Living in Freefall (Living on the Run Book 1)

by Ben Patterson

  Instead of normal spacesuits—the bulbous helmet and the bulky, thick, tightly-woven cloth glued to rubber—Jordon Kori’s flight suits were little more than air containment force fields similar to that enveloping a spaceship. And to do away with those unwieldy oxygen tanks still used by most of the universe, Jordon built a small, portable air-scrubber into each power-pack utility belt.

  The helmet, a thin, light phyocene-plastic alloy, was an added power source to energize the suit should the belt batteries fail. Because the force field could envelope anything, even street clothes, nothing was needed beyond the helmet and belt. Nevertheless, the Archers wore gray flight suits over their clothes anyway. Like a chameleon, the suit’s material automatically changed color to blend into its surroundings. But to be effective, this feature required them to wear the hood up. The wearer would be difficult to see—not completely invisible—and in most cases that would be enough to save his or her life.

  Riley grabbed a satchel, loaded it with what he considered necessary items, and strapped it to his left hip. His right hand hovered casually over the zipgun on his thigh. He glanced at his wrist gage to check his air. The readings said his system was doing its job. Riley and Ericca pulled their visors down. This would allow them to see in the faintest of light and would darken instantly should the need arise. The dimming Grenadier Nebula, now getting further and further away, currently offered little light. If not for the visors, electric torches would be their only option, and those would quickly give them away.

  Ericca raised her suit’s hood, glanced around to make sure the way was clear then slinked to a nearby wall. She hunched low to peak past the corner then disappeared around it.

  Riley looked back across the ship for security’s sake then ordered Viper to lock down before he followed his sister.

  Large pipes ran some distance along the hull. Ericca ducked under the nearest, then followed it to the hatch hidden between them.

  Riley stayed close behind her and, from time to time, to keep them safe, glanced back to secure their rear. As he did so, he unconsciously kept his hand on his gun, his source of security.

  Once at the hatch Ericca squatted and, without a word, held out her open hand.

  Riley knelt beside her and pulled a small Emitter/scanner from his satchel. As if it were a surgical instrument he slapped it into her palm.

  She placed it next to the hatch and turned it on.

  “This may take some time,” she said, and looked back at her brother. She shook her head and frowned at what she saw.

  “What?”

  “You. Your issues with wearing the hood will be the death of us.”

  “Cut me some slack. The helmet’s cool, the hood is whack, okay?”

  She hmphed, and sat down next to the Emitter/scanner to keep an eye on its gages. While the device calibrated and formed an Energy Bubble over the hatch, it gave her time to consider her brother. “Archer, I know you want to create a look here. I know you want to look cool. But really, out here? Who’s going to see?”

  He shrugged and took a seat beside her. “A proper cool-itude, sis, is all about frame-of-mind. If I look cool when people aren’t around then certainly I’m cool-looking when they are.”

  “Wear the hood.”

  He scowled. “Come on.”

  “There could be patrols walking the deck. The helmet reflects light. Pull the hood up.”

  Although he hated doing so, he knew she was right, so he complied.

  “Thank you.”

  There were certain obstacles to overcome if they wanted to get into this spaceship—actually any spaceship—let alone this “military” spacecraft. If they had cut through a bulkhead or opened a hatch without the Emitter, the sudden decompression would not only have set off alarms right and left, but the out rush of air would’ve knocked them off the hull. To overcome this the Emitter created an Energy Bubble to envelop the hatch much like the barrier shield that covered an open cargo bay door or Viper’s cockpit. Once formed the bubble would match the ship’s internal atmospheric pressure to prevent the air’s escape when the hatch was opened. And just like a barrier shield the bubble would allow them to pass through it unhindered.

  “No guards beyond the portal, bro. Still waiting to get an air pressure reading.”

  “It certainly isn’t easy breaking into a military spacecraft, sis.”

  “Steel hatches are difficult to get through. And the Confed Navy makes them even more so.”

  That went without saying. Both of them knew that this type of hatch was secured remotely by an encoded lock mechanism whose command signal’s source was deep within the recesses of the ship. To bypass this Ericca had to tenuously trace the signal back into the vessel to its origin, and quietly trigger it without setting off any alarms.

  The Emitter slash scanner, of course, was loaded with Rachel’s, not Jordon’s, high-tech gadgetry, but Ericca didn’t trust it to be foolproof. She believed nothing ever was, and that fact made her nervous. She took a breath. Although this was its first field-test, she’d have to trust it’d work. She took hold of the hatch’s handle, twisted it to the unlocked position, and tugged. The hatch opened a crack. No alarms.

  “You seem apprehensive, sis.”

  “Getting in might be easy enough. My concern is that this device will leave residual evidence that we’ve been here.”

  “And if it does? If this ship’s sensors detect it later, what do we care?”

  “I don’t want to be discovered when we can least afford to be caught.”

  Riley grinned. “The devil you say? I thought you’d like nothing better.”

  Ericca rolled her eyes. Then she and Riley slipped through the hatch and climbed down the ladder to the metal floor.

  They soon discovered that it was dangerous and difficult working their way through this enemy vessel. Guards were plentiful and the course was long—but they managed to plant all five bombs, snip a few wires, and get back out safely without being discovered. And all the while, Ericca couldn’t get Freefall’s stealth ability out of her head. Freefall could turn invisible for short lengths of time. Hard on fuel consumption, but good in a pinch. To vanish just as an enemy vessel locked its weapons on, and then reappear at its back door made for great fun sometimes. A small stealth device attached to her belt would be useful, but that kind of spy-gear only existed in the minds of small boys. But still . . .

  . . . who knew what Jordon Kori was capable of?

  Back aboard Viper Ericca adjusted the Synthe-grav and she and Riley settled down for a good night’s sleep.

  “You know what just occurred to me, Ericca?” Riley asked before he allowed sleep to overtake him.

  “What’s that?”

  “We could have used a couple of Captain Kori’s holo-emitters. Scan a crewman, assume his—”

  “Or her . . .”

  “Or her identity, and walk around out in the open as him or her. That would have been a lot easier.”

  Ericca laughed. “You’re right. Holographically disguised, we could have walked openly throughout the ship unmolested. When we get back we gotta make sure Rachel adds one to each of our utility belts. Agent Riley Archer . . . spy guy. Like that do you?”

  He chuckled. “Ericca Archer . . . the shadow in their midst.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning Ericca and Archer awoke to a vast, star-filled sky. Even without the visors, the ship’s deck seemed well lit just by the light of the Milky Way.

  It was very early, but in spite of the hour Ericca decided it was time to contact Freefall and report in. She turned to their most secure channel and hailed Freefall. She hailed twice more before Captain Kori responded in a rather sleepy voice.

  Jordon tried hard to rub the sleep from his eyes, but hammering out a few more details with Buck had run late into the night, later than he would have liked. He tried desperately to wake himself and clear his mind, but lack of sleep’s grip was stubborn. At this early hour, he sounded more like Elmer Fudd than hi
mself.

  “Hewwo?” he said.

  Ericca’s voice, on the other end, was faint. “Captain Kori?”

  “Yes, honey, it’s Captain Kori. Talk to me.”

  “Honey, sir?” That was the first time he’d called her that.

  Jordon shook himself. “What? Ericca? Oh, sorry. I dozed off for a second there. Thought for a moment I was talking to . . . Umm, where are you?”

  “We’re okay. We’re piggybacking on the Prince Rutherford. It seemed at first to be a Tech-vessel at the rear of a forty-two-ship flotilla heading your way. Sir, the Rutherford is a weapon.”

  “The ship is a weapon,” he said blandly. “Aren’t they all?”

  “Sir, wake up and pay attention. Rutherford is a big weapon; a big, scary, chew-up several ships with one bite, weapon. The whole ship is one big gun with a maw on it the size of Colorado.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, sir. You may want to reconsider. Their course is straight and true, so I’m sure they’re tracking you.”

  “No, wait. The ship itself is a gun.”

  “An energy cannon, more like. If it turns toward a group of ships, it’ll rip through them like . . . like, like they’re nothing.”

  “Damn! They did it.”

  “Did what, sir?”

  There was a long moment of dead air. Jordon knew what they had made and knew where they got the technology.

  “Sir,” Errica said accusatorily, “this is your tech, isn’t it? This is the stuff taken from your ship, right?”

  The silence remained as Jordon pondered a proper response. “Sir, your tech fell into the wrong hands. Now what are you going to do?”

  “So, we’ll stay to her backside.”

  “Not funny, sir.”

  “Take it easy, Errica. We’ll discredit this ship; make the Confeds believe it’s a failed tech not worth pursuing.”

  “If it was just that simple, sir. This ship, as big as it is, was built to pivot on a dime. She has well-placed maneuvering engines designed to whip this thing around faster than you can fly. Sir, seriously, you may just want to make a run for it. Get to Providence, and let them deal with this beast. I think even they would be hard pressed to beat this thing.”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “It is. It’s your technology after all.”

  “Understood, Ericca. Are you able to send us the specs on that ship?”

  “We’ve scanned it. Archer has converted that to a 3-D holo. I’ll shoot that to you.”

  “Good, good. Will you be ready to come home after that?”

  “Negative. We’ll stay with the fleet and track their movements. I’ll report in if things change.”

  “How’re you holding up?”

  “Archer and I are . . .”

  For a moment Jordon thought the line had gone dead.

  “He’s fine . . . I’m pissed.”

  “Sorry? Come again.”

  “Sir, we found both Talon pilots.” There was a long pause. “They’re dead. We’re certain they were murdered by their own people.”

  There was no accusation in her tone but the impact of her words knocked him off his feet. He slumped into a chair. Like an old rubber balloon after a forgotten party, he suddenly felt deflated. Despite that, his chest was now tight and heavy; his breathing became difficult.

  “Ericca, I . . .” Jordon took a labored breath. “My Talon swap idea, huh? To be honest, Ericca, since our little talk I haven’t been able to sleep much.”

  Again there was a protracted stillness. Ericca was upset. Jordon could hear it in her voice when she spoke, and even more so when she didn’t.

  “Ericca, I . . .” He took another deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. Any other time those two little words would have meant something, but now they were just weak and small and frail. There really was little he could say to justify what had happened, what he had caused. And there was no defense that could rise to the level needed. Two men had died, and that wasn’t nothing.

  “Sir, I . . .” There was another moment of dead air. “You’ll excuse me.”

  He swallowed back his feelings of guilt. “Their deaths are on my head, Ericca. Can you forgive me?”

  Another protracted silence was broken by her brother’s voice.

  “Sir, this is Riley. I think it’s best if I take over this conversation. Ericca, well . . .”

  For a long moment, Jordon couldn’t form the words. Ericca was right. She was right aboard Freefall, and she was right in being angry now. Jordon didn’t want the men to die. That certainly wasn’t his desire. Nor did he want to enslave them. But he had ignored Ericca when he shouldn’t have and didn’t hear her when he should have. She had every right to be, well, pissed off, and at him.

  It seemed like his every decision over the course of this entire last year had been wrong. He had made one mistake after another, and now two more men were dead. Ericca had called those men arrogant cocks. They were. There was no denying. But he was every bit an arrogant cock himself. He should have consulted with and listened to Ericca and Riley. He twisted his hands in the time-honored fashion of people in pain. Then he caught himself, and splayed his fingers before making fists. He flexed his hands, gathered his thoughts, swallowed his fears, and straightened.

  “Put her back on, Riley.”

  “I can’t do that, sir. She’s stepped away from the ship. I can tell at a glance she’s angry though.”

  A knot formed in the pit of Jordon’s stomach. His shoulders slumped and he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the plexi-clear bridge window. The man looking back at him wasn’t stately, or confident, or brave. The man in the glass was simply a geek who wanted to be what he wasn’t. “I get that she’s angry, Riley. But I need to talk to her.”

  “Should I tell her you’re giving her a direct order, sir?”

  Some things done could never be undone. Jordon felt that he had already crossed a line that could never be stepped back over. Ordering her to talk to him would only exacerbate the situation. Provoked, Ericca might never return to his ship, to her home, to . . . him.

  “I should have known, Riley. I should have at least guessed this could’ve happened. Ericca was right. I’m a gadget guy. What in furnace flames was I thinking?”

  “Sir?”

  “I should’ve stuck to what I know best. And I should have consulted with you two before doing such a stupid thing.”

  “You didn’t pull the trigger, sir.”

  Jordon sighed. “I kill people, Riley. I may not be the one pulling the trigger, but I get people killed all the same. All around me people die.”

  “You got to stop that, sir. Thinking like that will do you no good. Too many people rely on you, so stop it!”

  He took and released a heavy breath. The line stayed silent for the longest time.

  “Sir?”

  “Yeah, Riley?”

  “Sir, Ericca’s anger isn’t your doing. I can’t remember seeing her this upset, but it isn’t you, not really. She hates Confederates as much as anyone. I thought she’d like seeing those men dead, but . . .”

  “Leave her be, Riley. Just leave her be.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Mara should be our contact from now on. I don’t know.”

  Jordon rubbed his temples with both hands. “Not a good idea. Mom and Ericca . . . Setting aside all that, Riley, what’s your situation?”

  “For the most part, sir, we’re bored out of our sculls. Other than that, we’re okay. We’ve tried to figure out how they’ve tracked you, but neither of us has had much success. Tell Rachel it would be a lot easier if she we’re here to brainstorm with.”

  “Roger that. I’m sure once she wakes she’ll work on the same issue from this end.”

  “Okay Captain . . . Oh, I can tell you that at this distance and speed, we’ll arrive at your destination in about two days. We’ll send a list of these ships and their technical data to Freefall. Better that you know what you’re up against when they arrive. Hope it
helps. Well, that’s all for now. We’ll sign off and report— No! Wait! One more thing. We managed to sabotage this particular ship . . . somewhat. When the time comes code 18122514 into your nav-com array and beam it straight at Prince Rutherford. Doing so will fry their controls, we hope. That’ll trigger well-placed keton grenades. Barring that, stay the hell away from the Prince’s bow. Got all that?”

  “Got it.”

  “Should things change, Captain, we’ll hail you. Riley out.”

  “Thanks, Riley. Captain Kori out.”

  Jordon rubbed the morning stiffness from his neck and went to the kitchen to fix a pot of coffee. Then it struck him. Did Riley say, ‘well-placed keton grenades?’ He wandered for a moment where they could have placed grenades above deck that would make a difference. Ah, if he could remember to do so, he’d just have to ask them later.

  They’re brave kids, he thought.

  But exactly how brave, he would probably never guess. There was no tipoff in Ericca or Riley’s voices that said they had actually snuck aboard, and deep into, the Prince Rutherford. No hint in Riley’s tone that at one point, for an hour, they had to hunker down in a crate while solders practiced drill after drill around them.

  Nor did he know that as they climbed from the box, Riley’s loose hood had snagged, jostling the crate enough to give them away. If he’d had it on as Ericca had asked, that would never have happened. It was close. They had managed to duck behind a blind of conduits in time to escape the guards who had hurried around the corner.

  “Too close for comfort,” Riley whispered. Quickly raising his hood, he synched the purse string.

  The guards searched the crates for stowaways until Riley spotted a rat behind some large metal tubes. He grinned. He’d finally get to shoot something. He dialed down his zipgun to its lowest setting, took careful aim, and popped the rat in the tail.

  It squealed with a jump and bolted from behind the tubes at a full run. The guards did their best to stomp on it as it scurried across the floor. But the rat was quick. When the men finally left the room, Riley and Ericca both let out a sigh of relief.