A SEPARATE LAW: PART TEN - [Comm-Links](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links) - A SEPARATE LAW: PART TEN A SEPARATE LAW: PART TEN ======================== Undefined Undefined A Separate Law [Previous](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/13259) [Next](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/13263) Content ------- English “That’s got it,” Ferrera said, the strained hum of his tractor beam generator underlining the statement. “Very good, Captain.” Gates tried not to look at the gaping wound of the 325’s cockpit. He had to consciously force his hands to relax from the fists they’d made on seeing the wreck. Hard to believe I made it through that. “Damn, but she took a beating,” Ferrara observed, looking at the readouts. “Yes, she did,” Gates was surprised at how level he managed to keep his voice. “Any idea what —“ Gates spoke over the salvage man, “I have an idea, sure: it involves you asking questions when you agreed not to, and the provisions of our contract that allow me to deduct from your fee for every single question you ask.” Ferrara closed his mouth and busied himself with the nav comp. Gates felt a twinge of regret. Shouldn’t step so hard on the salver, might need some good will before all is said and done. Finished plotting a course back to his station, Ferrera spoke. “Going to be a day or so before I can pull her into the shop.” “That was allowed for. Any comms from the shop?” “No, the deliveries you’re expecting haven’t arrived yet.” Gates nodded. Good. Don’t want that stuff on site before I’m there to supervise the unpacking and get on the repairs myself. Never thought I’d be grateful to Special Agent Constantine for pulling me off Special Action’s flight team and forcing me to work Maintenance and Repair on the Black Box. He struggled a moment, trying to remember what it was he’d done to earn that particular punishment. Oh, yeah, the Hadrian incident … Coming back to the present, Gates found his gaze drifting to the cockpit of the 325 again. Suppressing a shiver, he crossed his arms across his chest. Get a grip, Gates. Les Inconnus even did you a favor — the repairs will be easier with most of the armor already stripped or cooked off. Somehow, that was small comfort. Thirty-six hours later, the 325’s cockpit was restored and Gates was getting ready to pressurize the living spaces. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional. He had the use of one of Ferrera’s salvage frames to himself, and was keeping it unpressurized and free of gravity to ensure no one just walked in on him. He’d found the challenging physical labor helped set aside the fear that wearing a vac suit lit him up with. He didn’t like to think about how he’d react to getting in the pilot’s seat. I’m gonna need some serious down-time when this is over. In the meantime — Gates activated the life-support system. It held steady amber, indicating the system was charging the compartments with breathable atmosphere and hadn’t detected any leaks. He climbed around the framework to the wing, examining the site of his next project. The cooked missile pods. “Mister Zerezghi?” the suit comm crackled with the cover name Gates was using. “Yes?” “Your parts are here.” “Good. Push it in the airlock and leave it to me, I’ll take care of it.” “Will do, Mister Zerezghi. You hungry?” Gates realized he hadn’t eaten since starting work some eight hours past. “In an hour or so. Checking life-support now.” “You work fast.” “Needs must, when the devil drives.” “I hear you. I’ll have something ready for you in an hour.” “Thanks.” Gates tossed the empty food carton into the recycler and activated his MobiGlas. He had two new messages. The first was from Angelique: I’m on it, Armi. My friend got a bit spooked when I asked her about it, said the man you’re asking after is protected from on high. I’ll let you know as soon as I learn anything. The postscript was interesting: Oh, and congratulate me — I managed to quit the stuff. Good for you, Gates thought. He said as much in the return message, typed while using the head. The second message was from Seabrook. The heavily encrypted message took a moment for Gates’ MobiGlas to process: Gates, I know we aren’t supposed to talk, but if this message is intercepted, we need to hire whoever manages it! Just don’t reply. Your decrepit encoding will get stripped first thing. Anyway, I had to tell you: Stroller’s interrogation led to another name, a high-level hitter for Les Inconnus name of Jahangir Kung. Everything indicates he’s the ‘corporate security contractor’ who uncovered Agents Nawabi and Knowles. I like him for their murders, and he’s also listed as Chief of Security for the White Stag. On the other thing: I got you the funds you need for your ‘big purchase’ (I don’t think I want to know), but you’ve tapped me out completely. Things are adding up. Good luck. Smiling, Gates was back at work in minutes. The air hissed out of Gates’s borrowed pressure suit. That’s quite a wake up call, you moron! The hiss became a high squeal, then cut off entirely as the suit sealed itself. Pushing too hard. Too tired. Yawning, he’d let his grip on the cutting torch slip, holing the suit above the opposite forearm. Hands trembling, he shut down the torch. Lucky, stupid, clumsy, tired, old man. Time to call it a night. Feeling every one of his many years, Gates left the bay. He slept for eight solid, got up, and was at it again within the hour. The missile pods were so much fused junk, which was easily solved by cutting them loose. Ferrera could salvage them for the material if nothing else. He wasted the next few hours in mind-searing frustration trying to fit the new pods before realizing he’d misread the schematics. Cursing, he corrected the simple issue and linked the ship to the new systems. The attitude thrusters were next on the list. Four of them had to be scrapped, and two were looking a little anemic. Ferrara had secured three new thrusters and a pair of salvaged ones Gates would prefer not to use. The main drive had, for a miracle, not been directly damaged in the fight. The comp links had been ravaged, however, and would need replacement. His comm activated, “Another shipment, Mister Z.” “Same routine, please.” “I ain’t touching this one, Mister Z.” “Oh?” “My hazmat detectors say the contents are milspec explosives. Quite a large quantity.” “I’m on it, thanks.” He made sure the thruster was in place before leaving. “That’s some serious gear, Mister Z.” “I know. It’s for serious business.” “Just sayin’.” “And I hear you. There’s nothing that can be traced back to you.” “Easy for you to say.” “I mean it.” Ferrera shrugged. “Again, it’s not your ass going to get worked over if it’s otherwise.” Gates rolled his neck, tried to relax, force himself not to go where instinct wanted to take him. Instead he said, “Ferrera, I give you my word, this will not come back on you.” Ferrera went still, realizing too late that he’d made Gates start thinking of him as a potential problem. Problems in this kind of thing usually had simple, fatal solutions. “I’m sorry, Mister Z. It’s my natural state to worry.” “I get that, and I can only say I’m doing everything I can to make sure this doesn’t come back on you,” Gates hiked a thumb at his chest, “And I’ve been doing this a while.” Ferrera looked at Gates a good long time, but eventually nodded. “I accept your word. I’m sorry to have doubted you.” “I understand your concern. I’ll be out of your hair in forty-eight hours, assuming the test-flight goes without a hitch.” “Want to eat?” Ferrera asked. Gates accepted the olive branch. An hour later he was back at work, pushing even harder. Ferrera might not — probably won’t — betray me, but the sooner I’m off, the better for everyone. Each thruster wasn’t too difficult to hook up, but making sure they were properly linked to the comp was time consuming. Gates managed to get the new thrusters installed and working properly. The two thrusters he’d thought to salvage proved beyond his ability to save. Disappointed, he went ahead with installing the used ones Ferrera had found. The first required some tinkering before it would function properly, but worked out. The other fit perfectly and the first time, surprising him. Despite the late hour, Gates started on the weapons systems. One of the Omnisky VIIs had been destroyed outright and two of the others were off-line because the power coupling had been destroyed. The new cannon proved harder to replace than the coupling, but not by much. The mass driver had ammo feed problems that occupied his every waking moment for the next day and well into the next night before he was able to resolve them. The enhanced sensor suite he’d had was blown, but he managed to get basic fire control and navigation sensors back in working order by the simple expedient of replacing the entire system. “She’s ready to go,” Gates said as his host entered the galley. He’d taken the time to lay out breakfast for the two of them. “Ahead of schedule?” Ferrera asked, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. “Ever thought about salvage work? I could use someone works as hard as you.” “I’ll keep the offer in mind, if I’m back this way,” Gates said. I may actually need work, if I make it through. Suspension is likely the least of the punishments that’ll be in order if Angelique can’t come through for me on the other side of this. “You going to test-fly her?” “Yes, but if it doesn’t need work, I won’t be back,” Gates said, holding out a coffee. Ferrera grinned as he took the drink. “If you really screwed up the repairs, you may not be able to come back.” That startled a laugh from Gates. “True.” “You got everything you need?” “Yes. And I left you a bit of a bonus, for your trouble.” “Thanks. Unnecessary, but thanks.” “You did everything I asked you to, and without complaint.” Another grin, “More or less.” Gates answered with his own smile, “Yeah, more or less.” The 325 handled just as well as it did before, it was his own state of mind that concerned him. Never had nerves like that, just putting on a damn flight suit. Better not happen when things kick off. Got to be ready … . . . to be continued "Das war's", sagte Ferrera, das angespannte Summen seines Traktorstrahlgenerators unterstrich die Aussage. "Sehr gut, Captain." Gates versuchte, nicht auf die klaffende Wunde im Cockpit des 325 zu schauen. Er musste bewusst seine Hände zwingen, sich von den Fäusten zu entspannen, die sie beim Anblick des Wracks gemacht hatten. Kaum zu glauben, dass ich das überstanden habe. "Verdammt, aber sie wurde geschlagen", beobachtete Ferrara und betrachtete die Messwerte. "Ja, das hat sie", war Gates überrascht, wie gut er es geschafft hatte, seine Stimme zu behalten. "Irgendeine Idee was?" Gates sprach über den Bergungsarbeiter: "Ich habe eine Idee, sicher: Es geht darum, dass du Fragen stellst, wenn du zugestimmt hast, es nicht zu tun, und die Bestimmungen unseres Vertrages, die es mir erlauben, von deinem Honorar für jede einzelne Frage, die du stellst, abzuziehen." Ferrara schloss den Mund und beschäftigte sich mit dem Navigationssystem. Gates spürte einen Anflug von Bedauern. Sollte nicht so hart auf den Salver treten, könnte etwas guten Willen erfordern, bevor alles gesagt und getan ist. Ferrera beendete die Planung eines Kurses zurück zu seiner Station und sprach. "Es wird etwa einen Tag dauern, bevor ich sie in den Laden ziehen kann." "Das wurde berücksichtigt. Irgendwelche Nachrichten aus dem Laden?" "Nein, die Lieferungen, die Sie erwarten, sind noch nicht angekommen." Gates nickte. Gut. Ich will das Zeug nicht vor Ort haben, bevor ich dort bin, um das Auspacken zu überwachen und die Reparaturen selbst durchzuführen. Ich hätte nie gedacht, dass ich Special Agent Constantine dafür dankbar sein würde, dass er mich aus dem Flugteam von Special Action herausgeholt und mich gezwungen hat, Wartung und Reparatur an der Black Box zu arbeiten. Er kämpfte einen Moment lang und versuchte sich zu erinnern, was er getan hatte, um diese besondere Strafe zu verdienen. Oh, ja, der Hadrian-Vorfall.... Um auf die Gegenwart zurückzukommen, fand Gates seinen Blick wieder auf das Cockpit des 325 gerichtet. Er unterdrückte einen Schauer und verschränkte seine Arme über seine Brust. Reiß dich zusammen, Gates. Les Inconnus hat Ihnen sogar einen Gefallen getan - die Reparaturen werden einfacher sein, da die meisten der Rüstungen bereits ausgezogen oder abgekocht sind. Irgendwie war das ein schwacher Trost. Sechsunddreißig Stunden später wurde das Cockpit des 325 wiederhergestellt und Gates machte sich bereit, die Wohnräume unter Druck zu setzen. Es war nicht schön, aber es war funktionell. Er hatte die Verwendung eines von Ferreras Bergungsrahmen für sich allein und hielt ihn drucklos und frei von der Schwerkraft, um sicherzustellen, dass niemand einfach auf ihn losging. Er hatte festgestellt, dass die herausfordernde körperliche Arbeit dazu beitrug, die Angst beiseite zu legen, die das Tragen eines Staubsaugeranzuges bei ihm hervorrief. Er mochte nicht darüber nachdenken, wie er darauf reagieren würde, auf den Pilotenstuhl zu steigen. Ich werde einige ernsthafte Ausfallzeiten brauchen, wenn das hier vorbei ist. In der Zwischenzeit - Gates hat das Lebenserhaltungssystem aktiviert. Es blieb konstant gelb, was darauf hindeutet, dass das System die Fächer mit atmungsaktiver Atmosphäre auflud und keine Lecks erkannte. Er kletterte um den Rahmen herum zum Flügel und untersuchte den Standort seines nächsten Projekts. Die gekochten Raketenschoten. "Mister Zerezghi?" Der Anzug knisterte mit dem Decknamen, den Gates benutzte. " Ja?" "Deine Teile sind hier." "Gut. Schieb es in die Luftschleuse und überlass es mir, ich kümmere mich darum." "Wird gemacht, Herr Zerezghi. Hast du Hunger?" Gates erkannte, dass er seit Beginn der Arbeit vor acht Stunden nichts gegessen hatte. "In einer Stunde oder so. Ich überprüfe jetzt die Lebenserhaltung." "Du arbeitest schnell." "Muss, wenn der Teufel fährt." "Ich verstehe dich. Ich habe in einer Stunde etwas für dich vorbereitet." " Danke." Gates warf den leeren Lebensmittelkarton in den Recycler und aktivierte sein MobiGlas. Er hatte zwei neue Nachrichten. Der erste war von Angelique: Ich bin dabei, Armi. Meine Freundin wurde ein wenig erschrocken, als ich sie danach fragte, sagte, dass der Mann, nach dem du fragst, vor oben geschützt ist. Ich lasse es dich wissen, sobald ich etwas lerne. Das Postscript war interessant: Oh, und gratuliere mir - ich habe es geschafft, das Zeug aufzugeben. Gut für dich, dachte Gates. Er sagte so viel in der Rückmeldung, getippt, während er den Kopf benutzte. Die zweite Nachricht war von Seabrook. Die stark verschlüsselte Nachricht dauerte einen Moment, bis Gates' MobiGlas verarbeitet wurde: Gates, ich weiß, dass wir nicht reden dürfen, aber wenn diese Nachricht abgefangen wird, müssen wir denjenigen einstellen, der sie verwaltet! Antworte nur nicht. Deine altersschwache Kodierung wird als erstes entfernt. Wie auch immer, ich musste es dir sagen: Das Verhör des Kinderwagens führte zu einem anderen Namen, einem High-Level-Hitter für den Namen Les Inconnus von Jahangir Kung. Alles deutet darauf hin, dass er der "Corporate Security Contractor" ist, der die Agenten Nawabi und Knowles aufgedeckt hat. Ich mag ihn wegen ihrer Morde, und er ist auch als Sicherheitschef für den weißen Hirsch aufgeführt. Auf der anderen Seite: Ich habe dir die Mittel besorgt, die du für deinen "Big Purchase" brauchst (ich glaube nicht, dass ich das wissen will), aber du hast mich komplett ausgeklammert. Die Dinge summieren sich. Viel Glück. Lächelnd war Gates in wenigen Minuten wieder bei der Arbeit. Die Luft zischte aus Gates' geliehenem Druckanzug. Das ist ein ziemlicher Weckruf, du Idiot! Das Zischen wurde zu einem hohen Quietschen, dann völlig abgeschnitten, als sich der Anzug selbst versiegelte. Ich drücke zu stark. Zu müde. Gähnend ließ er seinen Griff auf den Schneidbrenner rutschen und hielt den Anzug über den gegenüberliegenden Unterarm. Die Hände zitterten, er schaltete die Taschenlampe aus. Glücklich, dumm, ungeschickt, müde, alter Mann. Zeit, die Nacht zu beenden. Gates fühlte jeden seiner vielen Jahre und verließ die Bucht. Er schlief acht Stunden lang fest, stand auf und war innerhalb einer Stunde wieder dabei. Die Raketenschächte waren so stark verschmolzener Schrott, dass sie leicht gelöst werden konnten, indem man sie losschneidet. Ferrera konnte sie für das Material bergen, wenn nichts anderes. Er vergeudete die nächsten Stunden mit geistiger Frustration, als er versuchte, die neuen Hülsen einzusetzen, bevor er erkannte, dass er die Schaltpläne falsch gelesen hatte. Verflucht, er korrigierte das einfache Problem und verband das Schiff mit den neuen Systemen. Die Lagetriebwerke waren die nächsten auf der Liste. Vier von ihnen mussten verschrottet werden, und zwei sahen etwas anämisch aus. Ferrara hatte sich drei neue Triebwerke gesichert und ein Paar geborgene Triebwerke, die Gates lieber nicht benutzen würde. Der Hauptantrieb war zu einem Wunder nicht direkt im Kampf beschädigt worden. Die Comp Links waren jedoch verwüstet worden und müssten ersetzt werden. Sein Befehl lautete: "Noch eine Lieferung, Herr Z." "Dieselbe Routine, bitte." "Ich werde das hier nicht anfassen, Mister Z." " Oh?" "Meine Gefahrgutdetektoren sagen, dass der Inhalt milspec Sprengstoffe sind. Eine ziemlich große Menge." "Ich bin dabei, danke." Er stellte sicher, dass das Triebwerk an Ort und Stelle war, bevor er ging. "Das ist eine ziemlich gute Ausrüstung, Mister Z." "Ich weiß. Es ist für ernsthafte Geschäfte." "Ich sage nur." "Und ich höre dich. Es gibt nichts, was auf dich zurückgeführt werden kann." "Das ist leicht für dich zu sagen." "Ich meine es ernst." Ferrera zuckte mit den Schultern. "Nochmal, es ist nicht dein Arsch, der sich darüber aufregen wird, wenn es anders ist." Gates rollte mit dem Hals, versuchte sich zu entspannen, zwang sich, nicht dorthin zu gehen, wo der Instinkt ihn hinbringen wollte. Stattdessen sagte er: "Ferrera, ich gebe dir mein Wort, das wird nicht auf dich zurückkommen." Ferrera blieb stehen und erkannte zu spät, dass er Gates dazu gebracht hatte, ihn als potenzielles Problem zu betrachten. Probleme in dieser Art von Dingen hatten meist einfache, fatale Lösungen. "Es tut mir leid, Mister Z. Es ist mein natürlicher Zustand, sich Sorgen zu machen." "Ich verstehe das, und ich kann nur sagen, dass ich alles tue, was ich kann, um sicherzustellen, dass das nicht auf dich zurückkommt", wanderte Gates mit dem Daumen auf seine Brust, "Und ich mache das schon eine Weile." Ferrera sah Gates lange Zeit an, nickte aber schließlich. "Ich akzeptiere dein Wort. Es tut mir leid, dass ich an dir gezweifelt habe." "Ich verstehe deine Sorge. Ich werde in 48 Stunden von dir los sein, vorausgesetzt, der Testflug verläuft reibungslos." "Willst du essen?" fragte Ferrera. Gates akzeptierte den Olivenzweig. Eine Stunde später war er wieder bei der Arbeit und drückte noch härter. Ferrera mag mich vielleicht nicht verraten - und wird es wahrscheinlich auch nicht -, aber je früher ich weg bin, desto besser für alle. Jedes Triebwerk war nicht allzu schwierig anzuschließen, aber sicherzustellen, dass sie richtig mit dem Bauteil verbunden waren, war zeitaufwendig. Gates gelang es, die neuen Triebwerke zu installieren und ordnungsgemäß zu funktionieren. Die beiden Triebwerke, von denen er dachte, sie zu bergen, erwiesen sich als überfordert. Enttäuscht installierte er die gebrauchten, die Ferrera gefunden hatte. Die erste erforderte einiges an Basteln, bevor sie richtig funktionieren würde, aber sie funktionierte. Der andere passte perfekt und das erste Mal und überraschte ihn. Trotz der späten Stunde begann Gates mit den Waffensystemen. Einer der Omnisky VIIs war vollständig zerstört worden und zwei der anderen waren offline, weil die Stromkupplung zerstört worden war. Die neue Kanone war schwerer zu ersetzen als die Kupplung, aber nicht viel. Der Massenfahrer hatte Munitionsfutterprobleme, die ihn jeden wachen Moment für den nächsten Tag und bis in die nächste Nacht beschäftigten, bevor er sie lösen konnte. Die verbesserte Sensor-Suite, die er hatte, war explodiert, aber er schaffte es, die grundlegenden Feuerleit- und Navigationssensoren wieder funktionsfähig zu machen, indem er einfach das gesamte System austauschte. "Sie ist bereit zu gehen", sagte Gates, als sein Gastgeber die Kombüse betrat. Er hatte sich die Zeit genommen, das Frühstück für die beiden zu organisieren. "Vor dem Zeitplan?" fragte Ferrera und schrubbte den Schlaf aus seinen Augen. "Schon mal an Bergungsarbeiten gedacht? Ich könnte jemanden gebrauchen, der so hart arbeitet wie du." "Ich werde das Angebot im Hinterkopf behalten, wenn ich in diese Richtung zurück bin", sagte Gates. Ich brauche vielleicht tatsächlich Arbeit, wenn ich es schaffe. Die Suspendierung ist wahrscheinlich die geringste der Strafen, die in Ordnung sein werden, wenn Angelique auf der anderen Seite davon nicht für mich durchkommen kann. "Wirst du sie testen und fliegen?" "Ja, aber wenn es keine Arbeit braucht, werde ich nicht zurückkommen", sagte Gates und hielt einen Kaffee aus. Ferrera grinste, als er den Drink nahm. "Wenn du die Reparaturen wirklich vermasselt hast, kannst du vielleicht nicht mehr zurückkommen." Das erschreckte ein Lachen von Gates. " Stimmt." "Hast du alles, was du brauchst?" "Ja. Und ich habe dir einen kleinen Bonus hinterlassen, für deine Mühe." "Danke. Unnötig, aber danke." "Du hast alles getan, worum ich dich gebeten habe, und das ohne Beschwerden." Ein weiteres Grinsen, "Mehr oder weniger". Gates antwortete mit seinem eigenen Lächeln: "Ja, mehr oder weniger." Der 325 handelte genauso gut wie zuvor, es war sein eigener Geisteszustand, der ihn betraf. Ich hatte noch nie solche Nerven, nur einen verdammten Fluganzug anzuziehen. Besser nicht passieren, wenn die Dinge losgehen. Ich muss bereit sein.... . ... wird fortgesetzt “That’s got it,” Ferrera said, the strained hum of his tractor beam generator underlining the statement. “Very good, Captain.” Gates tried not to look at the gaping wound of the 325’s cockpit. He had to consciously force his hands to relax from the fists they’d made on seeing the wreck. Hard to believe I made it through that. “Damn, but she took a beating,” Ferrara observed, looking at the readouts. “Yes, she did,” Gates was surprised at how level he managed to keep his voice. “Any idea what —“ Gates spoke over the salvage man, “I have an idea, sure: it involves you asking questions when you agreed not to, and the provisions of our contract that allow me to deduct from your fee for every single question you ask.” Ferrara closed his mouth and busied himself with the nav comp. Gates felt a twinge of regret. Shouldn’t step so hard on the salver, might need some good will before all is said and done. Finished plotting a course back to his station, Ferrera spoke. “Going to be a day or so before I can pull her into the shop.” “That was allowed for. Any comms from the shop?” “No, the deliveries you’re expecting haven’t arrived yet.” Gates nodded. Good. Don’t want that stuff on site before I’m there to supervise the unpacking and get on the repairs myself. Never thought I’d be grateful to Special Agent Constantine for pulling me off Special Action’s flight team and forcing me to work Maintenance and Repair on the Black Box. He struggled a moment, trying to remember what it was he’d done to earn that particular punishment. Oh, yeah, the Hadrian incident … Coming back to the present, Gates found his gaze drifting to the cockpit of the 325 again. Suppressing a shiver, he crossed his arms across his chest. Get a grip, Gates. Les Inconnus even did you a favor — the repairs will be easier with most of the armor already stripped or cooked off. Somehow, that was small comfort. Thirty-six hours later, the 325’s cockpit was restored and Gates was getting ready to pressurize the living spaces. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional. He had the use of one of Ferrera’s salvage frames to himself, and was keeping it unpressurized and free of gravity to ensure no one just walked in on him. He’d found the challenging physical labor helped set aside the fear that wearing a vac suit lit him up with. He didn’t like to think about how he’d react to getting in the pilot’s seat. I’m gonna need some serious down-time when this is over. In the meantime — Gates activated the life-support system. It held steady amber, indicating the system was charging the compartments with breathable atmosphere and hadn’t detected any leaks. He climbed around the framework to the wing, examining the site of his next project. The cooked missile pods. “Mister Zerezghi?” the suit comm crackled with the cover name Gates was using. “Yes?” “Your parts are here.” “Good. Push it in the airlock and leave it to me, I’ll take care of it.” “Will do, Mister Zerezghi. You hungry?” Gates realized he hadn’t eaten since starting work some eight hours past. “In an hour or so. Checking life-support now.” “You work fast.” “Needs must, when the devil drives.” “I hear you. I’ll have something ready for you in an hour.” “Thanks.” Gates tossed the empty food carton into the recycler and activated his MobiGlas. He had two new messages. The first was from Angelique: I’m on it, Armi. My friend got a bit spooked when I asked her about it, said the man you’re asking after is protected from on high. I’ll let you know as soon as I learn anything. The postscript was interesting: Oh, and congratulate me — I managed to quit the stuff. Good for you, Gates thought. He said as much in the return message, typed while using the head. The second message was from Seabrook. The heavily encrypted message took a moment for Gates’ MobiGlas to process: Gates, I know we aren’t supposed to talk, but if this message is intercepted, we need to hire whoever manages it! Just don’t reply. Your decrepit encoding will get stripped first thing. Anyway, I had to tell you: Stroller’s interrogation led to another name, a high-level hitter for Les Inconnus name of Jahangir Kung. Everything indicates he’s the ‘corporate security contractor’ who uncovered Agents Nawabi and Knowles. I like him for their murders, and he’s also listed as Chief of Security for the White Stag. On the other thing: I got you the funds you need for your ‘big purchase’ (I don’t think I want to know), but you’ve tapped me out completely. Things are adding up. Good luck. Smiling, Gates was back at work in minutes. The air hissed out of Gates’s borrowed pressure suit. That’s quite a wake up call, you moron! The hiss became a high squeal, then cut off entirely as the suit sealed itself. Pushing too hard. Too tired. Yawning, he’d let his grip on the cutting torch slip, holing the suit above the opposite forearm. Hands trembling, he shut down the torch. Lucky, stupid, clumsy, tired, old man. Time to call it a night. Feeling every one of his many years, Gates left the bay. He slept for eight solid, got up, and was at it again within the hour. The missile pods were so much fused junk, which was easily solved by cutting them loose. Ferrera could salvage them for the material if nothing else. He wasted the next few hours in mind-searing frustration trying to fit the new pods before realizing he’d misread the schematics. Cursing, he corrected the simple issue and linked the ship to the new systems. The attitude thrusters were next on the list. Four of them had to be scrapped, and two were looking a little anemic. Ferrara had secured three new thrusters and a pair of salvaged ones Gates would prefer not to use. The main drive had, for a miracle, not been directly damaged in the fight. The comp links had been ravaged, however, and would need replacement. His comm activated, “Another shipment, Mister Z.” “Same routine, please.” “I ain’t touching this one, Mister Z.” “Oh?” “My hazmat detectors say the contents are milspec explosives. Quite a large quantity.” “I’m on it, thanks.” He made sure the thruster was in place before leaving. “That’s some serious gear, Mister Z.” “I know. It’s for serious business.” “Just sayin’.” “And I hear you. There’s nothing that can be traced back to you.” “Easy for you to say.” “I mean it.” Ferrera shrugged. “Again, it’s not your ass going to get worked over if it’s otherwise.” Gates rolled his neck, tried to relax, force himself not to go where instinct wanted to take him. Instead he said, “Ferrera, I give you my word, this will not come back on you.” Ferrera went still, realizing too late that he’d made Gates start thinking of him as a potential problem. Problems in this kind of thing usually had simple, fatal solutions. “I’m sorry, Mister Z. It’s my natural state to worry.” “I get that, and I can only say I’m doing everything I can to make sure this doesn’t come back on you,” Gates hiked a thumb at his chest, “And I’ve been doing this a while.” Ferrera looked at Gates a good long time, but eventually nodded. “I accept your word. I’m sorry to have doubted you.” “I understand your concern. I’ll be out of your hair in forty-eight hours, assuming the test-flight goes without a hitch.” “Want to eat?” Ferrera asked. Gates accepted the olive branch. An hour later he was back at work, pushing even harder. Ferrera might not — probably won’t — betray me, but the sooner I’m off, the better for everyone. Each thruster wasn’t too difficult to hook up, but making sure they were properly linked to the comp was time consuming. Gates managed to get the new thrusters installed and working properly. The two thrusters he’d thought to salvage proved beyond his ability to save. Disappointed, he went ahead with installing the used ones Ferrera had found. The first required some tinkering before it would function properly, but worked out. The other fit perfectly and the first time, surprising him. Despite the late hour, Gates started on the weapons systems. One of the Omnisky VIIs had been destroyed outright and two of the others were off-line because the power coupling had been destroyed. The new cannon proved harder to replace than the coupling, but not by much. The mass driver had ammo feed problems that occupied his every waking moment for the next day and well into the next night before he was able to resolve them. The enhanced sensor suite he’d had was blown, but he managed to get basic fire control and navigation sensors back in working order by the simple expedient of replacing the entire system. “She’s ready to go,” Gates said as his host entered the galley. He’d taken the time to lay out breakfast for the two of them. “Ahead of schedule?” Ferrera asked, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. “Ever thought about salvage work? I could use someone works as hard as you.” “I’ll keep the offer in mind, if I’m back this way,” Gates said. I may actually need work, if I make it through. Suspension is likely the least of the punishments that’ll be in order if Angelique can’t come through for me on the other side of this. “You going to test-fly her?” “Yes, but if it doesn’t need work, I won’t be back,” Gates said, holding out a coffee. Ferrera grinned as he took the drink. “If you really screwed up the repairs, you may not be able to come back.” That startled a laugh from Gates. “True.” “You got everything you need?” “Yes. And I left you a bit of a bonus, for your trouble.” “Thanks. Unnecessary, but thanks.” “You did everything I asked you to, and without complaint.” Another grin, “More or less.” Gates answered with his own smile, “Yeah, more or less.” The 325 handled just as well as it did before, it was his own state of mind that concerned him. Never had nerves like that, just putting on a damn flight suit. Better not happen when things kick off. Got to be ready … . . . to be continued Links ----- No links available. Images ------ 1 image/jpeg [ ![](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/n6ik8s2agc03ur/source/SeparateLawFI4.jpg) ](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/n6ik8s2agc03ur/source/SeparateLawFI4.jpg) SeparateLawFI4.jpg [Details](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/640) Last Modified 12 years ago Size 1.49 MB [Source](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/n6ik8s2agc03ur/source/SeparateLawFI4.jpg) [Info](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/640) Metadata -------- CIG ID 13261 Channel Undefined Category Undefined Series A Separate Law Comments 34 Published 12 years ago (2013-09-13T00:00:00+00:00) [RSI Article](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/comm-link/serialized-fiction/13261-A-SEPARATE-LAW-PART-TEN) [API](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/api/comm-links/13261)