He looks Doc up and down, and back at the card. "Why would you forge an ID and make it expired? Who are you really?"
Doc catches his gaze and puts his mind against his. He's a tough old bastard, lived a hard life in isolation. His heart was forged in the mountains around them, and his mind is cool and sharp as the ice on their peaks. He's also incredibly paranoid, almost schizophrenically so. It's the loneliness that does him in, though. He's been alone all his life. Doc hooks on this and reels him in.
"That's a misprint. I am Dr. Lucas Shaw, sir, and I am from the Smithsonian. I've come to talk to you, Mr. Valia. You're very important to my research. May I come in?"
The old man is very hesitant to allow him in, but ultimately is curious to find out what Doc really wants. He motions him inside. Doc tells Mark and Thunderhorse to wait in the car.
The cabin is sparsely furnished. There's a coffee table and reading tables surrounding an old, broken recliner. The rest of the room is surrounded by bookshelves. There's no TV, but there is a very old vacuum tube radio in the corner. There's an appreciable amount of dust all over everything. What few windows exist in the house are covered with aluminum foil and towels.
The living room opens up into a kitchen to the back right, and a closed door at the back left conceals what must be the bedroom, while a toilet is visible in the darkened, closet like space between the two rooms.
Dmitri clears away some books to make a space on the short wooden coffee table for Doc, then seats himself on the recliner. Doc sits on the coffee table. The books are mostly science magazines, detailed technical manuals on a wide variety of confusing devices, reference books of all kinds, and some random pulp mystery thrillers.
Doc produces a bottle of vodka from his satchel. He offers it to Dmitri. "Care for a drink?"
Dmitri takes the bottle from him thankfully, and sets it aside. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his hands over his gut and stares at Doc, waiting for him to do something.
Doc kicks on the voice recorder on his I-Browse.
"What is it you want to know?" Dmitri asks.
"Have you ever worked for VelociTec Stardrives?" Doc asks directly.
"Nyet," Dmitri responds, just as bluntly.
"Have you ever been to Milwaukee, Wisconsin?"
"I have never been to the Americas. I've never left Russia, even."
"Have you ever met or spoken to Nadine McLaren?"
"Nyet."
"Does anyone else in your family have the name Dmitri Valia?"
"No, I am the only Dmitri Valia in over seventy years."
"Have you ever heard the name Alyss Valia?"
"No. And before you ask any more stupid questions, I have no brothers or sisters. My parents are dead and I've never had aunts or uncles."
"So you've lived here all your life?"
"Da."
"What do you do here?"
"I read."
"Do you work?"
"Da."
Doc is getting a bit frustrated. "What is it you do?"
"I repair fusion generators. I work for Stevil Ludnik's repair shop in town."
"Did you go to school for that?"
"Nyet. I taught myself. I read a lot about these things."
"I see. Is your family from here?"
"Da."
"What can you tell me about your family history?"
"My family history is the history of Russia its self. The Valia line dates back to the Varangians, pirates who invaded the lands of the Turkish Khazars in-"
"In the 860's AD," Doc interrupts, merely to convince Dmitri that he's the real deal. "Sorry, go on."
Dmitri is more irritated than impressed. "Da. Val was one of these vikings, a successor to Rurik who ruled Kiev for thirty years. His sons were overthrown, but the Valiis survived as fur traders and trappers between the Black and Caspian seas. We escaped the destruction of Kiev by the Mongols and moved to Moscow. The Valias lived in Moscow for centuries, all the way to the time of the Revolution. By then, we were nobles. We had an estate just south of Moscow where wheat was harvested. Our soldiers helped put down the Cossaks in 1670 and battled the Swedes in 1721.
"In the time of Cathrine the Great, the Valias became even more wealthy by buying and selling serfs. When Nepolean came, we did not have to field troops. Instead, we manufactured cannons and muskets and sold them to Alexander I at a premium. Our family was quite wealthy by the end of his reign.
"However, a young noblewoman, Petra Valia, was one of those who joined the Decemberists in 1825. She had visited the west when she was young and came back with different eyes for the serfs under our rule. When the Decemberists were defeated, she was arrested, and our estates and property were siezed. She was sent as a prisoner to Siberia where she lived for over thirty years. She eventually escaped and became one of the matriarchs of the anarchist movement. She died in France in 1852.
"Her son, though, Vladimir Valia, was part of the Nihilist movement. He was part of the Narodnik movement, and we suspect that either he or one or both of his sons, Peter and Michael, took part in Alexander II's assasination. When his son came to power and began killing revolitionaries, Peter escaped to Germany. Michael was captured and killed.
"Peter lived the rest of his life in Germany. His son, Sigfreid, came back with Lenin and the Bolsheviks. He fought in the Revolution in 1905 and helped consolodate the Soviet Republic."
Dmitri clears his throat. He finally pours himself a small glass of vodka. He doesn't offer Doc any.
"Sigfried became a Colonel in the Red Army and fought with Trotsky. When Stalin came to power, he fought against it, trying to uphold Lenin's Testament. He was arrested and executed. His family lived on in Moscow, however. His son Sergi was a Red Army pilot in World War 2. He was shot down twice by the famous German pilot Erich Hartmann and survived. His leg was crippled in the second crash, however. He never forgave Stalin for the murder of his father, however, and so, in 1946, he attempted to defect to Allied territory in Western Europe. He was captured and exiled to Siberia, just like his great-great-grandmother.
"And here we've stayed. The last 10 generations of Valia have been living in Siberia. Sergi's sons grew up in Kytyl as gold miners. Their sons, and their sons did the same. Most of the family died of black lung. My great-grandfather and his father were corn farmers during the Greenhouse Crisis. My grandfather helped build the launch loop. My father worked in the loop's base station at Khandyga all his life.
"And myself? I was a layabout, according to my father. I did not want to mine or farm or load cargo. All I ever wanted to do was read and study. I never had the chance to go to school or buy a fancy education. I wanted to invent. I wanted to create. I had an idea for the Einstein-Bose condensate coolers for the XD-Drive that would've made me millions, but since I did not have an education, no one would listen to me.
"It's funny that you mention VelociTec, because that's exactly who I approached with my ideas. They turned me back, saying I was just some backwater peasant from Siberia with no knowledge of such things. And within a year, they started using my condenser design on their star drives!"
Dmitri pours himself another drink. "I'm lucky I did not tell them my other ideas. I have resolved that they will die with me. Let those boars figure them out on their own. They have no business stealing from me. I know they've tried. That is why I put aluminium foil on all the windows."
"Why's that?" Doc asks.
"To keep out their mind rays. They will not be reading my mind, stealing my secrets. If they want them so bad, they will pay me. So you will tell them that, da?"
Doc is a bit confused. "Me? Tell them what?"
Dmitri's getting agitated. "Do not be stupid for me. You are working for them, I know it. You are a VelociTec spy come to read my mind and steal my ideas. I know it. I know you've connected. I can sense that I've fallen for your trap, in my ignorance and vulerability. I should not have let you in. How dare you play upon the loneliness of an old man! I tell you now, though, you will not get any more of my secrets! Now get out!"
Over the River and Through the Loop
"We'll take the best you have, something with cargo room, cruise control, Gps, and the full insurance policy please. Do you have a strict 'no tobacco' policy?" Doc asks.
Vladimir Petrovic smiles. "Ah, then you will want the Astrovan. Is good for cargo and has full autopilot. It is good hover vehicle, luxurious interior. It will take you to your friend in comfort and relaxation. Normally for out-of-towners, I charge $800 for the day. For you, only $600, and only $200 every day after. Insurance is good thing, I'm glad you agree. Full coverage is only $400. Unfortunately, there is a smoking fee of $50. I will give you smokeless ashtray you can keep. Very nice, fits in the cupholder. It has my logo on it!"
Doc knows full well he's getting taken by this sheister. However, his ID card is linked to the mission account; the budget of which Dr. Ritenrong said is "at any expense." Doc just wants to get on with the mission. "I'll take it."
---
The Astrovan is an egg shaped burgandy minivan without wheels. Vladimir drives it over to them, and it seems to be in working order. No funny sounds or smells, although Doc's not sure exactly how to tell if a fusion powered hover vehicle is in good condition. The side door slides open for them.
Vladimir steps out and welcomes them aboard. "Manual drive controls are a little sluggish, but autodrive is working very good. Just tell it where to go and relax. Have a good trip!"
The party loads up. Doc takes the driver's seat. Thunderhorse and Mark sit behind him in the middle bench.
"Closest hardware store, please." Doc orders the autodrive. It doesn't respond. He tries again in Russian. "[Go to the nearest hardware store.]" This time it works. "[Set language to English]" he tries to tell it, but it doesn't know what he's talking about.
A quick stop at the hardware store and another $39.95 of mission cash later, Thunderhorse has a shiny new 3.5' double headed lumber axe with a shock resistant fiberglass handle. He complains about it being a "peasant weapon," that is too long, the head too small, it's improperly balanced for combat, and that he misses his battle axe. Doc tells him to deal with it.
At both Thunderhorse and Mark's insistance, they stop at a grocers and grab a couple bottles of vodka as well. Doc figures it'll keep the troops calm and might be useful in dealing with the natives.
Doc finally gives the order to go to Khara.
The Astrovan is a smooth quiet ride. On the way, Doc opens a bottle of vodka and pours Mark a shot, and Thunderhorse a double.
"Why does he get more?" Mark complains.
"Because a viking with the shakes is not something I want to be cooped up with, no matter how short a ride. We've got a job to do, and we don't need to be getting ripped right now."
The landscape is desolate. The van hovers swiftly two feet over a broken old road running along the Lena River. It is summer time, and there's no snow but that which remains throughout the year on the moutains to the north and east. The ground is muddy, though. The trip is only a hundred miles, and the van is clipping along happily at 120. They'll be there in fifty minutes.
There aren't any other vehicles near them, but there are a few cargo ships and fishing boats in the water, weaving slowly through the maze of small islets within the river. As they approach a fork in the river, where the Lena turns sharply west while a tributary joins it from the east, Doc can see the launch loop. From the ground, it is a thin, gossimer thread hanging high in the air like a spider's anchor line. A boxy cargo ship follows the line, as if the spider is climbing into space.
They pass beneath the loop and cross the river. Khara is only a few more miles north.
They arrive. The town is small and somewhat suburban. The houses are mainly single story log cabins, but there are a few small stores built of brick and concrete. One building looks a lot like a military bunker. An ancient razorwire fence reveals its former presence around it with few poles standing and strands of rusted metal dangling from them.
The van stops at Dmitri Valia's log cabin and lands. His yard is less kept than the others around it. While his neighbors have grass and shrubs and other trappings of modern (although far from en voge) suburban life, his yard is muddy and barren except for the overgrowth of weeds.
Doc knocks on the door. Slowly, a rustling within shuffles its way to the door. It opens partially, revealing a disheveled looking man with a long, greying beard.
He looks Doc up and down. "What do you want?"
Pick a Ride
Doc has to practically drag both Mark and Thunderhorse out of the Hot Topic.
"Did you see that maiden?" Thunderhorse swoons. "She looked like a mace. Tough and ready for battle. I've never seen such a woman!"
Mark is spouting off on his share of cultural discovery. "Did you see the size of that purple cock? That's the funniest damned thing I ever seen! Haha, you could beat a pig to death with that thing!"
Doc can merely roll his eyes. This backwards town is nearly two hundred years behind the times but to these two clowns it's the cultural center of the universe.
Thunderhorse continues as if Mark was talking about his own thoughts. "Yes. Tonight, I will have that wench. After we kill the Sons of Loki."
Doc stops him. "We're not going to kill anyone."
"Haha, no, no. We will kill them. I am sworn to do so."
"They're not warriors. They're musicians. Minstrels. It's a battle of the bands. Groups of musicians? She thought that's what we are."
"What?"
"They want to fight with music, not axes. Can you play any musical instruments? Can you sing?"
"My mother told me I sing like a dying sheep."
"Then this is a fight we cannot win."
"But, free drinks! And the wench!"
"I'll buy you drinks later on and we can wench it up somewhere else. For now, let's just do our jobs and get out of here."
They stop back at the Python so Thunderhorse can get dressed. He puts the Manowar t-shirt on over his armor, and the pleather jacket fits nicely over that. He puts the jeans on so that the flaps of his loincloth still hang out, but that the rather disgustingly dirty groin support is concealed. His boots go on over the cuffs of the jeans, and his bracers over the cuffs of the jacket. In all, he looks like someone stuffed Conan the Barbarian inside a mall goth. The most interesting effect is the t-shirt, which makes it look like he's wearing a shirt with his own picture on it. He even mimicks the pose when the outfit is complete.
Meanwhile, Doc is able to dissassemble the assault rifles. He can fit one in his own satchel and one in the backpack without the tent. He doesn't know quite to expect from this place, but if it's anything like the last time he was in Russian controlled territory, he'll want to have heavy weapons available.
He makes a quick mental inventory:
Mark has his sword and an pulse ion pistol. He can carry the backpack with the tent.
Thunderhorse only has his shockstick. He'll take the backpack with the assault rifle in it.
Doc has a pain gun, pulse ion pistol, and his switchblade. He's got the assault rifle and an advanced medkit in his satchel, along with various other tools.
"Okay, boys. Let's go."
Doc leads them down the street towards the car rentals. Again they are assaulted by street performers trying to get the attention of the only foreingers in town. Doc stops them only briefly to purchase some nesting dolls from a trinkets store. He has them wrap it up and tells them to ship it to Nadine.
The car rentals is everything you would expect from a backwards town such as this. The place is filthy, run down, and filled with rotting vehicles, ranging from the very ancient to the slightly less ancient.
Doc wishes he had his jeep right now.
The car dealer anticipates their arrival as they walk down the street. He greets them at the curb and speaks heavilly accented English. "Hello! Welcome to Petrovic Automotive! I am Vladimir Petrovic! We have vehicles of all kinds for sale or rent!"
"We need to get to Khara. What do you have that will get us there and back?"
"Oh, everything I have will get you there! Which do you prefer, a hover car or wheeled car? The old wheeled cars are cheaper, but the roads are old and cracked. Not much ice this time of year, but mud is thick in places. My hover cars will get you there smoothly in no time, though."
"Do you have a Jeep?"
"No Jeeps, sorry. I do have very nice vintage hybrid Hummer 4. Very stylish. I also have old petrolium Land Rover and a hydro-cell Terran. Hover cars are much better, though. No need for gasoline at all, no worring about wheels and shocks and suspension and getting stuck in mud. How about a Honda Astrovan or a Toyota Primavera? I also have an Ultraranger and a GM Utilift. Which will you have?"
Tourist Trap
"I know it's early, but let's see if we can find a shop that's open and buy some clothes for Thunderhorse that fit. You look way too out of place and we need to blend in with the locals better. Then we'll have some hot breakfast and try to track down Dmitri. I haven't eaten in ages and my belly is empty. Look lively gentlemen, cause I'm not sure what we are getting into."
"Was it not just the evening? Did we travel time again?" Thunderhorse asks, rocket-lagged.
"No, dummy, we're on the other side of the planet," Mark replies.
Thunderhorse remains confused, but quiet about it.
The party disembarks from the Python. The main road through town runs parallel to the river. Their landing site has conveniently placed them in the midst of a large commercial zone, what might be considered a tourism welcome area. They are surrounded by bauble shops and street performers. Fire jugglers, robot dancers, contortionists, even a geek show.
"They havin' some kinda fair today?" Mark asks.
"I don't think so," Doc replies. "I think they're just desperate to entertain visitors."
Indeed, they seem to be the only non-locals on the streets. Doc stops to talk to one of them.
"[The morning good.]" Doc says. His Russian is a bit rusty.
"[Good morning! Welcome! What brings you to Yakutsk? Business or pleasure?]" replies a man juggling a burning devil's stick.
"[The business is.]"
"[Well, then! Allow us to make your business pleasurable! We have many fine places to visit, sights to see, and shops of all kinds!]"
"[Thank you.]" Doc pauses to remember the language. "[Where for is good breakfast place?]"
"[You speak Russian well!]" the juggler bullshits. "[There is Nadia's just over there. Finest blini in town! Surely after breakfast you will wish to see the sights?]"
"[A clothing store there is nearby?]" Doc asks.
"[Yes, we have many! We have a Hot Topic, a Gap, and a Banana Republic! Few are open this early, but I'm sure they will make an exception for you!]" The juggler is very good, he hasn't even come close to dropping the torch yet, even through the distraction of conversation.
That seems a bit odd to Doc. Aside from the fact that none of those stores have been popular in America since Doc was even born, everyone seems to be paying special attention to Doc, Mark, and Thunderhorse. "[Why do they that?]"
"[Well, honestly, the city has been pushing hard for tourism income for years, but you're the first visitors we've had in a month. Even with the old airspace restrictions still in place, no one ever lands here. That's why everyone's out this morning. Your arrival was even broadcast over the radio. You're in for quite a treat, though. We have much to offer!]"
"[Such as?]"
"[Oh, there's the Soviet Prison Camp museum to start. The Art museum, the library, the Cossack Casino, and we have the world's only remaining Planet Hollywood! It have props from the classic movie Waterworld!]"
Planet Hollywood was bankrupt four times before Doc was born and convicted of fraud for it when he was young. "[Uh, Not sure am I the time for these all will have we,]" Doc says. "[We are visiting Khara someone there. How to go may we transport?]"
The juggler is a bit dejected. It doesn't show in his juggling, though. "[There is a taxi service or you can rent a car.]"
"[Thank you.]" Doc turns to lead the party towards Nadia's for breakfast. There is a clearing of the throat. The juggler spins the flaming stick around a baton with one hand, and holds the other palm out.
"Mark, toss him a penny, will ya?"
"Fuck that. You pay him."
"I don't have any change. Besides, I'm buying breakfast. Plus, you dumped my beer all over the ship."
"Fine." Mark digs into his pocket and flips the coin into the juggler's palm.
"[What's this? One copper?]" The juggler is upset.
"[Date the check. Is worth it more than think you.]"
The juggler does. "[1830?]" He pockets it. "[Thank you!]" he calls out.
The party heads out to the restaurant.
"What the heck is that about?" Mark asks.
"Your change is worth a lot more money now than in your time. First there's inflation. What you could buy for a penny these people pay ten bucks for. Second, there's the historical value. If he finds the right collector I bet he could get three hundred bucks for that coin."
"Holy shit! You mean I just tipped a geek three hundred dollars?!"
"What did it cost you, really? A loaf of bread?"
"Maybe, but as far as I'm concerned you still owe me three hundred bucks. And that ain't no spilt beer."
Breakfast at Nadia's is fairly good, a Russian version of a greasy spoon. Eggs, buckwheat pankakes, black sausage, and tea all for a reasonably inexpensive price. Doc charges it to his ID card. The locals are very friendly, and everyone is asking them where they're from, where they're going, have they seen the sights yet, etc. They comment on Thunderhorse and Mark's clothing. Doc keeps the conversations short.
After breakfast, they head over to the Hot Topic to find Thunderhorse something to wear. The woman working there greets them as she unlocks the doors for them. She's got a blue mohawk and lots of piercings.
Mark goes off and marvels at the rude noise machines and sex toys, proclaiming this to be the most incredible store he's ever seen. Doc takes Thunderhorse to the clothing. Thunderhorse gets excited about a Manowar Triumph of Steel shirt. They also pick out a faux-leather jacket with studs on it and a pair of black jeans with the chain hanging down.
"[I like your leathers. It's bad-ass,]" the woman at the counter tells Thunderhorse.
"[What did she say?]" Thunderhorse asks Doc.
"[She says she likes your armor.]" Doc translates. He remembers the translator button on the I-Browse.
"These are some sweet ironic-retro threads," she says of their purchases. "Are you guys in a band or something?" she asks as she rings them up.
"We are a band of time travellers," Thunderhorse answers proudly.
"Time Travellers. That's our band name," Doc interrupts.
"Time Travellers, eh? What kind of sound do you play?"
Thunderhorse answers with a loud, gutteral roar.
"Metal." Doc tries to explain.
"Rocking. You guys here on tour?"
Doc answers. "No, just passing through."
"Where are you headed?"
"Khara."
"Really? My brother runs a boat service. I can get you a deal if you need a ride. So, what do you play?" she asks Thunderhorse.
He doesn't understand the question. "Shoot Out?"
She giggles. "No, what instrument?"
He's still a bit confused. "I wield an axe."
"He's lead guitar and vocals. I play bass, and civil war hero back there is our rythm section."
"Power trio, huh? Metal. So what are your names?"
"I am Thunderhorse. This is Doc, and Captain Daniels is behind us playing with the false horse penis."
"Daniels? Like the whiskey?"
"Yes, I like whiskey. I like it very much."
She laughs again. "$81.08" Doc hands her the ID card.
"My name's Nastia, but everyone calls my Nasty. Here you go, Thunderhorse." She smiles as she hands him the merchandise. "If you guys aren't busy tonight, stop by The Pit. I'll be there and we can hang out or something."
"Hang in a pit?" Thunderhorse is having a hard time with the modern colloquialisms.
"Hang out at The Pit. It's a bar," Doc explains. "Isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's the only place to be around here. This whole town is stuck in the 1990's. If you want to hear some real noise, come by around eleven. If you want, you can even play a set or two. We haven't had a new band down there for almost a year now. Free drinks if you do."
Although he doesn't understand the rest of what she's said, Thunderhorse certainly understands the concept of free drinks. "Free drinks are the best kind of drinks. We will be there."
Doc tries to get them out of this. "We didn't bring our instruments."
"Yes, this is true," agrees Thunderhorse. "I do not have my axe."
"That's okay. You can use the house equipment. It's pretty modern. The house band, Sons of Loki, got second place at the battle of the bands last summer. They bought all new stuff with the prize money. Hey, maybe you guys can have a little battle of the bands with them. Honestly, they suck."
Doc keeps trying. "I'm not sure we can make it..."
"You wish us to battle the Sons of Loki? This is a challenge I must accept. We will destroy them!"
"Sweet! See you guys there!"
Around the World in 80 Seconds
"Take us to Khara, Siberia," Doc orders the Autopilot.
Mark is finally awake and rubbing his cheek. "What the hell happened?" he asks, wearily.
"You were beat up by a wench!" laughs Thunderhorse.
"That weren't no damn woman. She was some kinda bull, and boy can she kick."
Doc lets the autopilot do its thing. He goes into the back and grabs a couple med kits from the backpacks. He checks Mark out, dosing him with some painkillers, applying disinfectant, and slapping on some bandages. A sharp pain in his gut reminds Doc of the MiB's boot. He downs some pain killers as well.
The Python winds its way through Milwaukee traffic towards the orbital entry lanes. Ahead of them, the other ships in line begin to leap high into the atmosphere and out into orbit. The feeling is much like going up the chain on a rollercoaster, only when they reach the zenith, they'll be going up very fast before they come down. The Python's seatbelt alarms move from mere insistance to urgent demand.
The operatives strap in.
"Hey, is that beer I smell?" Mark asks. "Can I get one of them?"
Doc tosses Mark a lukewarm one. Pity there's no mini-fridge on this bus. Mark pops it open and begins to drink. As he brings it to his lips, the Python leaps into high gear. The force of the acceleration dumps the contents of the tallboy into Mark's face.
"Pfff! Fucking hell!" Mark sputters.
Within moments, they're in orbit once again. The spilled beer begins to float all around the cabin in freefall, bouncing off the walls and apholstry but sticking to clothes and hair.
"Great. I just washed this jacket, Mark."
"Hey! It's not my damn fault. The fucking space boat did it."
The trip into orbit is not long. The ship follows a ballistic trajectory over North America, peaks over the Arctic Circle, and begins the descent into Siberia.
During the Greenhouse Crisis, the governments of Earth were scrambling to find suitable farmlands as the American midwest suffered severe droughts and the deserts began to expand. When the permafrost began to melt in Siberia, much of that land was claimed for farming. Large expanses of what was once harsh, endless tundra became a quilt of cornfields.
Looking down on it now reminds Doc of the early midwest, covered in farms and dotted with suburban communities, only more broken by mountains. The villageof Khara, however, is so far north that it was not affected much by the Crisis. For them, it was a spot of good weather.
Doc sets the heads-up display to label the landmarks on the planet below them. Their flight path is taking them miles south of the target to a landing sight in Yakutsk.
"Computer, why are we landing this far south?"
The computer displays the flight zones in the area. Doc sees something very interesting, a launch loop is in service out here. A launch loop is an iron conveyor belt wich is strung across two base stations a thousand miles apart. The belt is moving so fast it is held fifty miles aloft by its own momentum. Ships can hook on to the iron belt magnetically and let it fling them into low orbit, from which they can fire their own rockets. It was an elegant and inexpensive solution for putting large amounts of cargo into space. Construction of these super huge devices had only just begun in Doc's time. In this time, with all the cheap clean fusion rockets flying about, it seems a bit dated.
Khara is located within the airspace safety zone of the launch loop, which means that no unauthorized traffic is allowed. This law seems a bit archaic considering all the safety devices on board the ship, but the autopilot is dutifully following the traffic laws.
The Python sets down in Yakutsk, on a crumbling parking lot right next to the Lena river. It's about seven thirty in the morning here, and the city is bustling with morning traffic. It's a fairly large town, certainly not as big as the Great Lakes Sprawl, but it reminds Doc of Columbus, OH from his day.
A message pipes in over the ship's com as they land. "[Welcome to Yakutsk!]" it says in Russian. "[The Tourism Council of the Republic of Sakha wishes you to enjoy your stay!]"
