by M. D. Cooper
“Stupidly,” Lucy said, “I planted every flower. On the way back to Vulture, I was ambushed by a pack of balls.”
“The mossies were working together?” Nikili swabbed at Lucy’s cuts.
“It seemed so. They’re really riled up.” She swatted Nikili’s hand away. “I’m going to live. Please don’t tell dispatch I was taken out by balls.”
“Absolutely not.”
Nikili checked Lucy’s vitals and the drugs administered by the medpack. Everything had been done perfectly. “You did this yourself while under attack?”
“Some of it. Chaquita applied the finishing touches. She has a lot of guts. She’d make a great ORS responder.”
Nikili glanced at Hook’s next wife. “You’re always welcome on ORS 51.”
“I don’t know. The ritual of zapping my ass with a striker isn’t something I care for much.”
“What about pinching?” Lucy chuckled
“I’m leaving you old biddies here,” Saverna said. “I’ve work to do.” She limped out of the infirmary.
Chapter 22
Spaceberg quaked. The stars whirled faster and faster. Bile rose in Nikili’s throat “Opaque the view panels,” she ordered Vulture.
“I’m doing my best to compensate gravity as well, Nikili.”
“Thank you.” Her hand ran over Lucy, examining injuries and limbs, recalling every adrenaline-filled moment they had spent together. “How could you do something so stupid? You can’t be running around out there without the protection of a daisy.”
“Did you hear what you just said?” Lucy chuckled.
Nikili bit her tongue to keep from smiling. “It sounds completely insane.”
“Not if you’re on this ship.” Chaquita fiddled with her fingers, her hands folded in front of her. “I enjoy hanging with you ladies. Do you forgive me about Hook and Saverna, Nikili?”
Earlier today, Nikili would have throttled Chaquita, and sent her spinning out of an airlock. “Yes. The Sol is complicated and large. There’s no reason we can’t get along.” She tugged Lucy onto her feet. “There are still moons and colonies to save, my dear. Up and let’s get at it.” She hooked an arm around Lucy, supporting part of her weight. Chaquita took the other side.
The three of them hobbled to flight control where Hook and Saverna were speaking with the captains of the arriving Hueys and tankers. Qeb and Revco sat silently in the shadows.
“How are we rolling, Saverna?” Nikili set Lucy down and joined her daughter at the gel glass monitor.
“Qeb,” Saverna pointed at the young man with the swollen black eye, “figured out how to transfer the natural gas from the tankers into ORS torpedoes.”
“Excellent.”
“Only, we have to test it.” She chewed on her lips
“I’m going to do it.” Hook lifted his chin.
Nikili waved Qeb over. “Tell me what you thought up.”
He met her at the command console. “The tankers are designed for refueling. We can dock several Hueys to a tanker. The Hueys remove their fuel tanks and replace them with torpedoes.” Vulture displayed diagrams as Qeb spoke. He pointed at areas and tools needed as he went through the process step by step. It wasn’t very complicated. Any ORS responder could handle the modifications.
“Very clever. How long will it take to arm the Hueys?”
“Depends on the skill level of the tech changing out fuel tanks for torpedoes.”
ORS responders were quick and highly trained. “So a few minutes? An hour?”
“To remove the tank, about seven minutes. To install a torpedo, nine minutes tops. Each torpedo after will go quicker.”
“How does this fit in with the mossies?” Nikili asked Saverna.
“I need to see how they react to the explosions. Then I can decide.” She held the remote control for her acupuncture needles and pressed the button. She gritted her teeth, but remained silent.
Nikili caressed Saverna’s shoulder. “Then you need the best out there for the test.”
“Yes.”
“No offense to you, Hook.” Nikili’s gaze didn’t stray from her daughter. “You have fine skills, but this is a task for me.”
“I’ll suit up.” Lucy struggled to rise from her seat.
“You’re sitting this one out.” Nikili strode toward the exit, dragging Qeb with her. “If something goes wrong, Qeb’s the guy to make rapid corrections.”
“He can do it from here.” Lucy snatched at Nikili.
“Speed is of the essence, and I’ll feel better knowing the best ORS responder in the Sol is by my daughter’s side.” Countless times Nikili had needed Lucy’s level-headed suggestions during a mission. She wanted Saverna to have the same expertise at her disposal. “If a new tactic is necessary, there’s no better person to reason it out with than you.”
“Very well.”
Nikili leaned in and whispered, “Keep an eye on her leg.”
Lucy kissed Nikili. “Come back to me.”
“We’ll be together soon.” She led Qeb off flight control and to the bay containing E51. “Have you ever been on a Huey before?”
“I’ve helped repair a few.”
“A mechanic, huh? Are you scouting universities around Saturn?”
“No.” He told her about his parents and his lackluster performance in school.
He wasn’t the only Outling without hope Nikili had met. He was too young to give up. “What’s been your favorite vessel class to work on?” she asked.
When he spoke about ships, the tension fled from his features. He smiled, the color in his cheeks improved, and there was an elegance to the way he moved. Nikili kept him talking and guided him onto the Huey.
“Let me introduce you to E51. Say hi,” she said to the Huey.
“Hello. How may I assist?” E51 responded.
“Show Qeb where our tools are, and how to access the torpedoes and the fuel tank. He’ll be my co-responder this mission.” At the ladder, Nikili pointed down.
Qeb slid to the bottom. E51 lit up a path for him. Nikili rushed to flight control.
Sliding into the command chair on the E51 felt like home. Every muscle in Nikili’s body sighed. She connected with Vulture. “Which tanker have you paired me with?”
“Sending coordinates. The captain is rolling out the welcome mat for you,” Hook said.
“Open the bay. I’m ready.”
There was no point in delaying. Every minute cost lives. The shield around E51 shattered into colors. They dissipated and Vulture unfastened its clamps.
“Cleared for launch,” E51 said.
Nikili piloted the Huey to the tanker waiting for her. Qeb made quick work of filling torpedoes with natural gas. The fuse inside the torpedoes would supply the spark when the missiles met up with Spaceberg.
Her fingers drummed on the arm of her chair. Being in orbit above the monstrous slab of ice didn’t ease Nikili’s worries. If anything, it sent more chills deep into her bones. Spaceberg was a giant with no conscience, no reasoning, no morality. If the mossies had any sense, they had yet to show it.
“Torpedoes are filled and loaded into tubes,” Qeb reported.
“Buckle in.”
“Aye.”
Nikili detached the Huey from the tanker and sped toward danger. The slab of ice rotated at a fierce speed. Battling with the forces of Saturn, Spaceberg grew new peaks of ice. The jagged spears jutted up without warning. New crevices cracked the plains. A geyser of water erupted, raining down as snow.
“Where do you want to test the torpedoes?” Nikili asked Saverna.
“The location on your monitor now.” A circle winked in orange just past the field of plastic daisies. “I need to see how the mossies react.”
“Roger. We ready, Qeb?”
“Yes, ORS Echols.”
Her finger tapped on the command to fire. A torpedo streaked away from E51 and thudded into the ice, sending up a spray of crystals. Those were chased by fingers of flame leaping and cavorting, cele
brating the spontaneity of life. There wasn’t enough oxygen on the atmosphere of Spaceberg for the blaze to burn long. The flames stopped as suddenly as they started, leaving behind icy clones. The mossies gathered around the crater. They leapt upon what remained of the torpedo, devouring it.
“Daisy, Daisy,” blasted from the hauler. The mossies stopped eating, leaving the torpedo fragments, migrating to the music.
“Exatly what I was hoping for,” Saverna said. “I can move the mossies where I want and stop them from eating when I want. We’re going to herd every mossy on the berg to the hauler. Sending attack pattern.”
“Received.” Nikili divided Saverna’s instructions among ORS. “Hueys coordinated.”
Choreographed in a garish ballet, the Hueys glided between tankers and Spaceberg, dropping their payloads, setting ice on fire, stirring up splotches of green. Mossies gathered at the craters then made a pilgrimage to the music blaring from the hauler. The daisies whirled, putting the mossies to sleep.
On Nikili’s third pass over Spaceberg, the ice remained ice. “No more mossies are emerging,” she reported to Saverna.
“Time to weaken the ice on the leading edge. Dad has the best spots picked out.”
“Sending them to you,” Hook said.
Rhea filled the sky. A steady stream of spacecraft left its colonies. Vulture needed to follow suit and evacuate Spaceberg. She didn’t want her family to be on the ice when it collided with the moon.
“Received.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s time you left for a safer port.”
“Not yet,” Saverna said. “I need to command the mossies in real time.” Their green mass completely covered the trailing end of Spaceberg.
“What is it you have to do?”
“I’m stopping the music. The mossies will go on a feeding frenzy. Once the hauler is devoured, they should start on Spaceberg itself. Impacts at the spots Dad marked should shift the weight of Spaceberg—”
“Changing its trajectory.”
“Yes.”
“Will it be enough to save Rhea?”
“We can only hope.”
“And ask the forces of the Sol to be on our side,” Hook added.
“Hook, listen—” Nikili started.
“I’ll make sure we leave in a timely fashion,” Lucy said.
“You’re my force of the Sol.” Nikili let go of a breath. “Qeb, are we fully loaded?”
“Agreed. Relaying to the fleet.”
Torpedo after torpedo marred the ice; white broken with patches of char. Fissures appeared. Spaceberg cracked. Icy flames erupted wherever fired stopped. Nikili shot again and again, willing the hole she aimed at to grow bigger.
The Sol granted her wish. The tip of Spaceberg broke off, veering away from Rhea. The other end shuddered and shifted course, taking out an abandoned space station, but leaving the moon unscathed. Mostly. A shower of ice boulders hit the atmosphere and broke apart into droplets.
Nikili cheered. The shouts from Vulture filled flight control on E51. Drops of water hit the view panels. Qeb raced up the ladder, yelling, thrusting his fist in the air. The droplets became rivulets, coating the view panels of E51.
“Huckamucka,” Qeb said. “It’s rain. I’ve never seen rain.”
“It can’t rain in space.”
“Yesterday I would have said you can’t save the Sol with organic plastic daisies.”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Outling. Sit down.” She mussed up his hair. “I hope your father is okay down there.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know him. I’ll look for a position sweeping up at the harbor.”
“A waste of your talents. You should consider the apprentice program with ORS. I’ll vouch for you.”
“I’d like that.”
“Hope to work with you again, Qeb.” Breaking into orbit, Nikili surveyed the damage left in Spaceberg’s wake. The harbor burned and had been crippled, yet the cities remained green. The rain fell heavier on the surface, pooling into streams and ponds. People gathered. They danced.
“Meet you on the north end of City Five,” Nikili said to Vulture.
She parked at the edge of the city. Its environment remained intact; its markets, its citizens. Buildings could be rebuilt.
Vulture touched down three minutes later. Nikili sprinted outside and hugged her family, all of them: Saverna, Hook, Lucy, and Chaquita. She held her face up to the rain. It soaked her clothes, and shoes, and hair. She added tears of joy, and patted the locket under her uniform. More images needed to be added to it. It was incomplete.
“Record this,” she commanded E51. She shimmied with Saverna and Qeb, waltzed with Hook, tangoed with Chaquita, and two-stepped with Lucy. The Sol was safe, and she had her family. She knew what mattered and she’d never forget. E51 and her locket wouldn’t let her.
THE END
— — —
Want to read more by M. Pax?
The Backworlds: A Space Opera Adventure Series
In the far future, humanity settles the stars, bioengineering its descendants to survive in a harsh universe...
After the war with the Foreworlders, Backworlders scatter across the remaining planets. Competition is fierce, and pickings are scant. Scant enough that Craze’s father decides to improve his fortunes by destroying his son. He tells his only boy their moon isn’t big enough for them both and gives Craze a ticket for the next transport leaving the space dock.
Cut off from everyone he knows with little money and no knowledge of the worlds beyond, Craze must find a way to forge a new life and make his father regret this day.
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The Rifters
A junction erupts between the worlds...
The Gold Rush trickles to a fool’s quest and a string of stagecoach heists. In 1888, Earl Blacke decides to make a new start and become a better man. He escapes into the mountains, heading north. In the wilds of Oregon, a rift inside an ancient volcano opens and sends him into the future, into the present day. It also shaves forty years off his age, forty years to live over again and atone for what he’s done.
Starting over is hard to do. In current day New York, Daelin Long’s dream job at a publishing house goes the way of the dinosaurs her sister chases. With no money and nowhere else to go, Daelin accepts the librarian position in her sister’s dinky town in the middle of Oregon. Nestled inside ancient volcanic peaks, the town of Settler holds onto many secrets. Residents roam the streets with weirdly fashioned devices, and odd lights pulse in the night skies. People whisper of a phantom outlaw and start dying, murdered and missing their heads. On top of it all, Daelin’s sister is missing, and Daelin doesn’t know who to trust.
Earl knows more than he’s saying. He shares a notorious history with the phantom, one he’ll see remains buried. Keeping Daelin’s sister’s secrets is his only chance at redemption, and the only way to keep this world safe.
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About the Author
Fantasy, science fiction, and the weird beckons to M. Pax. She blames Oregon, a source of endless inspiration. She docents at Pine Mountain Observatory in the summers as a star guide and enjoys exploring the quirky corners of Oregon with her husband. Find out more at http://mpaxauthor.com
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Attack of the Killer Bees
by Chris J. Pike
Jim Jones and the unlikely heroes on the Barnburne
r must stop The Hive before it turns Earth into its latest honey-producing world.
Captain Jim Jones and the team of the Barnburner pilot a tug ship that deals with space battle wreckage. Their systems are outdated, their food replicator is broken, and they are always late. Simply put, no one cares about them because hardly anyone knows they exist; even their own boss thinks they’ve been decommissioned.
But when Jones is accidentally handed information intended for someone else, he learns of a reckoning. An alien bee invasion is coming, except no one will believe him. In the midst of a planet-wide victory party, it’ll be up to him and his crew to get the job done.
It’s time for the Barnburner and its less-than-intrepid heroes to become…errr… heroes.
Chapter One: Kale, Shmale
The kale was flying that day.
Captain Jim Jones of the Barnburner ducked as a flying sphere of kale went flying toward him. The torpedo-like, gritty substances continued to shoot out of the food replicator at an alarming rate. “Shut it down, Mort! Shut it down!” Jones shouted at the ship’s internal AI.
She sighed. “I can’t. It won’t listen to me.”
“Have you tried?” Jones picked up a metal tray and held it up as a shield and wielded a butter knife as he made his way across the kitchen. Kale formed into the shape of hotdogs bounced off the shield and spilled on the floor. The galley was a dangerous place when having to deal with a rogue appliance.
“No. It’s not my job, Jim. I’m the ship’s AI. Not a repair man.”
It figured. “Stephen! Do something!”
His second cousin twice removed fiddled with the knobs and buttons on the food replicator’s side panel. “I’m not sure, but I think your warranty’s run out.” In his red shirt, he was dressed for success.
“Everything’s warranty has run out on this ship,” Jones said as the toaster went manic and started dispensing burnt pieces of toast. Now all they needed was for the soda machine to go fizzy and they’d have the makings of a grand party.