Regulation
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  ahro


The Kiss Me in the Dark had been loaded to its full eighty thousand ton capacity, its holds filled with refined ores, farmed meat and Markellan whiskey produced on This Far. All of the crew were aboard and had been preparing for departure when they had received an all-ships message from Transcosm’s corporate headquarters on God’s Armpit.

The message was in real-time, which more than anything else indicated that they felt it was important.

Lavrent Khosrau, the company’s chief executive officer, looked like he hadn’t had much sleep recently; there were deep circles under his eyes, his ears drooped and his suit appeared rumpled. The kangaroo flexed his shoulders and leaned forward slightly. “Friends, after some consultation with the Colonial government, the Imperials and our competitors, we’ve decided to start convoying in order to counter the raiders and pirates that the Confederacy has sent into Colonial and Kashlanin-occupied space.”

“About time,” Fuji muttered. A few others nodded.

“There is some safety in numbers,” Khosrau went on, “and you won’t be going unescorted. The Colonies will assign ships to guard each convoy, and we have assurances from the Imperial Government that they will respond if called upon. This is in response to calls from some captains to arm their ships,” and nearly half the crew turned to glance at Meredith.

The golden palomino smiled. “Message received, I guess,” and several furs chuckled at that. Jemel Fikset merely smirked; his family’s ships went armed as a matter of course, based on old tradition and the fact that they didn’t exactly trust any business that wasn’t theirs.

“Each convoy will be a maximum of thirty ships,” the kangaroo continued, “with a ten-ship escort. All Transcosm-operated ships are being sent a datapacket describing the system in greater detail, as well as supplying you with rendezvous coordinates.” He took a breath. “Friends, we’ve taken this step out of concern for your safety, so please don’t ignore this.”

“The Inter-Colonial Commerce Syndicate is also developing a plan to move the hyperspace beacons,” and everyone’s ears perked. “The Confed won’t know about the new waypoints, but you all will. Survey ships have already started mapping new routes. On the bright side, it may shorten some travel distances and make the network more efficient.” Khosrau smiled. “Stay safe, everyone.” His image was replaced by the Transcosm logo.

The crew started muttering among themselves. Jemel sat back and stuck his long legs out, grumbling, “Well, this is a shit sandwich.”

Christina George snorted. “Hopefully we won’t have to take a bite of that,” the cow said to the wolf, and several furs laughed.

Meredith stood up, and the chatter quieted down somewhat. “This is the plan that the bosses think will work,” the mare said. “I happen to agree with them, and I’m sure that a lot of you agree with it as well. But if anyone wants to resign, we’re scheduled to break orbit in two hours.” Her tail swished, just slightly. “If you’re off shift, dismissed. Those of us still on shift, let’s get ready to move.”

Two hours later the freighter, with twenty-five crew still aboard, undocked from the mooring buoy and headed for one of the system’s hyperspace transfer points.