by Scott Sigler
A honk from behind told Pete to move Bucky aside. Stikz and Jared drove by on a dust-kicking wheel-truck, the back of which was stacked high with saddles, mount armor and other gear. Stikz drove the truck right up the ramp and into the cargo ship.
Pete led Bucky up the ramp. Dar and Clark were already hard at work, Dar removing saddles by hand from the flatbed along with Jared, Clark working a cargo crane to move bundles of mount armor to open spaces on the hold where Stikz strapped them down.
Everyone gave Pete a cautious glance. He’d told them Tony was off the team, although he had yet to explain why. The Ridgebacks riders trusted Pete, but only to a certain degree and he couldn’t blame them — each of them wondered if they might be the next one kicked off the squad. Considering Tony’s lack of work ethic lately, the four were busting their ass to show Pete that if laziness was grounds for dismissal, they would work harder than anyone.
Watching the scene brought something home to Pete. Salton was broke, sure, but he was cheap. Ever since the early days of the franchise, riders doubled as cargo crew, provided whatever manual labor needed to be done. How much further away could Dinoltion be from a first-class operation like the GFL? When the network money came in, would all of that change?
“Come on, girl,” Pete said, and tugged on Bucky’s reins.
He led her to the flight pens. Each dino traveled in a separate enclosure. The big cargo tug had the room needed for the large animals, even Bess.
Ian was in Bucky’s stall, using a stiff-bristled broom to sweep out accumulated dirt and sand. He was going at it so intensely he was sweating.
It was times like this that gave Pete hope for Ian. The kid was a conceited ass, spoiled rotten from being raised by big money, but at his core he was a hard worker. Ian had grown up with servants — he’d probably never even held a broom before coming to Ranch Ridgeback. But he wanted to be a rider and if mucking stalls was part of the gig, he seemed willing to give it his all. Good work ethic, horrible personality. One of those two would overcome the other, eventually: Pete had his money on the former.
Bucky saw Ian and perked up even more, letting out a happy gurgle. Ian looked up from his sweeping and smiled wide — a genuine smile, not one of his arrogant smirks.
“Hey, Buckster,” Ian said. “Ready for a nice trip?”
Bucky gurgled an answer that sounded so much like a real sentence Pete had to wonder, as he often did, if the dinos really spoke back but did so in a language that Humans didn’t understand.
Ian took the reins and led Bucky into the pen.
“How much longer you cleaning up?” Pete asked. “I want your help getting the rest of them into the ship.”
Ian patted Bucky’s feathered neck, nodded.
“A few more minutes,” he said. “I’m on it.”
Just a few days earlier, Ian had tried to beat Bucky into obeying. Now the kid seemed to be forming a real bond with the achillobator. She certainly liked him, and that was critical to a good rider/mount relationship. They had ridden well together against the Resurrected. Their real test as a pair was yet to come, though — the Loppu Ogres were a losing team, sure, but their mounts were some of the nastiest in the league. Bucky would have to show bravery to earn her keep against those prehistoric proto-mammal monsters.
Pete jogged back to the ranch, thinking about the trip to come. Loppu was only a one-day punch. Thank the High One for that. Dinolition teams were all located in the same region of space, even the Resurrected, the league’s only Sklorno team. Pete was grateful for the Sklorno’s strange politics, politics which prohibited the Resurrected from playing in Dynasty space. Chachanna, the official “home planet” of the Resurrected franchise, was a seven-day trip from Wilson 6. Pete didn’t know how the league would handle that kind of travel as it added more teams, which meant gigantic mounts would have to spend days locked up in tiny on-ship pens.
For now, though, he didn’t have to worry about that, thanks to the Sklorno’s sexist attitudes. Males were not allowed to play athletics on Sklorno worlds. As backward as that sounded, it was just that simple — females were the warriors, the athletes, the ones that handled intense physical activities. But female Sklorno were too big for Dinolition’s size limits on riders. To have Sklorno on a team, they had to be males. Pete knew that Guestford and the franchise owners were working on getting Chachanna’s religious leaders to change their policies; a Dinolition team in the sports-crazed Dynasty was a cash cow waiting to happen, but Pete wasn’t going to hold his breath waiting for it.
Someday, Dinolition would be played in Resurrected space. And the Harrah were rumored to be putting a team together, as was the Ki Rebel Establishment. That meant long, long trips. A bridge to cross at some future point, probably. What mattered at the moment was the one-day punch to Loppu.
He heard someone sprinting to catch up with him, turned to see Dar. Her white skin looked flush from her short sprint, almost had a pinkish hue that seemed to glow just below the surface.
“Cap, hold on,” she said.
He slowed to a walk, she fell in at his side.
“Hey, Dar,” he said. “What’s up?”
She stared down, her hands wringing together. She looked beautiful — not in a sexual way, but in the way that people are when they reach the point where they’re about to finally leave their awkward teenage years behind and become the confident person they are meant to be.
“Cap, I know you’ll tell us why Tony is gone eventually, at least I hope you will, but you’re the boss and that’s your call. I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m being nosy or—”
“Get to the point, Dar,” Pete said. “We’ve got mounts to load.”
“Right, right,” she said, her head shaking and her eyes widening in an I’m acting like an idiot expression. “Cap, it’s just that ... you booted Tony. I thought I rode well in the last match, but I know I can do better. I can work harder. If you’re thinking of booting me, too, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself. Maybe you’ll put Stikz or Jared in this time, but I want to be a starter, I want to be a real part of this team.”
That blushing innocence was pushed to the outer edges of her being, replaced by a hard intensity, a need that shone in her eyes. She’d had a taste of the big time and she wanted more. Pete knew that feeling all too well: in every star athlete’s life, there comes a moment when one moves from being a role player to a starter, from a bench warmer to a key member of the squad. Dar’s time had come, yet she had trouble believing it was real.
“You’re starting against the Ogres,” Pete said. “Give me everything you’ve got out there, keep getting better, and you’ll keep starting. I don’t make promises, Dar, but right now the job is yours to lose.”
She examined him, perhaps trying to see if he wasn’t being genuine, then a smile slowly broke across her face. Then, she giggled. Maybe she hadn’t quite left the teenager behind, not just yet. She shot in, kissed him on the cheek, then turned and ran back to the Ball & Chain.
Pete shook his head. “There’s no giggling in Dinolition,” he said quietly, but he knew she’d figure that out soon enough.
At the training ground, Pete saw Bess running full speed. She would sprint, then turn sharply, then sprint again, kicking up clouds of dust that the light breeze kindly took out of her way. From this distance Pete couldn’t see her target, but he knew that somewhere in those dust clouds three little annoying animals were scrambling about, talking a lot of crap.
“That’s it, Sisters,” he said. “Tire my girl out.”
Pete saw Doc Baiman examining Jerry. The trike was almost ready for combat, so Pete was bringing him along for a travel test. It would be his first time away from Bossie — difficult for him, to be sure, but Pete had to know how Jerry would handle it.
“Doc, how’s our little guy?”
Baiman shook her head. “Three tonnes and growing, and you call him little guy. Amazing.”
“He’s a baby until he gets blooded,” Pete said. “He’
ll have to earn his keep soon enough.”
“As you say,” she said. “He seems to be ready for the journey. His vitals are a bit off. I think he knows he’s going and he’s stressed, but I’m clearing him to travel.”
“That’s good,” Pete said. Like he would have paid attention to Baiman’s clearance regardless. Jerry’s time had almost arrived. The final call was Pete’s, not Doc’s.
Baiman removed her portable equipment from Jerry’s flank, slung it over her shoulder.
“Jerry I’m not so worried about,” she said. “He’s got such a calm demeanor. Sydney, on the other hand ... well, you know what kind of demeanor she has. Are you sure we need to bring her on this trip?”
Pete nodded. “We do. She’s problematic already, Doc. We need to make sure she’s used to space travel long before we start using her as a match-mount. She’s part of the future of this franchise, we have to figure out how to manage that temperament of hers.”
Baiman let out a cheek-puffing breath. “I know you’re right, Pete, it’s just that ... Sydney makes me nervous.”
Pete reached out, gripped her hand. “She makes me nervous too. I certainly wouldn’t want to be alone with her in a pen.”
She gave Pete a doubtful look, held it, then seemed to relax, as if she trusted that he wasn’t making fun of her. Pete knew the others saw him as fearless, the seasoned vet who knew how to wrangle any mount — showing that he was cautious about Sydney made Baiman feel better about her own worries.
“Well, all right,” she said. “I’ve got a good tranq mix for Sydney. I’ll keep her on IV and make sure she stays down for the trip.”
“Glad to hear it,” Pete said. The only thing worse than a rogue raptor tearing through the Ball & Chain would be a rouge T-Rex. “Did you check Bess?”
“I did,” Baiman said. “She’s fine. You need a tranquilizer for her?”
Pete shuddered. Tranquilizers for Bess consisted of a suppository the size of his forearm — as much as he loved Bess, giving her one of those was flat-out disgusting.
“No thanks,” Pete said. He looked out to the training ground, where Bess stood still, her huge chest heaving, her giant tongue dangling out the right side of her mouth. “I’m getting her ready the old-fashioned way.”
Doc shook her head. “You know, one of these days she’s going to catch a compy, and you’re going to feel awful.”
“Doc, I really can’t figure out why your social calendar isn’t filled up with dates. You’re just so dang positive about everything.”
Baimam huffed. “Just because I won’t date you, don’t think my dance card isn’t full.”
“Oh? And how many dates have you had this month?”
She sighed. “None, smart ass. I’ll see you onboard.”
Baiman strode toward Missy’s pen to clear the gallimimus for the trip.
Pete walked into the training ground. Bess saw him coming and took a step toward him, but just one step. Her massive ribcage billowed in and out. Drool dangled from her tongue. It was times like this that Pete couldn’t think about her as anything but a really, really big dog. The compys had worn her out. With any luck, she’d sleep for the first ten hours of the trip.
“Hey, sugarplum,” Pete said. “You ready to go for a ride?”
Bess leaned down, her massive head gently pressing into him. Pete braced his legs so as not to be knocked over, yet his heels still skidded a good meter across the dirt. He patted her round cheek even as a long strand of drool fell across his chest. It was gross, but he didn’t mind — into each life, a little spit will fall, especially when you made your living handling happy giants.
He wiped a handful of the goo off his shirt and flung it to the ground.
“Sometimes, Bessie-bear, it ain’t easy loving you.”
The T-Rex’s low, contented growl was her only answer.
“Come on, sugarplum. Let’s get you to the ship. I had some new foam put in your pen, so you can travel in the comfort a star of your stature deserves.”
• • •
Pete closed the gate to Bess’s flight pen. She was still breathing hard. She didn’t get that much of a workout in a damn match. He figured she’d be out like a light before the Ball & Chain hit orbit. Pete reminded himself to give the Sisters a double-helping of nutri-bricks.
The lift-off alarm buzzed, giving Pete a five-minute warning. He left Bess behind and headed for the rider module. The franchise only rented the Ball & Chain, didn’t own it, so there were no permanent rider quarters. Instead, Salton had bought a module that contained a group area, several bunks, a small galley and a shared bathroom. The Ball & Chain crew loaded that module into the ship’s hold for away games, then unloaded it when the team came back to Roughland.
The module wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping on the cargo hold floor, as he’d done in the league’s first two seasons. The definition of traveling in style, it seemed, was a relative thing.
He entered the module. His teammates were in the jump seats that lined the bulkhead, ready for liftoff. Dar fidgeted. Clark was reading something on his palm-up. Ian was asleep. Jared and Stikz were strapped in, but poking each other, obviously trying to piss each other off. Doc Baiman had several lines of vitals floating above her palm: even now she was carefully monitoring her dino patients.
Pete moved to his chair and buckled in next to Baiman. He waited for the final lift-off buzzer, but the sound didn’t come.
“Ship, give me Captain Yetri.”
“Hailing,” the ship said. Seconds later, the room’s speaker film buzzed with the high-pitched growl of Gaberna Yetri, owner/captain of the Ball & Chain.
“What do you want, Pete? I’m kinda busy.”
“Are we going to lift off today, or tomorrow?”
“Ha-ha. We’re waiting for the final passengers to board.”
Pete looked around, briefly, taking in his teammates and the doc.
“Everyone is here,” he said. “Can we get this show on the road?”
“When my pay comes from you, we’ll do that. Until then, I listen to the guy who hired me.”
The module door opened. In walked Salton the Grimy, followed by his big bodyguard, Miller, who had to duck to get through the door.
Critter Clark started laughing.
“Hey, boss. Slumming with the hired help?”
“Clark, be quiet,” Salton snapped. “Unless you don’t want to get paid for this week?”
Critter stopped laughing, but he didn’t stop smiling.
Pete wasn’t smiling at all, because this wasn’t even the tiniest bit funny. Salton had always taken private transport — he’d never come with the team. Just how broke was he?
“Miss your flight?” Pete said. “So odd.”
Salton met Pete’s glare. “The season is almost over. I want to know my players better, perhaps to know who will be back next season.”
The stare down lasted a few awkward moments, then Salton found an empty seat and buckled in.
Miller looked around for a HeavyG-sized seat, but Baiman had the only one. The only open spots were made for sentients of Dinolition-rider-size.
“Go to the bridge, you oversized idiot,” Salton said. “And make it fast.”
Miller rushed to the door so fast he banged his head on the metal, frame. Wincing and holding his forehead, he ducked out.
“Good help is so hard to find,” Pete said. “And also expensive.”
Salton ignored the jibe. He buckled in.
“Ship,” the Leader said, “tell Captan Yetri I am ready to leave.”
Seconds later, the final lift-off buzzer sounded. Pete put his head back and closed his eyes. He might not have much in common with Ian, but there was one trait they shared — sleep where you can, when you can.
The Ball & Chain rattled and shook as the anti-grav drives lifted it free of Wilson 6, but by that time, Pete was already out.
• • •
The shimmer brought him awake.
He always w
oke up when a ship came out of punch-space, and he didn’t know why. The rest of the team was still asleep, unmoving in their bunks. Critter’s snore filled the small room.
Pete quietly slid out of his bunk. He got the top bunk, as befitting a senior member of the team, which — considering how much Pete farted in his sleep — was too bad for Stikz who had to sleep on the bunk below. Pete felt an urge to run to the pilot’s cabin and ask Captain Yetri if the scores had come in from the Gargantuans and Stompers matches, to find out if the Ridgebacks were already in the championship tournament or had to win against Loppu, but first he had to check on the mounts. He dressed and left the module.
Dim lights snapped on as soon as he reached the cargo area. Unless he tapped the controls on the glowing wall panel, the lights would stay low. He walked carefully between the glass partitions.
Sydney was safely tucked into her straps. The IV feed in her leg looked stable. He watched fluid drip through the gravity feed. Her vitals showed on a small holotank mounted on her door. Everything seemed fine. Something about her, though, made goosebumps rise up on Pete’s skin: even asleep, Sydney just looked evil.
Her muscles twitched from the electrostim charges coursing through her body. Small pads attached to the major muscle groups made the fibers contract and relax, in effect giving her a full workout while she slept. When she woke, Sydney would feel like she’d been running non-stop for twelve straight hours. Hopefully, that would make her calm — a raptor with pent-up energy was a bad, bad thing.
Pete inspected the other small pen. Dusty and Bucky were separated by a meter of space. Their straps were secure and they both slept soundly. He checked their IV feeds: perfect, same as Sydney’s. Their muscles twitched from the electrostim patches, but not as much as Sydney’s. One of the two dinos would be running in the match against the Ogres; they couldn’t be stiff from twenty-four hours of immobility, but they couldn’t be exhausted, either.
Pete turned and stared in at Bess. The T-Rex lay on her left side. There was no room to turn her over during the trip, not that the team had enough strength to do it anyway.