Scrapyard Ship 3 Space Vengeance

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “What does that mean?” Mollie asked, not looking at her mother.

  “Care to explain why you hated school today?”

  “Everything I’ve learned you and Dad say I’m not allowed to talk about.”

  “You mean about things that have happened in space and on The Lilly?”

  “That and other stuff. I don’t fit in anymore, Mom. And I was so bored.”

  “Tomorrow will be better, you’ll see.”

  “Where are we going? I’m hungry,” Mollie said, looking at her mother for the first time.

  “We’re going to look at some modular homes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like your Dad’s house. Don’t tell him I said that. I think it’s creepy.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say. I like the house just the way it is.”

  “Uh huh. Well, let’s just take a look, okay?”

  “I don’t like shopping. I want a Big Mac, Coke, and fries, and hot apple pie.”

  “If you’re good and don’t whine … maybe after,” Nan replied with a smile.

  “Is that where we’re going?” Mollie asked, pointing a finger toward a large lot with sections of homes supported up on temporary pilings.

  Nan pulled in and parked next to a mobile home trailer. A sign said Office above the door.

  Both Nan and Mollie bypassed the office trailer and headed directly for one of the modular homes. Unfinished plywood steps led up to wide double front doors. The door was unlocked and Mollie was the first one in.

  “Wow!”

  Nan joined her and stood in the middle of what she figured was the home’s open great room. Although the flooring consisted of plywood sheets, the walls were in and the adjoining kitchen was completely done, with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

  “You’ll have to go outside to see the other modular sections of this particular model,” a man’s British-accented voice informed them.

  Both Nan and Mollie turned to see a salesman, wearing a yellow shirt and a broad brown-striped tie, standing behind them.

  Mollie spoke up first. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Jonathan, a representative here. And who am I addressing?”

  Nan smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Nan Reynolds; this is my daughter, Mollie.”

  “Nice to meet you both. You’re in the market for a new modular factory-built home?”

  “Maybe. We’re just checking things out. Looking at my options.”

  “Let me tell you a little about them. They are just as strong and reliable as any traditional, pad-built home. The loan process is the same and—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve already researched all the pros and cons, Jonathan. What’s the size of this particular model?”

  “Twenty-eight hundred square feet. The other sections include four bedrooms, three baths, laundry room, a great room, and even a three-car garage.”

  “And what’s the minimum lot size for this plan?”

  “Well, you’re getting into specifics that come well down the line. But we suggest a quarter- acre lot, minimum—you know, so you can have an adequate yard.”

  Nan pulled a small notebook from her purse and flipped it open. Next door to Jason’s current relic of a house there was an open lot. Teardrop calculated it to be a full acre.

  “Okay, good. Um, how much do these modules weigh?”

  Jonathan was taken aback by the question and furrowed his brow. “Ms. Reynolds, a typical crane will have no problem lifting, or positioning, the modules. Again, all that is well down the road after selecting your home plan.”

  “Generally speaking, then, just spitball it, how heavy are these things?”

  “Ten to fifteen thousand pounds per modular unit. Let’s say fifty thousand pounds, total weight. Of course, rigging and extraneous items would be added on to that number,” Jonathan said, still confused.

  “No, that’s good. Rough numbers work.” Nan wrote them down in her little notebook. Teardrop had been specific; lifting anything heavier than twenty thousand pounds was problematic.

  “What’s the price of this particular home?”

  “There’s no one set price, since they are all configurable to what options you’ll want.”

  “How about this one?”

  “Well, this is a model.”

  “Yes. How much is this one?”

  “This is a quite complex, multi-roofed plan. No less than six modules. Let’s say one hundred ten dollars a square foot.”

  Nan went back to writing in her notebook. “A twenty-eight hundred square foot home. Let’s see, that comes to three hundred and eight thousand dollars, right?”

  “Give or take. Now, that’s complete: delivery, set onto the foundation, plumbing and electrical hookups, and all the detail finishes inside and out.”

  “Jonathan, I’m going to go look at the other sections, its other modules. When I get back I’d like you, or someone who is the decision-maker, to give me the full price for delivering this home locally, as it’s currently configured, by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “I’ll pay three hundred thousand dollars and you won’t have to install anything. Just drop off the modules and be on your way. Are you the person to make that deal?”

  “Um, no, but I’ll find out. Take your time looking at the modules. This could take a while.”

  * * *

  Teardrop finished clearing and then excavating the lot. It had found in the scrapyard several tractors, a Caterpillar backhoe, and an ancient-looking bulldozer. Both of the latter were soon up and running and, with Teardrop at the controls, made quick work of Jason’s next-door lot.

  The modules arrived at the Central Valley Scrapyard on six specialized wide-load flatbed trucks the following afternoon. Expediting a crane and the truck to carry it had been an extra cost. The modules were lifted and placed around the outside periphery of the open lot. There was still much to do before the modular sections could be moved and assembled. Since Teardrop had access to the house plans the previous day, it was able to order what was needed from local contractor supply stores with early morning deliveries. It had already configured hookups for the municipal water and sewer lines, as well as the underground utility lines.

  Two jumbo-sized cement mixers were going non-stop and Teardrop had made the footings for the above ground foundation, as well as the back porch. The driveway would take a few days longer but had been staked out, and graded, forms and rebar positioned. Throughout the day, city and county inspectors showed up, requiring Teardrop to drop everything and hide. Nan hadn’t believed it possible to get so many people moving with such short notice. But with her access to additional funds for discreet, under-the-table payoffs, local government officials were not adverse to making special arrangements, just this once.

  Next door, Nan and Mollie sat out on the old porch eating grilled cheese sandwiches and watched as Teardrop tirelessly worked into the night. Nan marveled at the drone’s ability to do what fifty, maybe even a hundred, men could accomplish—all in a fraction of the time.

  She looked out over the scrapyard and beyond to the foothills of San Bernardino. This place would never be her first choice for a home. But life was different now. There were security issues to contend with, and Jason would never be far from The Lilly. That meant staying close to this old scrapyard and the hidden underground aquifer.

  Even so, she thought that maybe she was pushing things. Well, no matter what, this old house was close to falling in on itself. If Mollie was going to stay here, even part of the time, something needed to change. And just maybe Jason would like the new place.

  Nan saw Teardrop hovering nearby, holding a set of architectural plans. “Would now be a good time to talk about the added security items you’ve requested?”

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 24

  “We came out of FTL for this?”
Stalls asked.

  “It’s taken more of a beating than I thought. From the looks of things she must have put up quite a fight,” Pike said, admiration in his voice.

  The bulbous, almost angry-looking vessel drifted and seemed to list to one side. Scorched and showing what could only be the result of repeated plasma fire, it was obviously dead in space.

  “Destroyer-class, Captain. Eight rail-guns, multiple energy weapons and something else.” Pike leaned in closer to the display on his station. “Ah, a toric-cloaking device!”

  Captain Stalls impatiently looked over at the old bearded pirate, waiting for him to continue.

  “I’ve seen these before, Captain. Ships with that kind of technology were more prevalent a hundred years ago, but sure enough, this ship can disappear and be totally undetectable by sight and sensors.”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now? Why doesn’t every warship have this technology?”

  “Three words: black zodium crystals. Can’t be synthesized in a lab and the only source was on a planet the Craing destroyed a century ago. Oh yes, without a doubt an excellent bit of technology over there … no doubting that.”

  Captain Stalls continued to look at Pike, then the edges of his mouth turned up.

  “And no life forms detected?”

  “Not that I can see; probably been drifting out here for years. Nothing more than scrap.”

  Stalls turned and found his younger brother asleep in his chair at the rear of the bridge. A new goliath-sized pimple had formed at the end of his prominent nose.

  “Bristol! Bristol, wake up!”

  His brother stirred and eventually looked up through half-opened eyes.

  “What? What’s with the yelling?”

  “On the viewer. Ever see a ship like that?”

  Bristol glanced up and shrugged. “I don’t know. Who gives a fuck? It’s a wreck, space trash.”

  Stalls walked to within several feet of his brother and stooped, hands on knees, leaning in closer. “Ever heard of a toric-cloaking device?”

  That evoked another glance at the viewer. “Yeah, that technology went away sometime last century.”

  “Well, there’s one on that ship over there.”

  Bristol, now awake, sat up and took a better look at the destroyer.

  “Eston, are you serious? It’s just a wreck.”

  “Don’t call me by my first name.”

  “Whatever—it’s a wreck, Captain.”

  “I know it’s a wreck. Forget the wreck! Could you get me that device, retrofit Her Majesty?”

  Another shrug. “Maybe, but why? Don’t you have enough hell-fire with this monstrosity of a ship already?”

  “You’re going over there. I want you to join a team and evaluate if it’s repairable. Can you do that for me?”

  Bristol yawned in his brother’s face and shrugged again. “I guess—whatever.”

  * * *

  His environmental suit was a joke; nothing like the form-fitting battles suits worn on The Lilly. Bristol turned around and looked down at the back of his legs and the baggy extra material that seemed to hang off his ass. Annoyed, he stepped into the compact shuttle, joining three crewmen waiting for him.

  “It’s about time, Bristol,” the leader and largest of the three men said. Bristol would never admit it, but he liked him. Simply called Knock by everyone, he was one of the few in his brother’s band of idiots who seemed to actually have a brain—that, and he didn’t tease him like everyone else. Knock was seated up ahead, behind the controls in the cockpit.

  He turned and looked back at Bristol. “Where’s your weapon?”

  “I guess you’re holding it. If someone needs to be shot, go for it … have at it.”

  Knock tapped on a touchscreen and the rear hatch slid into place with a sucking thump. He said something into his comms and the little shuttle moved away into open space. Bristol looked out from the rear porthole as the rest of Her Majesty came into view. What an embarrassment, he thought. The luxury liner was big and clumsy, with cheesy gold scrollwork painted across her outer hull. New armaments had been added to virtually every flat surface—some seemed to point, rather precariously, back at the ship itself. What a clusterfuck.

  A large section of the wrecked destroyer’s flight deck was open to space and allowed barely enough room for the shuttle to clear the outer hull and pass into the mangled bowels of the vessel. Debris was scattered across much of the deck. They eventually found an area clear enough for them to set down. Knock cut power to the drives. They sat there while the cabin vented the breathable atmosphere back into holding tanks. The hatch slid open and, now weightless, Knock pulled himself out of the cockpit and toward the rear of the shuttle.

  “Everyone out.”

  Bristol was the last one to pull himself out of the hatch. In the pitch dark, even their helmet lights did little to illuminate their surroundings. Crossbeams hung haphazardly from above and loose cabling dangled from virtually everywhere. Bristol careened into something and was enveloped into a web of more cabling.

  “Careful!” Knock barked from up ahead. The two other pirates, Bristol had no idea what their names were, pulled him free and pushed him down a narrow corridor in the same direction Knock had gone. An HUD warning indicated Bristol’s pulse rate was spiking. There was very little he didn’t hate about this sort of thing: confined spaces, the dark. Why hadn’t he brought a weapon? At least Knock seemed to know where he was going. His helmet light was stationary up ahead. Bristol, moving slowly, was repeatedly pushed and shoved from behind. Timing it, he thrust a leg backward, and nailed one of them in the head. The shoving stopped and eventually Bristol arrived at an opening. Knock was looking at something.

  “That it?” he asked.

  Bristol pulled himself around the circular compartment. A compartment dedicated to one thing only: housing a toric-cloaking device. Bristol estimated it was twenty feet in diameter and eight feet tall. At the top were hundreds of thick feeder channels, like branches on a large tree.

  “Yep, this is it. Looks to be in pretty good shape,” Bristol replied, pulling himself around the large device. “You’ll need those too,” Bristol said, pointing to five large barrel-shaped devices mounted to the bulkhead.

  “What are those?” Knock asked.

  “They’re basically optical power converters,” Bristol said, looking over at the three pirates. “So, how the hell are you going to get all this out of here?”

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 25

  Jason was back talking to Billy for the third time in less than an hour. His eyes were still on the display and the three distant side-by-side Mau vessels. Just looking at them made him feel uneasy. The Craing, although cunning, were basically cowards when it came to fighting and squaring off one on one. But now they would be going up against a new combatant, the Mau. Would he be able to turn them as he had the rhino-warriors? Billy’s voice brought his attention back to matters at hand.

  “Cap, I’m telling you there’s simply no way to keep them from killing each other. Truce or not, those two rhino breeds can’t be on the same planet,” Billy said, exasperated.

  “Can’t Traveler command them—?”

  “Oh no, he’s the worst of them all. He just ripped an arm from a Red rhino who was three feet taller and proceeded to use it to beat the snot out of him.”

  “Do your best, Billy. We’ll return as soon as we can.” Jason cut the connection and opened a new one to Rizzo.

  “Have your SEALs ready to go in five. We’ll meet you in the mess.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Jason stood up from the command chair. “Okay, XO, we should be pretty good at this by now. Once we phase-shift into their hold, jam their communication capabilities. That’s crucial if this plan is going to work.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We’ll deploy and get control of their bridge. We all need to remember these aren’t Craing. I’m expecting there’ll be more resistance. I’ll leave you a
security team of ten SEALs.”

  Orion got up from her station and joined Jason; together they left the bridge and headed for the DeckPort. They stepped out onto Deck 2 and quickly made their way to the Gunnery. Ricket was already there, holding his helmet under his arm.

  “Good. You’re bringing along everything you’ll need?” Jason asked.

  “Yes, Captain. Although I’m unfamiliar with the technology on that vessel, I’m bringing what I expect will be required.”