Honor’s Reserve
Galaxy Mavericks
Book 1 (Grayson McCoy)
Michael La Ronn
Copyright 2017 © Michael La Ronn. All rights reserved. Published by Ursabrand Media.
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue, and incidents described in this publication are fictional or entirely coincidental.
No part of this novel may be reproduced or reprinted without permission of the publisher. Please address inquiries to [email protected].
Cover designed by Yocla Designs (www.yocladesigns.com)
Editing by Calee Allen
NEW BOOKS
If you want to be notified when Michael’s next novel is released and get other cool stuff, please sign up for his mailing list by visiting: http://bit.ly/1r6kNTG. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
SCIENTIFIC DISCLAIMER:
I cannot guarantee that any of the following in this series are accurate:
Physics
Astronomy
Chemistry
Algebra
Geology
Quantum Mechanics…
OK, pretty much every area of science probably got bastardized in some way while I wrote this book. Any and all errors were made lovingly for your reading enjoyment.
Chapter 1
From the bridge of the Galactic Guard Cutter Horizon, Petty Officer Grayson McCoy shone a spotlight into dark space, onto a lone starship slowing as it cut its engine. Two white, blinking lights appeared on the roof. A yellow gravity ring rotated clockwise around the center of the ship.
“I’ve got a visual,” Grayson said, locking the ship in his sights. “Engine’s off.”
He kept his eyes on the ship and swept the light up and down the hull. It was a sleek passenger ship, leisure grade, big enough for fourteen people. Most private passenger ships usually had salons, living quarters, kitchens, and bathrooms. This one looked like it had all of that, plus a hyperdrive. Its long white wings gave it the look of a dove floating among the stars.
He scanned the side of the ship where the name and port of call should have been.
There was nothing—the side of the ship was blank.
He glanced over at a black-haired, tanned man in a headset and an olive green flight suit who was bent over an instrument panel.
“What do you think?” Grayson asked.
Petty Officer Romeo Beauregard radioed to the base. “We’ve located an unidentified starship near the nebula border. No name or port of call.”
Beauregard waited for a response. A voice crackled in his headset. “Base says to proceed with boarding.”
It wasn’t every day that Grayson came across a ship like this. Most of the time, boarding a regular private passenger vessel was boring. But boarding one with no name or I.D.—you never knew what to expect. He preferred search and rescues, but this might be interesting.
He stopped the spotlight on the ship’s bridge, a large glass bubble on the front of the ship. A man and a woman put their hands over their faces.
“We’ve got a male, late thirties, maybe six-two, salt and pepper beard. A woman that looks like his wife, late twenties, black hair.”
He heard a computerized chime behind him. The rotunda-shaped bridge of the Galactic Guard ship was quiet.
Petty Officer Will Stroud, the flight mechanic, was sitting at his instrument panel, its green lights illuminating his face and red hair. “I charted their path. They’re not from our galaxy, guys.”
Outsiders. Or travelers returning home. In any case, they were still subject to the laws of the Rah Galaxy, and to searches from the Guard.
Beauregard swiveled in his chair and motioned to Grayson. He wore his trademark calm expression, the look of wisdom and experience. He was probably only a few years older than Grayson. He was an active duty petty officer, first class. As the only original active duty Guard on board, he took it as his responsibility to train Grayson and Will. He used everything as a learning experience.
“Grayson, what do you think?” Beau asked.
Grayson glanced back out at the ship. Things were quiet in space. “Looks fairly innocuous to me, but you never know.”
“Let’s see if you’re right.”
Beauregard activated the communicator and established a transmission with the ship. “This is Petty Officer Romeo Beauregard with the Galactic Guard. Please identify yourselves.”
Silence.
Grayson watched as the woman scrambled to the communicator.
“Hello.”
“Identify yourselves.”
Silence again.
“Do they speak English?” Will asked. “Don’t you speak a couple of languages, Beau?”
Beauregard considered the remark, but then the woman spoke.
“My name is Rina.”
Beauregard frowned. He took his finger off the radio. “Guys, go ahead and suit up.” He pressed the radio button again. “Hello, Rina. How many are on board with you?”
Silence.
“Just me and my husband.”
“You have entered Rah space and are subject to boarding and inspection. Please make ready to accept our boarding party.”
Silence. This time, the woman’s shadow turned to the man before answering.
“Very well.”
The radio went quiet.
Grayson watched the two silhouettes disappear into the bowels of the starship.
“Looks like they speak English just fine,” Grayson said, shutting off the spotlight.
“Give them a thorough search, gentlemen,” Beauregard said. “They’re awfully quiet.”
Grayson and Will high-fived. They walked together down a dark hallway filled with pipes and wires.
“You think Beauregard’s gonna be okay by himself?” Will asked.
“I think so,” Grayson said. “He’s got all the handcoils he could ever want. And plenty of bullets.”
Grayson grabbed a handcoil off the wall, a gray pistol-shape with a conical nose filled with springs and coils.
He and Will reached into a tray and pulled out a dozen needle-like bullets, loading them into the coils.
“A little bit of excitement, eh?” Will asked, locking his handcoil into place.
Will was his best friend. They’d gone through training together. He was active duty, petty officer third class, plucked from a cozy spaceship mechanic job on Provenance to a higher calling. The galaxy was at war and needed civilians to man the posts that were abandoned when the government called in more troops.
“Hopefully it’ll be over quickly,” Grayson said.
“I know ship inspections aren’t your favorite,” Will said.
“Nah, this one should be interesting.”
He was sick of telling people they were out of compliance. If you didn’t want to take your safety in space seriously, you were taking your life into your own hands. He preferred saving people who were stranded. The fear of death tended to teach them more effectively than an inspection.
On a day like today, he wished for his old job as a swim instructor again. Warm water around his waist, the sun bearing down on him, his arms around a child, holding them up as they learned to float for the first time.
“But look at the good part,” Will said, distracting Grayson from his daydream. “It’s your last mission.”
“Guess you’re right,” Grayson said. “Now that you mention it, let’s get this sucker over with.”
They emerged from the hallway into the airlock, a large room with gray, brushed metal walls and red spacesuits hanging on mounted coatracks.
“We could have been really unlucky,” Will s
aid, swiping his spacesuit off the wall. “We could be on Argus right now, fighting in the war.”
Grayson grabbed his spacesuit and squeezed into it. Then he latched his helmet on. With the press of a button, oxygen funneled into the suit, and he breathed in the fresh air and closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, Will was standing in front of him, grinning. “Grayson, baby, talk to me. Why are you so quiet? You can’t tell me that excitement isn’t swimming in your veins. You’ll be out of here soon. If I were you right now, I’d be doing cartwheels. I’d be calling all of the available chicks on Kavios II. I’d be—”
“I getcha,” Grayson said. He went to a computer panel with a split screen. “How about we celebrate when it’s over?”
“Every day you’re alive in space is a cause for celebration, dude,” Will said, putting on his helmet. “Especially when your tour is almost over.”
“It’s not over yet,” Grayson said.
A grid appeared on the computer panel and a camera view of the lone ship above it.
With a joystick, Grayson aimed a green set of crosshairs at the ship, then fired.
Metal ropes with magnets on one end shot from the Galactic Cutter. They struck the starship, rocking it. Then they tightened and pulled the ship closer.
An intercom beeped overhead and then a voice spoke. It was Beauregard.
“Nice shot, Grayson. We’re connected. You both ready?”
Grayson and Will unrolled two harnesses connected to a metal hoist. They climbed in.
“Ready,” they both said.
“Good luck, guys,” Beauregard said. “Call me at the first sign of trouble.”
A honking alarm sounded and lights in the airlock flashed red. Then the bay doors opened, giving way to the stars, and weightlessness began.
Grayson’s harness tugged at his waist as he drifted out of the airlock and into space. The hoist slowly gave them slack as they floated toward the metal ropes that connected the two ships.
Grayson made his way down the rope, Will next to him. They were two specks of red in complete blackness.
Grayson had been through the training many times. They always told you never to look away from the rope. He’d heard stories of officers who looked away from the rope just for one moment, lost their orientation and accidentally let go.
He focused, moving along with Will, side by side, hand over hand.
The airlock on the starship opened, and its bay doors unfolded like origami.
Grayson and Will touched down onto the ship, guiding themselves off the metal rope and onto the bay doors.
Their boots clanged as they landed, and then the bay doors began to close. Dark space turned into the bright fluorescent lights of the starship as the airlock pressurized itself.
They unclipped the D-rings that held the harnesses. Grayson squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light.
The ship’s small airlock was empty aside from spacesuits hanging on the walls.
As his eyes focused, he saw the man and woman standing at the entrance to the airlock. Their faces were shadowed, and they didn’t speak right away.
“You want to inspect our ship,” the man said.
“Let’s take this easy,” Will whispered. “I don’t like these two.”
Will was always so pessimistic. Probably from his years as a spaceship mechanic. You tended to see the worst of people in service jobs.
Grayson shrugged. He just wanted to get this over with.
He walked forward. “How are you two doing today?”
Then he noticed the man’s face. It was haggard, with long scar tissue across both his cheeks. A barrel-chested, bearded man, he stood with his chest puffed out and his arms folded.
The woman had scar tissue all down one arm.
They looked like burn victims.
“We’re fine,” the woman said. Her pumpkin-colored shirt was tucked into blue jeans, and she had curly black hair and dark purple eyes—the mark of colored lenses. The kind of people who wore them either wanted to change their appearance to look like their favorite supermodel… or they didn’t want to be found.
“Rina, right?” Grayson asked, trying to get them talking.
She nodded.
“Well, Rina, where are you two headed?”
“We’re just passing through the galaxy.”
“Ah,” Grayson said. “Lovely time for a vacation. Kavios II is wonderful this time of year. Isn’t that right, Will?” He glanced over at Will, who was staring at the couple. Grayson nudged him, and Will startled. His mouth was agape, and he looked away from their burns.
“Yeah, uh—freaking fantastic, I hear.”
“That’s very nice,” the man said. “But we need to continue our journey.”
“We’ll be out of here soon enough. Have you ever been boarded before?” Grayson asked.
The couple shook their heads.
“Do either of you have any firearms or handcoils onboard?” Will asked.
The couple shook their heads.
“Driver’s license and registration, please,” Grayson said.
The couple produced two thin license cards. “The ship is new,” the man said. “Plates haven’t arrived yet.” He produced a crinkled piece of paper from his pocket.
Grayson took the licenses and registration and snapped a photograph with the glass lens on his helmet.
He spoke into his communicator.
“Beau, I’ve got two licenses. Rina Pulsara. Gen Banks. They’re from the Orion Galaxy, our neighbors. Run a background check, will you?”
Grayson tucked their documents in his chest pocket.
“Now, I don’t know how they do things in the Orion,” Grayson said, “but here, we like to make sure private passenger ships are equipped with life safety devices. How many spacesuits do you have on board?”
Rina pointed to the wall. Fourteen immaculate suits hung in a row—exactly the amount needed for this kind of vessel.
Will inspected the suits and read the oxygen levels via gauges near the wrists. “They’re fully charged.”
“Excellent,” Grayson said. “You folks are making this easy so far. Can you show me your life jackets?”
Gen opened a drawer and produced fourteen neon red life jackets and fourteen white lifesavers.
“Great,” Grayson said. “We’d like to see the interior of your ship now.”
Rina and Gen turned and opened a door leading into a galley kitchen. A first aid kit rested on the counter next to a basket of fruit.
Beyond, Grayson spied a salon, lavishly furnished, with two couches, a television mounted on the wall, and a fireplace. It looked just like a living room from a home, but adapted for space, with everything riveted into the walls and floor.
“Is it just me or is this ship immaculate?” Will whispered when Rina and Gen were out of earshot.
“Looks pretty clean, yeah.”
“Not what I expected. They’re passing this inspection like pros.”
“What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.
“When was the last time you saw an unidentified spaceship like this?”
“They’re just passing through. Come on, man. Be cool.”
Grayson entered the kitchen, stepping gingerly on the burgundy tile. Will opened the first aid kit and gave Grayson a thumbs up. “Looks good.”
Will inspected a panel, tapping on it. Shrugging, he opened the cabinets. They were filled with canisters of water and spaceship fuel.
“What’s with the cargo?” Will asked.
“Preparing for a long trip,” Gen said.
“To?”
“Another galaxy.”
“I see,” Will said after a moment. He pointed to the open cabinets. “You shouldn’t be storing fuel here. It should be below the ship.”
Grayson nodded. It was strange—but legally, the Galactic Guard couldn’t do anything about it.
“What else do you want to see?” Gen asked.
Grayson scanned the walls, looking for
anything unusual: panels that didn’t line up, compartments that didn’t close all the way. He knocked on a wall and listened—no signs of any smuggling. He walked up the stairs to the cockpit and glanced at the glittering instrument panels inside—nothing out of the ordinary.
“What kind of distress signals do you have?” Grayson asked.
“There’s a beacon on top of the ship,” Gen said. “And we have a distress radio.”
“Great,” Grayson said.
Will pointed down a hallway just left of the kitchen, toward an oval-shaped door with a golden plaque that read “Engine Room.”
“You folks take care of the engine?”
Gen nodded.
“When was the last time the ship was serviced?” Will asked.
“When we bought it. The mechanics slapped stickers on everything.”
“Oil change, transmission fluid, new hyper core, and all?” Will asked.
“All of it,” Gen said, producing paperwork. “My wife here is expecting. Safety is paramount.”
Rina rubbed her stomach and smiled bashfully.
“Hey hey,” Grayson said, tilting his head at them. “Congratulations, you two. That’s some fantastic news. You hear that, Will?”
“Yeah,” Will said absentmindedly as he crouched to inspect the furniture in the salon.
This couple was strange, to be sure, but from what Grayson could tell, they were just on their way through the galaxy, immaculate ship and life safety and all. These were his favorite kind of ship inspections. The easy ones with no citations.
At least the hard part was over.
He pressed a button on his helmet. “Yo, Beau, how are we on the licenses and registration?”
“Clean,” Beauregard said. “Spaceship was purchased a few days ago. Still in the dealer’s name. Rental company on Fracturis. Their records are clear, too. Can’t even find a parking ticket. Let ‘em go and come on back, gentlemen.”
“Got it,” Grayson said.
Honor's Reserve (Galaxy Mavericks Book 1) Page 1