by G J Ogden
Hudson was about to congratulate her, when a tremor rumbled through the deck, like a low-level Earthquake. Liberty immediately lost her swagger.
“I’m sure that wasn’t me…” Liberty hastily added, holding up her hands. “Or, well, I’m sort of sure, anyway.”
Hudson wasn’t convinced, and as he shot an anxious glance back at Liberty, she looked as guilty as a puppy sitting next to a chewed-up slipper.
CHAPTER 8
Logan Griff edged along the corridor of the space station, his weapon held ready. He was careful to stay hidden from the other relic hunter crews that were racing ahead, deeper inside the alien outpost. However, unlike the hunters, his goal wasn’t to find new alien relics. His target was something that had already been discovered.
Griff raised his wristpad, scrolled to the name he wanted, and hit the ‘call connect’ button. A few seconds later, Cutler Wendell answered. “I’m on-board, and heading towards Powell’s ship now,” said Griff, flattening his body to the wall as a trio of hunters ran along an intersecting corridor.
“Understood, we’ll meet you there,” replied Cutler in his trademark, droning tenor. Griff could hear the sound of boots thumping against metal in the background. “I’d estimate that we’ll arrive in five minutes. Wendell, out.”
The channel went dead, and Griff lowered his wrist, scowling. “I might be shot dead by one of these low-life relic hunters in five minutes…” he grumbled. Then he continued towards where Hudson Powell’s ship was locked-on to the outer wall. He checked ahead, but the sound of boots clomping on the alien deck had gone. The coast was clear. “To hell with them; I’m not waiting,” he muttered under his breath, before stepping over the cut-out hatch lying on the deck and in to the docking ring of the Orion.
Griff pulled on the door release lever, but it was locked. He laughed. Maybe you’re not quite as dumb as you used to be, rook… he thought. He’d half-expected Hudson to have left his ship wide open. Griff stole another look outside to satisfy himself that no-one was sneaking up on him, then pried open a panel underneath the door release controls. He then attached a cable from his wristpad to the exposed service port on the Orion’s docking hatch, and initiated a bypass.
Over many years, the RGF had developed a sort of electronic skeleton key. The technology had been stolen and sold to the Council sometime later. It was this that had formed the basis of the ‘skellies’ that the more disreputable hunters and mercenaries used to break into places they shouldn’t be. In a similar way, Griff’s legitimate RGF device was designed to hack standard ship locking systems and allow officers access to abandoned relic hunter vessels. These ships, left over after their unfortunate owners died due to misadventure – or murder – inside a wreck, were considered ‘spoils of war’. However, while the program’s use outside of this official purpose was highly illegal, Griff’s unique new position afforded him certain special privileges.
The distant sound of gunfire forced Griff to arch his long, thin neck to look behind. He’d spent only a few minutes on the station, but already he was itching to get back to his own ship. He hated the wrecks and alien technology in general, but that the space station was active made it ten times worse. It was like standing in a cemetery where the dead rose around you, instead of remaining quietly entombed in their graves.
The wristpad bleeped and then the hatch lock flashed green. “Finally,” Griff muttered, yanking the door open.
“Bang!” a voice shouted out behind him.
Griff wheeled around, panic rising in his gut, and fumbled for his sidearm. Yanking it out of his holster, he then saw Tory Bellona standing in front of him, aiming her revolver at his head. Cutler was at her side.
“You’re dead,” Tory continued, before lowering the weapon.
“Shit, Tory, that wasn’t funny!” roared Griff, noting that the revolver had actually been cocked. He let his arms fall to his sides and pressed his head back against the Orion’s outer hull for support. “I could have shot you.”
Tory casually decocked the antique weapon and holstered it. “You would have had to hear me coming to shoot me,” she said, calmly. She was clearly gleaning some sadistic pleasure from tormenting him. “But you didn’t.”
“Can we just get on with this?” said Cutler, pushing past Tory and moving inside the Orion.
Tory raised her eyebrows and gestured to the open hatch. “After you, Inspector.”
Griff holstered his weapon, then pushed away from the hull, before stepping inside the ship. Tory followed close behind, hand still resting on her six-shooter.
Despite the fright Tory had given him, Griff actually felt more relaxed now that the mercenary was there. However, his nerves were still frayed, like the end of an old, worn rope. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes in a plain black wrapper. Plucking out one of the sticks into his mouth using only his lips, he then returned the packet to his shirt, before lighting the stick and inhaling deeply. The hit took some of the edge off his fractious nerves, but he could sense Tory behind him, as if she was still pointing a gun to his head.
“Those things will kill you,” complained Tory, before she added, with extra zeal, “hopefully…”
Griff laughed and blew out a plume of smoke above his head. “Not me, I’m a survivor,” he hit back, sucking in another drag of the cigarette.
“You won’t survive the next five minutes if you keep blowing that shit in my direction,” Tory snarled.
Griff stopped and then waved Tory on, smiling at her with his yellow teeth. Tory brushed past him, waving her hands furiously in front of her face to clear the smoke, as if she was trying to swat a fly.
“VCX-110 Light Courier Runner,” Cutler said out loud, while making his way on-board, “What a piece of junk.”
“I like it,” Tory said, as she moved past Cutler. Even with Cutler’s hard-to-read facial expressions, Griff could see that her response had surprised the mercenary. “It’s trustworthy and reliable. An honest ship,” Tory went on, pressing the palm of her hand to the wall of the corridor.
Griff scowled and then blew another plume of smoke above his head. “I don’t give a shit if it’s the USS Enterprise, let’s just find this crystal and get the hell off this station.”
“I’ll check the cockpit and main living space,” said Cutler. “You two work aft. Check their living quarters, in case they’ve hidden it while they’re both off the ship, and then move on to engineering.”
“Hey, don’t forget I give the orders around here,” Griff said, jabbing his cigarette in Cutler’s direction.
Cutler scowled, “Then what would like us to do, Inspector?”
Griff shrugged, “You go to the cockpit, and we’ll work aft,” he said, smiling.
“A brilliant plan,” replied Cutler, dully, before moving towards the living space.
“Looks like you’re with me,” said Griff, indicating for Tory to go ahead.
“Lucky me,” Tory answered, again wafting her hand to clear the smoke, and then marching off ahead.
Griff and Tory then worked from section to section, Griff laying a trail of ash from his cigarette onto the deck as he went. Their first stop was the passenger cabins, and Tory went in first, slamming open the door as if expecting to catch someone inside. Griff then watched as she methodically searched through the cupboards and drawers. However, all she found was an assortment of clothes, including an old blue-grey RAF boiler suit, plus various tools and random electronics.
“These are Liberty Devan’s quarters,” said Tory, stepping back outside the door. “There’s nothing in here, especially not for you.”
Griff squeezed past Tory and entered the room anyway. “I think I’ll double check, just in case,” he said, talking with the cigarette still in his mouth. He then began to sift through Liberty’s clothes, while Tory looked on, her mouth puckered as if she had a slice of lemon on her tongue.
“Get out of there, you lecherous creep,” said Tory, the disgust obvious i
n her voice. “There’s nothing in there, like I told you.”
Griff smiled up at Tory and stubbed out his cigarette on the table by the side of the bed. It burned a scorch mark into the polymer top. “I disagree,” he said, grabbing one of Liberty’s tank tops and then pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Mmm, delicious. It smells like desperation and bad life choices.”
Tory snatched the top from Griff’s hands and then yanked him out of the room, before pressing her forearm to his throat.
“Take it easy…” Griff spluttered, as Tory added pressure. “It was… a… joke…”
Tory released him and then stepped back, as Griff pushed himself away from the wall, rubbing his neck. “Shit, Tory, just whose side are you on, anyway?”
Tory’s eyes remained locked on to Griff like a homing missile tracking its target. “I’m not on anyone’s side, asshole,” she growled, fists clenched tightly.
She was raging, and Griff realized then that he’d never actually seen Tory angry before. Not really. He’d seen her act pissed off, frustrated, apathetic, relentless and with a chilling, violent ruthlessness, but never angry. It scared the hell out of him.
Just then the ship began to shake, forcing them to grab onto the walls to steady themselves. The sense of danger took over, and both of them immediately ran towards the cockpit area to find Cutler. They met him in the living space, running the other way.
“Was that you?” Griff blurted out, “Why the hell have you powered up the ship?”
Cutler scowled, “I haven’t, I thought it might have been something you did in engineering.”
“We didn’t get that far,” answered Tory, before glowering at Griff.
Another tremor rumbled through the deck of the ship, shaking used whiskey glasses off the table in front of the semicircular couch.
“If it’s not the ship then it’s the station,” said Cutler. “We must leave.”
Cutler brushed past Griff, and Tory followed him, but Griff held his ground. “Hey, like I already told you, I give the orders around here,” he barked. “We came to find the crystal, and we’re not leaving without it.”
“If they have hidden this crystal then it could take hours to locate it,” answered Cutler. “That is time I do not believe we have. If these tremors are emanating from the station, it may already be unstable. And Hudson Powell will be returning soon.”
Cutler again moved to leave, but Griff chased after him and grabbed his arm. Cutler glowered back at Griff, his face for once displaying some emotion, and Griff immediately let go. “If he’s coming back then good,” said Griff, taking a step away from Cutler. He’d only ever truly feared Tory, but now he saw that Cutler could be just as dangerously unpredictable. He needed to watch his step. “We wait for him to return, ambush him, and then force him to give us the crystal.”
Cutler glanced at Tory, whose expression gave nothing away, and then back to Griff. “Fine, but once we have the crystal, I alone get to kill him, agreed?”
“I don’t give a shit about Powell,” said Griff. “Once we have the crystal, you can do whatever the hell you want with him.”
“Agreed,” said Cutler, before again turning to leave.
“The girl is mine, though,” added Griff, remembering the idea he’d had back in the officer’s mess on Deimos Station. Cutler and Tory both stopped and turned in almost perfect synchronization.
“What do you want with her, you disgusting piece of shit?” snapped Tory, resting a hand on her weapon.
“That is none of our concern,” Cutler cut in, dismissing Tory’s obvious distaste for Griff’s proposal with a waft of his hand. Then he looked at Griff and added, in his sinister, flat drawl. “If you want to take the girl alive then that is your business. But it is not part of our bargain, and I will not help you.”
“I don’t need your help with her,” said Griff, annoyed that Cutler was seeming to imply otherwise. “I just need for you not to kill her, that’s all.” Then he glanced at Tory, before looking back at Cutler. “A girl with her talents would be of great interest to certain organizations in the Outer Portal Worlds.”
Tory looked ready to jump Griff, but then a violent quake suddenly rocked the ship, knocking them all to the deck. It rumbled on for several seconds, during which time Griff took cover underneath the table in front of the semicircular couch. When it finally eased, Cutler was quick to get up and move.
“This is madness! Staying here much longer is suicide,” Cutler yelled, as Griff climbed out from underneath the table. The mercenary appeared genuinely rattled; another emotional state that was almost unheard of for Cutler. “If Powell doesn’t return soon, there will be nothing left of him, or this station.”
“We had a deal, Cutler,” snarled Griff.
“And I will uphold it,” Cutler replied. “But no part of that deal involved me dying on this space station. If Powell returns soon, then we take him. If not, we leave and await another opportunity.”
This time Cutler did leave the living space, but Tory hung back, watching Griff like a hawk. Griff scowled at her and went to move past, but Tory held up her arm to stop him.
“Take the crystal,” said Tory, with a quiet menace, “But, I don’t care what Cutler said; touch a hair on her head, and I’ll hunt you down myself.”
As much as Griff found Tory nice to look at, he was weary of her constant, disrespectful attitude. Tory was under his employ. In fact, she wasn’t even that – she was just the hired gun for the person under his employ. Griff called the shots, and he could do whatever the hell he liked.
“You’ll do whatever Cutler tells you,” he hit back, before pushing past Tory. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have dared put a hand on her, but she’d pissed him off past the point of rational decision-making. “And Cutler does whatever I tell him.” Then he leveled a bony yellow finger at Tory. “You don’t want me as an enemy, Tory. I know what you are, and I know what you were. And I can see to it that you’re sent right back there!”
Tory looked about ready to shred Griff into chunks, but the last statement seemed to stun her into silence. Griff hadn’t intended to let on he knew anything about Tory’s indentured past, but she had riled him, and he’d let it slip out. Nevertheless, he’d definitely meant the threat. It’s about damn time Tory learned her place, he told himself.
Tory Bellona remained silent, so Griff grasped the opportunity to leave, before she decided to use her antique revolver in anger. He reached the intersection, that cut off towards the docking ring, and glanced back at the mercenary. She was still in the living space, where he’d left her, as if Griff’s words had temporarily paralyzed her body.
Another smaller tremor then vibrated through the deck plating, and Griff took one last look back at Tory, before running for the door. However, he wasn’t sure if it was the vibration of the ship that was causing Tory to shake, or the rage bubbling inside her veins. And he didn’t want to be around to find out.
CHAPTER 9
Hudson clutched onto the frame of the door as another tremor rumbled through the station. As much as he liked to joke about Liberty blowing things up, he doubted short-circuiting a few wires inside a door panel was enough to send an entire space station into meltdown. When he was confident the tremor had subsided, he quickly moved past Liberty, into what they had assumed to be a storage bay.
“This station has been shut down for who knows how long, before today,” Hudson said, giving Liberty a reassuring rap on the shoulder as he passed. “We don’t know anything about why it lost power to begin with, or how bad or extensive the damage is. You may be good at causing chaos, Liberty, but you didn’t do this.”
“Whatever you say, skipper…” replied Liberty, appearing relieved that Hudson hadn’t blamed her for causing the quakes. She quickly followed him inside, and started to scour the racks and open lockers for valuable items.
“It was the alien crystal that triggered this station to power up,” Hudson added. “I know you’re more the betting type than I am, b
ut I’d put money on that massive power surge being the cause of the instability, rather than your hotwiring trick.”
“I hope you’re right,” replied Liberty, quickly pocketing a few smaller items. “Either way, I don’t think we should wait around too long to find out what happens next.”
Hudson pushed open the lids on a cluster of containers and peered inside, looking for familiar relics first. As he was doing this, another quake shook the deck, causing two containers on a higher level to fall. He dodged, narrowly avoiding being crushed, and then shook his head and blew out a thankful sigh. “This has stopped being fun,” he called over to Liberty. “Let’s just bag up what we have and get the hell off the station.”
There was no complaint from Liberty, who quickly began to sift through the items dislodged from the last tremor. She tossed the valuable ones into her rucksack, being less discriminate than she’d ordinarily be. Meanwhile, Hudson started to fill his bag with anything he judged might have value. But he was more concerned with being fast than being choosy.
Another tremor hit, and this time it was strong enough to throw them both off their feet. “Okay, that’s it, we’re leaving,” said Hudson, pulling the drawstring on his rucksack and clipping the flap shut.
“Just a couple more minutes; there’s some good stuff in here,” said Liberty, still busily sorting through the items that had spilled to the deck.
Hudson slung on his rucksack and crouched down in front of her, “Liberty, come on, there will be other scores,” he said, this time with a cold seriousness. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this place. We need to get out.”
Liberty dropped one last relic into her bag and fastened the flap shut, “Okay, but there’s enough in here to buy us our own private docking garage back on Brahms Three.”
“I never thought I’d miss Brahms Three’s sweaty scavenger town,” said Hudson, stepping back to the open door, “But I’ll take it over this freezing deathtrap, any day.”