Mr. Johnson, Phobos

The SDF-1 had aroused considerable attention I guess, because no sooner had I parked on Phobos than I heard talk about it... well, no. Talk about rival projects to upstage the upstarts.

"...submarines," explained a fen wearing a reasonable fascimile of a Star Force uniform. "Then we go down there and build air tanks inside the ship and fill them with hydrogen. The added bouyancy will lift the Yamato to the surface and we can get to work."

I frowned. "Interesting idea, but offhand, wasn't the Yamato broken in half when it sank? Do you really want to spend a month in the 'Danelaw just welding it back together?"

He looked like he might cry. "But, but it would be so cool!"

"That's true," I said. "Let me think... maybe you should use a more accessible ship? I think..." I pulled out what had started life as a Gameboy and now acted as a remote for the computers back in my car. "Aha. Scapa Flow!"

I got a blank look. "The German High Seas Fleet was scuttled there in 1919," I explained. "The ships there should be in much better condition than ships that were sunk in battle. Most of them were raised for scrap but there are three Konig-class battleships still down there. The only problem would be that they're not in international waters, so the salvage laws would be different. Do you know anyone in that part of the world?"

Half-an-hour later I had some details to forward to my sister back on the Earth and a percentage for negotiating a purchase price off the German or British governments (whichever was owner these days) for the ships. It's not like it would cost them anything to let the Fen's go collect some scrap metal that had been deemed too inaccessible to recover for most of a century.

Things like that can really mess up the relationship between the Fendom and the 'danelaw since neither side seems to really understand why the other does anything (with a few exceptions). After running afoul of several legal problems shortly after I fixed up a no-longer-roadworthy Vauxhall Cavalier with some handwavium, I'd finallly come to an agreement with my-sister-the-tax-accountant and started a career that seems to be someplace between bounty hunter and lawyer these days.

The Jaime Retief, as I call her, doesn't really look much different from the other vehicles parked inside one of Phobos' outer caves/parking-garages. The paintjob had gone from a dirty-blue to the sort of rainbow effect that you can get in oil when the light catches it right, and it moved and formed shapes at times. I'm told that when I'm inside it it moves faster, but I can barely see it at that point. The wheels don't spin any more, in fact they fold up into the undercarriage when I don't need them for landing gear. The fact is that the doors don't open either, so I generally enter or leave through driver's side window. And for some reason, the roof always looks like a Confederate Flag when I do that. At least the computer stopped whistling dixie everytime I had a new email.

"Hey, General Lee!" called one of the girls behind the Venus Terraforming Project. I could tell that she was involved in that by the seifuku - don't ask. Let's just say that despite the VTP being well behind it's Martian rival due to the much greater technical challenges, there was a great enthusiasm for helping the girls with anything that they wanted for it. I'd have been more enthusiastic if they didn't call me 'General Lee' all the time.

"Hey there," I answered her. "And how can I help my favorite Sailor Senshi today?"

"How about helping us in a little mission for love and justice?" she asked brightly and I felt my stomach sinking. That sort of request never boded well, not from femme-fens whose ships were saccharine enough to appear in Care-Bear cartoons.

The man stood in the middle of the cluster of seifuku-clad women didn't seem anything like as happy as most Fen woul be to be in that position. Occasional frictions aside, they're really very good company and not for just the obvious reasons. They're also in the position of being just a little picky about who they choose to hang around with (being better than eighty percent female in membership) so I got a couple of jealous looks as the young lady towing me by one arm led me into their circle.

"What's with Fox Mulder?" I asked, tilting my head towards the suited man. "Still looking for the truth?"

She giggled. "No, he's from the Dear."

"Dear?" I enquired, not recognising that as a name.

"It's an acronym," she said. "You know, D, E, A? Dear!"

"Ah, right," I said. And reminded myself yet again that while she might sound like an airhead, there was a very good chance that she was just putting it on to be cute. Terraforming Venus was proving to be orders of magnitude harder than Mars, but there was a reason that I'd been confident enough to arrange financial backing for them. (I sold lots of land on Venus for a few dollars a square mile. Thus far the project was well in the black despite having sold off an area only about as large as Texas).

"Mr. Scott?" she gushed brightly at the G-Man. "This is the General Lee. He's ever so good at solving problems for us and I'm sure he'll be able to help you."

Ohhhkay. What the heck was up here? Why would the DEA be interested in up here that they would need me for? There was probably a little drug trade up here, but I'd never gotten involved in it myself and it was a drop in the barrel compared to the issues that went on down under the 'Danelaw.

"General?" he asked, sounding more than a little dubious himself. It was hard to blame him. I'm not sure what he was expecting but someone wearing blue jeans and a 'Join Galactor' T-shirt under a battered biker jacket that had once been fire-engine red was almost certainly not it.

"My other car is an orange Dodge Charger," I explained. (This was technically correct - but I hadn't had time to fit it out yet, so it was parked somewhere secure until I could get a few parts and some more handwavium). "I go by Mr. Johnson around your part of the universe, Mr. Scott. But I have to wonder what brings a federal agent out here."

He nodded his understanding. "I wish I could say I was pleased to be here, Mr. Johnson. Under other circumstances I might be."

Then he leaned forwards and in a voice that I could barely hear over the sound of the Convention, said something I had hoped never to hear.