At the Marquis' direction, Helia takes the Third
Eye into orbit around the mainworld. It's four and a half hours
since they entered the system. They run the sensors to get a basic
scan of the world's terrain. They note that there are five major
population or industrial centers in the southern hemisphere, and one in
the equatorial land bridge. There are none in the northern hemisphere.
Three of them are on the coast, two inland. Tech level should be
5, according to the information they have, and the government is by civil
service bureaucracy.
The directions here tell them to follow the landing
beacon to the starport.
Helia drops the ship into the atmosphere, and glides down towards the designated
landing area. It will be late afternoon local time when they arrive.
The Marquis takes the eye graphic off the ship, and switches to shiny metal
color for the exterior.
As they approach the landing
site, they pause at around 10 km altitude to survey the area. It
seems to be a fairly large city on the coast, built in a natural harbor.
There's evidence of local air pollution. The automated instructions
direct them to land in the harbor.
When they get closer, they
are hailed by the port.
"Hello, spaceship! Who
are you?"
The Marquis answers, "The
H.M.S.
Third Eye, from Mora."
"You'll be assigned a docking
berth. If you come in and moor up by the customs pier, we'll deal
with immigration."
"OK." Marc waits.
"Are you going to tell us where the customs pier is?"
"It's the one signified by
the customs flag."
"Ah, most clarified."
The port official is clearly
fed up with them. "The customs building is a big red and white building.
A pier is something that sticks out into the sea. Land in the sea
by the big red and white building beside the thing that sticks out into
the sea. Tie up with rope."
Marquis Marc turns to Helia,
"Bring it down, and maintain us a meter off the pier."
Helia brings the Third Eye
into a courteous approach, and settles down into the water -- not floating
as such, but maintained rock solid on the plates and thrusters.
Someone walks out along the
pier towards them. The figure is carrying a clipboard.
Marc and Misha Ravanos (leaving
his sword behind) emerge from the top hatch and walk out along the wing
towards the pier.
The man addresses them, reading
from notes on his board. "All right, where are you from?"
"Mora,"
Marc answers slowly.
"Where did you just come from?"
"Mirriam."
"OK. Why did you come
here?"
"Scientific investigation."
"Um. What cargo are
you carrying?"
"Knowledge."
That seems to confuse the
man. He pauses, then says, "All right. How many on your ship?
Thank you. Imperial ship? Are you carrying any weapons?"
"No."
"Any illegal goods?"
"No goods. We're not
here to trade."
"Are you carrying any illegal
goods?"
"No."
"OK. Who's in charge?"
"I am. Marquis Marcus
Crestworthy."
"Good. You'll have to
come down to the office."
"For what purpose?"
"Fill in paperwork."
"Is that the paperwork there?"
"No. You'll need to
be there in, um, half an hour."
"Someone from my crew will
come by to pick up the paperwork and..."
"No," interrupts the guy,
"You'll need to come down and fill it in yourself at the office."
The Marquis is already walking
back to the upper hatch. The man turns and walks back along the pier
towards the shore.
The air here is quite thin.
That means that Grand Admiral Baron Bridgehead, their paperwork expert,
won't be able to do much exercise here. A walk down the pier is likely
to beyond him.
They look around at the port.
No other ships are at this pier. There are a bunch of piers elsewhere,
a tank farm with large wet ships tied up loading or unloading through pipelines,
a number of other smaller wet boats around. People are dressed in
light clothes, and true to the Imperials' information, no-one seems to
be carrying weapons..
A standard far trader, in
distinctive yellow and green livery, floats in the bay, tied up to a buoy.
Robert Morris calls up the
trader, starts exchanging news, then pokes into who they are, their manifest,
and so on. It's are running a route between Denotam
and here. It's an independent ship, operated by the owner.
They're taking on local spices, and dropping off various higher-tech consumer
goods, luxury and entertainment items mostly, some pharmaceuticals.
They have no news of interest. The ship is old, and has been owned
by the current person for a long time. It's a typical frontier far
trader -- running a regular route, regular cargo, some passengers on demand.
It's now time to tackle the
bureaucracy... Helia swings the Third Eye around so that the
Marquis can leave from the rear door, dropping the ramp onto the pier.
Marquis Marc and Misha walk
slowly over to the customs building. The air is thin, but warm.
It's about 30 degrees right now. Gravity is light but comfortable,
0.39.
Inside, Marc talks to the
receptionist.
"Well, Mr. Crestworthy," says
the man, "If you'll go into that room, you'll find someone who can help
you."
The man in the next room presents
the Marquis with a set of forms. They are not in Galanglic
-- not even the script is comprehensible. Nevertheless, Marc goes
ahead and fills it in, guessing which field is which. He passes it
back saying, "By the way, which language is this in?"
The man says something incomprehensible,
and hands him another set of forms.
These are less obvious.
Marc guesses anyway, fills them out, and hands them back. The man
says something, and steps into another room. A strident conversation
is heard.
A different man returns with
the forms. "I'm sorry, this won't do at all."
"I filled out your forms."
"You're carrying a cargo of
two weeks...? I'm going to be tolerant. Try these." He hands
Marc a version in Galanglic. "I praise you, by the way, for your
command of our language. Obviously it needs some work, though."
"Well, I've only been trying
it for the last half hour." Marc applies himself to filling out the
forms. This set includes some odd and unrelated questions, such as
"what plants are grown on this ship?", which is what threw him off last
time. He completes the forms quickly and hands them back.
"Thank you. Would you
like me to make an appointment with your liaison officer tomorrow?"
"For what purpose?"
"For where you're going here."
"Fine. We'll need a
berth for this evening, and if you will just come to the berth at a reasonable
hour in the morning, that will be acceptable."
"No, you'll need to come ashore."
"Yes, I will send in my liaison
officer."
"No, you'll need to come ashore."
"You said you'd need an appointment
with my liaison officer?"
"No. The liaison officer
that will be assigned to you."
"I see. And he can meet
with the liaison officer I'm assigning to you."
"No, he will meet with you."
The Marquis sighs and agrees.
"Thank you. Someone
will be along shortly to give you your berth assignment."
Marquis Marc and Misha stand
up, and leave the building to return to the ship.
About ten minutes later, the
berth assignment is delivered to the ship. A collection of papers
is handed over for the navigator, and they are informed that the captain's
appointment is at 8 am tomorrow. It is currently 6:30 pm.
The papers turn out to be
a chart of the harbor, with their berth marked near the other starship.
It's about the middle of one of the sides of the horseshoe shaped bay.
"Move us there gently," says
the Marquis to Helia.
Helia sets the autopilot to
move the Third Eye there, but to take twelve hours doing it.
The movement is barely perceptible.
They try listening to local
radio, but it's all in the local language. The Marquis asks Robert
if the other ship has any translators; he runs a quick check and finds
that while there are none in the cargo, they do have several chips in their
ship's locker.
Robert hails them, "This is
the H.M.S. Third Eye, under the command of Marquis Marcus Crestworthy..."
"Oh my gawd!" comes the reply.
"OK. Uh. Hi!"
"We've come here on an investigative
mission, and we don't have as much information as we thought we did on
some of the local customs here. We are without translation equipment
for the local language, and some of the forms we have to fill out are a
little difficult."
"They've got them in Galanglic
as well. Most people speak it, except the ones who refuse to.
Some of them are a bit stuck up about it. But you can usually find
someone who can. Not everybody."
"Do you have any translation
equipment that we can purchase?"
"Sure! We can sell you
some translator chips! 300 apiece. So how many do you want?"
"One will be enough."
"We'll be right over!"
Robert and Misha are assigned
to talk to the visitors, while Vonish Kehnaan is to prepare dinner for
them. They are supposed to pump them for local information about
customs, bars, the name of the city, and so on.
The air/raft
from the far trader arrives and lands on the top of the hull beside the
top hatch, where Misha is waiting. The two people aboard (in well-worn
shipboard clothes) secure the air/raft and join Misha in the ship.
He takes them down to the module lounge, where Robert and Helia are waiting.
They exchange the chip for Imperial cash. Misha tells them they're
invited to dinner -- there's an excellent cook aboard, he says.
They are delighted.
"So I guess this Marquis guy can afford the best, eh?"
"Yes, I think he can.
Can I interest you in some pre-dinner libations?"
Drinks are served. They
all sit around drinking whisky.
"So what brings you guys here?"
one of them asks.
"The Marquis is a curious
man.," says Misha with a smile.
That doesn't satisfy them,
but as they're happy to be aboard such luxury, and are clearly enjoying
themselves, they don't question it.
Misha starts a conversation
about the local area. There are some illegal bars near the dock area,
but they're advised not to go there -- they are very rough and subject
to police raid, when the police aren't too scared to go there, that is.
The trader crew just don't go ashore. They'll be here for about a
week, and will unload their cargo in a few days -- they're still looking
for a good deal to sell it. Here isn't much fun for them, but every
year the captain takes them to Frenzie
for an all-expenses-paid vacation while the annual maintenance is performed.
This city here is called Down Port. They don't know where First City
is -- they visit only here, dealing with brokers and so on.
Ed "Shark" Teeth walks in,
and introduces himself as Eddie Teeth. He mentions the gravity --
good for walking. The traders reply that they don't walk much here
-- the docks are very dangerous. Even though the law level is high,
that just means that the laws are restrictive, not that they're successfully
enforced. Going through the process of getting visas to go ashore
outside the dock area just isn't worth it. They just treat this place
as a necessary stop to make money from speculative trade, and accept that
it's a boring trip.
The goods they pick up here
are some spices that they produce here -- it has a pretty good market over
on Denotam.
They have no idea whether it tastes good or not -- to them it's just cargo.
Ed brings up the subject of
piracy. They're not worried about it because they run an obscure
route, it's just not worth it for a pirate to prowl there. As for
Robin Sherwood, they've read the news reports but have no other information.
Opinions, though, they do have -- they actually own their cargo, so they
have something to lose, but if they were on a sub or something they'd probably
just hand it over. What have they got to lose, after all? The
cargo's probably insured anyway.
Ed ponders the concept of
Robin Sherwood as being part of an insurance scam...
Dinner is produced -- they
are really impressed, it's very good indeed -- and they leave well fed
and happy.
Robert takes the chip and programs translators and their communications system.
Marc tells Helia that they need to be back at that dock, ready to lower the ramp, at 7:45 am tomorrow morning.
Overnight, Mich refuels the ship from the sea.
Marc and Misha step out onto
the pier. There is still a vast cloud of spray settling over the
harbor from their approach.
In the building, the same
receptionist directs them to the liaison officer, in another room.
"Mr. Crestworthy?" says the
liaison officer, pleasantly. "Can I help you? What's your purpose
here? Where do you want to go? What do you want to see?"
"I would like to go to First
City and speak with some people who have reported to some associates of
mine the activities of the local fauna."
"OK, so you have someone to
contact there? Excellent, no problem."
"Is there a local library
that I could visit?"
"What for?"
"Read up on what you have
researched and the extent of your knowledge of the local fauna."
"I think you'll probably find
that at First City. If you'll just fill this out..." He hands
Marc a form to file his travel plans. "Pull in at the port there,
talk to the port officer."
Marc then comments on the
manner of the communications person they talked to on the way in.
He also points out that this planet doesn't use a standard flag for customs.
The liaison officer says that's his problem.
"You'll need some charts,
right? 200 Cr." He reaches down, pulls out a tube of paper,
and hands it to Marc.
Marc examines it. It's
a set of sea charts, covering the route to First City. "Thank you.
You have a transfer module?"
"What?"
"A transfer module.
To transfer credits."
"We'll take cash."
"I'll send my man back with
cash to pick up the charts."
"They'll be at the front desk.
Oh, and you must fly only over the sea."
They walk back to the ship. Misha then goes back to the office and returns with the charts. Marquis Marc asks Robert to read them into the computer and add them to their scan of the planet.
They are to leave immediately.
The trip is about 1500 km, and it's a routine trip of 3 hours. Helia
keeps it over the water as the liaison officer had requested.
Below them there's a fairly
obvious sea lane of cargo ships running between Down Port and First City.
On the way, Marc tells Vonish
about the spices they apparently grow and sell here. Obviously they
don't know whether the spices are anything he'd want to use.
At Marc's request, Helia makes a gentle polite approach to the harbor, coming to a halt in front of the customs building. It's 2:00 pm local time. First City is a much smaller place. There's not nearly as much industry here.
Marquis Marc disembarks on
the dock, and walks over to the customs building. The receptionist
greets him politely. Everything seems to be in order. She directs
him to the liaison officer.
"I'm Marquis Marcus Crestworthy,
and I wonder if you could tell me where I can find a map of the city that
might show me where libraries and other buildings of interest are?"
"Sure," smiles the Liaison
Officer, "I can give you a packet with that."
"I'd like to look up a local
inhabitant I was told was listed in the directory."
"Sure. I'd suggest take
the train into Center, and you should find everything you need there."
He hands Marc a small folding map of the city, with points of interest
marked on it.
"Interesting technology,"
says Marc, fumbling awkwardly with the paper. He thanks him and turns
to go.
"You're welcome. Have
a nice day!" Something else occurs to him. "You'll be wanting
somewhere to berth?" He reaches over to the intercom. "Set
him a berth, will you?" He turns back to Mark and tells him that
the receptionist will tell him where to berth. "Oh, and here's my
card, call me if you need anything or have any questions."
The berth assignment is fairly
near the shore. Helia cruises the Third Eye into position.
It's an area that is populated mostly by large pleasure craft. There
are no other spaceships here.
On the way, Marc sets the
rules for this visit. Two crew members are to remain on board at
all times. Anyone else may go ashore -- apparently there was no requirement
for extra paperwork or anything.
Baron Bridgehead, no doubt
remembering the thin air in the valley of Pimane,
announces that he has no desire to leave the ship.
Marquis Marc goes on to tell
them that the local party spots are rather rough and generally raided by
the police.
"Does that mean we have to
wear spikes on our leather?" asks Helia.
"It means we should be very,
very careful."
"Well, I could go in the ultra-feminine
stuff, that would work," she says.
The Marquis turns to Mich.
"I expect to be here for a week and a half or so. If you have system
maintenance that's going to take less than a week..." Mich nods.
Marc continues, "I don't believe that Mich needs any particular protection
on this planet." Marc then asks Robert how communications work here.
Robert replies, "It seems
to be mostly hardwired with some radio."
Marc hands Robert the liaison
officer's card, "This card is in some way a way of contacting this person.
I'm not sure how it works. If I need to I will ask you." Robert
smiles; he knows what it is.
Marquis Marc announces that
he's going to go into town to look up Erwin Hedaker. "It's suggested
that we go into town to ride the train. We'll need some local currency
for sure. All who wish to go ashore...?"
It looks like it'll be a fairly
full gcarrier. The
customary dress of the locals seems to be light tunics, loose fairly baggy
trousers, sandals. Misha doesn't have much clothing for warm places,
and of course will have to leave his sword behind. So it'll be Marc,
Ed, Misha, Robert, Vonish, Sagan, and Helia. Mich will stay on board.
Everyone will carry a compact respirator, including Sagan, who is perhaps
the least comfortable with the environment on this planet.
Vonish takes the controls of
the gcarrier and parks it at the customs office. Marc asks the liaison
officer about changing currencies. He says the bank will do that;
he suggests that they park over at the yacht club and pick up a taxi there.
Vonish takes them over to
the yacht club -- an obviously grand building on the shore. There
are several boats pulled up on shore, and docked at the piers. Vonish
parks ashore, and they walk into the sea-side entrance to the yacht club.
The Marquis tells the doorman
he needs a cab; he is told to pass through the club, up the stairs, and
pick up a taxi out front.
It takes two taxis to carry
everyone. The Marquis instructs the doorman, and the doorman instructs
the taxi, to take them to a bank. The doorman, happy with his 5Cr
tip, says something to the drivers, and the taxis drive off.
It's soon clear that the taxis
have an onboard compressor -- the air inside the internal combustion groundcar
is distinctly less thin than it is outside, and a little cooler too.
The taxis roll up outside a
very large building, about the size of a city block. Looking up,
there are rails -- as of a ground-based railway -- coming out of the building
about two stories up. The Marquis tips the drivers handsomely, and
they all go inside where they have been told there is a bank.
Inside the building, it's
pressurized and cooler. It looks like a mall in here. Fortunately
the bank is obvious, and changing currency is no trouble at all.
The next stop is at a small
cafe. Part of Marc's idea was to find out how much a credit was really
worth here, and it seems that for a credit's worth of local currency, they
can get about two credits' worth of goods. He gives everyone 100
Cr worth of local currency -- that's about 200Cr of buying power here.
They order drinks. It's
now clear they really not in the Imperium any more. This is the first
place most of the crew has seen that does not carry Zurta.