The Case of the Arrogant Duke
The maître-de held the man’s card at a distance as if it was diseased and sniffed dismissively. He peered closely at its owner, who responded with a smile and a look of polite impatience. The maître-de waved for the house slave, who got up from his corner stool and ambled over. The house slave, a boy of 12, gave a cursory bow, took the card, and ambled over to the Duke’s table.
The Duke’s personal slave stopped the house slave with her lacquered hands, took the card, glanced at it, and bent over the table to whisper something to the Duke. The Duke nodded, and continued eating his lunch of poached Aepyornis egg and toast. The Duke’s personal slave approached the man with the cool grace that marked her as an Imperial slave as surely as the discrete brand at the nape of her neck.
“You’re late.”
“There was a queue for docking,” the man said.
The personal slave’s sneer deepened as she led him over to the table.
The man extended his hand to the Duke and introduced himself.
“Miles Malone, Claims Investigator”, he said.
The Duke smiled thinly at him and gestured with his fork for him to sit.
“I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting,” the Duke said.
Miles sat heavily into the seat across from the Duke, smiled, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“There is no smoking here. The Duke is still eating his breakfast!” the Duke’s personal slave hissed.
Miles nodded and put the cigarettes back in his pocket.
“So, the Achenar’s Peace.”
“Yes. I have to say, I was surprised when my claim was flagged for investigation”, said the Duke. He cut a piece of egg and placed it on a piece of toast with his fork.
“We were surprised by the claim,” said Miles. He pulled out a pocket terminal, and glanced at his notes.
“The Achenar’s Peace left Adelman Station in Cubeo on January 3rd of 3033. The ship manifest listed marine equipment as the only cargo.”
“792 tons of marine equipment”, said the Duke testily. “Worth more than 3 million credits.”
“Right, 792 tons. The ship was bound for Dini station in LTT 198. Market value of $3,101,472 at galactic average prices, more at LTT 198. But it never arrived.”
The Duke nodded. “Just so,” he said, and placed the carefully arranged bite of egg and toast in his mouth.
“So I’m here to find out what happened,” Miles said.
“All this information was in the claim,” the Duke said.
“Indulge me,” Miles said.
“Pirates. We were set upon in the Polochans system while we were fuel scooping. Our FSD drive was still cooling down when the interdiction alarm went off. We tried to fight the interdiction, but we were overwhelmed. It was a wing of three Pythons. They attacked without warning. We fought valiantly; I consigned two of them to the void. But the third one disabled our thrusters. After that it was quick work.”
“You were flying unshielded.”
“We were not expecting to be interdicted.”
“And you lost your crewmates.”
“Yes.”
Miles glanced at his notes. “Polochans was a low security system at the time due to a civil war.”
The Duke made an impatient waving motion with his hand.
“Frankly, this is of no relevance Mr. Malone. Am I in good standing with the Pilots Federation?”
“Yes.”
“Have I paid my insurance deductible?”
“Yes, that seems to be in order.”
“Then where is my replacement Cutter?” protested the Duke. “I have been reduced to flying my family’s Imperial Courier while I wait for your company to pay my claim. The indignity!”
Miles grimaced.
“According to the terms of your membership in the Pilots Federation, you are entitled to insurance on a vessel so long as three conditions are met: one, a Pilots Federation licensed pilot was flying the spacecraft, two, the pilot was not carrying cargo considered illicit in the jurisdiction in which the craft was destroyed, and three, the original point of departure was station that is a member of the Pilots Federation.”
“Marine equipment is certainly not illicit in Polochans,” sneered the Duke.
“Just so,” said Miles.
The Duke placed his napkin on the table, and stood. His personal slave produced a small brush, and began brushing his person thoroughly to remove crumbs.
“It has been nearly thirty days since I filed my claim. If you do not resolve this soon, I will be making a formal complaint to the Pilots Federation and, if necessary, to the court of the Emperor.”
The Duke’s personal slave finished her brushing with a flourish, snapping the small brush back into its holster. She and the Duke departed.
Miles flagged down a waiter, ordered some coffee, and pondered what to do next.
“Seems like an open and shut case,” Norris said. His holographic projection flickered briefly, and then resolved. The station’s comms relay was allowing Miles to communicate directly with the main office in Hartford, Conneticut, but coverage was patchy. Miles made a mental note to have his comms checked.
“Hmmmm….”
“Miles, is this another one of your hunchs?”
“Something doesn’t add up. An experienced pilot fly’s an unshielded Cutter through a Low security system. Why not go the long way round, find a path that’s high security at every system?”
Norris’s holo shrugged. Smoke from Miles’s cigarette floated through the holo’s forehead.
“Why do they ever cut through low security systems? Profit. How many times have we seen pilots cut corners? If you think its fraud, just remember, the pilot lost 792 tons, which we aren’t on the hook for. If he was going to conduct fraud, why carry all that cargo? I’ve got seven other cases I need you to investigate after this one gets wrapped up.”
“I just need a few more days.”
“Fine, but hurry it up.”
“Yes, boss.”
Norris’s holo flickered and then vanished, leaving Miles alone in the cockpit of the Lucy II. Miles reached for his guitar, and plucked absently at a few strings.
“792 tons,” he mused. “Ship, bring up the schematic for the Achenar’s Peace.”
A hologram of the huge Cutter slowly unfolded in front of him. Miles played the first few bars of The Girl from Robigo, lost in thought.
He snapped his fingers, put his guitar down, and stood.
The Duke was finalizing payment terms with the quartermaster to top-off fuel of the Kahina’s Delight when he saw the claims adjuster waddling towards him on the docks. He exchanged glances with Lachenar. She rolled her eyes at him, and with her lacquered fingernails in the family sign language signed something which translated roughly to “a broken slave often still returns.” He smiled at her joke and then turned to face the corporate bureaucrat.
“Ah, Mr. Malone. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you’ve come to give me my check?” said the Duke. The quartermaster paused his haggling, and watched the proceedings with mild amusement.
“You said you were set upon in Polochans while you were fuel scooping, right?”
The Duke suppressed a grimace.
“Yes, that’s right,”
“You filed a flight plan with a manifest listing 792 tons of cargo. I’ve checked the schematics for Achenar’s Peace; you didn’t have room for a fuel scoop with that much cargo. So either the manifest was wrong, or you are lying.”
“The manifest is certainly not wrong. I sold the Duke the 792 tons myself,” offered the quartermaster.
The Duke’s shot a frustrated glance at the quartermaster. His grimace deepened.
“A thousand apologies, Mr. Malone. One fly’s so many missions, it is hard to keep them all straight sometimes. I must have misspoken. You are correct, we indeed did not have a fuel scoop, or shield…. Yes, I remember now, we did not have a fuel scoop.”
“Where did you refuel?” asked Miles.
“If I remember correctly, we refueled a few times. At Venet, Segoveduwa and Osissi Hua.”
“That’s not enough. With that ship, laden, you would only have a range of maybe 50 light years before you would have to refuel.”
The Duke paused to think.
“Putamasin. I think we also may have refueled at Putamasin.”
“Right.”
Miles turned and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” the Duke shouted.
“I’m sure the stations in each of those systems will be able confirm or deny if you were ever there,” Miles said without turning around.
A dozen messages to a dozen stations across four systems were sent. A quick drink at the bar while he waited for the replies and Miles had received confirmation that the Achenar’s Peace did indeed dock and refuel at three stations; Tan Vision in Venet, Nojiri Refinery in Segoveduwa, and Sutter Orbital in Osissi Hua.
Corbusier Arsenal and Piccard Observatory in Putamasin both indicated that the Achenar’s Peace had not docked with them in January. Weil Orbital did not respond, so Miles decided to fly out there and see what was going on.
Miles found the emptiness of space comforting. In a particularly empty system, a system where no-one had ever been before and no-one else would likely see again for a millennia, he would drop from super cruise, cut the engines, and listen to the sound of the life support systems humming. He would gaze out at the stars, and feel his own loneliness well up inside him. He would hold that loneliness close, his feelings his only companion in the starry expanse.
He was enjoying just such a moment of profound emptiness when the Kahina’s Delight emerged from super cruise in front of him.
Miles’ face registered mild surprise as his fingers toggled the comms.
“Hail, Duke Targasin. This is a social call I’m sure?”
“I find myself forced to intercede in your petty investigation. I admit I will take some pleasure in teaching you a lesson… One which unfortunately you won’t live long enough to profit from.”
“I’m just doing my job Duke. I’m willing to let this go if you just move along. No one has to get hurt.”
The comms disengaged. A message flashed across Miles screen; “WARNING: Kahina’s Delight has deployed hardpoints.”
Miles grunted, diverted power to his shield and fastened his flight harness.
Laser fire danced over the Lucy II’s shields as Miles banked hard, boosted away from the Courier and deployed his own hardpoints. The Courier boosted as well, pouring laser fire onto the Adder’s aft shields.
Miles flicked a secondary switch. Mines began pouring out of the Adder; the Courier dodged up and down, left and right, its burst lasers eating away at Miles shields. The Adder’s shields collapsed. Sparks shot out of the control panel beneath Mile’s hands and smoke began to fill the cockpit. Miles could smell the thick stench of ozone and impending death.
A shock mine caught the Courier. It rocked and spun wildly, hitting two other mines, its shields collapsing. With a grim smile, Miles switched flight assist off, executed a tight turn, and locked onto the Courier’s drives. A ball of hot plasma shot out of the front of the Adder and rolled like a bowling ball of death towards the Courier, smashing into the ships drives. The plasma connected again and again until the Courier’s drives were cracked and crumpled heaps of metal.
After that the fight was over. The Courier spun uncontrollably, firing it lasers sporadically as Miles systematically disabled all its hard points until the lasers stopped. Miles ceased fire.
Miles saw that the Duke requested voice comms, which Miles accepted.
“I find myself in a position where I must ask for your indulgence,” the Duke said. His voice was strained.
“Damn straight,” said Miles.
“How is it possible that I was beaten by a corporate bureaucrat?” The Duke’s voice was distorted and warped by interstellar interference and rage.
“I wasn’t always a claims adjuster,” said Miles.
Miles retracted his hardpoints and cut his engines as the security services arrived.
“I wish I could say it was a first. You’re okay?” asked Norris.
“I’m fine. I’m refueling and resupplying at Weil Orbital. I’ll be adding it to my expense report,” said Miles.
“So why did he fight?”
“Achenar’s Peace did dock at Weil Orbital, but the Duke wasn’t on it. The ship was being piloted by a crew member, who wasn’t a licensed pilot… and was not a member of the pilot’s federation.”
“Stupid. What was so important that the Duke didn’t captain the ship?”
“Apparently, there is a brothel in Nojiri Refinery. Rumor has it the Duke liked to stop off there for weeks at a time. It’s widely known.”
“And, since the Duke wasn’t piloting the ship the claim is invalid…. Good job Miles.”
“Thanks boss.”
“Wrap it up quick now, and get a fuel scoop or something, I’ve got another job for you,” said Norris.
Miles took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew smoke out through his nose.
“Where to this time?”
“Colonia.”
The maître-de held the man’s card at a distance as if it was diseased and sniffed dismissively. He peered closely at its owner, who responded with a smile and a look of polite impatience. The maître-de waved for the house slave, who got up from his corner stool and ambled over. The house slave, a boy of 12, gave a cursory bow, took the card, and ambled over to the Duke’s table.
The Duke’s personal slave stopped the house slave with her lacquered hands, took the card, glanced at it, and bent over the table to whisper something to the Duke. The Duke nodded, and continued eating his lunch of poached Aepyornis egg and toast. The Duke’s personal slave approached the man with the cool grace that marked her as an Imperial slave as surely as the discrete brand at the nape of her neck.
“You’re late.”
“There was a queue for docking,” the man said.
The personal slave’s sneer deepened as she led him over to the table.
The man extended his hand to the Duke and introduced himself.
“Miles Malone, Claims Investigator”, he said.
The Duke smiled thinly at him and gestured with his fork for him to sit.
“I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting,” the Duke said.
Miles sat heavily into the seat across from the Duke, smiled, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“There is no smoking here. The Duke is still eating his breakfast!” the Duke’s personal slave hissed.
Miles nodded and put the cigarettes back in his pocket.
“So, the Achenar’s Peace.”
“Yes. I have to say, I was surprised when my claim was flagged for investigation”, said the Duke. He cut a piece of egg and placed it on a piece of toast with his fork.
“We were surprised by the claim,” said Miles. He pulled out a pocket terminal, and glanced at his notes.
“The Achenar’s Peace left Adelman Station in Cubeo on January 3rd of 3033. The ship manifest listed marine equipment as the only cargo.”
“792 tons of marine equipment”, said the Duke testily. “Worth more than 3 million credits.”
“Right, 792 tons. The ship was bound for Dini station in LTT 198. Market value of $3,101,472 at galactic average prices, more at LTT 198. But it never arrived.”
The Duke nodded. “Just so,” he said, and placed the carefully arranged bite of egg and toast in his mouth.
“So I’m here to find out what happened,” Miles said.
“All this information was in the claim,” the Duke said.
“Indulge me,” Miles said.
“Pirates. We were set upon in the Polochans system while we were fuel scooping. Our FSD drive was still cooling down when the interdiction alarm went off. We tried to fight the interdiction, but we were overwhelmed. It was a wing of three Pythons. They attacked without warning. We fought valiantly; I consigned two of them to the void. But the third one disabled our thrusters. After that it was quick work.”
“You were flying unshielded.”
“We were not expecting to be interdicted.”
“And you lost your crewmates.”
“Yes.”
Miles glanced at his notes. “Polochans was a low security system at the time due to a civil war.”
The Duke made an impatient waving motion with his hand.
“Frankly, this is of no relevance Mr. Malone. Am I in good standing with the Pilots Federation?”
“Yes.”
“Have I paid my insurance deductible?”
“Yes, that seems to be in order.”
“Then where is my replacement Cutter?” protested the Duke. “I have been reduced to flying my family’s Imperial Courier while I wait for your company to pay my claim. The indignity!”
Miles grimaced.
“According to the terms of your membership in the Pilots Federation, you are entitled to insurance on a vessel so long as three conditions are met: one, a Pilots Federation licensed pilot was flying the spacecraft, two, the pilot was not carrying cargo considered illicit in the jurisdiction in which the craft was destroyed, and three, the original point of departure was station that is a member of the Pilots Federation.”
“Marine equipment is certainly not illicit in Polochans,” sneered the Duke.
“Just so,” said Miles.
The Duke placed his napkin on the table, and stood. His personal slave produced a small brush, and began brushing his person thoroughly to remove crumbs.
“It has been nearly thirty days since I filed my claim. If you do not resolve this soon, I will be making a formal complaint to the Pilots Federation and, if necessary, to the court of the Emperor.”
The Duke’s personal slave finished her brushing with a flourish, snapping the small brush back into its holster. She and the Duke departed.
Miles flagged down a waiter, ordered some coffee, and pondered what to do next.
“Seems like an open and shut case,” Norris said. His holographic projection flickered briefly, and then resolved. The station’s comms relay was allowing Miles to communicate directly with the main office in Hartford, Conneticut, but coverage was patchy. Miles made a mental note to have his comms checked.
“Hmmmm….”
“Miles, is this another one of your hunchs?”
“Something doesn’t add up. An experienced pilot fly’s an unshielded Cutter through a Low security system. Why not go the long way round, find a path that’s high security at every system?”
Norris’s holo shrugged. Smoke from Miles’s cigarette floated through the holo’s forehead.
“Why do they ever cut through low security systems? Profit. How many times have we seen pilots cut corners? If you think its fraud, just remember, the pilot lost 792 tons, which we aren’t on the hook for. If he was going to conduct fraud, why carry all that cargo? I’ve got seven other cases I need you to investigate after this one gets wrapped up.”
“I just need a few more days.”
“Fine, but hurry it up.”
“Yes, boss.”
Norris’s holo flickered and then vanished, leaving Miles alone in the cockpit of the Lucy II. Miles reached for his guitar, and plucked absently at a few strings.
“792 tons,” he mused. “Ship, bring up the schematic for the Achenar’s Peace.”
A hologram of the huge Cutter slowly unfolded in front of him. Miles played the first few bars of The Girl from Robigo, lost in thought.
He snapped his fingers, put his guitar down, and stood.
The Duke was finalizing payment terms with the quartermaster to top-off fuel of the Kahina’s Delight when he saw the claims adjuster waddling towards him on the docks. He exchanged glances with Lachenar. She rolled her eyes at him, and with her lacquered fingernails in the family sign language signed something which translated roughly to “a broken slave often still returns.” He smiled at her joke and then turned to face the corporate bureaucrat.
“Ah, Mr. Malone. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you’ve come to give me my check?” said the Duke. The quartermaster paused his haggling, and watched the proceedings with mild amusement.
“You said you were set upon in Polochans while you were fuel scooping, right?”
The Duke suppressed a grimace.
“Yes, that’s right,”
“You filed a flight plan with a manifest listing 792 tons of cargo. I’ve checked the schematics for Achenar’s Peace; you didn’t have room for a fuel scoop with that much cargo. So either the manifest was wrong, or you are lying.”
“The manifest is certainly not wrong. I sold the Duke the 792 tons myself,” offered the quartermaster.
The Duke’s shot a frustrated glance at the quartermaster. His grimace deepened.
“A thousand apologies, Mr. Malone. One fly’s so many missions, it is hard to keep them all straight sometimes. I must have misspoken. You are correct, we indeed did not have a fuel scoop, or shield…. Yes, I remember now, we did not have a fuel scoop.”
“Where did you refuel?” asked Miles.
“If I remember correctly, we refueled a few times. At Venet, Segoveduwa and Osissi Hua.”
“That’s not enough. With that ship, laden, you would only have a range of maybe 50 light years before you would have to refuel.”
The Duke paused to think.
“Putamasin. I think we also may have refueled at Putamasin.”
“Right.”
Miles turned and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” the Duke shouted.
“I’m sure the stations in each of those systems will be able confirm or deny if you were ever there,” Miles said without turning around.
A dozen messages to a dozen stations across four systems were sent. A quick drink at the bar while he waited for the replies and Miles had received confirmation that the Achenar’s Peace did indeed dock and refuel at three stations; Tan Vision in Venet, Nojiri Refinery in Segoveduwa, and Sutter Orbital in Osissi Hua.
Corbusier Arsenal and Piccard Observatory in Putamasin both indicated that the Achenar’s Peace had not docked with them in January. Weil Orbital did not respond, so Miles decided to fly out there and see what was going on.
Miles found the emptiness of space comforting. In a particularly empty system, a system where no-one had ever been before and no-one else would likely see again for a millennia, he would drop from super cruise, cut the engines, and listen to the sound of the life support systems humming. He would gaze out at the stars, and feel his own loneliness well up inside him. He would hold that loneliness close, his feelings his only companion in the starry expanse.
He was enjoying just such a moment of profound emptiness when the Kahina’s Delight emerged from super cruise in front of him.
Miles’ face registered mild surprise as his fingers toggled the comms.
“Hail, Duke Targasin. This is a social call I’m sure?”
“I find myself forced to intercede in your petty investigation. I admit I will take some pleasure in teaching you a lesson… One which unfortunately you won’t live long enough to profit from.”
“I’m just doing my job Duke. I’m willing to let this go if you just move along. No one has to get hurt.”
The comms disengaged. A message flashed across Miles screen; “WARNING: Kahina’s Delight has deployed hardpoints.”
Miles grunted, diverted power to his shield and fastened his flight harness.
Laser fire danced over the Lucy II’s shields as Miles banked hard, boosted away from the Courier and deployed his own hardpoints. The Courier boosted as well, pouring laser fire onto the Adder’s aft shields.
Miles flicked a secondary switch. Mines began pouring out of the Adder; the Courier dodged up and down, left and right, its burst lasers eating away at Miles shields. The Adder’s shields collapsed. Sparks shot out of the control panel beneath Mile’s hands and smoke began to fill the cockpit. Miles could smell the thick stench of ozone and impending death.
A shock mine caught the Courier. It rocked and spun wildly, hitting two other mines, its shields collapsing. With a grim smile, Miles switched flight assist off, executed a tight turn, and locked onto the Courier’s drives. A ball of hot plasma shot out of the front of the Adder and rolled like a bowling ball of death towards the Courier, smashing into the ships drives. The plasma connected again and again until the Courier’s drives were cracked and crumpled heaps of metal.
After that the fight was over. The Courier spun uncontrollably, firing it lasers sporadically as Miles systematically disabled all its hard points until the lasers stopped. Miles ceased fire.
Miles saw that the Duke requested voice comms, which Miles accepted.
“I find myself in a position where I must ask for your indulgence,” the Duke said. His voice was strained.
“Damn straight,” said Miles.
“How is it possible that I was beaten by a corporate bureaucrat?” The Duke’s voice was distorted and warped by interstellar interference and rage.
“I wasn’t always a claims adjuster,” said Miles.
Miles retracted his hardpoints and cut his engines as the security services arrived.
“I wish I could say it was a first. You’re okay?” asked Norris.
“I’m fine. I’m refueling and resupplying at Weil Orbital. I’ll be adding it to my expense report,” said Miles.
“So why did he fight?”
“Achenar’s Peace did dock at Weil Orbital, but the Duke wasn’t on it. The ship was being piloted by a crew member, who wasn’t a licensed pilot… and was not a member of the pilot’s federation.”
“Stupid. What was so important that the Duke didn’t captain the ship?”
“Apparently, there is a brothel in Nojiri Refinery. Rumor has it the Duke liked to stop off there for weeks at a time. It’s widely known.”
“And, since the Duke wasn’t piloting the ship the claim is invalid…. Good job Miles.”
“Thanks boss.”
“Wrap it up quick now, and get a fuel scoop or something, I’ve got another job for you,” said Norris.
Miles took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew smoke out through his nose.
“Where to this time?”
“Colonia.”