Wrecker's Moon

by Patrick McClafferty

  Six hours later Kelsoe dragged a bulging bag onto the salvage sled. The driver glanced at the bag and then at her. “Good haul?” He asked in a disinterested voice.

  “Yeah.” She replied wearily, flopping into a vacant seat. “G’Fleuf will be happy.”

  “But not you?” She could see his wide grin as he glanced her way.

  “I get to eat for another week. I’m simply delirious with joy.”

  “There are easier ways to make money for food.” He rumbled suggestively.

  She sighed, having had this conversation before…many times. “Not really. I’ll keep stripping the wrecks, thank you very much, and sleeping alone.” He let out a nasty laugh as they accelerated back toward the Den.

  Her eyes were shut and she was half asleep when the other men on the sled began to talk. “Did you hear what happened to that TelBareth kid?” One voice said. Kelsoe kept her eyes shut, but she was suddenly wide awake.

  “That red-headed asshole? No.” Another voice replied with interest.

  “It looks like the horny little shit attacked the wrong person. Got his family jewels crushed in a vice my friend in the infirmary said.”

  The second voice snorted. “Couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

  The first voice dropped to a whisper, as if it made any difference when using the com. “My friend in the infirmary said that they had to clean everything off between his legs, he was so badly mangled.”

  The second voice laughed outright. “I can think of one use for a eunuch.”

  The first voice chortled. “That TelBareth kid is too damned mean for that. Whoever did that to him will have to watch out when he finally gets out of the infirmary.” The second voice snickered.

  The next day Kelsoe took G’Fleuf’s small maintenance sled to the wreck by a circuitous, but safer route after launching from the small equipment hangar in the side of the science ship. The grey skinned alien had obviously guessed her concerns, and hadn’t offered any objections when she asked for the transport. All in all, she thought his actions lately damned odd. She blinked her slightly gritty eyes, and subvocalized the word time. In the top right of her right eye a small display blinked, showing the time, in green numerals. Seconds later the display vanished. G’Fleuf had activated her corneal HUD as soon as she awoke, but hadn’t had the time to instruct her in its use, other than to tell her that it could recognize and display circuits. A secondary benefit was that it could be used in conjunction with most weapons to provide targeting information.

  The engineering section of the starliner was a vast space that took up, with the drives, the back third of the vessel. Unlike the members of the bridge crew, those that worked in engineering had no time to strap themselves into seats or couches before the crash. Kelsoe shuddered as she stepped over strewn pieces of bodies on her way to the jump drive initiator.

  A broken body of a female crewmember sat wedged into the corner of the equipment, her desiccated shriveled arms wrapped around a small brown leather bag. Kelsoe swallowed her revulsion, and gently pulled the bag free of the dead woman’s grip. The body, with long blond hair, fell to the deck in a puff of dust let in from one of the many breaches in the hull. In the handbag she found several small cases of pills, a thick wad of money and a small energy pistol with several spare charges. Although Kelsoe was well aware of the rules against private looting, she was also aware that the restrictions were more a guideline for the pirates who lived in the Den. Everyone took something. Except drugs. She stuck the gun, charges and money in her pocket and tossed the purse with the pills into a dark corner of the room. It was doubtful that anyone else would come down here, with all the staterooms to loot, the cargo hold as well as the purser’s office. With a sigh she turned back to the only slightly damaged initiator and reached for her screwdriver. Her AI helpfully pulled up the Schematic and Illustrated Parts Breakdown, I.P.B., overlaying the real time images Kelsoe saw with her eyes with the faint red drawings. Kelsoe smiled as the first screw came free. When G’Fleuf called her three hours later, the initiator was sitting on the deck, and the young woman had turned her attention to other high value items. She looked up in surprise.

  “Kelsoe.” The small Drugud said in his slightly metallic artificial voice. “Get back to the Den; work is called off for the day.” She raised an eyebrow. Work on a fresh victim of the Lure was never called off. “The bosses are having a big meeting, and everyone is supposed to be there.”

  Kelsoe grunted. “I’ll get back as soon as I load this initiator.”

  “You found the initiator?” G’Fleuf sounded excited, even speaking through his artificial voice.

  “Yeah. It looks to be in pretty good shape and I should be able to fix it up with no problem. The new optical implants are a real bonus, and saved me hours of work.”

  “I’m glad the implants are working out for you. Bring the initiator along when you return, by all means.” She could picture the small octopoid creature rubbing his tentacles together.

  Back in the safety of the science vessel, G’Fleuf examined the initiator with growing excitement as Kelsoe stripped out of her cumbersome EVA suit. “This unit alone is worth a million credits.” He crowed, stroking the mechanism with his tentacles.

  Kelsoe shrugged modestly as she set the gun down on the table with the spare charges and the wad of money. “I found this too.” Her voice held no inflection.

  G’Fleuf gave the weapon an offhand glance. “Keep it.” He declared, sounding a trifle bored as he turned back to the initiator. “And the money too.”

  Kelsoe opened her mouth to say something, thought about it, and shut it. The little Drugud ALWAYS had a reason for what he did, and she knew the bored act was a sham. He probably recognized the gun as soon as she withdrew it from the bag, and could probably tell her who the manufacturer was, and the remaining charge level. She put the gun, charges and money in her pocket. “What’s this big meeting all about?”

  G’Fleuf turned from the equipment. “There is another ship coming in.” He said quietly. “Actually, there are three, but the bosses only know about two.”

  “We’ve never had more than one ship before.” Kelsoe exclaimed in a shocked voice.

  “My equipment here in the science vessel is more sensitive than the boss’s equipment. This is a very bad idea. All three vessels are Fleet.” He finished slowly, emphasizing the last word.

  “Fleet!!!” Kelsoe almost shrieked. “Are they insane? Bring Fleet ships here??”

  “I suspect that the bosses know that the life of the Den and the Lure is limited. They probably hope to make a last big score on military technology and weapons, and then skip town, leaving the rest of us to swing when the Fleet arrives to look for their lost ships.”

  “We are so screwed.” Kelsoe growled.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” G’Fleuf replied enigmatically. When she gave him a hard glare he continued. “If we can salvage a lifeboat from the Lunare Queen, or from one of the Fleet ships we can cobble together jump capability. We can get well away from this world, at least.”

  “So that’s why you were so excited with the initiator.” She continued after a moment’s thought.

  “Exactly. You salvaged enough yesterday alone to keep the bosses off our backs for long enough. The initiator we keep to make good our own escape.” She looked at him as if he were insane.

  Four stories below the surface of the moon, the conference room was actually a large unfinished underground chamber, sealed, lit and equipped with minimum creature comforts—like heat and air that smelled of rubber and recycled sweat. The residents of the Den sat on the floor, leaned against the walls, or stood and walked around, rubbing their hands together to stay warm. G’Fleuf and the six members of the other three alien species clustered in a corner, more for protection than for warmth. Kelsoe stared for a moment at the blue skinned Ichlar named Lowor. Being female, humanoid and mammalian usually led to trouble in the Den, but Lowor was…different. Perhaps it was her four arms that kept men aw
ay, or perhaps it was her fearsome kick with one of her hooved feet, or the look of her fangs that kept men at bay. She’d only had to kill three or four before word began to spread. Talking stopped as a large florid-faced man came in flanked by two armed guards, and stepped up on a plastic box. At one time a blaster shot had removed his left ear, leaving what remained of his face scarred and melted. He stared out over the silent crowd.

  “I called you all here to let you know that there is another ship coming in.” Every eye was suddenly riveted on his ruined face, and he grinned. “Two ships, actually. The first is a Fleet contract carrier bringing home a light brigade from someplace near the outer rim; about 1500 men. The second ship is a Fleet merchantman carrying all the weapons and armor for the aforementioned light brigade.” There were gasps and many angry mutters. “We already have a buyer for the weapons,” the man went on quickly, “and with what we stand to make on this haul we should be able to shut down operations for a year and totally rebuild Charybdis.” His mean grin widened. “Think of it…nothing to do for a year but sit around while we get the Den rebuilt.” The angry muttering subsided somewhat. “We may actually be able to hire a couple hundred women to emigrate here, if the price is right.” Smiles started to replace the frowns. At a ratio of fifteen to one, women, like any valuable commodity, were in short supply and could be bartered and rented out by the bosses for a tidy profit. “So, the ships will arrive in two days. Do what you have to, to prepare. Other than emergencies, salvage work is postponed until the new ships arrive.” Some of the residents of the Den were beginning to laugh. “I’ve authorized a double ration of rum for everyone tonight only. I want people sober when we salvage these wrecks in two days.” He waved a hand in benediction. “You’re dismissed.” The laughing crowd pushed its way out of the cave and into the cold musty corridor beyond. The man’s eyes swiveled as Kelsoe turned for the door. “Kelsoe, wait a bit.” He called as she turned to follow the crowd. She swallowed and turned back, although she wanted to run after the dwindling voices.

  “What can I do for you, Boss Grantham?” Even though her voice was calm, inside she was trembling. She was one of only three “free” females in the Den, and she knew it was totally at the suffrage of the Bosses.

  The man smiled down on her as he placed a ham sized hand on her shoulder. The sour smell of body odor and cheap wine hung about him like a miasma. “G’Fleuf brought me the parts you salvaged from the Queen.” His smile widened. “You did very good; very good indeed. Those parts alone are worth more than what we’ve gotten off our last three wrecks put together.” His hand squeezed her shoulder, and she winced. “We’ve let it be known that you are our best ‘tronix picker, and are still under our protection.”

  “Thank you, Boss Grantham.” She replied, her voice squeaking a little. That protection meant the men, except for the stupid ones, would leave her alone just as long as she could still salvage the wrecks, and make more for the bosses that way then she could in less pleasant professions.

  “You’re welcome.” He rumbled, as his furry black eyebrows dipped to make a vee in the center of his forehead. His hand still gripped her shoulder. “You should eat more, Kelsoe.” She blinked. “Our best picker should keep up her strength. I’ll see that we increase the calorie count of your daily rations.”

  “Thank you, Boss Grantham.” Kelsoe whispered. It must have been a very, very valuable cargo to get a reaction like this, especially since G’Fleuf had only brought half of her haul to the bosses, and not even the jump initiator. She thought to herself as she finally turned for the door. She was sure that the bosses, Grantham being only one of the top six, would forget their own names if the members of the Den weren’t forced to call them by name every single time they met them.

  As soon as the door to the science vessel closed behind her, Kelsoe rounded on G’Fleuf. “The damned bosses are going blow the Den as soon as they get their hands on the money.” She fumed.

  The golden eyes gave her a level look. “That is the way I see it also. It makes our escape imperative.”

  “Imperative!” She snorted. “He says it like he says he’s getting groceries.” Her voice was bitter. “It’s imperative we get another head of lettuce.” She crooned in a mocking voice. “I can’t see how we’ll ever escape.”

  Well used to her little tantrums, G’Fleuf didn’t flinch. “There may be a way.” The tinny voice held no inflection at all, and Kelsoe glared at the small Drugud.

  “You know something I don’t.” She accused, her eyes narrowing as she went over in her mind what she knew. “The boss mentioned the first two ships, but never mentioned the third. You know something about the third ship.” She stated flatly.

  “Very good.” G’Fleuf replied calmly. “You are quick, for a human. The third ship appears to be a small scout or perhaps a long range exploration vessel of some sort, although the configuration is…odd. The drive readings are like nothing I’ve seen before.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have no idea, and won’t know a thing until just before impact. We have to hope that it survives more or less intact. We won’t be able to escape the Fleet sensors in a cobbled together lifeboat.”

  “How long do we have until the ships impact?”

  “Forty hours.”

  Kelsoe frowned. “Could we call the ships to warn them off?”

  G’Fleuf let out a hissing sigh. “We could call them, but then the bosses would be on us in about three seconds, and we’d be dead in four.”

  The young woman sagged. “Damn. This is such a waste.”

  “That’s an odd attitude for one who has been brought up a wrecker.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “I just don’t know. Knocking over a fat merchantman or liner is one thing. Deliberately slaughtering 1500 men and women just because they are in the way is another. How long do you guess before the Fleet arrives here looking for our heads?”

  The grey creature mulled her question for a moment. “Pushing it, I would say the earliest they could be here would be a month from the main Fleet Base at Wecarro. That will give the bosses and us time to get out.”

  Kelsoe glared at the ceiling. “Maybe we could make sure that the bosses were still here when the Fleet arrives.” Her gaze went to the shining jump drive initiator sitting on the kitchen table. “A faulty initiator would do the trick.” Her smile was feral. “All we need is for someone,” her eyes flicked to G’Fleuf, “to convince the bosses that this is a much better and faster initiator than the one they currently have in their getaway ship. Their greed and self-interest will do the rest.”

  The golden eyes didn’t blink. “I can do that.” He murmured tonelessly. “But until then, I need you to come down to the infirmary and let me fully integrate your corneal implants into your AI.” The tinny speaker let out a small chuckle. “They can do much more than simply tell time or give schematic overlays.”

  “I figured as much.” Kelsoe observed dryly as she turned for the infirmary.

  Chapter 2

  THE CONVOY

  Kelsoe sat in the small open bodied work sled, tapping her fingers on the rudimentary instrument console before her. After an all-night trip to the crash site, she had been sitting parked in a small cave for the past hour. Located half way up on the side of a hill, close by the estimated impact point of the small scout ship, she had a good view of the valley below, but she was bored. In the rough valley several wrecks lay strewn, one an oddly translucent ship covered with long crystal spines like a sea urchin, many of which had been snapped off on impact. Her EVA suit smelled of damp rubber, sweat and recycled air. Kelsoe shuddered.

  A flicker low on the eastern horizon caught her attention. “AI, is that the convoy?” She sub vocalized to her computer as she affixed her targeting carat on the approaching tracks.

  “Affirmative.” The neutral voice replied immediately, targeting information appearing on her ocular HUD as a light green overlay. Tapped directly into her auditory nerves, the conversation with the
AI was completely silent to external listeners. “Impact of the smaller ship estimated in two minutes.” A faint red line appeared from one of the ships on the horizon to the wide valley below her, coming to rest against the broken crystalline ship.

  “Damn,” she grumbled and then, “display off.” The glow in her eyes died. Checking the bag of tools at her side for the tenth time, she ensured that she had a cutter for the strange crystal ship, and that her air supply was sufficient for an extended EVA. Her heart began to beat wildly as the three ships flashed toward her on what seemed to be a collision course. At the last second the two larger ships raced over her head, no more than five hundred feet over the top of her hill, and disappeared toward the Den, where the other wreckers waited. The smaller ship was breaking hard when it hit and skidded into the broken crystalline ship in a cloud of snowy dust. Kelsoe felt the ground shake, and she had the sled moving before the dust settled. Fifty feet from the ship she stopped the sled to stare; she couldn’t help it. Stories of flying saucers had always been considered in the same class as fairy tales, but now one sat before her. Tilted up slightly on its edge, a crystal spine from the earlier crashed alien ship impaling the upper dome of the saucer like a sword. Kelsoe could see air bleeding out from around the spine, and she broke into a run. Two hundred feet in diameter, Kelsoe stopped in front of the lower dome and stared at the smooth unmarked skin of the craft. There were no door outlines, no buttons, or latches or any means she could see of securing entry into the craft, and that meant she was going to have to cut into the hull, which she really didn’t want to do. Bending down to look beneath the slightly elevated dome, she put her hand against the smooth rounded surface to steady herself. A tingle passed through the metallic threads of her gloved hand and up her arm, and she jerked her hand away just as a door melted into the side of the hull, the material of the hull actually forming a stepped ramp to the ground.