Starmen (Starmen (Space Opera Series) Book 1)

by J. M. Hagan

  “Good voyage, my friends. You don’t know it yet, but we’ve already provided you with all the help that you need. Starman Deputy, Jack Murphy, signing off."

  The audio cut out.

  “Starman?” Venec repeated, a grin taking him. “Pop…what the hell have I gone and got myself into now?”

  Some files opened automatically before them. Cane’s eyes flicked side-to-side frantically, as he identified some of the words on the screen rolling with data. His mouth fell open as he pieced together a story.

  “You can read that?” Venec guessed, gobsmacked. Were it not for his genetic enhancements, his eyes couldn’t hope to catch even a fraction of the data.

  Cane nodded. “Venec…I can’t believe what I am seeing.” He let go of his injured arm and scrolled up the screen with his good hand. As the data continued to upload, they started at the beginning in a state of awe that endured strongly for minutes.

  STARMEN

  PART 2

  Abduction

  5

  Location: Earth

  November 18th

  When Jack woke, he rubbed his tired eyes and did the same thing he always done within ten seconds of waking – checked his phone to see what time it was. As someone with a track record for sleeping through alarms, it'd become a necessary habit.

  7:04am

  Eleven minutes before his alarm was even meant to go off. He decided to try and get in another quick nap. He could feel the cold in his toes from a draft at the bottom of his blanket. Jack lifted his legs and folded it under him, feeling snugger as he cocooned himself to the neck. He sounded a sleepy sigh, but his mind was already waking up. I’ve gotta text her a reply soon.

  Erika agreed to his date request around 10pm. It was hard to resist the urge to text her, but he didn’t want to come off as being too enthusiastic. He’d made that mistake before, multiple times, and he was hoping to approach this developing relationship doing everything right.

  It hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing. He’d been getting to know her for months, and while he had taken his time before making a move, he’d been hoping that whole time that someone else wouldn’t come along and ask her out. Maybe they had, but they obviously had failed if she said yes to him.

  When his alarm sounded, he hit it off right away. Then he got up groggily and started about his day.

  He showered, put on his uniform, spiked his thick black hair with gel, gathered his essential belongings, and then went downstairs to get his cereal.

  Brigid was in the kitchen. She was always up by 6:00am. It was almost 7:45. He could smell the spice of shampoo. Friday...she always washes her hair on Fridays.

  Brigid was about to get her morning yogurt from the fridge. Her coffee had already been consumed, he could smell it as well. She drank it black, and so strong he wondered how her teeth remained white.

  "Where's Dad?" he asked, going to the fridge.

  "In bed."

  Jack got out the milk, walked back into the living room. "Da – get up!" he shouted upstairs, using the same rough tones his Dad employed when calling someone.

  "I'm up, Christ's sake!" his Dad cried in response; his Belfast accent was so tough on the ears in the mornings.

  "You want tea?"

  "Aye! Down in a minute, kido!"

  He picked up the kettle, felt it was half-full, popped it on. Then he went back and got his cereal bowl, filled it from the box and added just a little milk, as he liked it crunchy, then sat down at the table, feeling his stomach grumble with food so near.

  Brigid put her back to the counter and faced him like always for their daily chat. Her voluminous blonde hair was immaculate, shoulder length, and straightened. “Sleep well?” she asked, her blue eyes full of energy like always.

  “Yep. What about you, bimbo?”

  Brigid tossed back her head. “Ugh. You haven’t called me that in a while.”

  Jack smirked. “It’s your nickname. I’ll always call you it. Even have you saved as that on my phone.”

  Brigid rolled her eyes. "So, Erika, where have we got with that?" she asked, picking up right where they'd left off the day before.

  "I text her yesterday, asked her out..."

  "And?"

  "She said, yes,” he said, smiling.

  "You see, I told you...all you had to do was tell her how you feel," she said joyously.

  Jack took a spoonful of cereal, nodding as it crunched between his teeth. "Yep," he managed, then swallowed to free up some space. "I should've listened to you before now."

  "I'm always right about this stuff," she told him, waving the spoon she'd just cleaned of yogurt.

  He shrugged. "Well, actually, you're usually wrong, when it comes to you. How the hell is it you can give me so much good advice, then be such an idiot when it comes to your own relationships?"

  "I'm not an idiot! My current relationship is just fine!"

  "No, it isn't," he blared, dropping his spoon into the bowl. Clink! "That guy is a douche. You're way too good to be chasing after the likes of him. Screw him. He's a twat. If he doesn't wanna meet you at an agreed time, then tell him not to bother asking for a date again. How many times has he stood you up this month?"

  Brigid frowned, then ate some more yogurt. "Just the once," she complained, like it didn't bother her. Her cheeks were getting red, her eyes dropped. "But I understand he's busy. Okay? He's got a kid, a mortgage to pay, and his job is really stressful, and..."

  "And, the very next day, his friends tagged him on Facebook, pictures from their boozing session. He went out drinking, again, and left you home alone, again. Prick never should've accepted my friend's request. I mean, not that he's being covert about any of this."

  She threw her head to the side. Then she laughed, running her tongue behind her lips and pushing them into an angry pout. "Okay, I admit it. I don't see us going anywhere."

  "Then, why do you put up with it?"

  "He's...nice, Jack. When I'm with him, he treats me good," she said, shrugging, finding a smile. "There really aren't many nice guys around."

  "Blah. You can do better. I say, dump him."

  "Well, thankfully, it's not up to you," she joked. "I'm fine. Drop it. I'll just take things as they come."

  As she left the kitchen, he called after her: "Well, I hope you bring a coat because I can see rain ahead." He picked up his spoon, and gave a jolly mutter, swinging his head: "Why does it always rain on me?"

  A melancholy song, one he sang happily as he checked his messages again and read over what Erika had written in reply to his date request.

  Ok. I'm free Saturday night?

  He got that three hours after he'd sent his offer. Clearly, she had been a little apprehensive. That worried him just a little. He knew Erika had never dated anyone from work before.

  Jack didn't get the chance to flock to her every time he got a free minute. They worked different hours mostly. He just talked to her when he could, and stopped for a chat when he was passing her on his way out at the end of his shift.

  Brigid had taught him well enough that he knew not to put himself out there until someone ticked a few boxes. Being hot was one of them, naturally, but it wasn't the deciding factor.

  We'll get a chit-chat at the end of my shift, he replied. Then he immediately regretted sending it.

  All night thinking about it, and that was the best he could come up with. In truth, he didn't know a lot about her interests yet. He wanted to know what she liked, so he could choose somewhere they'd both enjoy – he'd learnt that on his own, after a few disastrous dates. It was more relaxed when both parties were enjoying themselves. I should’ve text something that relayed my thinking to her. What I sent was just so…meh…

  He heard his father's heavy tread thunder down the stairs. "Come on, mate," he yelled, at the front door. "I’m gonna be late!"

  "I don't start for another hour! It's a ten-minute drive."

  Jack rubbed his brow at the thought of getting to work so early. He'd be putting
in time without pay; he never could stick waiting around in the staff area on his own. His manager didn't like seeing it either, and Jack couldn't be bothered dealing with his glaring eyes.

  “What about your tea?”

  "Forget it. I've to get the truck and get loaded!"

  "Right...coming," he moaned, shovelling one more scoop of cereal into his mouth.

  *

  “Did you eat a double cheese and pepperoni all to yourself again?” Jack complained, when he got into the car and smelt the stale pizza box in the back seat.

  “I didn’t eat it all,” his Dad snapped, shaking his head. “I shared it with my mate from work. Honest.”

  His Dad gathered the stale box and used napkins. He got out in a hurry to take the trash to the bin.

  “You make me ashamed to be a Murphy,” Jack shouted. His Dad turned and gave him the finger.

  He got back into the car, looking very proud of himself as he buckled up. “Ya see, you think I stayed here in America, and raised you because you were my son; it wasn’t that – I’d gladly give you up for adoption. It’s the food. Everything is great! And you get the kind of portions I feel a working man deserves,” his Dad gloated, and Jack felt thankful that he was lean, as he saw his father's belly reach the steering wheel.

  “I'm just glad I take after mom."

  All the way to work, he was dreading reaching the place. Only one other guy worked with him during the day, and he was marooned at the other side of the store. They always crossed paths in the storeroom, then again when they met somewhere near the middle after lunch.

  His name was Ted. He was in his early thirties. But Jack could relate to him quite well. The guy had lived in his hay-day. Back when he was Jack’s age, Ted had had something of a rock-and-roll lifestyle. Now, he was paying for it – trapped in a job that he had to smile at, even though it was tearing him up inside.

  Sometimes, Jack caught him staring at nothing, like he was processing something in his head. But his eyes, they were just in a whole other place. Jack guessed back in his memories somewhere.

  “I don’t wanna end up like Ted,” said Jack, as they waited in traffic.

  “Ted? Your mate out of work?” his Dad guessed, indicating for the right turn ahead. They were almost there.

  “Ted is a good guy, don’t get me wrong,” he professed. “But working there when I’m thirty-five? That would depress the shit out of me. It’s bad enough already, and I only work thirty hours a week. That guy does more than forty hours, and he even works Sunday. No wonder the guy is single..."

  "At least he's got money in his pocket, kido. That's what it's all about. You think I wanna go to work? Anyway, he's not single because of where he works; he's single because he's ugly."

  "Fair point...a little grim, but fair. You know what?"

  "What?"

  "I won't be working here much longer. Something better will come along. I can feel it."

  They pulled up outside his workplace. "Like what?" his Dad asked, putting the car in brake.

  “I don’t know what the hell I wanna be,” he said. “I just know I don’t wanna work here.”

  “Don’t be such a woman. Get to bloody work.”

  His Dad opened the door and Jack’s head dropped with dread. That meant his Dad was coming in again to buy something. He felt obliged to purchase something almost every time he was near the place where his son worked. Jack hated it when he came in. He always made some joke to berate Jack in front of his co-workers, and the store owner.

  While his Dad had a look around, Jack left his lunch in the staff room out back. He checked his phone.

  08:22

  By the time he returned to the shop floor, his Dad was being served.

  “Look at the state of his bloody hair. He looks like he combed it with a rake,” said his Dad, as he searched his pockets for the correct change.

  Wee stores love it when you bring them change, was what he always said. He was full of shite like that.

  “Thank you, mate,” he said, picking up the toilet roll he’d bought, before walking out of the store, and throwing a wave over his shoulder at Jack.

  Of all the things he could’ve bought, he chose twenty-four rolls of cheap toilet paper? If anyone sees me scratching my ass, at least they'll know why...

  “Get ‘em while they’re on offer, why don’t ya?” Jack muttered, returning his attention to the front isle.

  The store had only opened. He didn't start for another forty minutes, and he'd be damned if he was going to work without being paid for his trouble. He needed to kill some time.

  The door his feet were resting against received an authoritative knock. "Jack, you've been in there for thirty minutes," his boss complained. "It's almost nine o'clock."

  Jack checked the time. He'd had his feet up for a while now, sitting on the toilet seat, lost in the racing game on his phone.

  08:50am

  Twenty minutes, asshole. "Sorry, man, I didn't get to have my morning dump," he replied, returning to the game on his phone without a care for how his gutter-talk would be received.

  "Oh...well...hurry up!" Awkwardly, as expected.

  "Yep," he said, steering his car around a bend, moving his phone like a steering wheel as he pressed buttons.

  Every day he performed the same ritual before clocking in. He shut his eyes, rubbed between them, frowned, and sighed within. Then he punched in his digits.

  0001784

  An error message. Then he remembered the 5 at the end. Every time, he forgot that damn 5...

  00017845

  He went out the door, as the clock-in station binged! Threw on a smile. Someone was always just outside that door, working the checkout, usually with a half-there look in their eyes when they turned around to see who was coming in.

  “Hey, Trish,” he said, to the brunette checking items. She had probably been hot when she was younger, but she was on the wrong side of thirty now. Still, she was the closest thing to eye-candy he had during the day. That made her reasonably hot, in a certain light.

  He went out back. Grabbed his cage. Filled it with stock from the list on the wall that had his name on it. It always came with a list of other things for him to do. He filled the cage with eggs, butter, milk, soft drinks, chocolate, potato chips, popcorn, gum, candy and candy bars. Today’s list was a little light.

  He hated that. It meant he’d have to take it slow all day in order to keep having work to do. His boss didn’t want to see him standing around with his hands in his pockets, after all. Jack carried on with his day at a slow pace.

  He heard shoppers talk about Trump being elected President. A lot of people still couldn't believe that he'd won. Jack, as someone with no interest in politics, hadn't voted. He never bought into that patriotic crap. In his eyes, the whole world was rigged, never mind that election. It didn't matter to him who was on top.

  He listened to the low shop music – covers of real artist’s songs that were terrible. Not the cover bands themselves exactly, the song choices. Stuff that’d been considered popular music ten years ago. It must’ve been cheap as chips to renew the permits on that crap.

  His boss was a renowned penny collector. The guy bought the cheapest brands and sold them at good prices to keep his business running. Ever since the mall had opened in the next town over, people had been taking the forty-minute drive at the weekends, and it was slowly killing his supermarket.

  They might not have jobs here, five years from now. Most of the staff worried about stuff like that. Jack didn’t care if he lost his job – it might give him the push he needed to find something better. Right now, he was stuck in a loop.

  He worked eight hours a day. When he came home, his feet hurt, he was hungry, and he didn’t feel the need to do anything other than sit in his room and relax.

  Work. Go home. Eat. Laze about. Eat. Play some video games. Eat. Watch a movie. Sleep.

  Between all of that, how could anyone expect him to search for another job?

  Tha
t was how he justified it to himself, at least. But something in Jack knew that he’d probably never make it out of this line of work, even if this store shut down.

  “Should’ve done better at school,” he muttered under his breath, in the empty isle where he was filling out the egg shelf.

  Throughout the day, he thought of seeing Erika when his shift ended. She was the one girl he considered hot that he saw frequently, and she was single. After a year of being single himself, it was no wonder he decided it was time he did something about it.

  Please, don’t be like the last one, he thought, as he was in danger of remembering his ex.

  Erika was different, he was certain of that. He thought about her too often for it to just be her looks, too. The way she smiled at him, the way he felt inside when they talked, he hoped to further explore the bond that had been growing between them, and he wasn’t going to allow the bad relationship he had before hold him back any longer.

  When his shift ended, he saw her right where he expected, when he expected. She was working the checkout that he always passed on his way out. Her first hour had been busy, like every night, but then came the dull part.

  Her blonde hair had a pretty wave that indicated summer, even at this dreary point in the year. Daylight savings occurred recently, and since it'd started getting dark earlier, it'd been raining a lot at night. Even as it rained outside now, there was summer in the waves of her ocean blue eyes.

  A smile flitted across her lips briefly as he approached. Her initial reaction to his presence was a smile – she liked him. That made him smile.

  "Good day?" she asked, her eyes flicking away briefly as she contained what might be excitement.

  "Yep," he told her, and he wasn’t lying. Thinking about this moment had made him happier in his work. "How are you?"

  "I'm fine. Looking forward to the end of my shift, of course. Three hours to go," she said, trying to keep her eyes bright. "So, Saturday?"

  "Yep. Tomorrow.”

  “Right. That was what I meant…”

  “I was thinking a movie...?" He remembered talking to her about the new Star Wars the year previous when everyone was in a buzz about it, and she said she enjoyed it.