From: wolfone@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (Patrick Chester)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: Settling of Accounts: Intro
Date: 9 Sep 92 01:21:09 GMT
Reply-To: wolfone@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (Patrick Chester)
Distribution: na
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX
Originator: wolfone@sneezy.cc.utexas.edu

"Freighter *Prometheus*, this is Van Allen Control. You are cleared for 
docking. Debarking passengers should exit your main personnel airlock for
Customs inspection. Advise them to meet there with their passports and 
carry on belongings. Cargo inspection will be an hour after arrival. You may
proceed. Welcome to Terra. Van Allen Control, over."

"Much obliged, Van Allen," Captain Tillman transmited back."Beginning docking
procedures. Raedy to link to Docking Control." His fingers did a complex
tattoo over the holodynamic control panels that was incomprehensible to 
the man sitting in the spare acceleration couch. The small freighter's bridge
would have been cramped if Tillman hadn't done extensive modifications to the
ship to reduce the needed crew by half.

Manuever warning bells went off as the wedge shaped ship fired thrusters in
a pattern determined by the stations dock control computer. Tillman's  
experienced eyes watched the sensor screens for any stray ships while his
navigator monitored the *Prometheus*'s course for anomalies from her station.
Both were ready, out of habits drilled into them through decades of space
flight, to take control and abort in case of emergency. As usual, they 
did not need to do so and the freighter floated through the huge station's
main docking bay and entered the berth it was told to go into by Docking
Control. There was a series of slight lurches as the docking couples locked
on and a transfer tube attached to the main airlock.

"You two make it seem so easy," commented the young man sitting behind the
two crew members.                                  

His smile never reached his eyes, thought Mortimer Tillman. But then, they
haven't since the war. 	

"Bet you couldn't do it,"First Officer/Navigator Rebeca Cochrane said dryly.

"No, you're right," the man said humbly."But it still looks deceptively easy."
He got up."I'd better get ready for the customs inspection. I hope the medical
inspection isn't as bad as it was at the last world."

"It'll be worse,"Tillman said, mirth crinkling his old face."Terra is very
paranoid about alien diseases infecting Man's Cradle. You'll get the full
treatment. Especially since you're coming from a war zone."

"But biologicals weren't used on Lafor *or* Fulson,"the young man protested.

"Like I said, Terra doesn't take chances."

The young man unbuckled and floated out of his couch with the resignation of
a death row inmate who's last appeal has been denied. "Might as well get over
with it," he muttered as he kicked of to the lift and left the bridge.

Tillman turned to Cochrane."Now you know why I rarely touch dirt," he said.

Cochrane merely grinned.


********************************************************************************
The young man floated through the door to the stateroom and woke the hulking
man sleeping in the top bunk.

"Time to get up Mike. We have customs to go through."

Mike groaned."Can't they just carry me through while I sleep?"

"Sorry friend, no reprieve for the damned. Now let's get going. We have to
catch the shuttle down to Chiba to set up ops."

Mike threw a pillow at him and dug himself out of the webbing.

"I hate mornings," he mumbled.

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Copyright September 1992 by Patrick Chester
This can be seen as a prologue. How am I doing so far?

-- 
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Patrick Chester            |"The earth is too fragile a basket in which to keep
wolfone@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu |  all your eggs." Robert A. Heinlein
claypigeon                 |"The meek shall inherit the earth. The rest of us
(Destroyer Fiend)          |  are going to the stars." Anonymous
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Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo