Guardian Outcast

by G J Ogden

  This system had proved effective at discouraging relic smuggling, but it hadn’t stopped it completely. During their eventful night together, Ericka had told Hudson of numerous creative ways in which hunters had managed to smuggle relics past the RGF checkpoints. Ericka’s own method had been to hide smaller objects inside the shielded compartment in her jacket. Over several hunts on the wreck at Brahms Three, Ericka had managed to amass an elicit score that was enough to pay off her brother’s debts. And this wasn’t even including the mysterious crystal that everyone seemed so interested in. The problem was how to get past the Shaak sensor perimeter, and this was where most relic hunters came unstuck. RGF cops may not have been honorable on the whole, but they were trained to be excellent combat pilots. Even a veteran relic hunter would struggle to defeat an RGF patrol craft if it came down to a gun battle. However, with Hudson in control of the pursuit, Ericka’s escape was assured.

  He climbed up the rear cargo ramp of the patrol craft and entered the cockpit. Griff was already in his customary ‘feet up’ position, munching messily on one of the snacks he had taken from the guard station. He didn’t acknowledge Hudson’s arrival, and Hudson decided that keeping his mouth shut this time was a better plan than being a smart ass. Slotting himself down into the pilot’s seat, he closed the rear ramp, and powered up the vertical lift engines. The craft ascended into the air above the mammoth alien vessel, and Hudson slotted into their patrol pattern around the wreck site.

  His course just skirted past the outer edge of the scavenger town. He peered down at the dingy, narrow streets of Brahms Three’s seedy nightclub district and wondered if he’d ever make it out to this distant portal world again. There was no doubt that Brahms Three was a dump, full of the worst sort of cutthroats and villains, with one or two notable exceptions. However, despite cursing Chief Inspector Wash for assigning him to this duty, the last twenty-four hours had been the most thrilling of his thirty-eight years.

  “You know, I think I’m going to miss this place,” said Hudson. He was thinking of Ma and her dive bar with its impossibly strong whiskey and mix of oddball clientele.

  “Tell someone who gives a shit, rook,” Griff replied with his mouth full, while tuning one of his console screens to an entertainment feed.

  Hudson only half heard Griff’s irritable reply. He was now reminiscing about the night he’d spent in the scavenger town the day before. He recalled the adrenalin-soaked rush he’d got from the brawl in the alley, followed by the excitement of learning about the mysterious alien crystal. And then the unexpected, unadulterated thrill of what came after, back in Ericka’s hostel room. He had expected this day to be relatively tame in comparison, but how wrong he’d been. In the last couple of hours alone he’d been shot at, got lost in an alien wreck, fallen foul of a booby trap, met another dangerously alluring relic hunter, and gotten into another fight. Maybe Ma was right, he wondered. Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong. I shouldn’t be policing the relic hunters – I should be a relic hunter…

  “Hey, eyes on the road, rook,” snapped Griff, who had apparently noticed that Hudson was away in a world of his own. “I don’t want you getting me killed, before I see you run out of this outfit like the waste of space you are.”

  Griff’s insults no longer stung. He could call him all the names under this little planet’s twin suns and it wouldn’t dampen his spirits. Hudson turned away from Griff and peered down at the massive shape of the alien wreck impaled into the dusty-brown soil ahead of them. Its heavily-armored external hull shimmered in the morning sun, like a half-buried, wingless dragon.

  “Slotting into patrol plan now,” said Hudson, as he swung around and began following the course highlighted in his heads-up display. He checked the location of the second patrol craft, and it was right where it was supposed to be, on the far edge of the checkpoint district.

  “Keep it down, will you? I’m trying to watch this,” snapped Griff, tearing open a packet of potato chips. He noisily munched on them as he watched the entertainment feed.

  Yes sir… Hudson thought, glancing over at Griff. He marveled at how it was possible for one person to be so vile and repugnant. Then out of the corner of his eye he noticed his comms system was flashing. He reached over and pulled the screen closer, before checking the message. It had been sent privately to his secure ID.

  ‘Standing by… Just say the word. Catch you on Earth, sometime? Love, Ericka.’

  Hudson smiled and then glanced across to Griff to make sure he hadn’t noticed anything. His TO’s long legs were still raised up on his console and his bony fingers were still buried deep inside the packet of chips. Griff snort-laughed at whatever humorous show he was watching, and dusty crumbs tumbled from the corners of his mouth onto his shirt and cargo pants.

  What a slob… Hudson thought, before turning back to his monitor to tap out a message in reply. “The word is said… Punch it! I’ll see you on Earth, and I’m buying.” Hudson re-read the message and hovered his finger over the ‘Send’ button. Once he transmitted the message there would be no turning back, for either of them. However, for the first time in his life there was no-doubt in his mind about what he should do next. He pressed the button, closing the circuit and closing this chapter of his life for good.

  CHAPTER 14

  Three high-pitched squawks rang out inside the cabin and repeated, rousing Griff from his post-snack nap. He dragged his spindly legs off the console and jolted upright, showering the deck with potato chip crumbs. A burned-out cigarette slid from his thin, chapped lips and tumbled down next to the crumbs. He hastily brushed it off, along with the cigarette ash that had come to rest on his collar, scorching it black. “What the hell? What’s going on?!” Griff blurted out, still disorientated from being woken so suddenly.

  Hudson leant forward and shut off the alarm, which was repeating on a loop. His heart had already begun thumping long before the alarm had sounded, but now it felt like his chest was about to split open. The alarm signaled that his plan was in motion. It was terrifying, but also thrilling. These were two sides of the same coin, and two sensations he’d gotten to liking over the last couple of days.

  Griff rubbed his eyes and checked his console, still unaware of the reason for the alert. Meanwhile, Hudson watched as a thick plume of smoke began to dissipate over the scavenger town. It was the trail of a ship that had hard burned out of the space port only moments earlier. Shortly after, it had pushed through the checkpoint perimeter and triggered the Shaak radiation alarms. It was Ericka’s ship, which meant the chase would soon be on.

  Go on, Ericka… run hard… run! Hudson urged, glad that Griff’s befuddled state had given her a few extra seconds head start. However, it didn’t take Griff long to blow the fog from his mind.

  “Shit, looks like we’ve got a smuggler making a run for the portal,” said Griff, brushing more crumbs off his uniform and from the corners of his mustache. Then he saw the scorch damage to his collar from the cigarette ash and cursed again. Hudson waited patiently for Griff to rudely bark an order at him, and he soon obliged. “Well, don’t just sit there, rook, we’re the assigned pursuit craft. Get after it!”

  “Yes sir, just waiting for you to wake up a little first, sir,” said Hudson, cheerfully. He then pulled back on the control column and forced the throttle pedal to the deck.

  “Don’t get wise with me, smart ass,” Griff hit back, “I don’t care if this is your last shift; so long as you wear that uniform, you do as I say, got it?”

  “Oh, I’ve got it. One hundred per cent crystal clear, sir,” said Hudson, with an artificial politeness that made him sound borderline insubordinate. He checked the navigation scanner. All of the other RGF ships in the vicinity of Brahms Three were significantly further away, just as planned. “Setting a pursuit course now. No-one else is in range, so it looks like it’s down to us.”

  “No shit, Einstein,” Griff snapped, tightening his harness, which he’d loosened earlier to make his snooze more comfortable. H
udson could already tell that he’d rubbed his TO up the wrong way with his cheerfully flippant tone. “If that ship gets away then you can bet your ass my report will cite ‘inept piloting’ as the reason why,” Griff added.

  “What do I care if it gets away?” replied Hudson, enjoying pushing Griff’s buttons, “I’m quitting anyway, so what difference does it make to me?”

  Griff had now gone from distinctly unamused to red-faced and furious. “I’ve had enough of your crap, rook!” he yelled, jabbing a bony finger at Hudson. “If that ship gets away, you’ll end up in a cell. And I’ll personally make sure Wash lets you rot on this pigsty of a planet for the next decade.”

  “Jeez, relax, Griff, I’m joking!” said Hudson, utterly unfazed by the outburst. “Unlike some members of the RGF, I do things by the book, remember? I’ll catch the ship; just be ready to do your part.”

  This seemed to appease Griff, at least a little. “You don’t have to worry about me, rook,” he said, easing back into his seat. “Just get us in range and I’ll do the rest.” However, although Griff had backed down, every muscle in his wiry frame was still tensed and brimming with nervous energy.

  Soon, the dusty brown surface of Brahms Three shrank into the distance and the view outside the cockpit grew darker. Seconds later the patrol craft passed through the planet’s upper atmosphere and into the barren emptiness of space. Hudson had already almost caught up with Ericka’s dilapidated light freighter. She was still at least ten minutes away from reaching the portal, and Hudson would be within weapons range in a quarter of that time. He rehearsed the plan in his mind, running through the steps over and over again, including what he intended to say to Griff. It’ll work, Hudson, just relax… he told himself. It’s going to work…

  Hudson checked his instruments and called over to Griff, “Weapons range in two minutes.” He didn’t need to provide an update, but Griff had been unusually quiet since they’d reached space. “Shouldn’t you radio the runner and order it to stand down?”

  Griff was busy fine-tuning the settings on his weapons console. “Are you the one giving me orders now, rook?” he said, without looking up.

  “No, it’s just procedure,” replied Hudson, trying to keep his cool. “You know, by the book?”

  “Radio the damn ship if you want,” said Griff, impatiently pulling the controls for the forward cannon into position. “But you’re wasting your breath.” Then Griff glanced over at Hudson while tapping the grip of his manual firing stick. “This is the only language those scumbags understand.”

  “Fine, I’ll do it then,” replied Hudson, making a deliberate attempt to sound annoyed at Griff’s lack of co-operation. Though it was actually a relief to be the one making the call. He hoped that Ericka hearing his voice on the radio would reassure her that everything was going to plan. He slipped his headset on and flipped open a channel to the light freighter. “Relic hunter vessel, Gulliver – ID November One Five One Four Kilo – this is RGF Patrol Craft Scimitar,” Hudson began, watching the range indicator carefully as he spoke. “You are ordered to return to the checkpoint district on Brahms Three immediately. Fail to comply and we will fire on you…” He waited for a response, knowing that one would not come, and sure enough the speaker returned only static.

  “Told you so…” said Griff, with a smug look on his craggy face. Hudson couldn’t get distracted by thoughts of murdering Griff; time was running out and he needed to act soon. He let go of the control yoke with his right hand and flexed his fingers, pumping the blood to get the circulation flowing. He was ready to initiate the next stage of the plan. Into the microphone he said, “I say again, relic hunter vessel, stand down and return to the planet or we will fire upon you.” However, his inner voice was urging Ericka to hold her course and her nerve. Keep going Ericka… he called out in his mind, you’re almost there, just keep running…

  “Thirty seconds to weapons range,” Hudson called out, but Griff didn’t answer. All of his partner’s attention was now focused through the holographic gunsight that had lit up in front of his eyes. With Griff’s attention diverted elsewhere, Hudson made his move. Slowly, and with half an eye still on Griff, he reached down underneath his dashboard and felt for the main bus cable. The tips of his fingers made contact with the reinforced casing of the thick metal plug and he teased it back just enough to break the connection. Immediately, the indicators on his dashboard started to flash urgently, his control column went dead and the main engines cut out.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Griff called out.

  Hudson whipped his hand out from under the dashboard as swiftly as he could, but it was clear that Griff had caught him in the act. “What does it look like?” Hudson hit back, trying to improvise on the spot, and hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. “We just lost flight control, so I’m checking my console. What the hell are you yelling at me for?”

  Griff swiveled his chair to face Hudson, and popped open the strap securing his sidearm inside his holster. “Bullshit, rook, I saw your hand under there before we lost power,” Griff spat, now resting his palm on the grip of his weapon. “What’s going on? What are you trying to pull?”

  “My hand was under the console because I was trying to fix it, you moron,” protested Hudson. He was fighting hard to suppress the rising wave of panic that had flooded into his body. “It could just be a faulty bus cable or something like that. You know how the RGF skimps on maintenance, especially on these backwater worlds.”

  Just then the engines kicked back into life as the loosened bus cable wiggled around inside its housing, making intermittent contact with the connectors. The brief burst of acceleration jostled Griff in his seat like a mule bucking its rider. For a split-second, Hudson considered rushing him, before realizing his harness was still fastened. He reached down and pressed the release so that he was ready to move should another opportunity arise. However, when he looked up again, he saw that Griff had drawn his weapon and leveled it at him.

  “Keep your ass in that seat, rook,” Griff ordered, teasing the end of the barrel towards him. “You’re a damn liar. You’re going to tell me what you’re up to, or you’re going to get this bullet.”

  “Shooting your pilot is hardly a smart plan,” said Hudson. He was hoping to call Griff’s bluff, or at least stall him some more.

  “I can fly this piece of crap well enough, asshole,” replied Griff. “Besides, the RGF can always just ferry up a new pilot. So, it honestly doesn’t matter to me if you arrive back at Brahms Three in that seat or in a body bag.”

  Hudson’s brain froze up. He’d run out of ideas, but even if he had any more bluffs up his sleeve, he was sure Griff wouldn’t believe them. He glanced out of the cockpit glass, watching the blue glow of Ericka’s engines grow smaller, urging the ship to go faster.

  Griff scowled and followed Hudson’s gaze out through the cockpit glass, “You’re with the smuggler, aren’t you?” he said, suddenly piecing it all together. “You set this up back on the planet. I knew you were up to something!”

  “You’re delusional…” Hudson began, but Griff was having no more of his objections.

  “Save it, rook,” he snapped, cutting Hudson off mid-sentence. He then swapped the weapon into his left hand and entered a short sequence of commands into his console. A second later the door to the rear cargo compartment slid open and thumped into its housing.

  “Drop your weapon on the deck and then get aft,” ordered Griff, gesturing through the open doorway with his sidearm. “I’ll deal with you later, once I’ve taken care of this friend of yours.”

  Hudson hesitated, considering if there was still a chance to rush Griff while the weapon was in his off hand. However, his partner quickly switched hands again and his opening vanished. He cursed his indecision, because now he was all out of options.

  “Make a move, please…” said Griff, aiming the weapon at Hudson again. “I’d love you to give me an excuse to shoot you right here…”

  Hudson gritted his te
eth and then slid his weapon out of its holster, before dropping it on the deck, all the while being watched closely by Griff.

  “Kick it over here,” Griff ordered, and Hudson did so, at the same time glancing out of the cockpit glass again. He could just about make out the faint glow of Ericka’s engines, but he knew she was still five or six minutes away from the portal. If Griff restored control, he’d still have time to catch her. And if that happened, Hudson knew what would come next, because he’d already witnessed how his sadistic partner dealt with rogue relic hunters.

  Suddenly, the patrol craft’s engines kicked in again, momentarily kangarooing the ship like a car on the verge of stalling. Griff was forced to lower his weapon and grasp onto the seat frame to keep his balance. Hudson saw his chance and this time he didn’t waver. Propelling himself out of his seat like a jack-in-the-box, he dove at Griff as if he was making a football tackle. He had hoped to knock him out or at least badly wind him. Unfortunately, luck was not with Hudson this time. The engines kicked in again, pushing Griff away from Hudson’s desperate, outstretched hands. A second later, he slammed into the bulkhead and then hit the deck like a stone.

  CHAPTER 15

  The cabin dissolved into blackness and for a time – he had no idea how long – Hudson was only vaguely aware of where he was. Slowly his ears started ringing, louder and clearer, and his vision became a blurry white fuzz. He tried to move, but all of his actions felt muddled. He wasn’t even sure if he was standing, sitting or flat on his back. He tried to speak, to call out for help, but no words came out.

  Deep down, he knew he was in danger, but he couldn’t remember why. Then an image of Ericka shot into his thoughts. She was naked, lying on her stomach on top of the bed in her hostel room. There was a half-empty whiskey bottle by her side, and she was smiling at him. Ericka? Hudson called out in his mind, but she simply smiled back at him, feet raised up behind her, toes waggling. What?... Why?... And then the realization hit him like a jolt from an electroshock ring. Griff! The word echoed around his mind, and then the image of Ericka dissolved. It was replaced by the face of Logan Griff, leering down at him, larger than life. No! Run, Ericka… You have to run… You have to run!