Stranded (Shadows of the Void Space Opera Serial Book 2)

by J. J. Green

  Everyone knew that her and the pilot had gotten close. It was they who’d spread the rumor about Loba and the rest of the officers being possessed by aliens. He hadn’t believed it for a second. It was too much of a coincidence that most of the officers had been killed when the ship had crashed. It was more likely Harrington and Lingiari had executed them. No one had seen the bodies before they threw them off the ship.

  The more he thought about it, the more Karrev realized that his plan to commit mutiny had been nothing of the kind. He was fighting against mutineers. He was dispensing justice against Harrington and Lingiari.

  He stood up and slung the silk bag around his neck. With newfound enthusiasm, Karrev resolved to continue to fight for control the ship. He would be a hero.

  The pilot, Lingiari—that was the one who Harrington must have left in charge. It had to be. If he could find him and kill him, it would be no more than the man deserved, and no one else would command the defense units. No, that was wrong. He would command them.

  “Hey,” he called to one of his bodyguards, who was standing sentry the auditorium door. “Everyone has to put down their weapons. Spread the word. They have to stop fighting the defense units. I’ll send another order later.” The units were only attacking those who put up a fight against them.

  After thrusting a weapon into his belt, Karrev left to find Lingiari, taking a couple of bodyguards with him.

  His first stop was the mission room. Telling a guard to go first, they went inside. There was no sign of Lingiari. The engineer was the only occupant. She watched him carefully but said nothing. Karrev gave her a curt nod. She would be useful later.

  Next, he tried the pilot’s sleeping quarters. The room was empty but for that stupid pet of his. Karrev took a shot at it, but it disappeared into a vent. He’d get it next time. He hadn’t eaten fresh meat in months. He looked briefly into the shuttle bay, but all that was in there were the melted remains of the shuttle. Where was the man?

  “I think I know where he might be,” said one of his bodyguards. “The medical center. I heard he goes to visit the dead navigator.”

  “He does, does he?” replied Karrev. “Must be into corpses. Thanks for the tip.”

  His guards flanking him, Karrev crept up to the stasis room door, which was slightly open. He could just make out the figure of the pilot. He had his back toward him, and it looked like he was leaning over a long container that had been pulled out from the wall. That had to be where the navigator’s body was lying. The man was talking, but he couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying. Something about 'worry’ and 'ready.’

  There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the small room. He pulled out his weapon. The glimpse he had of the pilot was too narrow to shoot at accurately, and he might only get one shot. He was about to stride in, flanked by his guards, when a memory, sparked by the bright lights of the room, made him pause.

  Soon after the crash, when everything in the ship had been in chaos, he’d heard complaints about the navigator’s medical treatment. People had complained that they were using four defense units to power the stasis room, even though the ship needed all the power it could get—even though the navigator was a gonner.

  Defense units in the room. Krat.

  Karrev slid his weapon in his belt. He couldn’t kill the pilot until he’d gotten control of the defense units, and he couldn’t get control of the defense units until he killed the pilot. He would have to go back to the mission room and try to figure it out.

  He hadn’t gone far when heavy boots tramped the corridor ahead of him. It was the kind of sound only defense units made, and they were heading his way. Karrev turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction. Could they be after him? Had someone talked? Or had the pilot figured out what he would do? “Come on,” he shouted to his guards, and he began to run. Then came the sound of units in front of him. He slowed. He had nowhere to go.

  “Shipmate Karrev,” came the cool, modulated voice of a unit behind him, “you are under arrest. Stop, or we will shoot you.”

  He wasn’t going to go without a fight. He spun round and aimed, but didn’t get a shot out before something exploded against his stomach, and the floor of the corridor came up to meet his face.

  When Karrev came around, he was being carried like a sack of meat over a defense unit’s shoulder. His nose ached, and blood was dripping from it. He tensed his neck to prevent his nose from banging—he was sure not for the first time—against the unit’s back. He lifted his head, but saw nothing but retreating corridor, though he could hear the thump of feet ahead. His guards must have also been stunned, and they were also being carried by units.

  Karrev recognized the area of the ship they were in. They were nearly at the brig. Once inside, that would be it for him. Mutiny carried a death penalty. If he was lucky, they would keep him alive until they got back to Earth, but he couldn’t afford any fancy attorneys who would tell the true story about what Harrington and Lingiari had done. If he wasn’t lucky, well, as soon as Harrington was back that hard bitch probably wouldn’t think twice about throwing him off the ship like she had the dead officers.

  He wasn’t going to give up. There had to be something he could do. He racked his brains, but as he got closer and closer to the brig, no escape plan emerged in his mind.

  The bag containing the myth was still hanging from his neck. The stupid unit hadn’t even thought to take it off him. Ah well, at least he could spend the time he had left in bliss.

  “Karrev?” asked a voice. The unit stopped, and the brig guard walked around it to look at the suspended man. For a moment, Karrev was mildly surprised. He’d forgotten the brig was already guarded; that there were already prisoners in there. Then he remembered who was imprisoned, and his heart stopped.

  “What’s this?” asked the guard, taking the bag from his neck. The man gasped as he looked inside, and his eyes popped. “I’d heard the rumor, but I didn’t believe it.” He drew out the bottle and held it up reverently. “AX9, take your prisoner inside,” he said without taking his eyes from the crimson liquid.

  As the unit carried him and his guards into the four-celled prison, Karrev sought out the prisoner—his method of escape, his Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card. He didn’t want to give up control of the ship, but anything was better than this. His gaze alighted on a figure slumped on a bunk.

  “Sir,” he shouted. “First Mate Haggardy, wake up.”

  The first mate’s eyes opened blearily.

  “Sir, quick,” continued Karrev, “these units are yours to command. Order them to get you out.”

  Haggardy’s eyes snapped wide. He leapt to his feet as the unit carrying Karrev opened the door to a cell.

  “Units, kill the brig guards immediately,” Haggardy said. “Unlock my cell. Release me.”

  Karrev’s unit dropped him like a stone, and his skull banged against the floor, momentarily stunning him.

  A short time later, when the sparks had stopped firing in his vision and his thoughts cleared, he realized he was still inside his cell, and the door was closed.

  He staggered up and went to look into the corridor. The two brig guards were lying facedown, and the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. Pools of blood were slowly forming beneath them. Haggardy was walking away.

  On the guards’ table was the bottle of myth, ignored.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Toirien had tried. For a little while, she’d been inspired by Harrington. The woman had really seemed to believe she could do it. But she’d given it her best shot, and it wasn’t good enough.

  Sitting at the screen in the mission room, she sank her head into her hands. She just didn’t have the knowledge, nor, she guessed, the intelligence, to understand the engine schematics. She had a basic idea of how the RaptorX engines worked, but while she’d been amazed and impressed at the invention of starjump technology more than twenty years ago, like most people, she’d never really followed the lay explanations the media had published. />
  It wasn’t like she hadn’t received basic modding at conception. Her parents hadn’t been entirely irresponsible. No, she wasn’t dumb, but neither was she bright enough to wrap her head around this technology, at least not without having it taught to her. She realized she’d probably only gotten her job because Polestar had been desperate for recruits.

  Her head ached from going over the engine plans and reading the manuals. She thought she understood better now, but without the chief engineer or someone else to ask, how was she supposed to know if she was right? She couldn’t risk starting up the engines. She worried that she could blow up the ship and kill everyone.

  So that was it. No one was going home, and it was her fault. She would never see her girls again.

  Toirien got up and wandered out of the room. She needed a drink or something stronger, and she needed it fast. She went to her usual supplier, but the man was nowhere to be found. In fact, it occurred to Toirien, the ship seemed strangely empty. She’d heard some kind of commotion earlier, and that goon, Karrev, had broken her concentration when he’d come into the mission room looking for someone. Had she missed something important? Maybe Harrington had come back, and she had some news.

  Speeding up her pace, Toirien went to the flight deck. It was empty. The canteen was the same. It was dinnertime, and though everyone was making do with rations, most people still congregated in the canteen out of habit. Where had everyone gone?

  Eventually, she heard some noises and headed toward the sound. It was coming from the auditorium. There were angry shouts and loud disputes.

  Arriving at the scene, she found sixty to seventy crew members in jumbled groups, some lying, some sitting on the floor, some getting physical with each other in minor skirmishes. Ten or fifteen were crowded in a corner. Toirien began to push through them to find out what was so interesting.

  “Don’t give out so much. There’s only a little left. I want my share,” came complaints from the group. “It’s a waste of time. It’s not the real thing. It’s a fake. I don’t feel anything. Not a thing,” others shouted from around the room.

  Toirien elbowed more shipmates out of the way, and came upon a couple crouching over a bottle of something. They had tiny droppers, and they were dispensing the bottle’s contents into thimble-sized plastic cups. It took Toirien a moment to realize what it was, and the reason for the crew’s dissatisfaction. A man received his thimbleful, and tossed it back like a shot.

  Misborn. What a waste.

  In her long acquaintance with substances that provided an escape from reality, she’d had the privilege of using myth once, just once, but that was enough. The drug had haunted her dreams night and day for months, if not years, after. These idiots didn’t understand it had to be injected, not taken by mouth, and it had to be injected at certain points for the full effect.

  Myth. A whole bottle. Where had they gotten it from? Who’d managed to smuggle a bottle of myth aboard, and how could they have afforded it? The bottle was nearly empty, but, from the amount of people in the room who seemed to have had some, it must have been full. Someone who lived frugally could retire for life on the cost of that much myth. But, as Toirien knew too well, if you had that much, you were an addict and never thought further than the next run.

  She had to have some. Just one more moment of diversion from her misery before a sad, lingering death trapped on that barren planet.

  A hand was at the neck of her uniform, dragging her back. She turned and smashed the owner of the hand in her face. The two shipmates in charge of dispensing the myth looked fearful at her violent reaction, and silently handed her a few precious drops.

  Holding the cup as steady as if her life depended on it, Toirien went in search of a hypodermic needle and syringe.

  ***

  Carl hated arguing with Sayen, and it felt weird to debate with her blank face and unmoving lips, but he stuck to his guns.

  “It’s for your own safety,” he told her.

  “I don’t want to be safe. I want to know what’s going on. If I’m hooked up, I can hear at least.”

  “If you’re hooked up to electrodes, your container has to be out in the room. Anyone who comes in here can see you. And I can’t stay here to protect you. You were right that the ringleader of the mutiny would come here to find me, but it was dangerous. I can’t risk leaving you out here alone.”

  “But why would anyone want to hurt me? I haven’t done anyone any harm.”

  “Sayen, you heard what happened. Things are getting wild out here. I have to put you away.” He didn’t want to tell her about the resentment the diversion of the defense units’ power to the stasis system had caused among the crew.

  “Carl, I’m worried that if you disconnect me, that’ll be it. No one will wake me up again.”

  He exhaled. “I know. I get that’s what this is about. But I promise, I promise I’ll wake you up again, and it’ll be like you never went to sleep.”

  No answer came from the stasis’ voice. Carl reached over and gently pulled the electrodes from the woman’s scalp. Just before he detached the final one, he heard a quiet, “Goodnight, Carl.”

  He pushed Sayen’s container into its slot. As he turned,he saw a figure passing by along the corridor.

  “MacAdam,” he called. He hadn’t seen the engineer all day. He wanted to know if she’d made any progress with the engines.

  He waited a few moments, but she didn’t return. He went to find her. The door to the medical center was closed, but Carl had a feeling that was where she’d gone. He opened the door and encountered MacAdam making her way out. Her eyes were wide with panic.

  “What’s wrong? Do you need to see the doctor?” he asked. Recalling that Harrington had found the woman drunk, his first thought was that she might have been trying to find drugs, but they were all well secured, and she hadn’t had time to break open the store.

  “No,” replied MacAdam. “I mean, yes, I was wondering if he was here. I had a terrible headache. But I’m okay now. It seems to be getting better. I’ll just go and lie down.”

  “How did you get on today? Any news on the engines?”

  The woman’s gaze dropped. “No, I’m sorry. No news yet. They’re rather complicated, you see, and I’m not sure yet what’s wrong.”

  “I wanted to say, if you need any help...I sometimes tweaked the shuttle engines. I could lend a hand, if you tell me what to do.”

  MacAdam didn’t seem to be paying much attention. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Thanks. So, I’ll be getting along.”

  “Wait,” said Carl, “don’t you have to open the access hatch soon? Harrington said she’d be back around sunset. It must be getting on for that now.”

  “Oh yeah. Yeah. I just need to go get my tools.”

  “Right. I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carl checked the time. He wanted to meet Harrington at the access hatch before taking her to speak to the mutineers in the brig, but he also wanted to check on Flux. He hadn’t seen the little fella since he’d flown into the stasis room to warn him about the mutiny attempt. If he was quick, he could take a short diversion to his cabin.

  Flux’s favorite place in the world was Carl’s bunk, where he would sleep under the covers with Carl, the sharp little talons at the ends of his wings scratching Carl and waking him. He sometimes wished Flux would sleep hanging upside down like the bats he resembled, but on the other hand, the fur on his belly was very soft and warm.

  Carl pushed open his cabin door. There was no sign of Flux. His bedcovers had no familiar bump. Carl checked under them to make sure. The creature wasn’t there. He opened his top cupboards nearest the air vent, but they contained no talking alien animals. He stood on a chair and stuck his head into the vent. He called his friend’s name and waited.

  The vents led throughout the ship and were very good echo chambers. Flux also had excellent hearing, far more sensitive than that of any human. If he was somewhere in the s
ystem and wanted to go to Carl—he had been known to sulk and refuse to come out on occasion—he would get to him within around five minutes. Carl waited a while and called again. Flux didn’t appear.

  He began to get worried. He couldn’t find his friend, and he needed to get to the access hatch, right then. Why would Flux hide from him? He had nothing to sulk about, Carl didn’t think. Had he been harmed during the attempted mutiny? He had to find the animal, but he didn’t know where to look. Flux could be anywhere on the Galathea, including many places humans couldn’t go.

  Leaving his cabin, Carl wondered if he should ask if anyone had seen the animal. Flux wasn’t supposed to be aboard ship, but since the crash, the rules and protocols seemed to be sliding. He could think of worse things than confessing he was harboring a stowaway, things such as never seeing his childhood friend again.

  A woman approached, returning to her quarters with her food ration.

  “Hey, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a little flying creature around?” asked Carl. “He’s about—” Carl was going to demonstrate Flux’s size, when the woman interrupted.

  “Your pet, you mean?”

  Wide-eyed, Carl replied, “Well, he’s not exactly a pet.”

  “No, sorry. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. He’s gone missing?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll ask around. Good luck finding him. Wouldn’t like to lose the little scamp. He’s a bit of a ship’s mascot.”

  Carl watched the woman as she walked away. A bit of a ship’s mascot? It seemed that Flux had been getting around. So much for all his efforts to keep him a secret.

  Word that Flux was missing spread quickly. The next two people Carl saw commiserated with him and said they would join in the search soon, and that there were others already searching. Though Carl was relieved that half the crew, it seemed, were looking for his lost friend, his anxiety continued to mount.

  “Lingiari,” a voice called.

  Carl turned. One of the crew was some way behind him, beckoning.