by M. D. Cooper
Some captains got all the luck, and others? Diddly squat.
Taking a long drag, he focused his eyes up on the blue sky. Beyond that blue sky, were the stars where Jones really felt comfortable and at home. Too bad space was infested with damn bugs, or at least it had been.
When he finished his cigarette, Jones snuffed it out against the wall and flicked it onto the ground. It was a good thing the spaceport guys weren’t around, or he would be facing a serious fine for littering. The future was a lot of things, but it wasn’t a friend to litter or to those who liked to smoke.
Coming out from his hiding place, Jones detected talking. Still partially hidden behind a pair of garbage cans, Jones saw a girl with long, blue hair talking to a large man.
She kept gazing around to make sure the coast was clear. “It’s happening right now.”
“Right now? Nothing’s gonna happen right now, it’s a big party in case you haven’t noticed. Besides with Captain Spectacular on this planet…” It was only then it became clear that the large man was wearing a yellow foam finger. In bold print it said ‘Captain Spectacular is #1’.
“You’re not hearing me,” the girl with the blue hair said, “he’s not going to be a problem anymore. They’re going to take them out!”
The hair on the back of Jones’s neck stood straight up. Who was going to take out Captain Spectacular? Not these bumbling idiots, that much was for sure.
Rearing his head back, the large man laughed. “Maggie, you’re good for a laugh, but that’s about it. Whoever’s telling you these stories, it isn’t true. Bugs can’t breach our outer shield, not without a giant armada that we would’ve spotted by now.”
She grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him forward. “And I’m telling you, they’re already here. They’re on the planet and they’re working on the inside, they have help. If we don’t do something…”
The girl must’ve been high as a kite and there was no good reason to believe a word she said, but Jones couldn’t shake the feeling that something rang true. He stepped out from his hiding place and headed over towards the girl. “Hey, where’d you get that information?”
The big man just rolled his eyes. “Now look what you’ve done, Maggie. You’ve pulled a bum into one of your web of lies.”
A bum! Sure, he hadn’t shaved in almost a week, and his clothes were rumpled, and…oh God, he did look like a bum! How come no one told him that before? Other than Morticia, that was. Jones couldn’t trust that AI as far as he could throw her. Considering she didn’t have a body to throw, he approached everything she had to say with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Her eyes were wide as she approached Jones. “It’s not a lie. It’s the truth—Captain Spectacular is in trouble. And if he’s in trouble, we’re all in trouble. Without him…” she started hyperventilating and held her chest as if she couldn’t breathe. “The Queen Bee will enslave us! We’ll…we’ll be drone food!”
“Now just calm down,” Jones resisted the urge to smooth her long, blue hair. “I work with Captain Spectacular—”
Both strangers did a double take and asked with bulging eyes. “You do?”
Jones ignored their insult. “—and if he’s in trouble, I can get a message to him. I’m Captain of the Barnburner.”
The girl’s nose scrunched up as she shared a glance of the big guy. “The what?”
Jones sighed. “It’s a ship. You know, just forget it. It doesn’t matter who I am and my ship’s name isn’t what’s important. What’s important,” he thrusted his hips and stood akimbo, “is we get this information to the captain, and I’ll be the one who does it.”
The big guy moaned and put his hand to his forehead, but the girl nodded with thanks. “Yeah, I have everything you need back at my apartment. If you’ll just come with me—” The sweet girl’s words caught off as gunshots sounded. She took one right to the side of her head and her body dropped like a rag doll as Jones and the big guy scampered for cover.
Goddammit, what was going on? If there was any doubt that girl was telling the truth, all of it just faded. Assassinated, right in front of him. Jones needed to survive, get to her apartment, and figure out what the hell was going on.
“Stay down!” Jones hid behind a dumpster and pulled out his gun, but a quick check showed that his plasma cartridge was out of juice; he must’ve forgotten to recharge the stupid thing.
Let’s face it, he was a tug ship captain and not some action hero. If he was going to do this, he needed to be smart about it. “Yo, big guy,” he said over the dumpster, “cover me.”
“With what? I don’t have a blanket.”
A blanket? Jones rolled his eyes. Here he had hoped that guy was hired help, a hired gun, but it seemed that Jones was on his own. Keeping low, Jones dashed out and grabbed the girl by the by the wrists and dragged her back toward the dumpster. Her mouth twisted open in horror, Jones tried not to look at her face as he opened her jacket and went through her pockets.
Inside, he found an ID. It said her name was Maggie Quinton and she lived on the east side of San Francisco. That was all the information that Jones needed. He sprinted away from the scene of the crime, intent on getting into her apartment and finding what was necessary to save Captain Spectacular’s life.
Maggie’s death wasn’t going to be in vain—and finally, maybe just once, Jones would come out a hero.
****
Jones caught the 652 hover bus from the corner of Maple and Main Street and took it to the east side. It was mostly empty, just him and the android driver, so Jones took the opportunity to bring up his comm. He dialed the number for the Earth-based Delta Force and hit the communications operator desk.
“Delta Force operations,” the dull voice droned. “I could be out partying with everybody else, but instead I drew the short stick, and here I am at my desk, answering your phone calls… which are most likely pointless. How may I help you?”
“Geez, Marv, could you try sounding a little more lively?”
“Who the hell is this?” Marv asked.
“Captain Jones, of the Barnburner. I have an emergency 2657.2 that I need to report.”
“Captain Jones? The what?”
Jones sighed. “I command the tug ship, the Barnburner in Captain Spectacular’s fleet.” Jones waited impatiently as Marv typed something on his keyboard.
“I see here that you were decommissioned, like, six years ago.”
“We weren’t. That’s when we first got our papers to ship out. Honestly, do you guys have any intention of ever fixing the computer system?”
“Let me check.” Marv did some more typing. “Nope. No record of that here.”
Typical.
“What, exactly, does a tug ship do in Captain Spectacular’s brigade?”
“It tugs.” Jones sighed. “It pulls giant pieces of destroyed ships out of the way, hauls off valuable bits, clears the battlefield, but that’s not really important. I have a 2655.2 that I need to report. Immediately.”
“I thought you said it was a 2657.2?”
Jones’s eyes bugged from his head. “Whatever it is, Captain Spectacular is in danger. I need you guys to send a patrol, a platoon, whatever those mighty Marines call themselves, over to the main party and warn Captain Spectacular. Put him into protective custody or something.”
Marv laughed. “Funny. Who put you up to this? Captain Spectacular in protective custody? He is the protective custody. Besides, Delta Force isn’t Marines, its special ops. You sure you’re in the Space Force?”
“Look,” Jones let out a long breath, “a girl was just assassinated. I have it on good authority that the bugs are working with someone planet-side, and they have something big planned. So unless you get off your fat ass, Mar—”
“Bugs? You mean the ones the Captain Spectacular just got done defeating? Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Listen, Captain James—”
“Jones,”
“Right, whatever. I don’t know how much you’ve had to dri
nk, but we’ve all had a nice little laugh, okay? Go back to your cruise ship, or whatever it is, and let the big boys deal with the bugs.”
The line went dead. Jones was on his own.
The metal android driving the bus shook his head. “Hey, listen, you think you’re the only one who doesn’t get respect? Try being the android that drives a hover bus. All I hear back at the station is how this battle droid did this, battle droid did that. Even the household service droids make fun of me.” He laid his hand heavily on the horn. “Get out of the way, you douche bag!”
Jones collapsed into his seat and gripped the metal bar. “Maybe I should put on my seatbelt.”
“Why does everyone always freaking say that?” the bus droid said in a low, grumbling voice.
Do they have anger management classes for droids? Jones really hoped they did.
****
Maggie lived in what was once an antique townhouse but was now an old, metal townhouse with moving servitors, sliding doors, and a top-notch security system. Skylights streamed real sunlight down into the cozy living room. As was typical with Earthers these days, it was decorated minimally.
White sofas, for whatever reason, were the trending fad. There was a metal coffee table, and on the wall, a micro-flat LCD display rotated through photography of kittens. Kittens—nothing much had really changed in that regard in three centuries. Everybody loved a freaking fur-ball kitten.
Checking the closets didn’t amount to much, just the usual stuff one would expect a blue-haired woman to keep–-lots of shoes, latex dresses, and an arsenal. But she did have a collection of rainbow scarfs that really caught Jones’s attention.
Maybe Macy would enjoyed this nice blue one? Ah well, Maggie hadn’t been dead that long, and Jones really couldn’t bring himself to steal from the dead, though he did drape one around his neck to see how it would look…
His examination of the kitchen was even less interesting. The French maid android told him that Maggie was low on milk and soon an instant prime order would be delivered. Walking up the staircase, Jones saw photos of Maggie and her friends and family.
Plus, an android cat. Oh crap, it was one of those discontinued models that always missed the litter box. He was going to have to walk carefully. Very carefully…
Jones found the bedroom door, and pushed it open. He was expecting to find a messy bed, maybe some clothes laying around the floor. What he was not expecting was to find a man wearing a security guard uniform strapped down to the bed with leather cuffs and chains.
Nobody ever expected chains and leather; it was kind of archaic.
Wiping his hands on his pants, Jones entered the room and walked over to the bed. The security guard’s eyes bulged and there was a sock stuffed into his mouth. It didn’t even appear clean. Gross.
“You know, when Maggie said she had the evidence back in her apartment, this isn’t exactly what I was expecting,” Jones said.
The security guard’s face turned beet red and he mumbled and grunted as he tried to speak.
Jones leaned his elbow on the bedpost and wiped his mouth. “See, if I take that sock out of your mouth, I’m really going to need you to sing like a canary. Deal?”
When the security guard nodded, Jones promptly took the sock from his mouth. The fabric was damp—so damp that Jones tossed it into the corner of the room. “Well?”
The security guard licked his lips. “That scarf really brings out the blue in your eyes.”
The scarf? Crap. Jones pulled it off and balled it up real small. “If you don’t start talking, you’re going to find this shoved all the way down your throat, pal. I’ve had nothing but kale to eat for the last three weeks—”
The guard scrunched up his nose. “Kale? Oh God….”
“So talk!”
“Well, I don’t really know what you want to hear, but I do know a trendy rendition of ‘Oops, I did again’. It’s a reggae-Bollywood mix.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jones growled. “Do I need to get a new sock?” Jones put his foot up on the bed for emphasis. “Trust me, mine is not going to be as clean as hers. I hope you like fishy taste.”
“Okay, okay,” the security guard spoke rapidly. “But if I tell you, I’m going to be pretty dead.”
“You’re already pretty tied up, I don’t really see dead is that much of a step down.”
The security guard did a double-take. “That’s your sell? ‘Oh, well, you’re already tied up so maybe you might as well be dead’?”
He had a point. Jones pointed to his boot. “Fishy fishy. Look, Maggie’s already dead. It’s not going to take them long to get here and I’m pretty sure if I don’t kill you now, they will. So if you want to get out of here and get a head start on running away, you better start talking quickly.”
The security guard laid his head back with defeat. “Captain Spectacular was never supposed to beat The Hive. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. But you know how he is, he’s a freaking force of nature! And once it was clear that he had rallied the troops enough to defeat them, things were put into motion.”
Jones wasn’t following. “What you mean he wasn’t supposed to beat them?”
“Some people on this planet have a vested interest in the bugs winning. Something to do with massive treasure troves of honey. You know what it’s been like since the sugar shortage.”
Jones scrunched up his nose. “You’re telling me that someone sold out Earth for honey? Who the hell would do something that stupid?”
“Don’t you get it? By our own government. By—”
Could that be true? “Delta Force?” Jones’s voice was so shaken up he could barely hear himself. The very government he worked for was betraying the people of Earth?
The security guard nodded. “Vested interest. Money, political gain over The Hive Empire, and even your old private asteroid. Personally, I would’ve held out for an entire planet.”
“Who?” Jones demanded to know. “Who’s sold us out like this for a piece of rock?”
“Who do you think? Comes from the very top. The admiral.”
Admiral Fudd? All things being equal, Jones would rather not go up against the man, and he had trouble even believing the story. Fudd and Captain Spectacular were close as a pair of tighty whities, saving each other’s lives countless times a piece. What would it take to make the admiral turn on his old friend like that? Hell, turn on the whole planet!
“Money is a powerful motivator. You might not believe it, but the proof is in my pants.”
Jones’s eyes widened. “Say again? And keep the come-ons to yourself, mister.”
“My pants pocket, moron. A tiny flash drive, with everything you’ll need to have him arrested, and hopefully save the Earth.”
As uncomfortable as it was, Jones put his hand in the security guard’s pocket and found the drive. “I promise you, I’ll keep this thing safe.”
“Great, so now you can let me go, right?”
Jones smirked. “I dunno. If I let you go, who’s to say you won’t warn Fudd I’m coming for him?”
“I’ll be dead if you leave me here! Dead!”
“I’ll come back to check on you. When all this is over. Sorry, gorgeous, but I just can’t take the chance.” Jones paused at the threshold and gave the security guard a wink. “Don’t move a muscle.”
The security guard did move a muscle. In fact, he moved just about every muscle he had, trying to break free of his restraints. “Whoever the hell you are, let me go!”
“Captain of the Barnburner!” Jones screamed as he ran down the hall.
“The WHAT?!”
****
Jones went home to his apartment. It was small, and his meager possessions were strewn about, shirts draped over chairs, an old pizza box on the table…two slices still in it. He pushed a SOMETHING FUNNY off the chair at his tiny desk and sat down.
He turned on the computer, and the monitor displayed his random kitten screensaver. Shot after shot of fluffy a
dorableness scrolled by, playing with a ball of yarn, attacking a string, falling off a table. It was almost too much to handle.
After sliding the small drive into the slot on the side, he leaned back in the chair. It creaked loudly and the walls around him vibrated with music coming from the other rooms.
Jones sipped his beer as the information on the screen scrolled by. There were a lot of schematics, detailed plans, contingencies—stuff people more intelligent than Jones would have to comb through to fathom the details. Instead, he focused on vids, surveillance photos, and bank account information that all showed that Fudd had received a lot of money.
Not as much is Jones would’ve thought. Turned out that Earth’s freedom and sovereignty wasn’t worth more than what the average pop band made at a big concert venue. Then again, Fudd was getting his own asteroid and probably a lifetime supply of honey. Damn that man and his sweet tooth.
Jones sat up, slamming his feet onto the floor. He leaned forward and he rubbed his hands together. Now it was time to make his move.
He hit a few buttons on his phone and called the hotel’s front desk. He didn’t have a direct number for Captain Spectacular, so he was going to have to hope he could get him a message.
“Front desk. How can I help you?”
“Can you please get a message to Captain Spectacular for me? I’m on my way, but he has to be warned that there’s trouble.”
“Did we run out of champagne again?”
“Listen, just tell Captain Spectacular that the captain of the Barnburner is—”
The woman giggled. “The Barnburner? Are you in a rock band or something? That is so hot.”
And being a tug ship’s captain wasn’t? “No, just listen for a second and I’ll explain why Captain Spectacular has to be warned—”
The reflection from his screen showed someone was creeping up behind Jones. A woman, and it didn’t look like she had come for a booty call.
He hadn’t heard anyone enter, probably because of the loud music that was playing in the apartments on either side of him. The entire planet was in victory party mode. Something that, in hindsight, could be a hindrance.