by M. D. Cooper
“Hi! What can we do for you?” Jack greeted the Vorlox soldier.
“Where is it?” the heavily armored man demanded. He was wearing black body armor and his face was hidden behind a full helmet.
“Where’s what?” Jack shrugged, trying to nudge the other thermos into hiding with his toe.
“The MEC. Hand it over now!” The Vorloxian demanded. “Is that it?” He spotted the termos Jack was trying to hide and stepped toward it.
“Be careful with that!” Jack warned, trying to stall while he thought up a better plan. “It’s… highly irradiated. It may cause a runaway reaction if it’s opened in this small a space.”
The soldier hesitated with confusion, and rightly so. “Radiation and air exposure aren’t the same—”
“You don’t have to take our word for it,” Triss cut in. “But what would the other Vorlox say if you blew up the only working prototype of the MEC?”
“They would laugh,” he replied.
Jack and Alissa exchanged glances with Triss and Finn.
Jack decided to roll with it. “That’s right—they would laugh. And just looking at you, I can tell that you are one to do the laughing, not the other way around.”
“I crush anyone who laughs at me!” he bellowed.
“That’s right! So let’s not open that canister here, okay?” Alissa suggested.
The soldier’s gaze passed between them. “Fine. Come with me to Grant Pumba.”
“You mean ‘grand poobah’?” Triss clarified.
“What? No! Grant Pumba is the name of our mighty Vorlox leader.”
Finn snickered. “Oh, this is all going swimmingly.”
The guard carefully picked up the thermos from the floor and then ushered everyone off the ship.
Seven more Vorloxian soldiers were waiting in the hangar. They surrounded the crew of the Little Princess and directed them down a series of utilitarian hallways of polished steel and up a lift. Due to the elevator’s small size, four guards first rode up with Jack and Alissa, followed by the other four with Triss and Finn.
The destination floor had more refined finishes than the corridor leading from the hangar, including low-pile carpeting and integrated touch-displays in the walls.
“What is your leader going to do with us?” Alissa asked the guards.
“He will need to tell you himself,” one of the guards replied.
They reached the end of the hall, which terminated in a sliding door. The guards stepped forward and the door opened automatically, revealing a sophisticated conference room complete with an oblong conference table and holodisplay. Behind the table, a man and two women were seated in sleek swivel chairs.
The guards took up position along the front wall with four to either side of the entry door. The guard carrying the thermos stepped away from his post by the door just long enough to place the thermos in the center of the table within arm’s reach of the three seated individuals.
“Please, take a seat,” the man sitting in the chair at the center of the table said, gesturing to four chairs across from him. He was just past middle-aged and, like his female companions, appeared to be a completely normal human.
“Are you Grant Pumba?” Alissa asked as she and her three companions complied.
“I am,” Grant confirmed, smoothing back his brown hair touched with gray. “I must apologize for all the armor and pistol secrecy. The MEC is very important, as you know.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Alissa said hesitantly, “but you don’t seem like the crazy murderers the rumors have made you out to be.”
Grant laughed. “Oh, that all did get rather out of hand. It was necessary, though, to complete our work.”
“What work is that?” Jack questioned.
Grant looked to the dark-haired woman on the left. She folded her hands on the tabletop. “My name is Irine,” she stated. “I’m the Director of Research and Development for Competron.”
Jack’s mouth fell open. A quick glance to his right confirmed that his new friends were equally shocked.
Alissa shook her head. “I’m confused.”
“You’re not the only mole to have ever been placed within a corporation, Alissa,” Irine stated. “Competron sent our own to GiganCorp, but unlike you with your position, ours came back to us. We learned that the MEC was almost production-ready and we needed to act.”
“Most of the weapons and other dangerous black market tech circulating through the major channels originated with GiganCorp,” Grant explained. “With the MEC on the verge of going public, we knew that anything that could be adapted to becoming infinitely more powerful with the MEC needed to be taken off the street while there was still an opportunity to do so.”
“As the Director of Humanitarian Aid,” the other woman at the table added, “it was clear to me that Competron would never be able to continue our mission-driven work if GiganCorp’s products became little more than tools of destruction.”
“And we couldn’t go after GiganCorp directly,” Grant continued, “so the next best thing was to take out the supply network for distributing those weapons. With that severed, even once the MEC was released it would take much longer for the technology to work its way back into the hands of the truly dangerous individuals.”
Irine nodded. “And to take out that network, we couldn’t very well show up in Competron-branded ships. So, we invented the Vorlox persona as a distraction.”
Grant examined the confused faces of the Little Princess’ crew. “Everything you may have heard about us was part of that fabrication. In reality, our sole mission has been to take out the distribution network that could result in the MEC being used for harm. While that was motivation enough, things changed when we picked up the escape pods from the Luxuria—which we always do after taking out a base, to see if the weapon’s dealers are open to an alternate career path. When we chatted with Svetlana, we learned that you, Alissa, were a bridge between GiganCorp, Competron, and the mission of getting the MEC design out of GiganCorp’s hands.”
“Beth,” Irine indicated the blonde woman to Grant’s right, “had the idea to allow you to continue your mission to get the MEC with the hope you’d be successful and be open to siding with us once you knew what we were doing.”
“How is Svetlana cooperating with you?” Alissa asked. “She’s was the top weapons dealer in this sector. I’d think she’d—”
“We offered her and the other members of her crew jobs in medical sales. Very lucrative,” Grant replied.
“Oh.” Alissa shrugged.
“And I do hope you’ll consider working with us, as well,” Beth said. “The MEC can help so many people if we leverage Competron’s connections. You’d be well compensated.”
It took Alissa several seconds to find her voice. “What do you have in mind?”
“Improving planetary shields from stellar debris, power core for artificial organs to help the sick, portable electronics to bring education to children in remote settlements. The list goes on,” Beth replied. “The heart of it, though, is we want to spread happiness.”
“And all of that is possible with what you have hidden in this,” Grant said, gazing with admiration at the thermos placed in the center of the table.
“They said it might explode,” the guard who’d boarded the Little Princess warned from his post along the wall.
“I doubt that,” Grant said, reaching for the thermos. He unscrewed the top. “Wait, what’s this?” He stared with dismay at the contents and sniffed. “Is this coffee?”
“Ah, yeah, the MEC must be in the other thermos…” Jack mumbled.
Alissa glared at him, then looked back to Grant. “I’m not convinced you’re telling the truth. How can we know anything you said is true?”
Grant didn’t seem to hear her. “Wow, this coffee smells incredible!” He took a small sip from the thermos. “Stars! This…” he took several gulps, “this is the most amazing coffee I’ve ever tasted! And I feel all tingly—and i
nstantly energized! What’s your secret?”
Alissa’s eyed widened with surprise. “Well, I was playing around with using the MEC as a power source…”
Grant grinned. “Forget everything I said before. This, right here, is the answer we’ve been looking for.”
He passed the thermos to Beth and she tasted it. “Stars, you’re right! If anything would bring people together, it’s this.”
“Come again?” Finn asked.
“Making sure people are safe and smart is one thing, but a product like this would make them happy. No one would want to take up arms if they could start their day with a cup of this magical deliciousness,” Grant said.
“So you want to monetize it?” Alissa asked.
“Oh yes,” Grant confirmed.
“What happened to wanting to make sure they were telling the truth?” Jack asked her in a whisper.
“As long as we get paid, who cares?” she whispered back to him. Then, louder, “It’s my design and I already had plans to bring it to market. If you want to use it, then you’ll need to buy me out. And my friends here get a cut.” She smiled at her companions.
“Do you have the actual MEC and the schematics?” Grant asked.
Alissa nodded. “I do.”
Grant smiled. “Then I think we can work out a deal.”
CHAPTER 20: New Horizons
Jack reclined on the palatial couch in the common room of the Little Princess II. “I can get used to this.”
The new ship was ten times the size of the original and three times as fancy. Proceeds from the licensing of Alissa’s coffee brewing technique with the MEC, combined with the sale of the nano induction modules, had given Jack more than enough to pay off his debts, clear his warrants, and still come out way ahead. Though everyone could have easily afforded a ship of their own, they had decided to pool their resources and get a new ship together because, frankly, traveling through space alone was lonely and boring.
“I know money isn’t an issue now,” Alissa said from her motorized recliner in front of the massive holodisplay on the wall, “but traveling around in relative luxury is going to get dull. I like the thrill of the hunt.”
“I know what you mean,” Triss agreed from her matching recliner. “We can’t hide out forever wondering if GiganCorp is going to file charges against us.”
“I don’t think they will,” Finn countered. He repositioned on the couch perpendicular to Jack’s. “I mean, Competron has some pretty compelling evidence that GiganCorp was supplying weapons to the black market. If there’s any grievance about the MEC being stolen, that investigation will throw their dealings wide open. GiganCorp’s figurative hands are tied.”
Jack nodded. “So, if that’s the case, we pretty much have a ticket to do whatever we want.”
“That’s true,” Alissa agreed. “Further, we now have the means to buy whatever cool tech we can dream up.”
“So, we went from being in a life of crime to make ends meet to being criminals because we’re adrenaline junkies?” Triss questioned.
“That does seem to be the direction this is going,” Finn confirmed.
Triss shrugged. “Works for me.”
“What do you think we should do first?” Alissa asked to no one in particular.
“Well, the weapons black market is pretty shot, but the art and jewelry underworlds are alive and well,” Jack suggested.
“Pretending to be cultured now, huh?” Alissa ribbed.
“My expensive watch and the one painting hanging above the bed in my new cabin make me a veritable expert,” Jack joked back.
“I like art and shiny things,” Triss said. “I could get behind that.”
“As long as I get to crack safes, I’m good,” Finn agreed.
Alissa grinned. “All right. I think we have a plan of action.”
Jack chuckled. “Despite dealing in art and jewelry, whatever plan we devise is going to hinge on some absurd scenario revolving around food, isn’t it?”
Triss snorted. “Psh, yeah!”
“Speaking of which,” Finn said, “who’s hungry for taquitos?”
THE END
— — —
Want to read more by Amy DuBoff?
Cadicle: An Epic Space Opera Series
The lost colony of Earth has no idea that the galaxy-spanning Taran empire is on the brink of an interdimensional war...
A character-driven space opera with adventure, intrigue, romance, and telekinesis for fans of Dune, Ender's Game, and Star Wars!
When Cris leaves Tararia to pursue his telekinetic abilities, he thinks he's started a new life. Years later, he learns that freedom was always an illusion—he and his family are at the center of an elaborate galactic conspiracy. Written in the style of classic sci-fi from the Golden Age, the Cadicle series follows three generations of the Sietinen Dynasty as they discover their roles in a secret war. Torn by duty and morality, their decisions will change the course of the Taran civilization.
Read the complete seven-book series now:
Get Volume 1 now for only $0.99: http://smarturl.it/buycadicle1
Buy the Omnibus of Volumes 1-3 and save: http://smarturl.it/buycadicle123
About the Author
Amy has always loved science fiction in all its forms, including books, movies, shows, and games. If it involves outer space, even better! As a full-time author based in Oregon, Amy primarily writes character-driven science fiction and science-fantasy with broad scope and cool tech. When she's not writing, she enjoys travel, wine tasting, binge-watching TV series, and playing epic strategy board games.
Sign up for Amy’s newsletter and get a FREE story! http://www.subscribepage.com/amyduboffnews
Connect with Amy:
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authoramyduboff
Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/amyduboff
Website: http://www/amyduboff.com
Dodging Fate
by Zen DiPietro
A redshirt pits himself against the universe—which one will win?
Charlie Kenny has a fork phobia, a cyborg granny, and more bad luck than a black cat breaking a mirror on April Fool’s Day.
He’s on his way into space for the first time, and given his history, it’s bound to go epically bad.
Redshirts don’t get a happily-ever-after.
Chapter 1
So, I’m a redshirt.
I come from a long line of redshirts. I denied it for a long time, but when your family members have a habit of getting decapitated, impaled, or just plain dematerialized, you eventually have to face facts.
My dad had his spine removed from his body when a member of his crew de-evolved into what I can only describe as a cross between an alligator and a yeti. A yeti-gator, as we now refer to it.
My uncle was bitten by a phase-shifted arachnid and unintentionally relocated to an alternative universe that didn’t have oxygen. I mean, seriously. Try calculating those odds.
My grandmother was happily baking cookies when a cyborg transported into her kitchen and assimilated her. Technically, she’s still alive, and she does send me cookies every now and then, but to be honest, they taste like shit. Cyborgs have no idea how to make proper cookies.
My great-grandfather had just landed a cargo ship full of rutabagas when a nearby ship malfunctioned and shot a harpoon straight into the cockpit. A frigging harpoon. It doesn’t even make sense. You know what else? I have no idea what rutabagas are used for.
There are more examples, but relating the tragic demises of the majority of my family members is bumming me out. Do you have any idea how depressing family reunions are for the few of us that are left? So, let’s move on.
As soon as I accepted that I’m a redshirt (thanks to the diligent psychotherapy provided by one Dr. Ramalama), I decided I would be the one to break the cycle. To stop the madness. To change my family for the better, in the hope that one day we can qualify for the group discount when we visit the buffet on Mars. I have dreams. (I’m
not kidding, the hushpuppies there are to die for. If you ever go there, carry a really big purse. You’ll thank me later.)
Also, not being terrified for my life every time I get onto an escalator would be great. People look at you like you’re a real dumbass when you take a running leap to avoid the grates at the terminus. Besides, I have a cousin who died jumping. Just jumping. She landed, fractured both her femurs and suffered a pulmonary embolism. As a result, I kind of have a complex about jumping.
Actually, I have to be honest. I have a lot of complexes. I suspect Dr. Ramalama guided me toward my epiphany of self-realization just so I would leave the planet. Someone like me is just too much work for one mental healthcare professional. Whenever I brought up my fear of forks, I could practically hear her eyes roll.
That’s how I got to this point: boarding a transport ship for Mebdar IV. It’s a retirement planet. Most people see it as a fate worse than death. “Don’t even think of shipping me off to Mebdar IV,” I’ve heard many an elderly person say. But when it’s well established that your fate is death, your priorities shift. And for a guy like me, a place where all the food is soft with no bones or pits inside, and most walkways are lined with handrails, and there’s always staff nearby to hear a call for help...well, it sounds like perfection.
But before I can settle myself into that bubble-wrapped, user-friendly existence, I have to make it to Mebdar IV. This means a lengthy trip among the stars and, I assure you, space travel has never been kind to my people. I’d say, “Just ask my dad,” but you already know what happened to him. (The yeti-gator-spine-removal procedure.)
I can only hope my first trip into space will be less eventful.
Chapter 2
My trip to the space port proves to be unremarkable, which gives me hope for the journey ahead, even as Dr. Ramalama’s words ring in my memory. “Charlie, your attempts to create order in the universe by watching for harbingers is irrational.”
I know it’s true. But I also know that my cousin Tilda got a metal splinter in her finger from an ill-wrought writing scrib. She contracted blood poisoning almost immediately and died within a week. There are more ways to die than Dr. Ramalama ever thought about, and for me, forgetting about that fact would be the truly irrational action.