The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
THE BLARMLING DILEMMA
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Table of Contents
THE BLARMLING DILEMMA
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
THE BLARMLING DILEMMA
Hearts In Orbit: Volume 1
S. C. MITCHELL
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
THE BLARMLING DILEMMA
Copyright©2014
S. C. MITCHELL
Cover Design by Fiona Jayde
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-639-9
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is dedicated
to my amazing collection of nieces and nephews,
and their families,
who have inspired and supported my writing.
Yup, crazy Uncle Steve is at it again.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the Wisconsin Romance Writers of America for their wonderful support of my writing. I’d also like to thank the most amazing editor on this planet, Cheryl Yeko, for holding my hand and kicking my butt (sometimes at the same time) when needed during the writing of this book.
Glossary
Backteching — Reducing the technological level of a planet to pre-21st century technology.
Blarmling — Inhabitant of the planet ESL-37659 (Blarm). Blarmlings resemble old Earth teddy bears, and have silver fur and purple eyes.
Gandisol — A green, viscous liquid first discovered in the steam mines of Uranus, used to stabilize electrons during the process of atom splitting in an ion star drive.
Holovision — A five-dimensional, immersive entertainment system that presents programming with sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste. A viewer can walk through the presentation and interact with the computer-generated images at will.
Plastine — A high intensity plastic explosive.
Quintsom — The latest in designer drugs. Highly addictive.
Pelingham.FNT — The premier galaxynet site for testing and removal of computer viruses, microbugs, flopware, and tanglebores. Also allows for online storage of mailpods and appbanks.
United Research and Technologies (U. R. T.) — A galactic high-tech conglomerate.
Chapter 1
The photon blast shook Phoebe’s star cruiser violently, throwing her from the pilot’s seat, into the ship’s control panel. The explosion crippled the hyper-drive and took out the starboard retros. The acrid stench of vaporized titanium seeped from the ventilators, invading the pilot cabin.
Phoebe struggled back into her seat, and fingered the controls, turning the ship hard to port and banking upward. The ion drive engine complained, reacting sluggishly as she keyed in commands.
Phat photons! The damage had to be extensive. She was in deep cantaur poo.
She swallowed and tried to ignore the coppery tang of blood sliding down her throat. She had bit her lip when she’d hit the control panel, and her mouth throbbed.
Fighting the controls, she banked hard starboard. The next blast missed her craft, but only by centimeters. The photon waveshock still rattled her ship as it passed, but she breathed easier as she noted the blast beam disappearing into the blackness of space ahead of her ship. Okay, her pursuer was good, she’d give ‘em that, but not perfect.
Maybe . . .
Behind her, Oolo and Lart clicked and whistled in alarm. The Blarmlings’ fear was palpable. She had a moment before her pursuer could recharge his cannon, so she turned to confront her little friends, offering her condolences.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how they found us.” Phoebe’s heart sank. What’s a galactic marshal doing this far from the main shipping lanes?
Oolo and Lart’s silver fur stood on end; their purple eyes whirled in terror. Phoebe couldn’t blame them. Her stomach was in knots, but she refused to let panic paralyze her. Hell no. She needed to pull it together and get them out of this. If she couldn’t escape, she was looking at years of incarceration on a prison planet. And what the Blarmlings faced was far worse. She was their only hope of survival.
Warning buzzers and flashing lights lit up her control panel, drawing her attention back, as the
ship’s systems sent encoded pleas for repair and maintenance. The big, main engine hummed and whined while Phoebe worked desperately to pull every ounce of thrust she could from it. Perspiration dotted her brow as her hands flew over the controls, initiating repairs, and bringing backup systems online.
How had they found her? She’d been so careful in choosing her route, timing her jumps. This marshal either had incredible instincts or absurdly dumb luck on his side.
Phoebe launched a quick scan of the attacking vessel. Information scrolled down the display screen. A P-86? You have got to be kidding me?
Who was this guy?
No self-respecting galactic marshal would be piloting something that ancient. Hell, she’d seen photovids of her grandfather in his young years standing in front of one of these ships. On top of that, the craft was leaking gandisol like a sieve. How in the galaxy can that rusty trash heap even fly, let alone shoot at me?
A second blast rocked her, this one taking out her stabilizers. Whoever was flying the P-86 had a good eye and a quick trigger finger. She adjusted the ship’s trajectory and checked the targeting computer display. She’d managed to get a lock on the main gun. If she could take that out, she might still have a chance. But as she reached toward her gunnery controls she spotted the flashing warning.
This shot has a 6% chance of a Hull Integrity Breach
Damn, the targeting computer wasn’t even taking into effect the P-86’s gandisol leak. Phoebe pulled her finger back from the fire button. She couldn’t take the chance. Disabling a craft’s weapons was one thing; killing someone, even someone shooting at her, was something completely different. Even with a low probability, she just couldn’t do it, even to save the Blarmlings.
Lart put a furry paw on her shoulder and she turned to meet his solemn gaze. Did he really understand? Phoebe hadn’t been able to communicate with the gentle creatures, yet they seemed to know what she was telling them, sometimes even before she spoke the words. She suspected they possessed some sort of telepathy or empathy.
They were so cute. How could anyone want to harm them? She gathered Oolo and Lart in a quick hug, and they responded with ardent coos. Their soft fur tickled her cheek as she nuzzled them.
The silver furred, purple-eyed bipeds resembled baby bears from old Earth recordings, though their snouts were less pronounced and their front paws more hand-like, with opposable thumbs. There was much humans could learn from these amazing creatures. But that doesn’t give United Research and Technology the right to treat them like lab animals.
Phoebe frowned. She was left with only one strategy. “You guys better hide. I’ll play dumb. Maybe—”
The third blast took out her ion engine. The controls went dead. Lights on the panel flickered, then went out. The steady hum of the ship engine faded. The sudden silence was deafening.
She took a deep breath. In the silence her heart thundered in her ears.
It was over.
The P-86 was on an intercept vector, its connection tunnel already extending toward her hatchway. She’d be boarded, arrested . . . she wasn’t sure what all. She’d never been on this side of the law before. Her heart raced frantically, her mouth dry.
The orange light on the com indicated an incoming call. At least her comnet was still operative. Not that it helped her any. She was caught, dead in the water. Phoebe wondered what the prison planets were like. Had her rescue attempt been worth it?
Oolo and Lart scampered into the ship’s ventilation shaft. She turned and watched her two furry friends pulling the grate closed behind them. Oolo’s big purple eyes met hers. The female Blarmling trilled a reassuring tone, and nodded her head toward Phoebe.
Yes. It was worth it, even if her plan had failed. She squared her shoulders and faced the com, taking a deep breath. Phoebe couldn’t have just let them be killed. Maybe her trial would generate some publicity and sympathy for the creatures. She could only hope. There could be more Blarmlings in captivity in other U. R. T. facilities. A chill fisted in her stomach at the thought of what could be going on. Were hunters already on their way to Blarm to secure more of the helpless creatures?
Cursing, she hit the com button, answering the call. Maybe it wasn’t a marshal. It could be one of the outer rim pirates, or an escaped spacer, just wanting to rob her. That would be okay. She didn’t have anything they’d want, well except maybe her ship. The ZP-2, while smaller and lighter than the P-86, was a much newer model.
The view-screen flickered to life as Phoebe engaged the audio-only-send feature and moved her hand to cover the in-dash camera in case her assailant had the tech knowhow to override her settings. The rugged image that stared back at her from the view-screen had at least a two-day’s growth of beard, unruly dark brown hair, and the most intense blue eyes she’d ever encountered.
“Phoebe Callista.” The man’s voice was deep-toned. “By the authority vested in me . . .”
Damn, he wasn’t a pirate, although he’d have made a great one. He looked the part. Rugged, handsome, unkempt. What he didn’t look like was a galactic marshal.
“Under arrest for . . .”
The man droned on. Phoebe, lost in her thoughts, missed most of what he was saying, but with a life spent in front of the holovision watching crime vids and mystery dramas, Phoebe could probably have recited the Rights of Federated Citizens by heart.
Shaking her head, she forced her concentration. Damn it, this wasn’t a vid. She was being arrested.
“Rigel Antares, Vogel Colonies of the Theiler Star System—”
“What the hell?” Phoebe’s stomach knotted tighter as her shout interrupted the man’s litany. “Did you say the Theiler System?”
“Yes, I am from the Theiler System, Miss Callista. Please let me finish. It’s not like this isn’t hard enough.”
The Theiler System was a collection of prison planets on the outer rim of the galaxy. Probably where she’d end up when this was all over. The entire system was essentially one big penitentiary. This man wasn’t a galactic marshal at all, he was a spacer. Phoebe was being arrested by a criminal.
Rigel checked the rap sheet again, hoping to decipher the cryptic symbols at the bottom of the page. Like everything else on his rattletrap of a starship, the printer was almost working properly.
Callista, Phoebe – Wanted for theft, transporting stolen goods across system boundaries, and resisting arrest.
Reward: 50,000 Galactic Credits.
Subject has in her possession biological specimens stolen from United Research and Technology. Specimens are . . . The rest of the rap sheet was unreadable garbage. Still, the important parts were there—who, what . . . and fifty thousand galactic credits. Someone wanted this woman pretty badly. With that kind of money, he could finally get a new printout inducer and pay someone to fix the gandisol leak in the main fuel compressor.
The woman’s picture, of course, hadn’t printed at all, but the Intelcomp had positively identified the woman’s ZP class star cruiser.
Why is a woman who can afford that kind of ride, filching bio from U.R.T.?
Maybe she’d stolen the ZP as well, and it just hadn’t been discovered yet, or was noted lower on the rap sheet, beyond the point where his printer malfunctioned. He had the Intelcomp going through the Starship registration database, but that could take hours this far from the galactic core. Hopefully, it was stolen and there would be an additional reward offered for its recovery on top of the fifty thousand credits he’d earn from bringing Phoebe Callista in. Two for one was always a good deal. He hadn’t damaged the craft too much and the real owners would probably be happy to get it back, even without a working hyper-drive.
Rigel figured the woman would be the rough type. He’d dealt with them before. Big, tough, and desperate. Probably a wacked-out user, so he’d have to be careful. Addicts tended to be unpredictable. H
e had the scars to prove that.
She hadn’t said much when he’d opened the initial com-link and she’d blocked her internal camera. He’d been bounty hunting long enough to know what to expect when he entered her ship. Rigel set his blaster to stun and checked the charge. Fifty-seven percent, that should be plenty. He hoped she wouldn’t make him blow her ship’s hatch. His supply of plastine was getting low, and that stuff was expensive.
He felt the impact of the connection tunnel locking onto her craft. The pressure gauge said there was still no air in the connecting chamber, but Rigel knew better. It took two flicks of his finger on the gauge before it began to register. Yup, his ship needed a complete overhaul, and this woman was his ticket to getting all these irritations fixed. Now he just had to secure her and get her back to a galactic security facility.
Fifty thousand galactic credits. This just had to be one bad-assed criminal.
Rigel unbuckled his seatbelt and drifted across the main ship compartment. He hoped the grav generator would power up properly. He preferred zero-G when he flew, but with a prisoner onboard he’d need to crank it to at least .5. Couldn’t have Miss Callista floating around in her cell, she might bang her head on a pipe or something. Even if he could afford the insurance, it wouldn’t cover a lawsuit like that.
He felt the pull toward the floor as he approached the exit. Good, the grav generator was working . . . for now anyway. The ache in his right leg returned as his feet met the deck, but he forced himself not to limp.
As he opened his outer hatch, he heard the hiss of the gasses escaping into the connection tunnel and felt the pressure stabilize between the two compartments. Was she there, right behind the door, waiting to jump him? It had happened on more than one occasion. The external camera should have been able to tell him for sure, but just like everything else on his ship, it only seemed to work when he didn’t need it.