Salvaging the Beast (The Fall and Rise of the Third Planet Book 1)
Page 8
“Tell me why you hate him. Make it quick,” he demanded.
“He molested me. A lot. When I was a girl.” There it was. She had never told anyone, not even her grandmother. Mimi probably suspected but never said anything.
Dean peeked at the underside of his left arm. Calypso could see the mysterious markings he kept there.
“I was only six,” she added.
Dean nodded. His finger reached for the confirmation button.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It took a while for Dean to tell me what I know about his past. I don’t expect him to disclose everything. I do expect him to cover my back. He does that well.
- Saul Iverson
2318 AD, 23 months after Collision Event
Saul withdrew Rorvin’s comm device from his pocket. The display showed confirmation that Dean and Calypso had entered the Beast. Once they took the ship, he was to bring the artifact over, which was safely stowed in the shuttle.
He had considered leaving Anya at Rorvin Enterprises to avoid endangering his new friend who was barely more than a child. However, Saul determined the criminal was just as dangerous as his old captain, possibly more so.
Deciding the smartest move was to hang out at Astarsia’s Tavern, he hoped to avoid Torus in the process. Astarsia had promised to watch their backs as long as they were in the bar. Hand in his pocket, Saul fingered the revolver Dean had insisted he carry. The young salvage technician had never fired a gun before, but it seemed simple enough to operate.
In the meantime, he was playing more chess with Anya. She was a fast study, learning his own tactics and building on them. Thinking of what Dean had said, Saul was trying to get Anya to talk more about herself.
“Anya, have you been outside? The station, I mean.”
“Oh yes, of course,” replied Anya. Her tone made Saul think she found the question silly.
“Okay, well, I really don’t know that much about you,” he admitted.
“I went outside a lot on my dad’s ship.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “What does your dad do for a living?”
“We collected stuff, and brought it back to sell,” she explained.
Saul pushed a little further, and Anya seemed eager to share. Her father ran a small salvage business. Scavenging, really. It was not the same thing as what Saul did on his captain’s ship. He corrected himself—ex-captain.
Anya described the small craft they used to haul odds and ends in exchange for fuel and food. From what Saul knew of her father’s trade, it wasn’t a terrible life, but it wasn’t easy either. The worst part, if you didn’t count accidents with sub-optimal equipment, was getting ripped off. It was hard enough under the trade regulations that were once lightly enforced by Earth authorities. Now cheating was rampant. And killing. The least ethical traders cut corners wherever they could, even if it meant slitting throats. That was an old-fashioned term, too messy for a spacer who would rather toss you outside without a suit. It was nice and clean that way.
Saul wondered at this grisly train of thought. Years on the Beast had done that to him. Torus wasn’t the worst sort of privateer. If the situation warranted it in the captain’s mind, he could be as cold-blooded and ruthless as anyone. However, he endeavored to treat people fairly. This made Saul think of Calypso. She had tried to kill the captain and take his ship once before, so Torus was right to retaliate, wasn’t he? By her own admission, he had shown mercy and let her live. Maybe Saul would have the guts to ask her about it sometime.
There was another topic he wanted to bring up. He hoped it wasn’t too soon. “What happened last week? You know, when you were—”
“Shot?”
“Yes. That. I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
“My dad owed Rafe a lot of money,” Anya explained. “Dad couldn’t pay up in time, so Rafe took me instead. The last I saw of my dad, they were beating him up. I tried to escape. Rafe shot me before I could reach the bar.”
“I guess Rafe had it coming then,” he said.
“I don’t care. I wish I knew where my dad was. I don’t even know if he is alive.”
“Wherever he is, I can guarantee you he is wondering the same thing about you,” Saul declared. “We will find him, sooner or later.”
“We will?” Anya sounded hopeful.
“Yes,” Saul promised. He had no idea how he was going to deliver on that, but it felt like the right thing to say.
He began to rise and order another round of beer and soda. A hand on his shoulder dictated otherwise. Saul came face to face with Haughton, one of Torus’s pilots.
“There you are, you son of a bitch.”
Twisting his body, Saul slipped out of the pilot’s grip.
“Marcus!” Haughton yelled. “It’s Saul. Right here.”
Saul quickly scanned the bar, but Astarsia was nowhere to be seen.
A body slammed into him. Unsure of who it was, Saul drew his revolver, committing to a fight.
Hands grabbed for him. The technician stumbled, falling. A gun barked loudly in his ear. He did not know whether he had pulled the trigger of his gun or not. Following that came a sharp blow to his head. Was that a fist or the floor?
Saul was getting dizzy. Blood ran down into his eyes. It was difficult to see through the dark, crimson fluid. People swarmed all around him, agitated by the sudden violence. It was like throwing fuel onto an open flame. A stampede ensued, threatening to crush anything in its path.
***
Saul knew he was being dragged by at least two people, his knees banging against the floor. Blood clotted along his eyelids, cementing them shut. The only sounds he noticed were the muffled screams of a girl behind him. This had to be a nightmare, and he desperately needed to wake up. Saul felt the world spin. He needed the ride to stop before he got sick. Once or twice he may have passed out.
Someone was slapping his face. Despite his will, Saul could not open his eyes completely. Streaks of light blinded him with each effort. Fingers pulled back his eyelids. He could see nothing but a bright blur. He recognized the sound of voices, but could not understand the words.
Hands grabbed him under the armpits, hoisting him into a sitting position. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the light. His stomach heaved, emptying his last meal onto his lap.
“Shit. Clean him up.”
Saul recognized the voice. It made him cringe without thinking. A rag was hastily swept across his clothes.
“What a dumbass. Why are we bringing him back with us?” asked another.
“I need to find out what happened to my money. Isn’t that right, Saul? I know you can hear me,” said Torus. Saul felt a boot jostle his leg. “I also need to know why the other shuttle is locked down.”
The interior was dim, but he was starting to see a lot better. They were inside the second shuttle from the Beast of Burden. Looking around, Saul noticed Anya sitting in the corner, her arms and feet bound, mouth covered with tape. Face flushed, she was breathing hard through her nose.
There were two other crew members. Either the captain had left most of his crew aboard the Beast, or there were still some on the Cage.
“I don’t have your money,” Saul said, addressing the captain.
“I know. We searched your pockets. What happened to it?”
Saul heard the docking clamps release. Haughton was at the controls. Maneuvering thrusters came on, nudging them out of the shuttle’s berth. Now free of the station docks, they were leaving the benefits of artificial gravity. He felt it in his stomach, glad it was already empty. That fact didn’t stop it from heaving a few times.
Saul wiped his mouth. It was time to come clean. “It was placed into an account opened by my new employer,” he answered.
“What are you talking about?”
Saul knew he wasn’t getting out of this alive, or at least without a severe beating. Adrenalin and resentment kept him going. It was past time he stood up for himself. “An old friend of yours gave me a job.”
“Who—” Before Torus could finish his question, the shuttle came to an abrupt halt. The bulkheads screeched the way metal does when it’s under extreme stress. “What the hell is that? Haughton?”
“The grappler, sir. We’re caught up in it.”
“How? Radio the cockpit and find out what they’re playing at,” ordered Torus. He turned to Saul. “I thought we fixed it. What else did you neglect to maintain?” Fear and rage were mixed on the captain’s face.
“Don’t look at me. I think I know who is to blame, though,” Saul suggested, smiling. If Anya were not at risk, he would have been enjoying this conversation.
Eventually the craft would collapse under the pressure. At a higher setting, the claw could crush them in seconds, Saul knew.
“And who would that be?”
“Sir,” Haughton interrupted. “They aren’t answering.”
“That means she doesn’t want to hear you beg for mercy,” explained Saul. “We are most certainly screwed.”
“Who?” Torus demanded. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“That would be Calypso.”
Torus froze. Haughton turned around in his seat to look at Saul. Nobody said a word.
“If she knows I’m in here, she might back off. It’s worth a shot. Let me talk to her.” Calypso must be relishing this.
Saul relieved Haughton at the controls. He peered out the window at the Beast. His home for the past six years, the Tarantula-class spacecraft had emerged from the shipyards configured for asteroid mining. After Torus was finished adapting the ship for salvage ops, the Beast of Burden was truly unique. Her ugly beauty was a welcome sight.
“First, I want all your weapons placed in here,” he said, pointing to a small locker set in the wall at the front of the shuttle.
“Do it,” said Torus, nodding toward the locker. All four men contributed an assortment of knives, telescoping bludgeons, two firearms and, strangely enough, one grenade. Saul wasn’t sure who put that there. Torus growled. Someone had been holding out on the captain.
“I’m not stupid. I don’t know exactly what everyone is carrying, but I do know I had a gun when I passed out. I’ll be taking that right now.” Saul held out his hand. Torus reluctantly pulled the revolver from a pocket in his jumpsuit. “Everybody get back to the hatch while I try to save our lives.”
Saul pressed the activation button on the ship-to-shuttle comm. “Hello there. This is Saul. Please don’t kill me,” he said in a mock plea. Nothing changed. The grappler continued to squeeze, unabated. “Dean? Are you there? Can you please talk Calypso into not killing us?”
Several more seconds passed, and the vibration stopped. The grappler let go of the shuttle, folding back into its resting place along the hull of the salvage ship.
The radio chimed. “You are clear for docking,” a flat, male voice said. Was that Dean? Saul couldn’t be sure.
He maneuvered the shuttle to dock with the Beast, casting a glance over his shoulder frequently to make sure the others stayed back. Sliding the craft into position, he killed the engines, powering everything down. A thick layer of shielding slid over the cockpit window.
Saul turned to face the others. “Go inside once the light turns green.” He moved toward Anya. As the inner hatch cycled open and the crew boarded the Beast, he grabbed the girl by the knot around her wrists, and pulled her along.
The chamber just outside the airlock was empty. That was strange. Saul expected Calypso to be there, if not Dean as well.
“No one to meet us?” asked the captain. “Fine. Take him.”
Haughton and one of the other crew members took hold of Saul’s arms.
“Hey!” he cried.
Anya started pounding on Haughton’s shoulder with little effect, the tape muffling her groans.
Squeezing the trigger of his revolver, Saul was disappointed to hear a dull click. Torus drifted over and took the weapon.
“It’s empty, Saul,” the captain said. “You should have asked for the bullets. You really are a dumbass.” Pushing off from the floor, Torus drifted away to the far wall. He opened the cylinder and began feeding it cartridges from his chest pocket.
Now that they were safely aboard, Captain Torus no longer needed to keep his former salvage technician alive. Saul thought of Anya, mad at himself for not keeping her safe.
Torus snapped the cylinder into place. “The next order of business—” he began.
The wall behind the captain came alive, grabbing for him. Waving the gun around, Torus gasped helplessly while one arm was drawn back and immobilized. His other groped at whatever had snaked its way around his throat.
The surface of the puzzling mass began to ripple, the color changing from the shade of gray matching the walls to pitch black. Over Torus’s shoulder, a dark, glossy faceplate appeared, indicating a helmet.
“Release him,” growled a husky, distorted voice. The crew let go of their hostage and withdrew sharply, as if he were a plague victim. “Saul, take the gun.”
He approached his captain and snatched the revolver.
“You should have been more observant, Torus,” scoffed the voice. “Now who’s the dumbass?”
The Lunar commando drew his pistol. “You,” he said, indicating the other crew members. “Get back inside the shuttle. I don’t know how spaceworthy it is now, but it’s your only chance. You no longer work for this animal. Understood?” Dean aimed his gun. It was all the incentive they needed. The crewmen abandoned their captain, scrambling to reenter the airlock.
“There are a bunch of weapons sealed up in there,” Saul pointed out.
“They’ll need them,” replied Dean. “I just learned a riot has broken out near the docks. Some anti-Control protesters are trying to steal a shuttle. I hope it’s not yours, Saul.”
The salvage technician turned to look at his old boss. The man floated in silence, staring between his feet.
“So what about him?”
Dean detached a medical kit from his waist. Removing a tiny syringe, he popped it into the captain’s neck. Torus went still.
“I’ve got an idea.”
CHAPTER NINE
I was a good soldier. My life made sense to me and I always felt I had a purpose. On the day my life changed, the lives I took weighed inside me like stones. I was compelled to balance the scales by giving back that which I had taken. Only then would the burden be lifted. That was my firm belief.
- Dr. Dean Stratos
2318, 24 months after Collision Event
The past week had been more relaxing than any other time Dean could remember. No drama, no fighting, and no worries. He could spend as much as time as he wanted here in the sick bay, making himself at home.
The Beast of Burden was docked at an enclosed shipyard along the Cage, the one under Rorvin’s influence. Her new captain, Calypso Ree, had insisted on drydock time to effect repairs. The captured ship was far behind on her maintenance schedule. In addition, Rorvin offered to pay for gravity plating. He had big plans for the salvage craft under his assassin’s command.
The Beast was purring gently, all of her systems running smoothly at once. Dean smirked, betting the ship was glad to be rid of her former owner.
He checked his watch. Any minute now, Calypso would open the tow clamp, releasing their catch into space. It was a fitting sentence for Torus, who had to be languishing inside that long-term survival suit. The banished captain would probably float along until an old enemy scooped him up. Sometimes it felt good to give karma a helping hand.
Dean was wearing a small pair of glasses. Working on Anya, he had noticed his eyes were not what they used to be. Rorvin had installed an excellent auto-surgery system; however, there was no program for ocular procedures.
Strapped to the examination table, electrodes littering its surface, Rorvin’s salvage claim lay in the sharp light from concentrating lenses overhead. Dean had so far refused to make direct contact with the Egg, remembering what it had done to him last time.
Anya had been eyeing him from the doorway. No doubt she considered herself concealed. Dean waited for the young lady to make the first move.
She knocked. He made a show of looking surprised, turning to face her.
“Dr. Stratos?”
“Call me Dean. What can I do for you, Anya?”
She pointed to the Egg. “What is that thing?”
“I wish I knew,” he explained. “I stole it once, many years ago, back when I was a soldier. Both Earth and the Moon were using it for competing projects. I don’t know what happened after that, but it has turned up again.”
“Do they still talk to you? In your head?”
Dean laughed. “They try, but it gets garbled now and causes me pain. My implant must be broken.” He rubbed a finger and thumb around the pendant Saul had made for him.
“Why don’t you take it out?” she asked.
“I don’t know how it is connected to my brain, and I would need a neurosurgeon I can trust to perform the procedure. Those are hard to come by lately.” He placed a hand to his scalp. I wish I had gotten that done when I was on Earth. I just couldn’t risk blowing my cover.
“Why do you have all those marks on your arms?” she asked. Anya was one nosy girl.
Dean raised his left arm. “I’ve tattooed one mark here for every person whose life I’ve taken in one way or another. And on my right arm, I’m keeping track of every life I’ve saved. There aren’t as many.” Sadly, that was an understatement. “I strive to give back at least as much as I’ve taken, to balance things out. It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”