Planet Eaters (Galaxy Mavericks Book 8)

by Michael La Ronn

  Grayson elbowed him. “Plus, the money came from Guard benefits anyway. It's been piling up interest in savings and I didn't even know what I was gonna do with it.”

  They walked toward the ship.

  A gust blew and Eddie shivered.

  “Nice improv back there,” Eddie said.

  “You had me laughing at the iridium part,” Grayson said. “See? You're learning.”

  “Discretion,” Eddie said.

  “How do you say that in Spanish?”

  “Discreción,” Eddie said.

  “Should've known,” Grayson said. “I was thinking it was something more complicated or unexpected.”

  They reached the ship.

  “Mind if I drive?” Eddie asked. “Need to give the engine a quick roar. Also need to grab a few parts from an auto supply store.”

  “When it comes to the hoss, you the boss,” Grayson said.

  “Hoss?”

  “It's what we black folks call spaceships sometimes,” Grayson said. “Look at that. Now I'm teaching you something.”

  “I'd say I'm pulling my weight after all,” Eddie said as they entered the airlock.

  He glanced outside at the snowy, icy dealership lot.

  He was glad to leave.

  15

  Smoke ate quickly and quietly in the shade of his shelter, away from his men and the crackling fire.

  Night fell quickly, and the sky turned into a deep navy blue, with only a few stars.

  A chilling cold swept across the sands in a way Smoke hadn't expected. He wished the cops dropped jackets.

  Maybe they did, but his men weren't able to get to them in time.

  It didn't take long for them to burn through the rations they had picked up from the drop.

  The mens’ morale was low.

  Half of them died in the mouths of the sand lampreys.

  Smoke hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.

  How he'd been outmaneuvered. How just about everyone here had the advantage simply by being here longer. He wondered at what point he would begin to have an edge.

  Hopefully it was before he got eaten by sand lampreys or whatever else lived in this godforsaken desert.

  He needed to boost the mens’ morale.

  Otherwise they would come hunting for him.

  Once the rations ran out, they would blame him.

  And he really didn't feel like killing all of them, even though it would be less company and less bullshit.

  But he needed them, if only to use their manpower.

  He ate his bacon and beans and drank the last of his water bottle.

  They'd have to find food now. Where the hell could you find food in a desert like this?

  With nothing around for miles, they'd either have to wait for the next drop…or start eating each other.

  And that wasn't an option, even for him.

  “Boss!” someone cried.

  A fat man came running over. On the spot, Smoke dubbed him Most Likely to Shit His Pants at the First Sign of Danger.

  “Can't you see I'm eating?” Smoke asked.

  “There's something going on out there,” First Sign of Danger said.

  “Out where?” Smoke asked. “If you haven't noticed, we’re not exactly indoors.”

  “Over there,” First Sign of Danger said.

  On the horizon, a yellow circular light blinked rapidly, like a signal.

  Smoke stood watching it for several moments. It reminded him of Morse code, but he couldn't interpret it.

  He pulled his handkerchief over his face and started walking.

  “Maybe we should go with you,” First Sign of Danger said.

  Smoke out his hand dismissed the man.

  “Just me. Alone.”

  “What about the truck?”

  “Me. Alone. Go away.”

  Smoke adjusted his handkerchief to keep the sand out. Then he trudged through the sand, toward the blinking light.

  As he approached, he saw a group of people gathered around a spotlight.

  The light had grown brighter the closer he walked.

  Smoke lay on his stomach at the top of a dune and surveyed the area.

  The men were in blue coats with golden badges, and they were talking to each other in hushed tones.

  There was a circle of folding chairs, and they were empty.

  A black corsair sat in the sand. A searchlight on the top of the ship swept across the area in a circle, crisscrossing the spotlight, which is what must have caused the blinking.

  Could he escape?

  He scanned the men.

  They all had guns.

  No chance.

  They'd see him and shoot him before he could make it to their location.

  Before he could strategize any further, several people emerged from the shadows.

  The searchlight illuminated them and they put up their hands.

  A man dressed in rags with yellow teeth.

  And Tara.

  Tara!

  Smoke clenched his fists at the sight of her.

  One of men searched the two, and, upon finding no weapons, cried “Clear!”

  The police lowered their weapons and motioned them forward.

  Slowly, more people appeared from the dunes and joined them.

  Prisoners.

  They sat in the chairs, looking around nervously.

  “Let's begin,” a man in a long, blue coat said. He looked like the man in charge, with a tall stature, stubbled face, and muscular build.

  “I've been waiting a long time for this,” Tara said. “How about we start with your shitty drops? We haven't had a good, workable meal in months.”

  “The drops should be adequate,” the chief warden said. “Our data tells us that you consistently recover all the crates. What's the problem?”

  “The new batch of men is the problem,” Tara said. “There's not enough for all of us.”

  “Bill, check the ration quantities,” the chief warden said. “Wouldn't surprise me if the system didn't get updated before we dropped the new guys.”

  “And how about the goddamned lampreys?” Tara asked. “They’re are desperate for food.”

  “We did detect some lamprey behavior earlier,” the chief warden said. “We’re already working on it. We probably won't have a solution for a couple of weeks.”

  “Then just let us die,” Tara said. “That's what society wants, right? Why the hell are you even here?”

  “The law requires us to perform certain safety checks with key leaders,” the chief warden said. “You can air more of your grievances, but I’d be lying to you if I said I cared. Those were the two issues we were going to discuss, anyway. How're the newbies?”

  “Half of them are dead,” Tara said. “Lamprey attack.”

  “Jesus,” the chief warden said. “I thought you were supposed to be looking out for them.”

  “I look out for myself,” Tara said. “And then my gang.”

  Smoke stood.

  He waited and watched them talk, waiting for a searchlight to hit him.

  “We've got some more bad news,” the chief warden said.

  The searchlight hit Smoke and blinded him. He did not look away.

  “Hey, you! Stop!” a stern voice cried.

  Smoke stood still.

  “I said stop!” the voice cried again.

  Tara sighed.

  “He's one of the newbies,” she said.

  The chief warden looked at Smoke from head to toe.

  “One who deserves to be here,” he said. “Come on down here, son.”

  “I'm not your son,” Smoke said.

  “You're whatever the goddamned hell I want you to be. Get down here.”

  Smoke walked slowly toward the chairs, the searchlight still on him. He felt intense stares from everyone in the area, looking at him like he was a freak. He saw himself in the reflection of the spaceship. His eyes were bloodshot, his white hair was disheveled.

  “What's your name?” th
e chief warden asked.

  Smoke blinked at him.

  “Sit down,” the chief warden said.

  Smoke remained standing.

  WHACK!

  An officer struck him on the back, and the blow brought him to his knees.

  “Just because you don't have handcuffs on, it doesn't mean you don't have to follow orders,” the chief warden said. “What's your name?”

  “Smoke.”

  “Who's the leader in your group?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. Then you should have been here.”

  Smoke glanced at Tara. She looked away.

  “Maybe I would have been here if someone hadn't stolen from our drop and let the lampreys kill half my men.”

  The chief warden laughed. “Survival of the fittest, asshole.”

  “Fuck you.”

  WHACK!

  Someone hit him again and he toppled into the sand.

  “Get your ass in that chair!” the chief warden shouted.

  Smoke crawled into the chair and said nothing.

  “Now listen up,” the chief warden said. He was red-faced and angry now.

  “A new law was passed in the House last month,” the warden said. “We’re now required to provide a doctor for anyone who needs medical care. If any of you have someone who's suffering from a medical issue, you tell us and we’ll send a doctor along with a full military escort.”

  “Like we believe you,” Tara said.

  “We've brought you emergency lights. We’ll be sending you more supplies as well, as the law has provided for that.”

  The rest of the prisoners sighed.

  The chief warden looked at Smoke.

  “You take that message back to your gang. Bet they'll be glad to hear it.”

  Smoke nodded.

  “Unless any of you have anything else to say, get out of our sight. And Smoke—look for the spotlight on the horizon about once a month. If you need something, use the spotlights we’re going to give you. Battery powered. Batteries will come in the next drop for a year supply. If you abuse it, we’ll take ‘em away and we’ll have no problem violating the law.”

  Smoke nodded again.

  The police entered the spaceship. They emerged from the bay doors with small, black spotlights with powerful laser lights. They handed them to each gang member.

  Then the police he ship took off, blasting high into the sky.

  The sands darkened.

  The other prisoners stared up at the sky after it. The longing to leave was in their eyes. What they wouldn't have given to be on those ships!

  Tara was also staring upward sadly.

  She didn't even see Smoke before he attacked.

  He returned to the camp. His hands were bloodied.

  “Did you run into a lamprey, boss?” First Sign of Danger asked.

  Smoke kept walking.

  “You all right?” First Sign of Danger asked.

  Smoke entered his shelter. He grabbed a steel bar leaning in the corner of the dark room.

  He grabbed it, and it was slippery in his hands.

  He felt its heft in his hands, tossed it into the air a couple of times, then slashed the air.

  The weight was right.

  Then he emerged from his shelter.

  All the men were gathered around, staring at him curiously.

  When they saw the bloodied steel pipe, they backed away.

  “Boss, we didn't make you that mad, did we?” a said a man that Smoke dubbed Too Stupid to Die.

  Smoke beat the steel pipe against his palm. He stared at the horizon.

  “Get the truck ready.”

  Two men scrambled toward the truck.

  The others watched Smoke.

  “Had a little problem we gotta take care of,” Smoke said, walking toward the truck. “You. Come with me. You. Go to sleep. You. Take a fucking bath. You. Get the shovels ready.”

  The truck puttered to a stop at the site of the rendezvous.

  First Sign of Danger looked away and cursed.

  “Jesus, God…”

  Smoke jumped down off the back of the pickup. He grabbed First Sign of Danger’s face and made him look at the rendezvous site.

  At the bloodied bodies strewn across the sand.

  “What the hell happened?” First Sign of Danger asked.

  “I happened,” Smoke said.

  He pointed to Tara’s body. It lay headfirst in the sand.

  “Put the bodies on the truck,” Smoke said.

  “But what'll happen when the other gangs find out?” First Sign of Danger. “They're gonna come after us. And then, then, oh man…”

  The man went pale.

  Smoke sniffed. Smelled like shit. Sudden shit.

  “What the hell is that smell?” Smoke asked.

  First Sign of Danger held his pants and backed away.

  Smoke shook his head.

  “You. Walk back. And figure it out before you get back.”

  Embarrassed, First Sign of Danger backed away and disappeared behind a dune.

  Smoke hoped a lamprey would eat the man.

  With the others, he grabbed the bodies and the spotlights, and hoisted them onto the truck.

  As they drove back, he stood on top of the bodies, staring out into the dark, starry sky.

  He was going to send the other gangs a message that showed them just who they were dealing with.

  And one thing was clear: no one would ever cross him again.

  16

  “Devi, why haven't you returned my calls?”

  As she talked to her mother, Devi sat in a shadowed nook of the rescue ship, with a curved window to her back. Hyperspace blazed outside, and its purplish glow was like a haze of oil floating on water.

  She rested her phone on her ear and sighed quietly.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Where have you been?” Mary asked.

  “On a mission,” Devika said. “I can't talk about it. But I'm okay.”

  Mary was quiet for a moment.

  “Well, good.”

  “How have you been?” Devika asked, her voice brightening as she tried to change the conversation.

  “Don't change the subject,” Mary said. “You're not in any danger, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “When are you coming home?” Mary asked. “I sent you a card, but the address came back invalid.”

  Her mother loved to send physical cards. A holdover from the early days of humanity, it was a sentimental thing. Even in an era where everything was digital.

  Devika tried to send a physical card to her mom once, but it was too much work.

  “Devi?” Mary asked.

  Devika had spaced out. “I'm here.”

  “Do I have your correct address? That sounds so terrible for a mother to ask. I should know it.”

  “I moved,” Devika said.

  She thought of the dump she currently lived in—a moored spaceship on the edge of the short arm. And then she didn't want to think about it.

  “I'll send you my new address.”

  “That would have been nice to know,” Mary said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re being a little too secretive. What’s going on?”

  “I told you, it’s fine,” Devika said. “I wanted to call you to let you know that I’m okay. I will try to call again in a few days.”

  Mary exhaled.

  “Okay. But I really want to see you soon. Christmas just passed, and well, it would have been nice to have you here.”

  Devika thought of Mary’s famous lamb, and her ravioli. She imagined her house, back on Provenance. Already she could smell the Christmasy warmth of herbs and spices, pumpkin pie, eggnog, and the rain-kissed verdancy of fresh vegetables from the garden.

  She wished she were there. But she also didn’t.

  “I sent you a gift,” Devika said. “Did you get it?”

  “No,” Mary said. “But I’m touched. What is it?”

  A few days before a
ll of this started, Devika had ordered a necklace for her mother. The email told her to wait two to ten days for shipping.

  “Uh, it should be there in a few days.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  Devika said nothing.

  “Fine,” Mary said. Her voice lightened a little. “Well, I love you, Devi. Please be safe.”

  “Always…Mom.”

  They hung up, and Devika pocketed her cell phone, leaned her head against the glass and closed her eyes.

  She pushed all emotion out of her mind. The love of her adopted mother, the only woman in this entire galaxy that showed her love, despite Devika’s broken soul. She pushed out the happy memories, the bad memories of her life as a child slave, the cozy, fuzzy memories of her birth parents. She couldn’t take it.

  She couldn’t take it.

  She couldn’t take it.

  She swallowed, imagining the memories washing away like dirt on a sidewalk during rain.

  And she thought of the mission.

  When she opened her eyes, Keltie and Michiko were standing in the shadows, watching her.

  Seeing them, she closed her eyes again and rubbed her temples.

  “That’s extremely creepy,” she said.

  “I feel like we have a kinship,” Michiko said. “First off, you have a mom, and you call her, which is amazing. Second, you blatantly lied to her…I don’t know if I should commiserate with you or lecture you about the virtues of being a good daughter.”

  Michiko plopped down onto the nook next to Devika.

  “So, what’s your story?” Michiko asked.

  Devika said nothing; instead, she massaged her temples harder. Anytime Michiko entered the room, she felt a headache coming on.

  “Tell me about your mom,” Michiko said. “I bet she’s really pretty, like you.”

  Devika attempted to stand, but Michiko reached for her. Devika ripped her hand away and looked at Michiko angrily.

  Keltie blocked her way.

  “You’re not getting a pass this time,” Keltie said. “I still don’t know if you’re an ax murderer.”

  Devika sat down and sighed.

  “I don’t feel like talking. And no, I’m not an ax murderer.”

  “That’s exactly what an ax murderer would say,” Keltie said, grinning.