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

by J. S. Morin

  Tanny turned to Carl, ignoring the laaku. “What?”

  Carl jerked his head, motioning for her to follow as he backed out of the cockpit. “Come on. You’re not ready to be part of this little boarding party yet. Not dressed like that.”

  “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” Tanny demanded. She was already in her ablative armor with a sidearm strapped at either thigh. Grab a helmet and blaster rifle on the way out and she was good to invade.

  But Carl didn’t answer. It was both a welcome change of pace for him, but the mischievous grin made it ominous all the same.

  # # #

  The three of them stood on the cargo ramp, ready to be lowered down as the ramp opened. Tanny felt ridiculous. Mort had magicked up a strapless red cocktail dress and a bowler hat with an ostrich feather stuck in the brim like an inkpot. If she hadn’t been holding a blaster rifle, Carl would be snickering at her, and she couldn’t have blamed him.

  Not that Carl looked any less ludicrous in a black-and-white checkerboard suit and cowboy hat. To accessorize his costume, he carried his glyphed sword (which he had no business using in a fight), disguised to look like a gentleman’s cane, and—of all things—a monocle. Where he had gotten the huge cigar he chomped down on as he waited, Tanny didn’t know, but it wasn’t a figment of Mort’s magic. It would have taken special software to recognize him; Tanny’s features were only disguised by a hooker’s share of makeup, magically applied.

  She didn’t know if Mriy had gotten off easy, or if her disguise was the most humiliating of the bunch. She wore her usual vest with the high, hard back that protected her neck, and a worn pair of loose red slacks. But her fur was now a psychedelic swirl of colors, most of which didn’t belong on a sentient creature. There was a striped pattern that peeked meekly from the chaos, reminiscent of a Bengal tiger’s markings.

  It was Carl’s idea. It always seemed to be Carl’s idea when things took a turn for the juvenile or self-abasing. Credit where credit was due, though: she barely recognized either of them.

  Gas hissed as the atmospheric seal around the cargo ramp released. “Places, everyone,” Carl sang, already in character. Tanny shifted her blaster rifle out of easy view as the ramp lowered.

  A small team of personnel in drab gray coveralls were waiting for them. One held a datapad; the others carried standard issue tool and diagnostic kits. The apparent leader consulted his datapad. “Some sort of E-M leakage? We’ll see what we can—”

  “Nobody move!” Tanny shouted. She whipped her blaster rifle from behind her and aimed it at the one with the datapad. Without pausing for the mechanics to overcome their shock, she marched down the ramp, the red dot from her rifle’s laser sight holding a steady position on the mechanic’s sternum. Say one thing for the Recitol, it gave her fluid muscle control and balance.

  One of the other two mechanics flinched. Maybe he was just nervous. Maybe he was reaching for a comm. But Mriy caught the man’s hand as it reached for a pocket. With a twist and one of Tanny’s takedown techniques, the mechanic was facedown on the floor in two seconds, with Mriy’s boot on the back of his neck.

  “That was moving,” Carl pointed out cheerfully. He pointed to the remaining mechanic, stiff with fright. “See? He’s got it right. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re taking your ship. If you play nice, you’ll be home safe and snug in a few days.” He paused a moment and looked around the ship’s hangar. “Unless you live on this tub, in which case you’re being evicted.”

  Roddy scrambled down the ramp as soon as all the mechanics were rounded up with their hands bound behind their backs. He carried a plasma torch and a scan-all, with his own coveralls stuffed with smaller tools. “Give me three minutes.”

  “Comm first, then main power,” Carl reminded him.

  “You fucking idi—knave,” Roddy shouted over his shoulder, correcting himself at the last second. He wasn’t in costume, but there was still some degree of character to maintain. “I know my job.”

  Mort ambled down the ramp. “Am I my brother’s keeper? Would that I could find one to become that brother?” he asked rhetorically. Mort, for one, had an ear for the archaic.

  Tanny checked her wrist chrono. Two and a half more minutes for Roddy to bring down the colony ship’s communications, then it would be time to play pirate. Three mechanics didn’t count.

  # # #

  Tanny blew the reinforced door to the bridge off its hinges with a pair of Galex-B charges Janice had provided. That much, at least, had been in the original plan. The rest was new, and Carl’s last-minute addition of a costumed frame-job was still being modified as they made their way through the corridors of the nameless colony ship, designation Roy Barnum Toyoda 001.

  “Who do you think you are?” Commander Bilkken demanded. The commander of the mining convoy wasn’t a fancy naval captain, but he had a crispness about his person, from his close-trimmed hair to his wrinkle-free uniform. He looked from Tanny in her nightclub costume ball getup to Mriy, painted like a tiger gone kaleidoscopic.

  Of course, Carl wouldn’t let attention linger anywhere but on him. “Some people call me the space cowboy,” Carl said. Tanny furrowed her brow. “Some call me the gangster of love.” He turned and winked his non-monocle eye at the ship’s navigator, a woman with dark, tightly curled hair who shied away and looked at her console. “But you can call me Maurice.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Commander Bilkken demanded. Tanny was impressed. For a guy without so much as a drawn sidearm, he was talking a good game. “We contracted with Janice Rucker for safe passage to Platt.”

  Carl gestured flamboyantly with his cane and the datapad he held in his other hand. “Ah, you contracted with Janice Rucker, but there’s the rub. We don’t work for her. Ships can wear false faces as easily as men. And ours are false indeed. You see, when you left Freeride, you thought you were escorted by two ships of the Poet Fleet, who said their ‘fare you well’ and ‘God keep you.’ But what if it were five, and but two parted ways with a wink and a share of mischief.”

  Carl whirled, datapad at arm’s length. While Commander Bilkken was shielded from view of the screen, Carl took a quick glance, checking his cribbed notes.

  “I got a guarantee from Admiral Chisholm herself that we would get safe passage through Freeride,” Commander Bilkken snarled. “She…” Some realization seemed to dawn on the commander just then.

  “We’re not in Freeride, Commander Bilkken,” Carl pointed out. “Words can mean very particular and precise things, and I should thank you to take better care with them in the future.”

  “What’s your game, Maurice?” Commander Bilkken asked.

  “This and this alone: a profit,” Carl said. He twirled the cane in his hand, and Tanny winced, wondering whether he was going to forget it was a sword and cut off his own fingers. “But we wish no harm to you or your crew. If you would recall your crews and all pile aboard a single of the smaller vessels, we’ll send you along to Platt without further delay.”

  “You’re trifling with dangerous men, Mr. Maurice,” Commander Bilkken said, lowering his voice to a threatening growl. “Misters Roy, Barnum, and Toyoda aren’t men to rob.”

  Carl grinned and sidled up to Commander Bilkken, wrapping his sword arm around him, but carefully keeping the datapad out of view. “My good commander, many would have said the same of the Rucker Syndicate. In fact, many more than have ever heard of misters Roy, Barnum, and Toyoda combined. And yet, we Poets have removed Janice Rucker from this transaction, stolen the names of her ships, and shoved your eyes under the wool. You are welcome to inform your employers and anyone else you like of our part in this affair, once you’re rescued. It would, in point of fact, greatly enhance our reputation. As Publilius Syrus once said, ‘A good reputation is more valuable than money.’”

  “Enough chatter, boss,” Tanny said. Who knew how much thicker Carl was going to lay it on, or how many hollow platitudes he had loaded into that datapad? She wasn’t going to wait for him
to dig himself a hole deep enough for a grave. “Let’s get these philistines onto a cargo ship and get out of here.”

  Carl gave a dramatic sigh and disentangled himself from Commander Bilkken. “If you would all be so good as to line up single file and not make any sudden movements, we can have you locked on autopilot to Platt by dinnertime.”

  # # #

  Dozens of booted feet clomped down the steel hallway of the colony ship. Tanny had been assigned to herd the hijacked crew toward the docking port. Part of her dared any of them to make a sudden movement. These weren’t smugglers, pirates, or military personnel, though, just spacers making a freight run in a bad neighborhood. They were probably scared before getting boarded.

  Bilkken looked over his shoulder at Tanny as he walked at the back of the herd. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

  “Keep it moving.” Tanny jabbed him in the back with the muzzle of her rifle. She made a mental note to clean the weapon later; the commander’s uniform was drenched in sweat.

  But Bilkken kept talking, even as he faced forward. “You seem like the brains of this operation. Tell me what’s really going on here. I had personal assurances from Admiral Chisholm that we’d have no troubles.”

  “Hey, we’re doing you a favor. The Rucker Syndicate was going to dust the lot of you. Now, you just get a short vacation.”

  Bilkken hung his head. “I should have known something was up when Kristov got arrested planetside.”

  Curiosity peeked through the dull haze of chemicals. “Kristov?”

  “My security chief. I knew that charge was bogus. I knew it! Kristov wasn’t the sort to start fistfights. So some lowlife made a grab at her… she’s handled that crap before…”

  “Wait, your security chief—?”

  When Bilkken turned, his furrowed brow showed genuine puzzlement. “You really are low down the flagpole, aren’t you? You didn’t know Chisholm had my security chief? Sprang her from lockup and kept her as a ‘guest’ on her flagship. Said we could swing by and pick her up on our way back after the delivery. None of this is deja vu?” He shook his head.

  Pieces were falling into place. Esper had been set up. The run-in that resulted in her murder change was probably conceived as a simple assault. Chisholm had the whole system rigged, top to bottom. “Just what’s the admiral supposedly do with these hostages? I only signed on a couple weeks back; this shit’s all news to me.”

  He looked Tanny up and down. “Let’s just say you and me aren’t Chisholm’s type. She likes ‘em young and soft, from what I hear.”

  “But your security chief…”

  “Kristov runs an explosive scanner and sweeps for trackers. She’s a computer jockey, and since my wife’s not here, I don’t mind telling you she’s a damn well-shaped one.”

  Tanny’s mind raced. What was Esper caught up in? “What would she do to someone who rejected her advances?”

  Bilkken chuckled, prompting Tanny to prod him with the rifle again. “Don’t worry. Like I said, you’re not her type. But if you’re looking to grunt and sweat your way up the ranks, I’d lay off the gene splice and stims—whatever the hell you’re on.”

  A few heads near the front of the crowd had turned to listen to their conversation. Tanny fired a shot into the ceiling over their heads. “Eyes forward.”

  “You don’t sound like them… yet. Get out while you still can. That lifestyle just eats at your soul. Sex and wine. Theater and extortion. Easy living picking on the bones of someone else’s hard work. It’s like a drug.”

  He had a point about the lifestyle, but everyone had their drug. Maybe the Poets were helpless in the face of their own hedonism, but that was just their hangup. Mort had his magic. Carl couldn’t help gambling. Roddy’s alcoholism was painfully obvious. Esper was addicted to sticking her nose in other people’s business. If Tanny’s drug was literal, then so be it. The fact that she could acknowledge it meant that she had control, and the fact she noticed told her that the Sepromax was starting to kick in. This was Tanny thinking, not some chemical imbalance.

  She had to give Bilkken credit, though. His ploy was a classic Psy Ops tactic. He had found a difference between her and the Poets and was driving a wedge into it as best he could. Too bad she wasn’t really a neophyte pirate, or he might have had some luck.

  “Well, buddy, maybe some of us like the drug.”

  # # #

  The starport on Carousel was only slightly busier than the remote landing field the Mobius had used on its first visit. It wasn’t used much for passenger traffic, serving mainly as an intermodal station for supply freighters and terrestrial shipping vehicles. Commerce of the blue-collar sort was going on all around the crew as they stood waiting at the bottom of the ship’s cargo ramp.

  Bryce was taking things better than expected. He stood motionless, staring out at the horizon beyond the chain-fenced boundary of the starport. A speck appeared in the sky on the approach vector they were expecting. Bryce swallowed. “I don’t suppose this is negotiable.”

  “Bryce old buddy,” Carl said. “You bought yourself a better bargain than you were in for, given the shit you tried to pull. But even if I was the fucking pope, I wouldn’t be forgiving you like nothing happened.”

  “Suppose not,” Bryce mumbled, then resumed his mute vigil.

  It wasn’t long before the speck grew large enough to be recognized as a spacecraft. Sleek, black, with lines like a racer and pristine as a showpiece, the ship landed fifty meters from the Mobius, sending up a wash of dust that had everyone but Bryce shielding their eyes.

  Carl strode across to greet the new arrival. A side door opened, appeared from what had looked like a seamless panel of the sleek ship’s hull, and two men exited. He clapped one on the back in a quick hug, and shook hands with the other. By the shake of their shoulders, Carl made both of them laugh.

  “Which ones are they?” Bryce asked over his shoulder.

  “My uncle Earl,” Tanny said, deadpan. “And his son Jimmy.”

  “Earl Rucker…” Bryce repeated. His fists tightened at his side.

  “If you’re thinking of running… ” Tanny warned.

  Bryce shook his head. “I got your word. I go quiet, and you make sure your father leaves my family alone.”

  “This our vermin?” Earl asked in a bass voice as he approached. “Don’t look like much.” Earl was a wall, with shoulders nearly as wide as he was tall, and a neck like a tree trunk.

  “Ain’t that the point, pop?” Jimmy asked. Though smaller than his father, Jimmy was larger than the bouncers at most rough nightclubs.

  “So this gray fuzz-top tried pinning that Lorstram hit on you guys?” Earl asked, poking Bryce in the chest with a hot-dog-sized finger.

  Bryce cringed slightly. “Yeah,” he replied, voice dry.

  Jimmy laughed, and Earl chuckled along. Jimmy jostled Bryce with a forearm. “Lighten up, pigeon. We ain’t sore winners. You got luckier than you even know, blowin’ this job.”

  “Come on,” Earl said, pinching Bryce by the cheek like an adoring aunt. “We’ll take good care of you, long as you keep your yap shut and play nice.”

  They exchanged good-byes. The Ruckers remembered Roddy by name, but not Mriy. The two behemoths shook hands with Mort, but looked as if they were grabbing a blaster by the wrong end in doing so. Never had either of the two looked less intimidating. There were hugs for Tanny and handshakes for Carl, along with the ever-open offer to come work with them.

  “Maybe next time,” Carl said with a wink before they took Bryce and returned to their ship.

  The sleek, black craft slid back into space like a sliver of night, disappearing into the darkness.

  The crew of the Mobius went back inside and killed another two hours watching local system news on the holovid until it was time to reconvene. The sun was low in the sky when the sheriff’s department shuttle touched down within meters of where the Rucker ship had landed. It was mere seconds before the ship’s door opened and someone ste
pped out. It took longer for Tanny to realize it was Esper. She was wearing an ankle-length black dress and heeled leather boots, with an ermine stole wrapped around her neck against the cold. A sheriff’s deputy followed her out, dragging a trunk with its own repulsors.

  Esper waved a gloved hand and ran across the patch of dusty tarmac between the ships. Tanny had a sly curiosity as to who she’d seek out first. She’d an impression for a while now—two in fact—that both Carl and Mort had more than a passing interest in her well-being. Carl she understood. Esper’s brain-fried mother had gotten her surgically sculpted into one of those dolls designed by mammary-obsessed creeps. The girl was practically designed to make drooling idiots like Carl into bigger drooling idiots. Not her fault; not even his. But Mort generally kept above that, clinging to the estranged family he’d left on Earth. If he snuck some on the side, he’d kept it discreet. Yet he doted on Esper in a frankly unfatherly manner, taking her faith as more of a challenge than a roadblock. He was a wizard, but that didn’t mean his self-control was iron.

  As her run brought her closer, Tanny drew back in surprise. Esper was headed her way. They had gotten friendly, after all, but she had expected a couple weeks of captivity would have left Esper a little more … pent up. But the impression passed quickly as Esper crouched low. Kubu separated himself from the crew and rushed forward the last few meters to meet her.

  “Kubu, you did great!” Esper said. “You’re a hero.”

  “Kubu is a hero?” Kubu asked. He licked Esper’s face. “You are much nicer now that you’re not a wall any more.”

  “I’m happy not to be a wall any more,” Esper replied. She looked up to everyone else. “And thank you guys for believing him. I don’t know how much longer I could have held out there.”

  “Yeah,” Roddy said. “You’re looking rough. Were the pedicures every other day, or every third?”

  “Where should I put your trunk, Miss Richelieu?” the deputy asked.