by G J Ogden
“Tory, wake up, he left you to die!” Hudson called over to her, as she staggered away. “Just come with me.”
Tory shook her head again. “No, he wouldn’t leave me,” she repeated, her voice now raised to a yell. “Not after everything I’ve done for him!”
“Tory!” Hudson shouted, but the mercenary was running now, down the twisted corridor, and back towards Cutler’s FS-31. “Tory!” Hudson cried again, running after her. He squinted against the flashing lights, but she was already gone.
Then the station shook again, and more cracks appeared in the walls. Atmosphere was now bleeding into space far more rapidly, and Hudson could feel fluctuations in the gravity field. It was like being on a rollercoaster, as it climbed and fell over a long series of humps, but without actually moving.
“Shit!” Hudson cried out, angry that Tory still could not tear herself away from Cutler’s vice-like hold on her. He turned and ran back to the Orion, before swinging inside and slamming the button to close the hatch. The heavy metal door began to close, but Hudson was already sprinting through the ship to the cockpit. He found Liberty in the second seat, leg up on the dash. All the Orion’s systems were online and ready.
“What the hell took you so long?!” she shouted, as Hudson threw off his pack and jumped into the pilot’s seat.
“That woman is so damn stubborn,” growled Hudson, flipping an array of switches and grabbing the controls.
“Sounds like someone else I know…” said Liberty, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Then she grabbed a lever on her right side. “Detaching… now!”
Hudson felt the docking clamp detach and thrusted hard away from the station. Lining the nose up with the comforting sea of stars at the far end of the docking bay, he then rammed the throttle lever forward. The kick of the engines was ferocious. Hudson glanced left and saw other hunter ships detaching, but one was caught in an explosion as the station began its final death throes.
“This is going to be close,” said Hudson as they shot out of the bay into space, like a bullet from a rifle.
“It already is close!” shouted Liberty, as a flash of light lit up the cockpit.
They felt the shockwave hit, then alarms rang out all around them. Hudson saw several warning lights flash on, but there were too many to take stock of.
“We’ve taken some damage,” he said, quickly surveying his consoles. “I don’t know how bad.” Then they heard the cockpit door lock, and the lights dimmed and turned red.
“Shit, we’re losing environmental systems,” said Liberty, who was also franticly checking her screens. “The cockpit has been sealed off as an emergency measure. We maybe only have an hour of oxygen in here.”
Hudson hammered his fist onto the arm of the chair, “Damn it, that’s nowhere near enough to get back to Deimos.”
“We’re going to have to set down on the planet for repairs,” added Liberty, “I’m afraid we’re not done with this system yet.”
Hudson sighed and cut the main drives, before pulsing the thrusters to bring the dying space station into view. Dozens of explosions rippled throughout the entirety of the massive structure, sending chunks of metal into space. Another explosion pushed the fractured alien wreck out from its resting place. Despite the violence of the explosions going off around it, and the impacts from debris, its thick alien armor resisted further damage. It again made Hudson wonder – and worry – what sort of ship could have taken it down in the first place.
“That’s not something you see every day,” said Liberty, shaking her head in awe.
Hudson was no longer looking at the unique spectacle outside; he was staring down at the navigation scanner. Two ships had perished in the escape, but the interference from the explosions was preventing a clear ID reading on the remaining vessels.
“Did she get out?” asked Liberty, causing Hudson to look up. She’d asked the question with genuine concern and sensitivity. “Tory, I mean… did she get out?”
Hudson sighed again, engaged the main drives and steered them on a course towards the planet.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, offering Liberty a weak smile. “But I hope so.”
CHAPTER 12
The shockwave from the detonation of the alien space station had damaged both Logan Griff’s RGF Patrol Craft and Cutler Wendell’s FS-31. Both had agreed a rendezvous on the planet’s surface, about a kilometer distant from the severed half of the alien wreck. Its counterpart, set free during the explosion of the station, was now in a decaying orbit. One day, it too would smash into the surface and become a hive for relic hunters looking to make their fortune.
The damage to Griff’s vessel had not been extensive. This was a lucky break, considering the relative fragility of his RGF Patrol Craft compared to most other ships. With the assistance of Cutler and Tory, he estimated that the patch-ups could be made in only a couple of hours, once they were on the ground.
Cutler’s FS-31 had fared slightly less well, on account of the mercenary’s last-second departure. After their heated exchange on the space station, Griff had expected there to be some tension between Cutler and Tory. However, as soon as they had met up at the rendezvous, it was clear to Griff that their relationship had soured. There was anger, bitterness and even resentment between them now, though it all bubbled under the surface, like magma beneath a volcano. It was because of this that Griff had held back from confronting Cutler about losing control on the station. He didn’t want to tip the mercenary over the edge, and have him snap on him, instead of Tory.
After assisting with the repairs to the RGF Patrol Craft, Cutler had left Tory to work on the FS-31, and remained with Griff. This in itself was unusual, Griff had thought. He and Cutler Wendell had always had a strong working relationship, based on mutual benefits. Yet Griff had been under no illusion that Cutler liked him, or considered him a friend. Not that Griff cared either way. However, after Cutler had so brusquely shrugged him off on the station, while he was threatening Liberty Devan, Griff been left with no doubts as to Cutler’s true opinion of him. Taking this into account, Griff was curious as to why the mercenary had chosen to pass the time with him, as opposed to his trained attack dog. And it was a mystery he intended to get to the bottom of.
Griff stepped down from the repair platform and deactivated it, causing it to slide back into its housing in the hull. He turned to Cutler, but he was staring off towards the alien wreck, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Griff also thought for a moment, then stepped into the cargo hold. He unclipped and then opened the supplies container, before taking out a beer for himself. Alcohol was prohibited on RGF vessels, but his private stash was another perk of Griff’s new position. He then dug deeper into the cooler and found a bottle of water. He knew that Cutler didn’t drink alcohol, and considered that the water might act as an ice breaker. He had no desire to make friends with the man; quite the opposite – he didn’t give two shits how Cutler felt. He merely hoped that the peace offering would loosen his tongue enough to find out what really happened on the station, after they had been split up.
Griff sidled up beside Cutler and held out the water, without speaking a word. For a few seconds they both stood side-by-side, looking at the wreck, with the water bottle hanging in the air. Then Cutler met Griff’s eyes, looked at the bottle and, also without a word, took it. The mercenary popped open the cap and took a polite sip, before finally breaking the silence.
“Thank you, Inspector.”
“Repairs to my ship are pretty much complete,” said Griff, after taking a swig of his beer. He intended to play it casual, and not bring up Tory, in the hope that Cutler would do it himself. “We were lucky to escape that station in one piece.”
“Did you detect Hudson Powell’s vessel?” Cutler replied, choosing not to engage with Griff’s attempts to make conversation. “Did your scanner pick up his vessel, after you departed?”
Griff shook his head, “No, that station was kicking out far too much EM interference.”
>
Cutler was silent for a few seconds, during which time he took staccato sips from the bottle of water, like an anxious bird drinking from a pond. “If Powell did not survive then I still expect to be compensated for my time so far.”
Griff almost laughed out loud. Mercs and relic hunters… Scum, the lot of them. Always out for whatever they can take, he thought. Normally he would have shot Cutler down, but he didn’t want to antagonize him, at least not until he’d revealed more information.
“Hudson Powell may be an idiot, but luck seems to follow him,” Griff replied. “I’m sure he survived. But if not, the RGF will compensate you for your efforts so far.”
This appeared to appease Cutler. However, Griff couldn’t resist the urge to add a thornier postscript to his last statement. And now that Cutler seemed unlikely to snap and kill him in a fit of rage, he decided to beat his chest a little. “Though if you go back on your word to me again, I’ll make sure the RGF takes a far keener interest in your activities in the future.”
Cutler glanced over to Griff briefly, but Griff didn’t meet his gaze. He continued to stare out imperiously at the wreck, drinking his beer. He had to reassert his authority over the mercenary. He had to know he could still trust him. Or at least trust that the mercenary would follow his orders.
“I apologize for what happened on the station,” said Cutler, and Griff had to fight hard to suppress a smile. “Hudson Powell has evaded me too many times. I am not accustomed to being made of fool of. Those that defy me end up dead.”
“You’ll get him soon enough,” said Griff, satisfied that he was again the alpha in the relationship. “And when I get that crystal, and the RGF finds a bunch of new portal worlds, we’ll both be rich. We’ll be rich, and Hudson Powell will be dead.”
“What did you intend to do with the girl, Liberty Devan?” asked Cutler.
The question came out of nowhere, and caught Griff off guard. He had purposely been holding back on personal queries until the right moment, and hadn’t expected to get asked one of his own. “Not what she thought I had in mind,” Griff answered, nodding in the direction of Cutler’s ship. It seemed like a good opportunity to bring Tory into the conversation. “Though, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind some bunk time with her.”
“Then what?” Cutler asked again. There was no hint of an accusation; Cutler had again buried his emotions deep down.
“That little bitch has slighted me one too many times,” said Griff, lacking Cutler’s emotional composure. “So, I’m going to sell her to one of the shittier corporations out in OPW space. Maybe even to the Council itself. That will teach her a lesson, and see me with a nice bounty to boot.”
Cutler nodded. “I understand.”
Griff’s attention was then diverted by the sound of boots crunching on the rocky soil of the desert planet. He turned around to see Tory Bellona approaching. She stopped about five meters away, and appeared even more standoffish than usual.
“The repairs are complete,” said Tory, ignoring Griff. “We can leave.” Then her expression hardened like the stone under her feet. “Don’t forget to wait for me this time.”
Griff’s eyes widened; the atmosphere between the two mercenaries was taut, like a tripwire. Cutler walked towards Tory, clearly uneasy at Griff’s proximity, and tried to usher her away. However, Tory appeared in no mood to be placated, and she also wasn’t going to be moved.
“I wouldn’t have left you,” said Cutler, trying to keep his voice hushed. However, the wind was in a favorable direction, and Griff could hear every word. He turned his back to the pair, in a feigned attempt to give them privacy, but Griff’s keen ears were still listening intently.
“But you did leave me,” said Tory, not even attempting to hush her words. “You left me unconscious on the floor of that damned alien station, while it was tearing itself apart.”
“I didn’t realize you were hurt,” Griff heard Cutler reply. Yet there was no emotion in his voice, and his monotone delivery sounded unconvincing, even to Griff. “I was waiting for you on the ship. I was still there when you returned, was I not?”
“Yes, you were still there,” Tory conceded, but even though Griff couldn’t see her face, he could tell she wasn’t being swayed by Cutler’s words. “But whether you were waiting for me, or just struggling to take off without me, I can’t say.”
Griff now remembered that Tory had been lying on the floor of the corridor, when he and Hudson Powell had fought. In the frantic moments after Hudson had let him leave, he’d forgotten all about her. However, Tory was right; Cutler had fled and left her to die, despite his protestations to the contrary.
Griff thought for a moment. A rift between Cutler and Tory was bad for business, he realized. Tory was already unpredictable, but he’d believed Cutler’s assertions that she was loyal. If the status quo between the two hunters was changing, then Tory was a threat to his mission. Griff knew in that moment that she’d have to go, but how and when was a problem for another time.
During Griff’s moments of reflection, there had been silence behind him, and so he chanced a look around. The relic hunter mercenaries both met his eyes, then broke apart, Tory still looking like a thundercloud that was about to erupt.
As if perfectly planned to break the tension, Griff’s wristpad chimed an alert. He read the message, which had been relayed from his ship’s computer, and laughed out loud.
“What the hell is so funny?” snapped Tory. One thing that hadn’t altered was her prickly attitude towards Griff.
“Always so touchy….” Griff hit back, sneering at her. “But if you must know, Hudson Powell’s ship has just landed. I think it’s funny that the dumb prick keeps coming back for more.”
“Landed where?” asked Cutler, driving straight to the point.
“About fifty kilometers away, up on that ridge behind the wreck,” said Griff, pointing in the general direction. “I guess he must need to make repairs too.”
“Then there is no time to lose,” said Cutler, immediately turning back towards his ship. “We can come in low, and keep the ridge between us and his vessel. Then attack his landing site on foot. With luck, he will not see us coming.” Then Cutler seemed to notice Griff was scowling at him. “Assuming you approve, of course, Inspector.”
Griff smiled. Cutler was back on the leash, at least for now. “Plan approved…” he said, but then added, more pointedly, “but be sure that you stick to the terms of our bargain this time.” The mercenary returned a respectful nod, and started jogging back to his ship.
Griff also turned to leave, but then noticed Tory was still there. He turned to her, frowning. “Something else you wanted to say?”
“What do you want with the girl?” said Tory, tersely.
Griff’s eyes narrowed, “That’s none of your concern. Just do what you’re hired to do, and stay out of my business, or…” Griff hesitated. His success in taming Cutler had gone to his head, and he’d overstepped with Tory. He knew that threatening her was never a good idea.
“Or what, asshole?” snarled Tory, resting a hand on the grip of her six-shooter.
Griff clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw started to hurt. He wanted to put Tory in her place, just as he had done to Cutler, but he didn’t want to catch a bullet for his trouble.
“Just do your job, Tory,” Griff said, choosing discretion over valor. “Or I’ll find someone else who will.”
CHAPTER 13
Hudson stood on the ridge and stared out at the fractured alien wreck, smashed into the rocks far in the distance below him. He’d seen many wrecks before, but none like this one. Torn in half along the center line, Hudson could see the maze of hexagonal corridors and cavernous internal spaces in a totally different light. It had already been understood that the alien hulks were largely giant engines and reactors, but even so, seeing it cut open was a revelation. It made it seem even more alien, somehow.
There were now six RGF vessels dotted around the hulk, and work had already
begun to establish the checkpoint perimeter. Hudson wondered what the other hunter crews had discovered inside, and how many were yet to emerge. He thought back to Percy Harrison, the intrepid hunter who had perished inside the wreck on Bach Two, and wondered if any of the hunters below would share a similar fate. He had always known that relic hunting was a perilous occupation. Even so, Hudson had perhaps underestimated just how dangerous it could be. Yet, despite this, he wasn’t discouraged. The things he’d seen and done in the short space of time since meeting Liberty had been the most exhilarating of his life. He’d finally found something he truly cared about. As well as someone.
He glanced back to check on Liberty, who was still working to repair the damage to the Orion. Hudson’s RGF training had included what was essentially battlefield medicine, and he’d been able to treat Liberty’s wound successfully. Thanks to a combination of advanced healing accelerants and rapid tissue repair treatments, Liberty was already on her feet. Though it would be a few days before she was back to her ninja-kicking best.
“How are the repairs coming along?” asked Hudson, hopping over the craggy rocks around their landing site and peering up at the Orion.
“Maybe another hour,” replied Liberty, without looking up from her datapad. She was directing a small fleet of repair automatons, which were doing the bulk of the work. “I’ve fixed the environmental systems, but the shockwave from the explosion hit us pretty hard, and I want to make sure everything is still bolted and sealed up tight. I wouldn’t want to risk a fuel line blowing on us at one-g, while we’re flying back to Mars.” Then she pointed up at the aft hull plating. “Our alien-infused armor saved our skins though. And, even better, it pretty much repairs itself.”
Hudson nodded and smiled. Liberty was clearly enjoying herself. He’d almost forgotten that her primary occupation, prior to galivanting around the galaxy with Hudson, was patching up and fixing space ships. “Roger that, I think I’m going to wander further along the ridge,” said Hudson. “I want to get another angle on that hulk down there.”