Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Constellation
(Blood Empire, Book One)
By Robert Scanlon
Copyright © 2016 Robert Scanlon
Illustration © 2016 Tom Edwards
TomEdwardsDesign.com
CHAPTER ONE
I land my stolen lightCruiser—which I’ve frivolously named ‘Slingshot’—perfectly in the designated area.
Rykkamon’s high gravity tugs at the sleek craft’s suspension until the gyros compensate and the artificial gravity stabilizes.
The ship’s drive spins down, and I spin my captain’s chair to face Jordi, who is staring at the holo.
“They don't seem too impressed,” he says, indicating the circle of heavily armed Rykkan thugs surrounding the ship.
“Maybe a delivery of forty-three tonnes of 3He will change their attitude.”
“That’s my girl.” Jordi grins. “Always under-promising and over-delivering.”
“I'm not ‘your girl’ any more, and if Papa was still alive, he'd slap that grin off your face.” I point to the Rykkans surrounding our ship. “These guys are no joke. This time, watch your step and learn how to negotiate.” I hold my glare at Jordi until he drops his smile and looks away.
I sweep my unruly red hair into a pony tail, and ready myself for my gravSuit. I hear Jordi grumbling. “Papa, Papa, Papa. Always Papa this and Papa that—”
I slap his head.
“Ouch!” He looks at me, hurt. “C’mon, Indy. It's true. No one ever measures up to precious Papa—”
This time I have his head in an armlock. “If I didn't need you for this trip, I'd have left you back in that bar to fight your own way out. Maybe I should have claimed the bounty on your head. Or let Santo keep you.”
I release Jordi and stare at him for a moment. “But one more jibe at my father and I will make sure the Rykkans get a special bonus lackey with their helium three.”
“Speaking of which”—he jerks his head at the holo—“looks like your man is here.”
I look at the holoscreen. Walking up to my ship’s ramp is a bulky Rykkan, complete with metran-reinforced armor and six similarly equipped bodyguards.
“He's either trying to intimidate us or he's scared of us,” Jordi says.
“Of me,” I say softly. “And so he should be. Let's get the gravSuits on. It's payday.”
***
We make our way down the ramp and into the dusty clearing. We are clumsy now in our suits, battling Rykkamon’s heavy gravity—which is almost double that of the standard “earth” gravity used across the Sector.
The Rykkan Chief is visibly annoyed. He swivels his thick, low-set head from side to side in the somewhat unsettling Rykkan trait.
I try to look as authoritative as I can for my twenty-six years, but the gravSuit’s accelerators have a habit of overcompensating movement. Smooth and refined goes out the window. I decide to go for bold and decisive, a much better fit to the gravSuit’s inclination. I need to play this deal carefully, and even though this is my fifth visit to the planet—second if you only count the official ones—I'm only too aware I'm in a Rykkamon no-go zone, surrounded by shady characters, with my only backup a mouthy ex-boyfriend.
And I have to make sure the notorious Rykkan skill of reading human emotions doesn’t give away the fact that I only just picked up this load of 3He from the other side of the planet.
The Chief is speaking in his clipped rendition of Galactic and I mentally shake away my distracting thoughts. Although I have what he wants, it doesn't pay to be flippant with Rykkans. Especially cut-throat Rykkan outlaws desperate to get their hands on a lucrative cargo.
“Madam Captain India Jackson,” he says, dilating his eyes at me. “You are late.”
I shrug. “What I bring is worth waiting for.” I hold his gaze, though his pulsing eyes are disquieting.
He raises his laserRifle using both clawed and non-clawed hands, and I can't prevent the flinch. He laughs. “You have extreme tension. But real problem is not this, or desire to make me wait. ” He holds eye contact and swings the laserRifle around with one hand to point sideways at the horizon. I look to where he points the rifle. A dark mass grips the rocky and bare horizon. “Soon south-turning tornado storms lock down entire planet.” He bares his square red teeth in a broad Rykkan grin. “Perhaps you like to establish new terms, as you must make hasty exit.”
I step forward. “And if you would prefer not to make a hasty exit from life, I suggest you escort me to your camp”—I incline my head towards the shacks nearby—“and offer your guests suitable refreshments.”
The Rykkan shuts his mouth and grunts. He swivels around on his stump-like legs, lifts his other arm, and beckons us to follow.
Jordi looks at me, eyes raised. “Nice job of building rapport,” he says out the side of his mouth. I ignore him an
d do my best to march behind the Chief, against Rykkamon’s nearly two-gee pull. I use my chin-tab to activate the suit’s power boost, immediately feeling the energy increase to help me keep pace.
CHAPTER TWO
We sit in the low-built shack on sturdy wooden stools, surrounded by the Rykkan’s guards. The Chief uses his non-clawed hand to push my datapad back across the rough-hewn table. “Only forty-three tonnes. I order fifty.” He is about to open his mouth to drive home a point when I stand up and grab the pad from the table.
“Come on, Jordi. Chief here wants to play games. I'm sure you remember as well as I do that our deal was for a minimum forty tonnes. I don't have time to waste. Or did everyone forget about the tornado?” I turn to walk out, but I only manage one step toward the shack’s heavy door before I feel Jordi’s hand grab me and pull me back.
He looks up at me with a serious face. “Pull your head in. No point in starting a fight. We have what he wants. Play his game and we’re out of here, before this planet’s freak weather kills us.”
I turn back around and breathe a small sigh of relief when I see the Chief’s red-toothed grin. Walking away from a Rykkan negotiation can create unpredictable outcomes.
He addresses me. “Your mate is wise—”
“He's not my mate. Nor is he wise. But go on.” I hold his gaze.
The Chief continues. “Wisdom has no favorites. But maybe you insult my status. Maybe I claim agreement is void and I take what I require from your ship without payment.” He stands, and so do four of his powerfully-muscled, gravity-evolved thugs, all of whom aim laserRifles at my head.
I ignore them, take my time to sit back down, briefly smile, and meet the Chief’s eyes with a cool expression. “Rykkans can sense human states, yes?”
The Chief swivels his head to-and-fro. “This you already know. I speak of your tension and your desire to make a Rykkan Chief wait.”
I nod. “Good. Then you know I am telling the truth when I tell you I have four drones equipped with the Sector’s latest military-grade lasercannons. Cannons that are trained on your munitions store, and your not insignificant stockpile of illegal 3He cubes. Complete the deal as agreed, and when I return to my ship and see the credits have been transferred, I will disarm them.”
He sits back down.
I lean in to the table. “And you also know I am telling the truth when I say I will keep my word and deliver on my promise. All forty-three tonnes will be delivered. I keep to my agreements.”
The Rykkan’s eyes pulse rapidly. I must be careful not to push too far.
He stands and bows stiffly as the Rykkans do, then sits again. “Madam Captain. You exceed your reputation. You discover what I make hidden and you use against me. Is not possible for Rykkans under honor system. Please share secret.”
I maintain my cool. “Rykkans rely too heavily on their sensing abilities. We humans have no such skill. Instead we must depend on our own spies. But, let us return to our contract. I have to escape a tornado storm, and you must take possession of your cargo”—I tap my hand on my datapad—“once I see the funds.”
The Rykkan’s fat lips pull back slightly, revealing their red army. “Before we complete contract, I offer you information of interest”—his eyes widen rapidly—“in anticipation of discount. A substantial one, because of personal nature of information and interest to Madam Captain.”
“Pfft. There is no information you would have that could be of interest—”
“It concerns your father’s death.”
CHAPTER THREE
“What do you know about my father?” I glare at the squat outlaw.
The Chief licks his lips. “My discount?”
“Not likely.”
“The Jovians made a deal with him.”
I feel my blood rise. “Still no discount. Your information is a lie.”
He gives what passes for a smile among Rykkans. “If you were Rykkan, I could show I do not lie. Information come from Sloper’s men.”
I stiffen when I hear my father’s killer’s name, then remember the Rykkan ability to sense emotions, and I quickly let it go.
The Rykkan appears not to notice, stands and motions to Jordi and I to do the same. “But is now too late for talk. You cannot escape tornado storm, and I am unable to unload all cargo. We agree on stalemate. I pay twenty percent now, and the balance once I have all cargo.” He shows his teeth. “In return, I secure your ship against the storm. After I pull down cabin.”
I look out the shack’s crude window at the incoming fury, and see I have no choice.
The Chief laughs. “You have fear now. That is correct. Rykkamon tornado storms are big legend in this sector of Galaxy.”
He is both right and wrong. I do have fear.
But it's not because of the tornadoes.
It's because of who I will fail to pay with only twenty percent of my predicted haul in my account. But first, I must head into town before the storm breaks. I have another deal in place that might win me a get-out-of-jail-free card. For now.
I feel a shiver down my spine, and I get up and leave the shack in silence with Jordi. Together we battle our way through the rising winds and back to the ship.
CHAPTER FOUR
I step into one of the cruiser’s unipods and lower myself down to the landing zone, next to my ship. Through the pod’s glass bubble I see Jordi standing on the ramp, fully suited, directing the Chief’s runners to unload the 3He cubes.
The sight triggers a thought of Papa’s vision: a future where races don’t consume energy with the greed we have today. That day seems far off, and I sigh heavily, probably more from missing Papa’s guidance than some utopian impossibility.
I pull myself together and look across to the other side of the dry and dusty camp. Rykkamon’s short rotation and high gravity is known to turn parts of it from a dusty bowl to a wet swamp. Tonight looks like it will be the latter, judging by the incoming tornado storm. At least in my pod and gravSuit, I’ll be safe.
But safety is relative. Although I’ve hacked my pod to broadcast an anonymous ID signal, my long red hair gives me away. And since the last official visit involved a highly dubious getaway from Rykkamon’s lower-orbit spaceport workshops, I suspect it would be better if I do not draw too much attention to myself.
Add that to Jordi’s dubious warning. He insisted on repeating it to me over and over. He’d heard on Ganymede that some tall red-headed female pirate was apparently smuggling Rykkan mercenaries to Takao. Eventually I had to shut him up, telling him no matter what he said, I was still going into the supply center. He told me I never know when to stop. That I should lie low for a while. Be inconspicuous.
Yeah, right. On a high-grav planet, where most of the inhabitants have no hair and are two-thirds my height.
I steel myself and fire up the pod’s mini-drive. I have about an hour to get to the supply center, order a refit of the ship’s stocks, and pick up a highly illegal item. Which unfortunately dictates putting in a personal appearance.
I spin the pod around in a cloud of dust, throw a glance over my shoulder at the incoming mass of dark cloud, and spear off onto the west-bound mainway.
The pod maintains a steady one-meter hover. There are few other craft—not that I’m expecting many, since most Rykkans would not be in the outlaw no-go zone in the first place—and in the second place, there’s the small matter of a super-sized tornado storm.
I concentrate on the mainway in front of me and watch the infrastructure start to increase in density around me as I approach the supply metropolis.
Some fifteen minutes later, the unipod slows. I look at the dash holopanel. I’m in a slowzone, approaching a checkpoint. I peer forward and note the lineup of vehicles—some pods, some flatbeds, some hovertankers—stretching ahead. I don’t have time to waste, and I’m surprised at the checkpoint still running at this time of day and with an impending storm. A prickling sensation runs across my neck and shoulders. One I’ve learned to trust. Maybe
this checkpoint is looking for me.
I U-turn the pod, and speed down a built-up side street. I’m not the only one to do so, so I feel safe that other pilots would think to avoid a traffic jam just as I would on my home planet. I’ve just never been in one on Rykkamon.
I follow the pods and hovercycles weaving in and out in front of me until we come to a halt at an intersection. I’m about to swing left to follow the general line into town when I see a crowd of Rykkans across the mainway assembled in an open space. I move past slowly and notice a group of eighteen or twenty young, tattooed Rykkans. They are surrounding another Rykkan, whose head is swiveling rapidly.
Some curious part of me makes me swing my pod around and pull up next to the crowd. A couple of the tattooed briefly look my way, then ignore me. I see now that the circle is closing on the hapless Rykkan in the center.
I switch on my external mikes, not that I know much Rykkan. I soon realize I don’t need to know any: what is occurring happens in almost any language. A group of males are about to take advantage of one female.
I know this is wrong. I cannot take my eyes off the unfolding spectacle, and I wonder why this scenario is replicated across the galaxy. One of them—presumably the ringleader—advances to the lone female. One thick arm holds a chain, the other a laserwhip.
He raises the laserwhip and in a flash I am no longer a spectator. It’s as if I’m her, and I’m staring at an angry male about to deprive me of my liberty, and possibly much worse.
I feel my blood pounding and I’m already out of the unipod. My gravSuit protests at the pace I’m setting to reach the group before the ugly assailant reaches his prey, no doubt with his mates lining up to take turns.
Several tattooed squat heads swivel at the approaching sound of my gravSuit. Although my blood is boiling and my muscles scream against the two-gee gravity, even with a ’suit, I’ve managed to remember to close my helmet visor. And darken it.
As far as these young thugs are concerned, a metran-clad giant of unknown origin is bearing down on them.
And they’re up for a fight.
Constellation (Blood Empire Book 1) Page 1