Mission Pack 1: Missions 1-4 (Black Ocean Mission Pack)

by J. S. Morin

  # # #

  The Mobius lifted off into the evening sky, a departing hero riding into the sunset with Carl at the helm. Below on the planet, the refugees watched them until the ship was no more than a speck against the night sky, engines a pair of shooting stars, heading up. There were feelings of anxiety among the sentient creatures left behind, but for the first time since any of them had been there, a sense of hope as well. The saviors had promised a ship would come. A larger ship, one big enough to carry them all. The slavers had taken breeding pairs whenever they could, so they would be returned two by two to their home worlds, long before the substandard atmosphere of Hadrian IV did them permanent harm

  For those lonely creatures captured individually, they would not speak to another who could understand them until they returned home. Most bore this knowledge with a grim understanding that it was of necessity—that they would have their turn and be brought back to those who loved them. Nearly three in four of the refugees were juveniles, most just past the barest minimum breeding age, but some were even younger.

  # # #

  Kubu was perhaps the loneliest of all. He had no memory of a time before the menagerie. He remembered the cage, the mean man with the black eyes, the noises and smells of the other creatures all around him. He remembered Mommy, too. But now she was gone. She had turned into a great big bird-thing and flown away into the sky. Kubu lay down in the jungle grass and whimpered in the direction that Mommy had gone.

  Sunset turned to nighttime, and the grumbling in his stomach told Kubu he needed another meal. He didn’t care. He watched the night sky, waiting. He fell asleep waiting, dreaming of a dark place where he was all alone and no one would feed him ever again.

  He woke when a noise caught his ear. It was a hum that grew louder. With eyes raised to follow the sound, he saw it. The bird-thing was back!

  It landed in the grass, right where it had left him behind. The back was open, and it had a ramp waiting for him. Mommy stood there. Her eyes were red and she was sniffing because she was sad. “Blah blah blah, Kubu.”

  Kubu didn’t need to be told twice. He bounced through the jungle grass and sprang up the ramp. He knocked Mommy to the ground and licked her face. Two of Mommy’s friends stood by watching, and the small fuzzy one hit a button and the ramp closed up, making the jungle go away.

  Little did he realize at the time, but Kubu had just joined the crew of the Mobius.

  Poets and Piracy

  Mission 3 of the Black Ocean Series

  J.S. Morin

  Poets and Piracy

  Mission 3 of: Black Ocean

  Copyright © 2014 Magical Scrivener Press

  The crew of the Mobius:

  Bradley Carlin “Carl” Ramsey (Human, Male, 32): Captain of the Mobius. Former starfighter pilot who left Earth Navy under questionable circumstances. Smuggler and petty con man with a love of ancient rock music.

  Tania Louise “Tanny” Ramsey (Human, Female, 31): Pilot of the Mobius. Former marine drop-ship pilot and Carl’s ex-wife. Daughter of a notorious crime lord who joined the marines to get away from her family.

  Mordecai “Mort” The Brown (Human, Male, 52): Ship’s wizard. On the run from the Convocation, he serves in place of the Mobius’ shoddy star-drive. “The” is his legal middle name, a tradition in the Brown family.

  Rodek of Kethlet “Roddy” (Laaku, Male, 45): Ship’s mechanic. Laaku are a quadridexterous race with prehensile feet, evolved from a species similar to the chimpanzees of Earth. Never to be found without a beer in hand, he keeps the cobbled-together Mobius running.

  Mriy Yrris (Azrin, Female, 16): Ship’s security. The azrin are felid race who still hunt for their food. Despite her lethargy and slouching posture, she is a ferocious warrior.

  Esper Theresa Richelieu (Human, Female, 24): Former initiate priestess of the One Church. She tried to do the right thing the wrong way, and it cost her a place in the hierarchy. Though she’s signed on with the Mobius, she’s still not sure what role fits her best.

  Kubu (Species Unknown, Male, Age Unknown): A sentient dog-like creature, rescued from an illegal zoo.

  Tanny popped the pills into her mouth in little squadrons. Two blues and a pink. A yellow with black stripe, a squarish red, and a clear amber. Four clean white ones shaped like torpedoes. A pair of chalky hexagons and a trio of half-brown, half-yellow capsules. The last to go was a single pill in a metallic casing, printed with a red letter R in gothic script and a standard ARGO hazard marker. She chased each swallow with a mouthful of ginger soda, both to settle her stomach and to kill the bitter aftertaste from the chalky pills. The whole conglomeration fizzed and churned in her stomach as they set out on their assigned tasks.

  Centrimac boosted her immune system. A constant presence of it in her system had kept her from so much as a sniffle since she joined the marines. Carl and Roddy came down with something every second or third trip planetside, but not Tanny. She had heard that it took the edge off a hangover too, but she wasn’t about to abstain to check for herself.

  Plexophan improved her balance and reflexes. There was some weird enzyme in it developed by the yishar that altered her muscle fibers. They no longer used the same chemical process as most humans. Once she had tried research how that all worked, but no explanation made sense unless you had a degree in biochemistry—preferably an advanced one, focused on xenobiology.

  Adrenophiline altered adrenaline production and consumption in the body. Any marine with a year’s service had adrenal glands twice the size he enlisted with, and they replenished at six times the normal rate. It also eased the jittery feeling that came after the rush wore off.

  A few of the pills were simple mineral supplements. Most humans didn’t need a lot of molybdenum, selenium, or cobalt, but anyone with a daily regimen like Tanny’s required them. The identical white pills were compacted mixes of auto-release hormones, designed to keep her mood level—she had never found them that effective, but she was worse off without them.

  Some of the drugs were just included to cancel out side effects of the others. Plexophan increased her metabolism, but also spiked her appetite out of proportion to the increase. Pseudoanorex counteracted that effect, but resulted in lightheadedness that Zygrana balanced out. Cannabinol was there to reduce the anxiety and nausea that Adrenophiline induced.

  The centerpiece of the whole cocktail was Recitol, which saturated every marine’s system. Though the drug’s maker used a soft C sound in the recipient-care video, the marine nickname “Wreck-It-All” came to be the more common pronunciation. It allowed the body to use quick, efficient bursts of adrenaline at will, hyper-oxygenated the blood, and slowed the perception of time by an estimated 11 to 12 percent. It also suppressed activity in the ventrolateral frontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for morality and conscience. Tanny had been taking Sepromax to counteract the latter effect since re-entering civilian life, but she was unwilling to give up the other benefits.

  The water from the faucet shocked Tanny alert as she splashed her face. Leaning heavily on the sides of the sink, she watched her reflection in the mirror. Staring into her own eyes, she waited until the stranger lurking there faded away and she could connect the image with a sense of self. The scrawled red lines receded until the whites were clear; the pupils contracted in reaction to the glare of the mirror light.

  There was a knock at the door. “What?” she snapped. It hadn’t been an invitation, but the door opened anyway.

  “Sorry,” Esper said. The hangdog expression and the apologetic duck drained the venom from Tanny. Suddenly embarrassed, she reached over and snapped shut the case where she kept her pills. “What was that?” Esper never said it aloud, but her furrowed brow and the tilt of her head to get a better look said it for her.

  “What?” Tanny repeated, holding the case behind her. The Adrenophiline must still have been digging its claws into her brain. She rationalized that if anyone on the Mobius was incapable of threatening her, it was Esper. With a co
nscious effort, she set the case down on the side of the sink and dared Esper to ask about its contents.

  “Roddy sent me,” Esper said. “It’s Kubu. Roddy says there is 2.6 kilos of sub-grade fertilizer in the hold. He says if you don’t clean it up, he’s delivering it.”

  “Like to see him try,” Tanny muttered.

  “… through the faucet,” Esper added.

  Tanny glanced to the sink and the churning froth in her stomach soured. The last thing she needed was to vomit up a thousand terras worth of marine biochemicals. Recitol was a weekly, and there weren’t many pills left in her stash. She wasn’t ready to go without until she could buy more.

  Esper seemed to notice her discomfort. “He didn’t actually do it … yet.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t make you clean it up,” Tanny said. “Aren’t you his assistant these days?”

  “Not today,” Esper replied. “I’ve just been in and out of the hold, moving stuff from the conference room. I’m converting it to passenger quarters so we can make actual money on fares. Carl and Roddy both seemed pretty keen on the idea, so—”

  “Fine,” Tanny snapped. She didn’t need an affidavit. It was a simple enough question. “I’ll get right down there.”

  Once the door closed behind Esper, Tanny reopened the pill case. Supplies were always hit or miss. Sometimes she’d find a dealer with a glut of Plexophan, or a fence would have a load of boosted Recitol. It was rare to find things in balanced ratios to match her regimen. Since her recent change to a higher dose of Sepromax, she had run her reserves dangerously low, and a few other pills weren’t far behind.

  An hour of cross-referencing the itinerary of the Mobius (a work of optimistic fiction at the best of times) against known gray-market pharmacists, Tanny concluded that she wasn’t going to stumble across anyone who had what she needed. Her finger hovered over the button for the intra-ship comm as she decided whether she could afford to wait and hope to get lucky along the way, or if she really needed to make this particular call. Deciding that withdrawal symptoms were worse than asking for help, she closed her eyes and pressed.

  “Yo!” Carl’s voice came through from his quarters. “To what do I owe the—”

  “I’m running low,” Tanny blurted before Carl could get any farther.

  The flippant joviality was gone. “Esper came by and mentioned you were a bit worn thin. I told her not to worry. How low we talkin’?”

  “A week,” Tanny replied. “I’d feel better with four days, plus some wiggle room.”

  “Gotcha,” Carl replied. He sounded relieved. “We can reroute to Tau Ceti. Ought to be plenty of options there.” Why did he have to be so goddamn understanding? He’d tried to get her to detox more times than she could count. Tanny had hoped he’d be put out, that he’d argue with her about it again, that he actually cared where they were headed and found a detour inconvenient.

  But once again, Carl was just going to have them drop everything and head off to find her a seller. All she could think to say was, “Thanks.”

  # # #

  The first day of their side trip to Tau Ceti IV was winding to a close as Esper and Roddy returned to the Mobius. Her borrowed datapad was filled with items and their associated prices from their day’s window-shopping. Esper held the screen so that the laaku mechanic could follow along as she explained her vision. “There’s plenty of room for a washroom, mini fridge/food-processor combo, and a holo-projector, not to mention a bed, dresser, and all that other stuff. A tiny hotel room right here on the Mobius.”

  Roddy rolled his eyes. Esper was meant to notice, but she deigned not to acknowledge. She continued delving into details of plumbing fixtures and upholstery as they made their way through the cargo bay. But when Roddy opened the door to the common room, their conversation stopped abruptly as a wall of deafening noise from the holo-projector drowned them out.

  Unlike most of the ancient fare that cluttered up the computer core, Esper recognized this one from the promotional vids from a few years back. She couldn’t recall the name, but it was a Zach Spanner military-action vid. They were all alike, as near as she could tell; some misfit pilot nearly gets his squad killed—or he does get them killed early on and he’s the only survivor—and loses his confidence, only to save the day in the third act. In the holographic field, little generic enemy spacecraft were blowing up at a mind-boggling rate as the hero spouted patriotic jeers at them—as if it were their fault for not being born human.

  Carl sat slumped on the couch, watching the action with dead eyes. By his side, Mort appeared to be in much better spirits, munching on cheese-drizzled chips as he took in the show.

  “Lousy fuckers,” Roddy griped loudly enough to be heard over an exploding ship. “You loaded up Last Stand at Zulu Seven without me?”

  Mort elbowed Carl in the ribs, and it roused him enough to pause the vid. The din ebbed to background levels. “Don’t worry about it,” Mort replied. “We can watch it again later. His eyes are open, but nothing’s getting in.”

  “Yeah,” Roddy replied, pointing at the frozen hologram. “But now I know how it’s going to end.”

  Mort scoffed. “If you don’t know how it’s going to end, you haven’t watched Last Stand at Luna, Last Stand at Daedalus Colony, or Last Stand of Miracle Squadron.”

  Esper studied Carl as he slouched. It was unlike him to remain silent. He wasn’t normally the sort to let a conversation happen without him. “What’s wrong with Carl?”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re still new around here,” Mort said. “You’re familiar with Carl the Starship Captain, Carl the Swindler, and Carl the Cocksure Ex-Fighter Pilot. You might even have met Carl the Drunken Ladies’ Man, though that’s none of my business. Well …” He bracketed Carl with his outstretched hands, “Meet Carl the Just Lost All His Money at Poker.”

  “All his money?” Esper asked.

  “Bullshit,” Roddy muttered.

  “He was smart enough to pre-pay his tram fare round-trip, or we would’ve had to send someone to get him,” Mort replied.

  “How’d we let him wander off on his own again?” Roddy asked.

  Mort shrugged. “We’d already split the take from the Hadrian advance. It’s his money he lost.”

  “And the ship fund?” Roddy asked. “I’m the one who has to deal with this bucket on no budget.”

  “Paid the fuel guy before I left,” Carl muttered.

  “Oh, so you’re not catatonic over there, gamblin’ man?” Roddy asked. “I spend the whole goddamn day trying to keep Esper’s hotel idea below cost so there’d be enough left over to overhaul the power plant. We’ve beaten that poor thing to hell.”

  “So … what?” Esper asked, waving the datapad. “We can’t put in passenger quarters now?”

  “Not unless we’re converting the ping-pong table into a bunk,” Roddy replied.

  The scrabbling of approaching claws carried through the door to the cargo hold. Seconds later, the door opened and Kubu bounded through, followed by Tanny. He leaped onto the couch and forced himself between Carl and Mort, curling into a ball.

  “I take it he didn’t like the university?” Esper asked.

  “I swear this animal is bigger than when you left with him,” Mort said, edging away from the furry mass.

  “I left him there a couple hours while they did some intelligence testing on him,” Tanny replied. She raised an eyebrow at Kubu. “Apparently, he’s not brain damaged, this is normal for whatever he is.”

  “Still no idea what species this sack of muscle is?” Roddy asked.

  “That Dunkirk guy is still working on it,” Tanny replied. “We might not have an answer by the time we drop out of here, so I left him a comm ID where he could contact me.”

  Roddy grunted. “Chip was always good for a secure false comm ID. You gonna be clean?”

  “The guy’s a university professor,” Tanny replied. “What’s he going to do?”

  Just then a muffled chime emanated from Carl’s
pocket. It was an unfamiliar melody, but it sounded like one of Carl’s classical rock pieces, with scratchy guitars making the lyrics incomprehensible. He dug a datapad from inside his jacket. “Knock it off, everyone,” he said. “Unknown ID. Shit.” He answered the call. “Hey, who you looking for?”

  Whoever was on the other end of the connection was too quiet for Esper to hear.

  “I might be,” he answered. “Who told you that?… Never heard of him. … Yeah, yeah, sure… You got a name?… Hope you don’t mind me checking up on that ID… No, that’s not a problem. … Depends. How soon you need us there?… No, I’d rather work out those details in person. There’s only so far I’m trusting this comm link. … All right. It’s a deal.”

  Carl shut down the datapad and slipped it back inside his jacket. “Which one of you was blabbing?”

  He had asked the room at large, but his eyes were on Esper. “Why are you looking at me?”

  “Tanny, did you happen to mention to anyone that we were getting into the passenger business?” Carl asked. She shook her head. “How about you, Mort?”

  “I was bowling,” Mort said. “Found a few lanes in the arcanopolis in Stevenston. Just a bunch of Order of Gaia blowhards. I could have flat out told them I was a Convocation fugitive and they’d have brushed it off. None of them have been off-world in his life, and most probably couldn’t work a comm.”

  “How about you, Roddy? You go bar-hopping and spill our plans?”

  “Piss off,” Roddy replied. “I was with Miss Baroque here, picking out bed linens and furniture.”

  Esper gave a sheepish smile. “Maybe Mriy…”

  “She’s hiking,” Carl replied. “And she’s such a gossip, especially to people who can’t understand azrin.”

  Roddy squinted up at Esper. “Wait a minute. You told them what we were outfitting, didn’t you?”

  Esper held up her hands. “Just the appliance salesman and the woman at the store where we found the bed I wanted. It was easier than trying to explain all the corridors we had to transport things through and the layout of the conference room. Once they knew it was a modified turtledove-class shuttle—”