The Blarmling Dilemma (Hearts in Orbit Book 1)

by S. C. Mitchell

  The warp core, of course, was gone. She’d known that just looking at the ship’s wrecked aft section. The lack of warp capabilities was their biggest hurdle, one that could only be overcome with galactic credits and purchased parts. And warp cores didn’t come cheap.

  But the life support, weapons, and shields seemed somewhat intact on The Sheltered Princess. In short, her ship was in better shape than it looked, and there were dozens of working systems she could strip parts from.

  Not all the parts were direct replacements. The two ships had some extreme differences, but many components could be used directly and others adapted with time and effort. And Phoebe certainly seemed to have time on her hands.

  She hadn’t seen any sign of Clarence O’Callaghan in over a cycle, and while the extra fuel line allowed her to finish the repairs on the thrusters, there were so many other systems still down or ‘iffy’ on The Blarmlings’ Hope that she was itching to fix. The lack of rear shields particularly rankled.

  She started mapping out the plan, listing the parts she wanted to scavenge. They’d still need money for a warp core, but most of the other systems could be brought online using parts from her old ship. It would take three trips, using Rigel’s cargo cart, and each trip would require about an hour in her ship to dismantle systems and grab parts.

  Once again she justified the theft. It was her ship, they were her parts. She prioritized the parts list. She’d get the most important items first. If O’Callaghan came back before she could take everything, at least she’d grab what she could.

  And if the marshal came back while she was on The Sheltered Princess . . . well, she’d deal with that if it happened. She couldn’t just sit here any longer.

  Oolo had taken to pacing behind her, having developed an almost human sounding “hurrmph!”

  “I’m going, Oolo, so just leave off. Don’t you want those babies inside you to see Blarm before they’re grown?”

  Oolo’s pregnancy had started to show over the past days, her stomach protruding and shifting as the new life inside grew and moved. Phoebe tried to imagine what a baby Blarmling would look like. As adults they were incredibly adorable creatures. Could their babies be even cuter?

  Lart wandered over and put a paw on Oolo’s shoulder. A concerned tone colored his trills and whistles. The two Blarmlings stood looking into each other’s eyes and Phoebe got the impression they were discussing something important.

  “Vrrrll.” The trill stood out as a word, repeated back and forth between Oolo and Lart.

  “I wish I understood what you were saying.” If only Rigel were here. What was he doing anyway?

  Phoebe’s stomach did a flip just thinking about the hunky bounty hunter, but she fought to rein in her emotions. She wasn’t the type that relied on others. She didn’t need Rigel. Getting the ship fixed, getting the Blarmlings home, she’d get that done on her own, if need be.

  Phoebe turned her attention to her list of parts. Most important was a cooling condenser from the ion drive. The drive on The Blarmlings’ Hope kept misfiring when it overheated. Even if the bolts weren’t fused, the condenser would take her a good half hour to extract. A quick peek out the porthole told her the spaceport was empty and quiet.

  No time like the present.

  Oolo and Lart were still deep in their discussion as she maneuvered the floating platform out of the large cargo bay door and down onto the walkway. At least Oolo wasn’t giving her the evil eye anymore.

  The greasy red hair and the bold blue and gold uniform caught Rigel’s attention even from atop the high wire. It couldn’t be.

  But it was. Clarence O’Callaghan stood in the big top entrance, grilling a group of performers.

  “Rigel.” The hushed voice came from the platform behind him. “Some marshal is asking questions about you and some dame.” Markus’s whispered warning held a hint of concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Despite the interruption, Rigel did his best to keep the four juggling clubs in the air and continued with his routine. This was his last run-through before tonight’s performance. He didn’t have time for distractions.

  He glanced quickly down and saw someone in the crowd below gesture toward him. Rigel felt all eyes turn to him, then O’Callaghan hollered, “Antares!”

  Frack!

  Rigel needed to deal with this now, but that meant he’d lose the chance for a full run-through of his performance.

  He hit the button on his grav belt and stepped from the high wire. Feather light, he gently drifted down toward the sawdust-covered ground.

  Internally, he seethed, but there was no way he’d let the portly galactic marshal see his frustrations. He also didn’t want the other performers to think he posed any danger to them. Most of the circus folk had something to hide.

  He forced a big smile and, after touching down, strolled casually toward the group.

  “So, O’Callaghan. Finally pursuing a career you’re actually qualified for? I hear they’re hiring clowns.” He wanted to keep the officer on the defensive and move him away from the others. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Rotund.”

  He reached for O’Callaghan’s arm, hoping to maneuver the man out of the big top and behind one of the circus wagons where they could talk privately, but the lawman just shook him off.

  “I’ve met your ringmaster.” Indignation rolled off his face. “You’re not hiding from me here, bounty hunter.”

  Rigel continued walking past him, hoping the man would follow. “Bounty hunter no more. I’m here to reclaim my former glory. You’ll just have to go bother some other hapless soul.”

  What in Saturn’s rings was O’Callaghan doing here? Did he still suspect Rigel of hiding Phoebe from him?

  “Right now I’m talkin’ to you, pretty boy. That Callista broad hasn’t shown up on anyone’s radar yet. You had her ship before me. I’ve got a few more questions to ask you.” Rigel smiled, but didn’t turn. Like a lured napplefish, O’Callaghan had followed him out of the tent.

  “So you thought you’d use that tracer you hid on my ship to track me down for a friendly visit. How nice.”

  Rigel suspected O’Callaghan had bugged his ship months ago, but hadn’t had the time or skills needed to find the tracer.

  “Tracers are illegal without a warrant, Antares. You know that.” It was said with a sneer, barely a denial at all. “I just happened upon you here.”

  One day, the arrogant bastard would overstep a little too far, and Rigel would get the goods on him. Currently though, he was stuck, and had to work just to keep the status quo. O’Callaghan held all the cards . . . for now.

  Ducking behind a circus wagon, Rigel decided he was far enough away to reel the marshal in. “Far be it for you to break any laws, just to get something you want.” Rigel didn’t even try to hide the distain in his voice.

  Out of sight of the others, Rigel turned and confronted him. “But what do you really want, O’Callaghan?”

  “I want you, back on Theiler, where spacer scum like you belong.”

  Rigel suspected that this wasn’t about Phoebe at all. The bigoted bastard didn’t care that Rigel had never broken a law. In O’Callaghan’s mind a spacer was a spacer.

  “And you won’t rest until you’ve caught me littering or jaywalking. How noble.”

  O’Callaghan was probably hoping he could push Rigel into taking a punch at him. Assaulting an officer would be enough of a charge to haul him before a Magistrate, and in any court in the galaxy, a spacer’s word didn’t stand a chance against that of a galactic marshal. Still, it took all Rigel’s control to keep his fists at his side.

  A beeper went off on O’Callaghan’s belt.

  “Looks like you’ve got a crime in progress, Marshal. Do you have any idea how to catch an actual criminal?”

  O’Ca
llaghan snatched the remote com unit from his belt and punched in some commands with his pudgy index finger. “This isn’t over Antares. I’ll be back.”

  Rigel sighed as the portly lawman lumbered away. Would he never be free of the man?

  Phoebe finally worked the heavy condenser loose from its fittings. She was moving it onto the cargo cart, when she noticed the flutterby in the doorway. The small, flying spy droid was marked by the six-pointed star symbol of the galactic marshals.

  “Phat photons!”

  O’Callaghan must have had the thing on patrol between the two ships, keeping an eye on them. It had just been dumb luck she’d avoided it the last time. Now, she was sure she’d been spotted. As she moved to make a speedy exit the heavy airlock door slammed shut, trapping her inside The Sheltered Princess.

  Thrusters fired on the ship next to her, Clarence O’Callaghan’s ship, as Phoebe dashed for the airlock door, but even her secret override would not open the hatch. She’d be trapped in here if she couldn’t get the door open. Desperately she tried a hack back into her ship’s system, seeking a release code, but the system appeared to have been overridden by the com on O’Callaghan’s ship. That would be high-level government technology she probably didn’t stand a chance against.

  “Damn, damn, damn.” She hammered her fists on the locked door.

  As the officer’s ship ascended, the tow cable attached to Phoebe’s starcruiser went taut, lifting The Sheltered Princess from her moorings.

  Internal grav settings kept Phoebe’s feet firmly on the floor as the world outside tilted sideways. Had the galactic marshal returned to his ship while she’d been busy extracting the condenser?

  She accessed her ship’s sensors to scan O’Callaghan’s hyperjet.

  “What?”

  The scan reported no life forms onboard. If O’Callaghan wasn’t onboard his ship, why had it suddenly come to life?

  Phoebe sighed. Of course. The flutterby had spotted her and contacted O’Callaghan. The marshal was probably controlling his ship remotely, to trap whoever had broken into The Sheltered Princess.

  Phoebe gave up trying to hack the door lock. Even if she got the door open, she was now too far up to safely jump to the docks.

  Damn. What was she going to do?

  The two ships rose above the starport and started cruising over the platform. The orbiting space station was larger than Phoebe had thought from Rigel’s description. The city center was twenty blocks of five-story, steel and plastoid buildings. Surrounding that, was actual green-space including parklands, hydro-farms, and a large field on the end opposite the starport.

  In the center of that field stood a huge, green and white striped tent, surrounded by dozens of ornate wagons and trailers. That had to be the circus Rigel had talked about. Again she wondered what he could be doing at a circus. What was his connection?

  Over the edge of the platform, Phoebe’s gaze was drawn to the orange glow of the lava-covered planet below. Molten rock rolled in boiling waves across the surface. The thought of living above such carnage sent chills up her spine, and she wrenched her eyes from the planet’s surface and back toward the parkland where the ships were coming in for a landing.

  Standing on a small grassy hill, his fingers frantically jamming commands into a remote com unit, was a familiar red-haired figure in a blue and gold uniform.

  “No.” Blood drained from Phoebe’s face. Icy tendrils shot through her core. Her legs weakened, and she slumped to the floor as despair overwhelmed her.

  She was being delivered directly to the one man in the Galaxy she most wanted to avoid.

  Chapter 13

  Rigel rested his forehead against one of the packing crates, closing his eyes tightly, as he tried to block out the dark thoughts rumbling through his head.

  O’Callaghan followed him to Alpha Cygnus, not because he suspected anything, but just to harass him. The lawman had an unreasonable prejudice against spacers and, for some reason, Rigel in particular. Why had he been singled out? What did the marshal really want from him?

  All he knew for sure was that O’Callaghan had it in for him. While trying to protect Phoebe, Rigel had actually placed her in worse danger. He prayed she would stay safely hidden on his ship.

  Phoebe was constantly on his mind. He’d considered slipping back to his ship after the show tonight. God, he wanted to see her again. Now, though, Rigel didn’t dare go back until he had enough money to get the hyper drive fixed. O’Callaghan was sure to use some excuse to barge in and tear the ship apart again. As long as Rigel was here and not on The Blarmlings’ Hope, O’Callaghan should assume it was unoccupied and leave it alone.

  That damn warp core!

  He hadn’t had the opportunity to price one out yet, but he knew they weren’t cheap. Thousands of credits for a new one, possibly less if there was something used available. The Blarmlings home world was on the other side of the galaxy. Without the ability to warp from one sector of space to another, the trip to Blarm would take centuries.

  Warping would also help keep O’Callaghan off his back. It was no accident the bastard had targeted his warp core. Rigel felt like a Montanian Blarehound on a short leash, with a choke collar.

  Step one: get the warp core. He needed to concentrate on that, and that meant earning credits. There could be no future without fixing the problems of the present.

  He fingered the grav belt, considering Rotund’s offer.

  “Don’t do it, Rigel.” Markus had managed to sneak up on him again. “I’ve got some savings, if you need a loan. No rush paying me back.”

  That was so Markus. He’d give the shirt off his back. But there was no way Rigel was taking Markus’s money. The clown was paid barely enough for his own needs. And he knew Marcus was slipping credits to any of the clowns injured by Rotund’s teleporter. Plus, Rigel wasn’t about to put one of his few friendships at risk over credits, no matter how desperate he was.

  The circus band struck up Entrance of the Gladiators and Rigel reached for the gold cape, tying it around his neck. “It’s show time, little man.”

  Markus sighed. “Forgive me for not saying break a leg.”

  Rigel shot the clown a wink. “Been there, done that.”

  Phoebe scrunched into the shadows as the airlock door hissed open. O’Callaghan’s shadow flooded across the control room floor. The feted stench of his unwashed body assailed her nostrils.

  She cringed. What was she to do? If she were caught, would Rigel get the Blarmlings home?

  Of course he would. She’d known him only a short time, but knew in her heart that she could trust him. Whether or not she was caught now, made little difference in the long run. Maybe it would be better to just surrender and get it over with.

  She raised her hands, cursing herself for getting caught like this, and started to move out of the shadows when a brusque voice startled her.

  “You can’t land those here.”

  The ship’s interior brightened as O’Callaghan turned and moved away from the doorway.

  “I’ll do whatever I please.” The lawman’s words were brash, filled with his own sense of self-importance.

  Phoebe crept to the doorway. Marshal O’Callaghan had moved down the entrance ramp and stood with his back to her. A second man, slightly taller and much thinner, confronted him. The man wore a brown coverall with some sort of official looking emblem on the chest. Neither man seemed to notice her as they stared intently at each other.

  “Marshal, you don’t seem to understand—”

  O’Callaghan cut the man off. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you are interfering with an official investigation.”

  Phoebe saw her fortunes shift. Moving as quietly as possible, she hopped off the side of the ramp and made her way along the side of the ship. A small copse of tre
es offered a place to hide fifty meters away. If she could just slip away . . . somehow make her way back to Rigel’s ship . . .

  She longed to see him again. To be in his arms. The way he’d held her. The way she’d felt whenever he was near. Pins, needles, and butterflies.

  Check your libido at the door and concentrate on getting away you stupid idiot. It was Miss Snotty Pants’ voice she heard echoing though her head.

  The man in the brown coverall was holding the officer’s complete attention as Phoebe slipped farther away from them.

  “Marshal, the platform’s stabilizers are located directly below this greenspace. You’re ships’ grav fields—”

  “One more word, citizen, and I’ll have you brought up on charges.”

  O’Callaghan turned his back on the man—a dismissive gesture if Phoebe had ever seen one. Unfortunately, the galactic marshal was now looking directly at her.

  “I knew it.” O’Callaghan reached for his holstered blaster. “Phoebe Callista, you are under arrest . . .”

  Phoebe didn’t wait for the rest of his declaration. She dashed toward the trees, hoping she could reach them before he could draw and fire.

  The blast tore bark from a tree trunk just as she took shelter behind it.

  “Miss Callista, don’t compound your problems by trying to escape.” O’Callaghan started plodding toward her, his blaster still extended.

  She ducked down behind a bush and scurried on all fours toward the next tree.

  “Marshal, I cannot allow you to leave these ships here.” The man was pleading with him.