by Tom Jordan
After Henning had a chance to cool down, he made up his mind to think the problem through constructively, and not let his perpetual tendency to butt heads with Marco get in the way. That was getting them nowhere.
What were the facts here? Jade was probably injured and her ship was damaged. Tommy was injured and his ship was gone. There were at least two other pilots out there who had been pissed off by the team. He decided to track Marco down and make some peace.
“Alright, mate,” Henning said, finding Marco in the compact kitchen and mess area rifling through the metal cabinets. “We did the best we could. We need to look after our own, regroup, and get out of this.” He folded his beefy arms.
Marco’s snide smirk returned. Henning knew he had to apologize to keep the peace on the team, but he hated what he was about to say. “Sorry for hitting you, mate. That wasn’t right.” Henning felt a grimace coming on, but kept it to himself.
“Good man,” Marco said. For all his strengths, Marco’s tendency to outmaneuver everyone and make himself the alpha wolf was grating.
“Come see Tommy,” Henning said. “Then we can talk.”
“You find anything? Is it safe for us to be here?” Marco asked.
Henning nodded. “Yeah. I checked and double-checked, and that’s with the scanners Tommy upgraded for me. No one else on this entire hemisphere of this shitty planet. We’re good.”
Marco smiled. “Bueno. Lead the way. Let’s check on Tommy. After what happened to him, I think he’s the toughest guy on the crew now. Stole it right out from under you, Freeborn.”
Henning ground his teeth.
Chapter 12
A voice in Bakhti’s earpiece yanked her away from her brooding thoughts.
“Freeborn, come in. Marco here.”
Her rage kindled at hearing them speak. She squeezed the handle of her welder as hard as she could. Her thick exo suit gloves deadened her sense of touch, angering her even further.
She paused her repairs of Stormwulf’s topside hull and crouched as she listened.
“I’m here, hey. Good news and bad. Pulled Tommy out of his ship. He’s gonna be okay. His ship’s totaled, though. En route to you now.”
She set her jaw and puffed out angry breaths, creating puffs of fog on her faceplate. They vanished as the suit’s internal regulator caught up.
“Okay, that’s great news. Saito’s good too. We’re both on the Ghost. You have our location? Okay. See you soon.”
It’d be straightforward to lift Stormwulf out from its hidden ravine and finish them all off while they rested, unaware of her presence, but instead she had to finish this weld so that the ship stopped leaking coolant. She couldn't risk complications that could arise from lifting off without fixing it, and even after she completed the repair, her top speed would probably be limited. Without the repair, the reactor’s heat output would outpace the ship’s ability to cool itself. Especially in Balenos A’s atmosphere.
Bakhti’s group had been doing well until she was intercepted by this Freeborn guy, or whoever led that team. Colonel Brand’s plan had been well crafted: transfer the crate among their ships in a relay—purely to prevent even the slightest chance of them being tracked—and complete the delivery a few days later in an unpopulated system. Brand had supplied them all with ships with no affiliation, and had had the vessels fitted with shipments of SOL-SEC military-grade ship components he’d had smuggled out over the last year and a half. He’d planned this to be clean and efficient, and arranged for the theft—and ultimate sale—of the hardened crate whose contents were known only to Brand himself.
Bakhti and her team had wondered about the crate, but could only guess at its contents. Whatever it was was valuable enough to give the four of them—two of them, now—a comfortable retirement. Brand had put himself on the line for this. He’d be tried and easily convicted of treason and a half dozen other serious charges if he was ever linked to the crime or caught.
One of the parts Brand had outfitted the whole team with was a stealth module that masked their systems and the contents of their ships from being detected in a low-power or landed state. That module now protected Stormwulf from the enemy.
A thread of worry wormed into Bakhti’s thoughts. What was the future of this mission with just her and Brand left to carry it out? The enemy had shot down Gajdusek and Nolan. Nolan had had a few years under his belt, but Gajdusek had been a veteran STAR-CAP pilot. Bakhti had finished her SOL-SEC starpilot certifications but had only just begun STAR-CAP recruit training when they went rogue, and now she—the least experienced member of the team—was alone. Colonel Brand had bugged out, instructing her to repair the ship, call in Maller—the fifth member of their outfit, a discharged pilot turned mercenary whom they were keeping in reserve—and to maintain surveillance of the other team.
The main concern here was the cargo, which would be with the wreckage of Nolan’s ship. Bakhti doubted the crate was even scratched. Nothing would breach that container.
She watched a flaming whirlwind spin up and sweep across the landscape. The fiery vortex reached all the way to the clouds above. She looked back and finished the weld, then tried to scan it with the wrist computer built into her exo suit. She tapped its unresponsive display—the device was dead from the heat. She’d have to check her weld after she’d gotten aboard the ship and see if the coolant leakage was fixed. She crawled over the top of the hull and cycled open the small airlock, ready to put some tungsten carbide between her and this shithole of a planet, then slipped down into the circular hatch.
Once the hatch dilated closed, Bakhti stabbed a finger at the controls to adjust the airlock temperature, pressure, and gas composition. She stripped off her clunky exo suit the instant the control station beeped and the green lights flashed on in the airlock. Her black hair fell in her way as she wrestled off her boots, which left prints in the filthy ash that’d blown in while the airlock was open. Her exo suit was similarly covered in the vile planet’s filth. She left it in the airlock, not wanting to deal with the mess right now.
A glance at the panels in the cockpit showed the ship’s internal temperature dropping thanks to her successful exterior weld. It looked like the other team was staying put for a while, so she skipped suiting up for flight and instead lay down on the bedroll she kept in her small storage bay. She gave her computer verbal instructions to record all communications from the other team and to set off a wake alarm if any of their ships moved or any new ships entered the planet’s atmosphere. She also linked to the cockpit to monitor the weld she’d put on the coolant leak, just as a precaution.
As much as she wanted to take action, she’d wait right here with the stealth module engaged and get some rest. She’d prefer to eliminate the team, since doing so would prevent security forces finding out about her and Brand, and remove further threats to their plans. However, she was outnumbered and couldn’t chance another unfavorable face-off, especially against the pilot in the Mark IV who’d put holes in her hull. She didn’t know which pilot it was, but she knew their names: Freeborn, Marco, Saito, and Tommy. For now, she’d contact Maller, sit tight, continue monitoring this group’s encrypted comms, and wait until they left. Then she’d pick up the container, find out how to connect with the colonel, and finish the job.
And if the opportunity presented itself, Bakhti would blast them all into clouds of blood and slag.
Chapter 13
Tommy floated awake, clawing his way upward through a sea of sedatives. He blinked once, twice, surprised at the effort it took, then frowned as he checked out his surroundings.
Audacity. Everything came back in a rush—fear and panic born of a vicious pursuit, the heat of explosions, the icy grip of dread, and a rising sensation in his stomach as he tumbled over and over, hurtling from the sky.
As he was falling, his ship had blared every warning alarm it had. Smoke and fire had filled his senses and he’d ripped off his VR interface as the ground rushed up to meet him. He’d closed his eyes
, every muscle tightening against the imminent impact.
That was the last thing he could recall.
Tommy tried to sit up in the cockpit chair, but grunted as his body resisted. His collarbone must be broken—he couldn’t pull himself up without impulses of pain from his neck, among other places. It felt like someone stabbed him with a hot brand. He heard Marco’s voice drift from somewhere nearby on Henning’s ship.
“I don’t see the problem here,” Marco said. “We pick up the container, we get paid. Done.”
“The job was to bring Stormwulf. Which is gone with no sign,” Henning replied.
“Read between the lines. Their objective was to recover whatever this cargo is, not just peg the guy who nabbed it.” Marco sounded insistent. “Believe me. They want that cargo. They’ll pay.”
Tommy understood most of what they were saying, but his head felt like it was filled with gauze. He figured he was alive, which was good. From there he concluded he was floating in a haze of painkillers, which was even better.
He was covered with a green blanket—scratchy, but warm. He held on to it as he stumbled out of the chair and shuffled toward Henning’s and Marco’s voices. The metal deck was cold on his bare feet, but it was nothing compared to the pain that caused him to gasp with every step. Even through the painkillers, piercing stabs of agony jolted him when he moved just the wrong way.
Tommy passed through the cockpit door, leaving behind the muted illumination of the cockpit and entering the comfortable glow of the central corridor’s running lights. He honed in on the voices coming from just around the corner, then stood, leaning on the metal doorframe and watching his two friends engage in discussion within Henning’s small galley. They didn’t seem to notice him.
Henning leaned against the bulkhead and folded his arms. “It’s pushing it, but whatever. We find the container. How do you suggest we do that? We have no way of tracking it. Maybe if it’s in one of the wrecks Jade just shot down, but what if it’s with Stormwulf? We don’t know where he went. Worse, what if it’s with the guy who bugged out? We’re not in good shape here.”
Marco hit a button on the dispenser and poured steaming water into a mug covered in colorful interpretations of what appeared to be unicorns. Marco lifted the mug, examined it, and smirked. “This your work, Freeborn?” he asked.
Henning avoided taking the bait. “My daughter, mate. So the crate…how do you suggest we find it? What’s inside that fucker, anyway?”
“It could be anything. It’s not our concern,” Marco said as he dunked a tea bag into the unicorn mug. “We don’t get paid to ask questions about it. The most likely case is that it’s illegal. That’s why they want to go off the grid and hire people like us, who they aren’t legally connected to.”
Tommy smiled. These two got on each other’s nerves, but he was grateful to be alive to see both of them.
“What if it’s a bioweapon, or—” Henning paused as he turned his head and saw Tommy standing in the doorway.
“Hi,” Tommy croaked through his dry throat.
“Hey, man,” Marco said, and he put down his mug. Henning slapped the table and rushed over to engulf Tommy in a hug. His squeeze, even light, made Tommy wince.
“Ooh, sorry, mate,” Henning said.
Marco stayed where he was, leaning coolly against the table. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Tommy’s thoughts were slow, and he had to search for the words. “I don’t know. I feel…blurry.”
Henning clapped him on the shoulder and flashed a big smile. “Yeah, I got you doped up as much as the medical scanner said was safe. Let’s sit up on the bridge.” He turned. “Heat him up some hot cocoa,” he called to Marco.
“Hey, my favorite!” Tommy said.
“I know, mate. I bought some on Gibson City in case you needed it someday. Good timing, huh?”
Tommy shuffled back to the bridge with Henning’s help. They sat in the flight seats and turned toward each other. Tommy moved slowly enough that, by the time he was settled in, Marco had arrived and handed him a steaming mug.
“Here, Tommy. Drink this, man,” Marco said.
Tommy sipped the cocoa—warm, smooth, and heavenly. “I should crash and burn more often,” he said.
“Yeah, well,” Marco said, taking the third bridge chair, “I would prefer you didn’t. We should make today the low point of the mission and nail it from here on out.” He put his feet up, ankles crossed, on a console. Henning glared behind his back.
Tommy sipped the cocoa, feeling some semblance of normal consciousness arrive, and he looked out the expansive canopy. I couldn’t die here. Can’t die if I’m already in hell.
“What happened?” Tommy asked. “I only remember going down. What happened to my ship?” His heart jumped. Shit. How could I forget? “Wait…where’s Jade? Is she okay?”
Marco sipped and nodded. “Yes. She’s sleeping on her ship. She had a collision. She and her ship are beat-up, but all right.” He smirked, which struck Tommy as strange. But his relief about Jade’s wellness eclipsed any other feelings.
Henning shook his head. “But your ship’s gone, mate. Totaled. Sorry.”
Tommy’s heart sank. Everything he had, all his money and time, he had sunk into Gliese Voyager. And it was just…gone? His head felt like it was clearing a little, and confusion gave way to anger. “If we find the guys who did this,” he said, “I want them to pay.”
“They will,” Marco said.
“That foam stuff saved your life, mate,” said Henning. “I chipped you out of it.”
“Foam?” Marco asked.
Tommy at least found solace in the fact that his life had been saved by his foresight. He supposed it could have been much worse. “Shockfoam,” he said. “I got, um…” He rubbed his face with his palm. Thinking took effort. “I had a system put in. Nozzles all over the cockpit shoot out this liquid. It forms, like, a goo before impact, and then hardens after. I guess it saved me.”
“Like a cocoon,” Marco said, lifting his mug of tea.
“Right,” Henning said. “I had to chip him out. It’s porous. Like space ice cream.” Marco looked at Henning like he was crazy. “It’s dehydrated ice cream,” Henning explained. “They sell it for kids at…” He swatted the thought away with a hand. “Forget it.”
Tommy groaned, shifted his weight, and tucked the blanket around his legs. “It’s illegal, which is pretty idiotic,” he said. “All these regulations about harnesses, material strengths, cockpit layouts, none of it makes a difference in a crash. But you look up the product reviews for Shockfoam and everyone is raving how it saved their life.” He looked down and lowered his voice. “I guess I can write one now. I’m glad to be alive, but…my ship! That’s going to take me a while to get over. Ugh.” The statement hung in the air a moment. “So Jade had a collision?”
Henning nodded. “She’s the reason we’re all here now. We were out-turned, outflanked…she came in, and—” he snapped his fingers, “—like that. Boom. Takes out half their team. That was the most insane thing I’ve ever seen. She cut right across my canopy with this—” he swooshed his hand through the air, “—come-up-from-underneath maneuver. Came up right under ’em where they didn’t expect it and boom!” He clapped his hands, causing Tommy to flinch. “She pinpoints his reactor with her rails, dead bang, and the whole fucking sky lights up. And then I see her come flying out the top of this cloud of explosions like some kind of movie hero.”
Henning shook his head in disbelief. Tommy stared, wide-eyed, and Marco grinned and exhaled a single quick laugh.
“I mean, she knew what kind of weapon to switch to, effective ranges…I thought that first turn would shear her ship apart,” Henning said. “She’s crazy. How does she know how to fly like that? What kind of flying did you guys learn in school, anyway?”
“Nothing like that,” Tommy said. “Civilian flight. Operations, navigation, docking, approaches, atmo…then just this one elective we took. Combatives. Basic co
mpetitive stuff and theory. Like, beginner-level stuff for people going on to Sol Defense Force or whatever military.”
Tommy slurped his cocoa. “But we played space-shooter sims a lot. They even had our pictures on the scoreboard wall at VRCADE. Man, I miss those days.”
Henning stared at him with a look of disbelief. “Didn’t you have training in that stuff?” Tommy asked Henning.
Henning shook his head. “No. I was SDF military police for a few years, then ISF private security. Never a pilot. Trained for that later on my own. Even if I had been an SDF pilot, I don’t think they teach you to fly into other ships.”
Marco shook his head, his carefully groomed hair catching reflections of the cockpit lights. “It worked, though. I didn’t know she had it in her.” He finished his tea and set it down. “She’s stone cold, man.”
Tommy wasn’t surprised to hear any of this. Jade was an exceptional pilot, but that was the least of it. She was like no other girl he’d met. She was talented, driven, intelligent, and he could close his eyes and picture her: high cheekbones, Asian features, long silky hair, and a tall and slender body with subtle curves that made him ache with longing. He loved everything about her, body and mind, and there was nothing he could do about it.
That was why he now glared at Marco, and why this apparent relationship building between Jade and Marco bothered him so much. Tommy knew he should have confessed his feelings sooner, but he was afraid of what she’d say. And he hadn’t even had any time after their reunion before Marco suddenly moved in. Tommy kept circling around the problem in his thoughts but didn’t see anywhere he’d gone wrong, or anything he could do differently.
Neither Henning, nor Marco, nor Jade herself knew Tommy’s feelings for her, and for now he wanted it kept that way.
“How injured am I?” Tommy said.
Henning counted on his fingers. “Concussion. Smoke and poisonous-atmosphere inhalation. Clavicle and tibia fractures, which the osteo-nanos from my medical supply are fixing for you. You’re gonna hurt for a while, especially when your meds wear off, but you’ll get there. And you’re gonna need some follow-up lung treatments. We should get you to a doc to get patched up the rest of the way.”