The Hidden Prophet: Starship Fairfax Book 2 - The Kuiper Chronicles

by Benjamin Douglas

  Ada had joined a crew shortly after they’d picked up the Prophet, along with its handler. But after a short stop at Ceres to refuel, the handler and the drug had gone missing. That pesky Colony ship had shown up, and they’d taken her, thinking to find their runaway there, but no dice—the rat had clearly taken the drug and headed back to Mars to carve it up himself. The Colonials had somehow retaken their ship, killing her captain, Brant,and stealing the core from Brant’s ship in the process. Well, Carmen’s ship. When Carmen scooped Ada up from Ceres’ orbit a day later, they’d lost the Prophet, the handler, the ship’s core, and Brant. So, to put it briefly, Ada was on the naughty list.

  Funny thing was, Ada was a Colonial, herself. She’d only come in-system searching for news of her missing father, and had fallen in with Carmen’s Crews first as a way to survive, then to blend in. Now the choice was going to cost her.

  “Been real nice flyin’ with ya,” Bone Crusher said. They walked down a narrow corridor toward the brig.

  “You too, Crush. You gonna manage to stay outta trouble without me around?”

  He grinned again. “Me stay outta trouble? What would I do without it?”

  They had come to the door, and he gave her a gentle shove in—which meant she had to struggle to stay on her feet. Then he motioned for her to come back to the door. He squinted at her and tried his best to whisper.

  “Enjoy yer dinner, Ada.”

  She frowned. “Ah, sure, Crush. Thanks.”

  “No!” His eyes grew wide. “I mean, ya know. Enjoy it.” He winked, obviously.

  “Oh, ok!” Whatever that meant. Like a dog, right? She returned the wink. “I will,” she said, knowingly. Five minutes later she was pacing her cell and had forgotten all about it.

  An hour later she was digging into a bowl of hot mash when her fingers closed around a small, black device. She dug it out, wiped it clean on her shirt, and powered it up. A little holoconsole flared up, displaying options for keys, cutters, and small-blast weaponry. “Oh, Crush.” She smiled. “You shouldn’t have.”

  Chapter 3

  “Friendly guy,” Randall muttered from the helm station.

  The screen had zapped back to exterior cam—thank goodness. The ugly newcomer was liable to scare the children.

  “What’s with everyone in the Empire and their hair?” Caspar said. “Or, I mean, obviously, lack thereof?”

  “Alright people, I need options, defensive and evasive.” Lucas ran a hand over his head. “We clearly can’t stand toe-to-toe in a gunfight here. And we have no missiles to cover the Rancher or an escape. Get creative.”

  “Sir, not to be completely heartless, but…” Caspar swallowed while everyone turned to look at her. “The Rancher is not on our side. If they scan our actual ID, they might be threatening us, too.”

  “The enemy of my enemy,” murmured Lucas. “You’re right, Lieutenant. But that thing—” He pointed at the larger ship on the screen. “That thing is after everyone, and it wants blood. I’m not in love with the idea of throwing another crew into its jaws so we can slip away, be they Kuiper or Empire.”

  “No, Sir.” Caspar glanced back at her own console.

  “Missiles launching,” Sock announced.

  “Evasive maneuvers, now!” Lucas strapped into his chair. “Everybody hold on!”

  A sizeable barrage of missiles had shot out from the mystery ship, but they did not come for Fairfax. They slammed into the smaller Privateer, tearing her apart. She had disintegrated within seconds. Lucas watched, his mouth open.

  “It would seem,” said Darren, “we are no longer responsible for their defense.”

  Lucas turned to glare at him. He didn’t seem to care.

  The screen flashed back to the dimly lit bridge.

  “I guess they drew the short straw.” The man wheezed. “We’ll be taking you with us, now. Prepare to be harpooned.” The feed ended.

  Caspar frowned. “Did he just say harpooned?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Maybe it’s a pirate thing?”

  “I thought they’d just board us and kill us for the booty. Or whatever.”

  “Boarding comes later, I’d guess?”

  There was a violent jostling of the ship, followed by a low droning sound, like energy being syphoned away. The screen and consoles winked out, and for a split-second the crew sat in perfect darkness. Then emergency systems kicked in, and running lights came on along the base of the walls of the bridge.

  “Sock, status,” Lucas called.

  The computer beeped. When it spoke, the volume was much lower than usual. “Hello, I’m the ship’s operating computer. You can call me Sock. Please input the name of this vessel. And how may I address you?”

  “Are you serious?” Lucas said.

  Beep. “Confirmed. Thank you, Are You Serious. Please input the name of this vessel.”

  “Lieutenant, help me out here.”

  Caspar saluted. “Yes Sir, Are You Serious.” Her grin withered under Lucas’ glare.

  “Helm, we got anything?”

  “Negative.” Randall was on hands and knees below his console, the paneling open so he could access the chips underneath. “They fried us, Sir. Some kind of EMP, if I had to guess. Be glad emergency systems are online, or we’d have no life support.”

  Caspar had now pried the paneling away from the bottom of her console, as well. “I’d agree with Randall’s assessment, Sir.”

  Lucas stood. It felt odd.

  “Are we—are we moving?”

  “We’re being towed.” Darren hadn’t moved from his place on the back wall.

  “This is not Fleet procedure.”

  “That’s why you lost the war.”

  The bridge went deathly quiet. Slowly, Lucas turned to face Darren. “Excuse me?”

  “Your hyper-orthodox methods. Outdated, predictable, inflexible. It’s why the Kuiper Colonies lost the war.”

  “We didn’t lose the war!”

  Darren shrugged. “Maybe it depends on who you ask.”

  “But we, we—we’re still independent, you ignoramus! Don’t you think we’d have been annexed if we’d lost?”

  “If the Empire had wanted to annex the Belt, they would have.”

  Lucas felt the blush of fury filling his cheeks. He sat, forcing himself to breath. This was not the time to get into this discussion. He turned one more time and wagged a finger at Darren. “This conversation isn’t over.”

  Great, Lucas said to himself as he settled back into the chair. Very professional. Very captain-ish. Just great.

  ---

  With no power to their engines and no hope of coming up with their own—Lucas wasn’t about to send a crew out to set up a solar sail again if they were being towed through space by that moving armory—they had little to do but wait. A few hours later their screen sputtered to life once again. Lucas blinked violently, squinting against the light.

  “Alright.” The bald man was smiling down on them again. “Home sweet home. Of course, you won’t mind if we take a few precautionary measures before we bring you in. Just wanted to let you know the journey is over.” The screen flashed off.

  “Well, that was cryptic.” Caspar rubbed her face.

  “Indeed.” Lucas nodded to Mulligan. In the intervening time he’d had her ready the ship’s security force. Armed teams were waiting by all entrances, all personal had a gasmask on hand, and Sock had been instructed to prepare to seal off any breaches immediately. Not that this last order would change much. If they opted to breach the hull, Sock would do what could be done, but most of the air would vent and the crew would be on masks, best-case scenario. Lucas thought gassing more likely. Chances were slim to nothing that a force would try to take the ship without doing something to disarm the protectors first.

  Mulligan rose from her station, pulling her sidearm and powering it up. It hummed to life. Lucas checked his own, and the rest of the crew followed suit. Then, as one, all of their guns winked out.

  “Um…” Mul
ligan stared at her gun. She held it upside down and slapped it a few times. She toggled a couple of switches. Nothing happened. “Another EMP? Seriously?”

  “Didn’t see that coming,” Lucas muttered.

  After killing the guns, their captives used gas. Everyone had their mask handy, but it didn’t matter. The only one on board who might have been able to fend off an armed force was Darren, and he submitted. Probably wouldn’t have been willing to leave without Mulligan, Lucas reasoned. He sighed a few times as he and his crew were bound and marched off the Fairfax at gunpoint.

  They were led into a massive cargo deck, and made to walk its length before exiting into a poorly lit hallway. A few twists and turns, and they were led into a brig. Lucas grimaced. He’d seen the inside of enough brigs over the past few days to last a lifetime.

  Shortly after they’d all been secured, a familiar face strode into view. The man was tall, bald, and horrifically scarred, with a black patch over one eye. He stopped at the door and smiled in at them.

  “Welcome. Not every day we score a Kuiper Fleet flagship in our neck of the system, I can tell you. So you are welcome.”

  Lucas groaned inwardly. Of course they’d already ID’d the ship.

  “Now, which one of you lovelies goes by the name of Captain Harris?”

  Lucas knitted his eyebrows together. He glanced to the side, where Caspar sat. She shook her head, subtly. Lucas decided to take the deception, in case it could become an advantage. Besides, his name carried baggage, thanks to his father, that he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring into the inner system. It was bad enough they already knew they’d come from the Colonies.

  “I am,” he said, standing. “Captain Harris, at your service. And you are?”

  The man’s smile grew wider, revealing yellowed teeth. “Who, me? Oh, I’m nobody, really. Just a bit of a wanderer. Them’s got cause to call me, took to calling me Cyclops after this happened.” He gestured at his patch.

  “Cyclops. That’s cute.”

  “Ain’t it?” He leaned in a bit. “Y’know the old story of Odysseus, Captain Harris? Familiar much with Old Earth antiquity?”

  Lucas pursed his lips and didn’t answer.

  “Nah, thought not. Let me enlighten you. Odysseus, he was a war hero, see, and he set sail with his men after the war, heading home. Only they made a stop on the way. Stopped at an island, where a monstrous beast with just one eye—,” here he lifted the patch, showing the scarred tissue over his empty socket “—the cyclops, he captured Odysseus and his men. Know what he did with ‘em?”

  Lucas swallowed a lump in his throat. “He… made them dinner?”

  The grin grew again.

  “Sure, he did. In a manner of speaking.”

  “Great story.”

  “It’s alright. Serves as a warning, anyway. And it gave us our name. See, we call ourselves Eaters, Captain Harris.”

  Lucas turned to his crew, an eyebrow raised. “Eaters? I don’t understand. You’re scavengers?”

  Patch-eye shrugged. “We’re whatever we have to be, whatever the boss asks for, if you take my meaning.”

  Patch-eye wasn’t the boss. Great. Why was there always a bigger baddie?

  “Your boss asking for stray Kuiper crews, is he?”

  “My boss wants anything of value. Happens to be your ship holds a little—not much, though, without her crew. Which leads me to a proposition.”

  Lucas’ eyes narrowed.

  “You’re all as good as dead now, you must know that. You’ve seen our ship. She’s a shark in a kiddie pool. Destroy anything she comes across. And you’ve seen we aren’t the type to shy away from ending a few lives to make a point.”

  Images of Captain Dild and the disintegration of the Rancher flashed through Lucas’ mind. He gritted his teeth. “You know, Cyclops, my people had a simple dream. Go out there, way out, away from all the killing and thieving and the rest of this madness, and settle down on some rocks, and live peaceful lives, out of Earth’s way. I’m a patient man, myself. I want that same peace. But the more I see of the inner system, the less patience I find I have for you bunch of murderous scumbags. So will you please just get to the point, already?”

  Cyclops held up his hands. “Whoa, boy. Down. Slow down. I’m hearing you, Captain. I’m not one for all of the whoopdie-doo of Earth’s political machinations, neither. I suppose that’s why we started this little outfit. Y’see, we Eaters, we’re different. We don’t care about… well, anything. Except for our little piece of space. You just happened to fly through it, so now you belong to us. And what I’m offering to you—to all of you—is death, or join us.”

  Lucas looked around at his crew. Everyone seemed confused except for Darren.

  “Wait, you… you want us to join you?”

  Cyclops shrugged. “We just happen to have scooped up a Kuiper Fleet flagship this afternoon. She’ll make a fine freighter, maybe even a fighter in a pinch. Ship needs a crew, though.”

  Lucas had one of those moments of brilliant insanity. They had to fly in Empire space to find Taurius, and as long as they were flying around blind with their Kuiper ID barely covered, they were at risk of starting a system-wide war the next time they bumped into a Privateer. Assuming they made it out of here alive, to begin with. But if they got conscripted by a legitimate outfit—well, an outfit not pretending to be something it wasn’t, anyway—wouldn’t that give them all the cover they needed?

  “Give us some time to talk it over.”

  Cyclops smiled. “By all means.”

  When the captives had left them alone, Lucas turned to face his crew. “So,” he said. “I guess we’re going to be pirates.”

  Chapter 4

  Finding the multitool was exciting. Figuring out how to use it strategically, more bothersome.

  Cutting the bolt off the brig door was a nonstarter. If Ada went that route, security would be alerted because the sensory field around her cage would start having a heart attack. She’d need to find a way to knock that down first. Which probably hadn’t entered Crush’s mind when he’d slipped her the tool, bless him. We do what we can with what we have, indeed.

  She considered cutting the hinges instead, but decided that would probably elicit the same response. Likely as not the sensory field was a complete cube in sync with the entire environs of the cage. So some improvisation was called for. She wanted to cut into the walls just enough to pry paneling away and see if she could get at any chips to manipulate, or maybe even wiring, if Carmen’s station was hard-wired. She had a feeling it was. The station was a mid-sized hab built into a sturdy asteroid on the inner lip of the inner belt, a ways away from Ceres but still closer to that den than to any proper planets. Her mind raced forward to where she would go when she got out—Ceres itself, go aground? Slow down, Ada. First you have to get out. Cutting into the walls at all was probably a bad idea, she decided, for the same reason she couldn’t cut the bolt or the hinges.

  She squeezed the multitool, cursing under her breath.

  Turning it over, she inspected the little black object. If it was anything like the tools they used out in the outer belt, it would have a small but substantial battery, something that could keep power cycling for days without needing a fresh charge. She tossed it lightly in the air a few times, and found most of the weight sat on one end. Yep. That must be where the magic happened.

  She turned it again. There were no screws, no crevices, no hidden buttons or latches that she could find. How were you supposed to open the thing up if it needed work done? Had to be a way.

  She clicked it on again, watching the holoconsole project above it. There, tucked away in the corner, a funny little icon was floating. She selected it, and an operating menu popped up. Now she was getting somewhere. She scrolled through a dozen option submenus, but no dice; not so much as a mention of a shell, exterior, case, or maintenance. There was, however, a battery charge submenu. She opened it.

  And cursed again. She should have known. The battery only c
harged on wireless power. So the case probably was impossible to open, because in fact it was never supposed to be open. She flicked absentmindedly through the battery submenu. Then stopped, hovering over an item.

  Discharge.

  Discharge what?

  A few more clicks, a couple of help explanations, and a plot began to form. She put the multitool away and waited an hour. The brig wing of the station bustled, as prisoners were given dinner, rounds were made, and the guard changed.

  Another hour passed. And another.

  Ada sat against the wall and thought of what had brought her here. When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t her father’s face she saw, or even her mother’s, but that of her little sister. Raya had only been eleven when the men had come to kill them all. They’d bombed the mining hab Ada had grown up in, then invaded on foot. Ada would have been shot on sight with Raya and her mother, but for a small avalanche of stone that had cut her off from the rest of the hab during the bombing. So she had escaped, alone, in her father’s old space racer, and headed inward, searching for him or any news of him. But an ex-Kuiper Blade spy was hard enough to find when he was alive. If he was dead now, or at least presumed dead, or if he was in some kind of trouble and couldn’t make contact—Ada shivered. She had to get out and continue her search.

  Pirating had been a mistake. She’d only come on to get transport in-system, but she’d been sucked into a world she knew nothing of, cared nothing about, and had no time for.

  “Never again,” she murmured. She wouldn’t let herself get sidetracked again.

  One more hour passed. The brig had grown quite quiet, and she decided this was as good a time as any to test her plan. If it worked, she might have a chance at breaking out. If it didn’t, it would likely set of the alarms and she would be beaten for having the multitool. She could deal with that, she supposed. It was no worse than what would happen to her if she failed to get away.