Дэвид Нордли - How Beer Saved the World

A teacup rattled in a saucer. Master Harte himself served her a cuppa.

“Thank you, sir.” She sipped her tea.

She ought to begin her story with what had happened at the fish market. Odd, how the houndstooth knave had known she’d shop in London today, then meet up with the Master. It was almost like someone— The backs of Eleanor’s hands tingled. When Parker’s death had shocked all of Brighton House, Mrs. Blake had insisted Eleanor travel with the Master and go buy a blasted eel. May Britannia rule forever! Mrs. Blake must have let the knave know. That shrew might even have handed him the reward he’d referred to.

“I think, sir,” Eleanor said, “you’ll need a new cook by sunrise.”

No doubt Master Harte would soon agree.

Jack couldn’t help falling in love every time he looked at her, this thing of absolute beauty. She had nice curves, sleek design and he even liked the color, a luscious cherry red. Better still, she was almost paid off.

He had borrowed thousands of credits and pawned everything he owned to buy the Sundancer , a Valkyrie Class light star freighter. He’d gotten her second hand, at one of the Confederation Customs Agency’s auctions of confiscated craft. She’d gone up for auction just as he was walking away from the Navy; fifteen years of fighting other people’s wars and he’d been ready to look out for himself for a while. This made the Sundancer a kind of ‘rebound’ relationship for him, and it was love at first flight.

He climbed up the gangway on a bright sunny morning, and felt the warmth of her exhaust vents mixing with the spice-scented air of the planet Tortuga. The hatch recognized him instantly, sliding open as he approached.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called, as he stepped aboard. Of course, the empty ship gave him no reply.

Captain Jack Galloway liked being his own boss. He made his own plans and minded his own business. He could fly the ship in his bathrobe if he pleased; but he preferred his old, black leather jacket with the logo of a New Vegas bordello on the back. Jack didn’t recall exactly how he acquired the jacket; much of that night would always be a blur to him. He did seem to recall seeing the bordello’s bouncer wearing it as he entered the place. However, he wasn’t so sure about when or how he left. It could have been through the door or the window? Anyway, the Sundancer didn’t have a crew to comment on his fashion sense. The ship’s numerous automated features made her a one-man starship. Just the way he liked it.

Striding through the curved, modern passageways, he felt the cool air circulating through her internal vents. He took his seat behind the controls. With Sundancer’s state of the art console; he only had to look at the access control for a moment for the software to scan his eye and automatically pull up the gangway. He never installed the autopilot protocols however; he enjoyed flying. Lovingly, he took hold of the control stick and focused his eyes on the commo unit. The ‘transmit’ light came on a half second later.

In a clear voice he announced, “This is MJS Sundancer to Tortuga Control, request permission to depart.”

“ Sundancer , you free to go, mon. Have a safe trip and be back soon,” came the usual response.

“Tortuga Control, you know I can’t stay away,” he smiled. “See you in two weeks.” Jack loved Tortuga, a warm and pleasant world with manners as relaxed as its laws. Of course, it was a sharp contrast to the planet he was going to, but them’s the breaks.

The Sundancer’s thrusters flared, as Jack gave her full power. Like an angel ascending on wings of fire, she swiftly reached escape velocity and broke free of the planet’s gravity well. The auto-nav plotted the fastest course possible to the planet Isis, in the Alpha System. In the ship’s hold she carried 20,000 stuffed panda toys. In her plumbing she carried 10,000 liters of very fine beer. The toys were legal, the beer… not so much.

Having pipes filled with beer had certain disadvantages. Sure, all he needed to do was turn on a facet to pour himself a cold one, but taking a shower in beer is not a good idea, and using the toilet would just flush away profits. So, for the next six days, Jack drank and bathed with bottled water. The empty bottles also had a use, and relieved him of the need to use the ship’s toilet for the most part. Unfortunately, this uncomfortable arrangement was completely necessary to get his illicit cargo past the Isis Public Protectors.

Beer wasn’t exactly illegal on Isis. The planet even operated a small, state run, brewery. Unfortunately, that brewery produced some of the most God-awful, crap-tastic beer in the known universe. The label on this vile brew called it ‘Isis Nectar.’ Everybody who tried it called it ‘Isis Piss.’ Jack tried a sip of it once, and it instantly reminded him of the time he passed by a bad ammonia leak from a recycling system. Still, the state that produced this sudsy abomination intended to sell it. So, how did they get folks to choose their crap beer over the competition? Simple, they taxed the living hell out of all imported brews, until most folks had little choice but to choke it down or go through life sober… and who would want to do that?

Sundancer’s pipes contained nothing but the best, a brand called “Rocket Fuel Beer”. Once it got past the state’s customs goons, it sold for a reasonable price in taverns planet-wide. Jack felt a prick of pride for giving the common man his due. And by going ’round the taxman Jack made himself one hell of a profit. At this rate, he figured, the Sundancer would be paid off in only three more years.

Approaching Isis’s orbit, Jack’s scanners picked up an outgoing blip. Automatically, the I screens flashed the ident’; the MJS Vagabond , an old tub of a medium freighter, home-ported on a nowhere planet called Tarkan. He just shook his head, amazed that something that ugly could actually fly. Still, no reason to be unfriendly, he glanced once again at his commo unit.

“This is MJS Sundancer to MJS Vagabond . Lulu, how the hell are you?”

The Vagabond’s captain replied in her thick Russian accent, “Jack, you son of bitch, long time, no see. We hear you not making Earth to Rama run anymore.”

“No, I got tired of doing military cargoes. Made me feel like I was still back in the service; and you know how I love taking orders. What are you guys up to now-days?” Jack asked.

“We do run from Tortuga to Isis, mostly.”

“No shit? Me too. Next time we’re on the same ball of dirt, we’ve got to have a drink together.”

“Is deal, we buy you first round, you buy every round after.”

“Ha!” Jack laughed. “Well, I got Isis Control on the other channel. Suppose I better get my approach vector before they start shooting. Safe voyage, Vagabond .”

“Catch you on flip side, Sundancer . Lulu, out.” And with that, Jack switched to the other channel to get his landing instructions. He followed them to the letter all the way to a docking pad at the main starport.

“Captain Galloway, I am Protector Johnson. May I see your manifest?” said the man in the steel-blue uniform with the standard issue, bureaucratic face.

“Yes, Sir,” Jack replied, as he handed the man his printout.

The official studied the manifest much longer than Jack thought necessary. “Captain, I see you are transporting toys again. Is it to the same buyer as before?”