The Spaceport's not as fun a place as it used to be, but I don't really remember what it used to be like, so I winged it. I sort of gather that it's a punishment post for SACUL, these days, too - the combined mischief of several clone-Wraiths likely takes its toll.
SACUL likely has some jurisdictional problems when it comes to spacegoing Earthlings who aren't US citizens, too. :)
*****
I got Dis to make sure I was awake in time to watch as we came out of hyperspace near Earth. He did this by abruptly cranking his music to ear-bleeding levels, so I was halfway across the room levelling a blaster at nothing by the time I woke up.
He dropped the music back to less painful levels once I lowered my blaster. I glared at him while he ignored me, and I made myself some caf in what passed for the galley, had a quick sonic shower and went to the cockpit. I sat watching the twist and flow of hyperspace, sipping caf, and had to admit I felt more human than I had in a while.
In a moment of whimsy, I began humming the Doctor Who theme - I guess hyperspace reminded me of the old Tom Baker title sequence. Dis must have heard me, because fairly soon, Orbital's take on the theme began to thrum through the cabin.
And so I had a grin on my face when the swirl became starlines, which eased into familiar constellations I hadn't realised I missed. I'd promised myself this, ever since I missed seeing it throughout the whole Admonitor debacle - I would take the time to see Earth from space.
We were coming in from the northern hemisphere, and we were approaching the terminator line, the stark line of shadow that separates night from day. Light was slowly revealing the outlines of Europe - as I watched, Italy shook off the cloak of night.
Sure, I was more-or-less in exactly the wrong place to see the land of my birth, but that wasn't where I was headed in any event. I sat there and took in the slowly-growing blue marble hanging in the blackness. For the first twenty years of my life, pretty much everyone I had ever heard of, met, or ever would meet, inhabited that one, tiny planet. My horizons had expanded since then - hell, they'd expanded to the point where my universe was no longer bounded by horizons.
I found myself wondering if I'd done the right thing, all those years ago, first moving in with the Ewok farm and then agreeing to assist in the search for Quiara (and hadn't that blown out of all proportion). I wouldn't have seen and done all the amazing things of the last dozen or so years, but I'd still have a family I spoke to. Hell, maybe even have started one of my own.
But there's not a lot of point dwelling on might-have-beens. I might have been hit by a truck or something. (Though given my track record, I'm not entirely certain that would have been game over.)
The comms console pinged, and the hologram of one of the Faaces resolved on the saucer, decked out in an impressive dress uniform with more frills than an explosion at a doily factory. "Unidentified vessel," he barked, "this is Terra Control. This is restricted space. Turn back at once, or you will be fired upon." Very authoritative, of course.
I leaned back in the pilot's seat. "Terra Control, shuttle Dirtbox requesting clearance. Authorisation code to follow. Terra Five. Yub. Yub."
The hologrammatic Faace frowned at me. "Crispy?" He said at last. "I didn't recognise you with the -" he gestured at his face, mirroring where my augmetic covered mine. "Did you lose your eye again?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Just got a plugin. Am I cleared?"
Faace nodded. "Transmitting the vector now. You'll dock here first, and then we'll see about getting you planetside. It's not as simple as it used to be."
"Roger that, Terra Control. Dirtbox out."
I heard Dis grumbling in the living compartment, and the Dirtbox veered around. In a matter of minutes, our sensors pinged the Spaceport, and a few minutes after that, we'd landed. The Dirtbox was small enough to fit directly into a hangar bay, so I patted Dis on the dome and got off the ship.
I wasn't expecting to be met by two MiB-style suits. I certainly wasn't expecting a contingent of armed clones backing them up (though to be fair, none of them looked particularly happy with the situation). It looked like the suits had just tapped the nearest clones, put blasters in their hands and gotten them to fall in line.
"Mr. Nolan," said the foremost suit, a woman with an American accent, severely pulled-back hair and an expression who could curdle milk. "I am Agent Rayne, and this," she nodded back at the black guy standing behind her, "is Agent Jefferson. We need to talk."
**********
They put me in an interview room, and left me to wait an hour or two. Dis kept in touch, saying that he'd sealed the Dirtbox, and that the MiB had tried to gain access. I put my feet up, muttered 'Jabberwocky' to myself half a jillion times, and waited.
Finally, Agent Rayne opened the door. "Feet off the table," she ordered curtly as she sat down across from me.
I let the mome raths outgrabe once more, and then prompted her, "Please."
"Now," she said. I shrugged, and left my feet where they were. She scowled, reached across to dislodge my feet, but I moved them smoothly before she could touch them, then stood up and stretched.
"You need more comfortable chairs," I said, unkinking my back. "These are crap."
"Sit down, Mr. Nolan," she said.
"Please," I said again, then dropped to the deck and started doing some push-ups.
"Please," she said through clenched teeth. I pushed myself upright, gave her my most smarmy grin, and sat down.
"You'd do well not to try my patience," she growled. "The rules have changed since you left your homeworld behind."
"Manners have deteriorated, for a start," I said blandly.
She narrowed her eyes. "Do you think this is a joke? Do you know what I can do to you?"
I held up one finger. "No, because jokes need to be funny." I held up a second finger, not too coincidentally mimicking an ancient gesture attributed to British longbowmen. "No, because you've not explained who you are or what you're doing here."
"I'm with SACUL. We have purview over alien incursions on Earth."
"So we're done, then," I said. "I'm not an alien."
"You arrive on a spaceship, looking like some kind of robot pirate, and you're trying to tell me you're not an alien. It seems to me the burden of proof is on you."
"You're really not very good at this, are you?" I asked. "You called me Mr. Nolan the moment I got off my ship. That name never went over any transmissions, so it follows you've got a file on me. And that file probably includes the fact I was born in Brisbane, Australia, which I'll concede is not in the US of A, but is still very much -"
"Listen!" she barked. "Your ship is an alien artifact. For that matter, that thing on your face is an alien artifact. Your weapons? Alien. Your clothes? Alien. You may not be an alien, but everything about you is very much my job. And we will not let you take that technology down to the planet." She leaned forward. "You're right, I've read your file. And what I see there is that you're a crazed psychopath. Split personality, schizophrenia, and oh, turning on your teammates the moment your blood's up. With alien armaments, you'd be a menace to this entire planet."
I beamed at her, but it wasn't supposed to be a friendly expression. "I've been in therapy," I said. "I'm altogether integrated, these days." I glanced around conspiratorially and leaned forward. "I do hope you're not a psych major, because your diagnosis sucks." I let my smile fade. "But here's the thing. If you've read my file, you know the kinds of things I'm capable of, and the kinds of things I'm willing to do. What on Earth, if you'll pardon the expression, makes you think that you can stop me?"
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Nolan?" she asked. Oooh, she was a fighter, this one.
"Not at all. Simply pointing out that our bargaining positions are fragile." I leaned back. "I've no doubt that if I fought my way off the Spaceport and down to the planet that things would get very unpleasant very quickly for me. Of course, given it's your job to keep secrets, I can do you a lot of harm even if you take me down. And, of course, in this example, you is SACUL, not you you, because you'd be dead."
"We would take you down. We're tougher than you think."
"You see? That would be bad for me. So, bluster, control, all that poodoo, is just not going to cut it."
"What do you propose, then, since you're being so magnanimous." Oh noes, the sarcasm. I almost might start bleeding.
"I won't make waves," I said. I gestured at my augmetic. "This is just a plugin. I've got an NRI-issue cosmetic I can replace it with, and that's supposed to be undetectable by pretty much anything Earth has to offer." I hesitated. "Though I guess poking it with a stick might work." I waved out in the general direction of my ship. "I'm heading to Mendellia, where a Galactic ship's not precisely a new sight. But in the spirit of co-operation, I'll try to put it out of sight."
"And what do you want in return for these... concessions?"
"Stay out of my way, and don't touch my stuff. I'm a private citizen of the Kingdom of Mendellia and the Commonwealth of Australia, and my ship and everything on it was earned from the sweat of my brow."
Rayne snorted. "Private citizen. Yeah."
"I shed my blood, risked my life and lost count of the people I killed to keep this planet from Imperial tyranny," I said. "If not for me and mine, you'd be saluting Eugor Atner as your lord and master."
"Your point?"
I spread my hands. "My offer's on the table. I've no desire to set myself up as some sort of Galactic tinpot. My record speaks for that." I shrugged. "But if you want to go ahead with the everybody-loses-bloodbath plan, just say the word."
Rayne turned away, one finger to her ear, and listened intently. "Fine," she sighed resignedly. "You are hereby directed not to infringe any sovereign airspace except by prior arrangement. You can keep your toys, but we'll be watching you. There's no Terra Group any more, so don't expect us to tolerate your screwups." She scowled at me. "And we've got teeth, Mr. Nolan. Sharp ones."
"I don't recall seeing your teeth on the Admonitor, Agent Rayne," I said. "Make sure you know what you're biting before you use them."
"Clones," said Rayne, her finger in her ear again, "escort Mr. Nolan to his ship and get him the first available vector to Mendellia." Two Jaansons - or was that Croowes? - came through the door with apologetic expressions, and I stood up to meet them.
"Keep your nose clean, Mr. Nolan," said Rayne as I was politely hustled out, "or the next time we meet you might be missing both eyes." The door shut behind the Weeses and me, neatly giving her the last word.