by Gavin Magson
Contents
Legal
Books by the same author
Konar City Stories
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
The story continues in Ajax: Relinquished. Out now.
Legal
Ajax: Rebirth
A Konar City Story
By Gavin Magson
Copyright © Gavin Magson 2015
Note:
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Books by the same author
Konar City Stories
Ajax: Rebirth (May 2015)
Ajax: Relinquished (October 2015)
Fire and Steel (TBA 2018)
Foreword
Firstly I would like to give a big thank you to your beautiful self for reading this far, it does mean a lot to me. The self-published market, from what I understand, can be very much a little fish in a vast, endless ocean situation. Or is this book technically the lure of a fishing rod trying to attract readers? I’ve confused myself, many apologies.
This book would not be available if it weren’t for the efforts of my father, who acted as my editor and can take all the blame for any of my grammatical mistakes. He hasn’t read this foreword, so I guess that is on me. Oops.
Ajax: Rebirth represents, technically, near three years’ worth of work on my behalf, and about a trillion edits. I wrote what was the original draft of Ajax between September 2012 and November 2012 (finishing on the 15th, to be precise). This was during a spell of unemployment as I trawled the internet for anything and everything, job-wise, and was my first serious attempt at completing a story. I cannot describe just how much enjoyment this process has brought me, nor how much of a surprise this discovery was to me.
Ajax had very little initial planning, rather the story just flowed into existence each day that I wrote, which I suspect is an entirely wrong approach to take when attempting to write. As this is my first book I am nervous that my inexperience will show, and that my grasp of the English language will be ridiculed by friends and strangers alike. However, this is exactly why I (finally) have got around to publishing this story. I hope that you, the reader(s), might feedback what you thought of this book, through reviews and suggestions, or comments to my twitter (@GavinMagson), to help me improve as a writer.
Over the course of the last two years Ajax would undergo 5 edits, increasing its word count by over a third, and becoming quite the mammoth tome that was realistically two books (well, this is what I was told). Ajax: Rebirth is the first half of that story and it is my hope that people out there will be entertained by my creation, perhaps even enough to be interested in the second half. Don’t worry, I am not out to squeeze money from prospective readers, so the second half will not be priced at £100 million (or the equivalent in your currency).
Since I am the kind of person that hates not being able to finish what I have started the second half will make it out there into the wild, even if only one soul reads this book. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that someone out there might want to know what comes next in our hero’s adventures.
I hope that you enjoy this story, sorry for any clichés, and please feel free to contact me through twitter; I would love to hear back from you. Again, that’s @GavinMagson. No one else speaks to me on it…
Thank you for reading,
Gavin Magson.
Chapter 1
The asteroid spun lazily, its vast bulk screaming silently through space, gathering yet more speed as the white dwarfs gravity began to alter its trajectory. The blazing light of the star fractured as it hit giant slabs of ice that pocketed the asteroid’s surface, a dazzling effect lost on its pursuers.
The old mining tug, its dishevelled appearance only magnified by the decades old paint job scorched and faded by years of arduous work under inhospitable conditions, had scanned the rock several hours earlier and was heading to intercept; even the small amount of precious ore at its core was more than worth their pursuit. Two hundred thousand credit's per ton was enough to whet any captain’s lips.
The captain struggled out of his battered chair at the rooms centre with a minimum of groans and paced across the room to his navigation officer, who was slumped over an array of consoles, meticulously studying readouts. The captain leant over the man's chair and stared down at a screen that displayed a deep layer scan of their target. The image flickered and died; yet again this worthless tug was showing its age. The nav officer hit the top of the screen and it fired back into life, a fix that he had used countless times before.
“What is the distance, Greg?” asked the captain, resting his good hand on the man's shoulder and pushing himself back up with an audible grunt.
Greg looked up into the grizzled face of his captain, days old stubble, sunken eyes and that hard stare of his were all that greeted him. “We are just over a thousand kilometres away, boss. If the thrusters can hold off from burning out again we should be within range in fifteen minutes.”
The captain nodded and left Greg to worry over their target, he turned around and surveyed his command centre. He didn't call it that any more, the captain felt that to do so was an affront to the latest mammoth ships that hopped galaxies in the blink of an eye and housed more people than he could count. It had been a long time since this ship was anybody’s pride.
The room was spacious by default, since anything of worth had long since disappeared to fund one cause or another, poorly lit and had a permanent background smell of stale sweat and cheap cigars. One corner was still blackened from a recent fire that had threatened to kill the entire crew, before that it had acted as a mountainous final resting place for the captains cigars; he would not live down that mistake anytime soon.
For years now the ship had been manned by a minimal crew. Advancements in technology had seen his competitors monopolise this business at the cost of his. He could not remember the last time that most of the screens had functioned correctly; at least it gave them some space to work, he mused. It was but a hollow shell of what it had been in the beginning, when trade was booming and the ship had been well maintained. Now those were the days.
Ilya, the last remaining female crew member, turned from her station and jumped at the sight of her captain but a step behind her. For a man of such considerable bulk he could choose his moments to sneak up on her, his large frame a stark contrast to her slender build. She still had yet to master listening out for his quiet footfalls, or the rattle of his ragged breathing, even after all this time.
“No need for you to kill time anymore, go down to the harpoons and buzz up when they are armed, Ilya.” said her captain.
IIya smiled as she moved silently away,
more fitting for someone of her slight stature. She sauntered across the room with barely a sound and left through the rusted bulkhead door. The only sound she did make was a faint metallic ting as she walked down the worn metal staircase and through another doorway, before ducking under an antique chain that was more rust than metal.
Ilya did not like using the elevator; it was old, decrepit and unreliable: much like the rest of this stinking ship. She knew it had claimed two lives over its many years of service and had no desire to be the third. There was not even a door any more, just a chain that the occupants could loop across the entrance. Even that had seen better days! She hammered her hand onto the descend button and hunkered into a corner for safety, grabbing two rails tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
The descent into the ships bowels only took a few minutes, she had made it so many times that just by closing her eyes and listening out for the familiar squeaks and rattles Ilya knew exactly where she was within the ship. A violent tremor that shook the entire cage, seemingly threatening to make this day her last, ironically signalled that the worst of the journey was behind her. Ilya released her death grip on the rails she clung to and breathed out a nervous sigh of relief.
She turned around and reached up to remove the smallest suit of four hanging at the elevators rear. Ilya unzipped the front and stepped into the suit, pulling the thick fabric over her body, all the while trying to ignore the suits foul odour. As always the helmet took some convincing to lock into place, warranting a few curses from her as she struggled to manoeuvre it into position; a satisfying click signalled her victory.
The elevator began to slow and Ilya was glad that her mouldy helmet blocked the worst of the high pitched squeal of metal on metal as aged brakes were applied. She undid the chain, letting it clatter to the floor and stepped off the decelerating elevator onto the mezzanine floor below. Her heavy boots rattled the walkway as the elevator jerked to a sudden stop behind, the chain sent whipping out to scythe the air and fall short of Ilya by a hands breadth.
Ahead the corridor was poorly lit, and had been since the first day Ilya stepped aboard this ship. It was no secret that the captain ran his ship on a tight budget. She had been told on numerous occasions by Greg that it was through necessity. All but three of the long corridors bulbs were missing, no doubt used to replace a more vital light somewhere else around the ship. Ilya walked along the familiar corridor, passing between lengthy shadows until she was finally in front of an open bulkhead door.
Closing the door behind her took all of Ilya’s’ strength, its thick metal and stiff hinges put up a strong battle before relenting. She checked the remaining air in the tank on her back and flipped a switch next to the door; that started the de-pressurisation of the room she now stood in. There were few things Ilya hated more than the feeling of zero gravity, but since she was the most nimble of the remaining crew this task had fallen to her. It was still a better profession than those most girls her age were forced into, though sometimes she felt the alternatives were probably considerably safer.
Ilya watched the loose suit she wore ripple as the air was sucked from the room, slowly balancing the pressure to that outside the ship. She knelt down to turn the electromagnets on in her boots and whispered a small blessing when they powered up. Finally the red bulb above the second bulkhead door went out and the thick door slowly swung open, revealing the room beyond.
Ilya always found it a struggle to walk in the magnetic boots. The idea behind them was that as the user lifted their foot to take a step it would activate a sensor, turning off the magnet until it came in contact with another surface. Unfortunately the boots were more prone to jamming, leaving the wearer to trip over their own feet and crash to the floor. One of these days, she thought, someone would end up dying because of these useless boots; Ilya just hoped it would not be her.
Inside the wide, curved room were seven harpoons attached to tree trunk thick chains that disappeared through the floor further into the ships bowels. They sat slack and dormant in their wide channels that were set into the ship’s hull. Each harpoon bore its war scars, some faring better than others after such lengthy service. Ilya passed them slowly, ever cautious as she crossed to the opposite wall, a familiar sight that offered nothing new to her.
Through a small observation window in front of her Ilya could see the trail of debris that followed their targeted asteroid. Its giant form carved an unstoppable path through space whilst a cloud of shrapnel followed. Despite this side of the ship facing away from the nearby star its light was still blindingly strong, it reflected off chunks of ice that glistened on the asteroid’s surface and lit it up like a chandelier. Or at least what she imagined a chandelier must look like, since Ilya had never seen one.
Without air in the room she was left in total silence, only her heartbeat and deep breaths to keep her company. With the harpoons not sat flush in their channels the room was exposed to the outside, which caused dust and small debris to enter the room and float around Ilya aimlessly. All around her small particles twinkled in the light, glistening brightly like her own personal universe. The solitude was the only appeal to her of this task, something she valued and enjoyed from time to time.
Ilya turned away from the spectacle on display and crossed over to a console set under another window, keen to finish her task and get out of the room. Although she appreciated what the room had to offer long periods of time within it left Ilya feeling nauseous to the point of collapse.
There were several dials on the console, yet only one was of any interest to her; it displayed that all seven firing mechanisms were low on pressure, the lights flashing out of unison to dazzle any onlooker. Ilya gripped one of the valves under the display tightly, bracing herself. She heaved at the valve, grunting at the amount of force required for her to turn it, straining against the effects of age and wear. Her muscles began to cramp and spasm, yet still she fought on, reluctant to admit defeat. With one final surge the valve rotated a fraction of a turn and she knew victory was upon her.
Once the valve finally relented and started rotating, the resistance swiftly lessened until it spun freely. Immediately Ilya felt the floor begin to vibrate underfoot, the force so great that her vision began to blur. The chains were reeled in, causing the harpoons to be hauled back into the mouths of their firing mechanisms. The rumbling was enough to disengage the magnet of her left boot and Ilya spun around on the spot, clashing her knee on a low console with a sickening crunch and falling tank first to the floor.
Only when the last chain pulled tight and the great vibrations began to subside did her stream of curses stop and she could pull herself up to her feet. Ilya blinked tears from her eyes and stomped her boot until it stuck to the floor once more. It took several moments for her anger to subside, though she continued to mutter under her breath; her week was just going from bad to worse.
Ilya looked down at the greying sleeve of her right arm and was relieved the reading for her oxygen gauge had not changed. It would have been just her luck to rupture a hose or even the tank itself. There were a series of buttons next to the readout on her forearm that controlled the suit's communications, though the labels had long since faded away. After several taps of a button it finally decided to work and open up a channel to the control room, the crackle through her helmets speakers signified success.
“Can you hear me, captain?” came Ilya's agitated voice through the speakers of the captain’s chair, with only a hint of suppressed pain.
“We read you loud and clear, Ilya. How are the harpoons?” replied the captain, his voice barely a tinny whine.
Ilya glanced back at the console to confirm their status, relieved to see seven green lights blinking back at her. “The harpoons are ready to build pressure when you are.”
The captain kept his finger held down on the transmit button, Ilya could just make out the conversation between him and Greg. There was some mention of being in range and then the captain was back on the comms.
“Flip the switch and get back here ASAP, we are hauling that baby in.”
“On my way, sir.” came Ilya's reply.
Ilya pulled up a plastic safety cover just under the valve, revealing a worn keyhole, a score of markings encircled it from previous use. The firing key had been entrusted to Ilya, which she kept zipped away in her suits pocket, since none of the other crew dared venture down here anymore. It was still the original, and was heavily scratched from its numerous years of use. She removed the key, ever careful that it did not spill from her grasp because of the thick rubber of the suits gloves, and inserted the key. When turned a blinking light struggled into life that confirmed the firing mechanisms were armed, it's steady pulse more than enough to reassure Ilya.
Ilya could not fathom why the, presumably many, past owners of this rust bucket had not upgraded the system at some stage of its miserable existence. In the early days, when she was a young girl eager to impress her captain, she had volunteered to do this task and gain the respect of her co-workers. If only she could speak to her past self now; Ilya would slap that naive child for being so stupid. The first time saw her with a double compound fracture and three cracked ribs; her arm had never felt the same since. Seems that there was some on the job training Duke had neglected to give her back then.
The journey back was a lot quicker, Ilya had finally acclimatised to moving in the ancient suit and made short work of getting out of the dead room. She was cautious not to be too hasty when pressurising the intermediate room, the consequences of rushing the process had been described to her in grisly detail. She was certainly not eager to join the list of ex-crew members.
With the key returned around her neck and the suit once more hanging up in the elevator, she looped the chain across the elevators entrance and hit a button that started her ascent to the control room. Ilya thanked her luck for making it out of the death trap alive one more time; she then mouthed a silent prayed for the elevator to hold out during the climb.