Star Scavenger: The Complete Series Books 1-5

by G J Ogden

  “Oh, I would never…” Swinsler began to protest, but Cutler was done talking, and just turned away and addressed Griff instead.

  “There’s a shelter underneath this lot where we can lay low for a while,” he said, before gesturing for Griff to go ahead. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Griff sucked in the last of the cigarette and flicked the stub to the ground. Cutler seemed to have intentionally mimicked Griff’s curt gesture earlier, which made him suspicious. However, he was too tired to care. All he wanted was something soft to lie on, and a stiff drink. “This place had better be more comfortable than that piece-of-crap shuttle you lumbered us with,” he grumbled, before walking towards the pre-fab that Cutler had indicated.

  Swinsler then anxiously shuffled towards Griff, while calling out, “No, the entrance is…”

  “I know where to go, Swinsler,” Cutler cut-in sharply, and with uncharacteristic venom. He then glared back at the little man, who immediately halted his advance towards Griff, before shrinking away, apologetically.

  Griff had seen such fierce intensity from Cutler perhaps only once before, when they were on the alien space station. At that time Cutler had lashed out at Griff, and demonstrated his clear contempt for him. The mercenary’s similar reaction now only heightened Griff’s feelings that he was planning something.

  “Just get to work fixing the shuttle,” Cutler demanded, still addressing Swinsler. “We may need to leave at a moment’s notice.”

  Swinsler withdrew, bowing his head slightly. Griff felt his pulse quicken, but he continued on towards the pre-fab, his mind racing. What was Swinsler about to say? Griff asked himself. ‘No, the entrance is…’ not in there? Was that it? He’s leading me to the wrong building, but why? Then a chill ran down Griff’s spine, as he suddenly realized that Cutler was preparing to make a move. He cursed himself for not having anticipated the mercenary’s double-cross sooner, but now Cutler’s choice of timing was obvious to him. Cutler had already benefited from Griff’s RGF credentials to get him to Earth, without being detected. Now, Griff was merely superfluous to requirements – he was excess baggage that Cutler intended to cut loose.

  Griff knew he had to act quickly. Cutler would not want to cause a scene, and potentially draw unwanted attention to the lot. Griff guessed that this was why Cutler was leading him towards one of the pre-fabs. He assumed that as soon as Griff set foot inside the building, the mercenary would try to take him out. Griff had to stall him, and find a way to flip the situation to his advantage instead, otherwise he was dead.

  “So, how did you find out about this place, anyway?” asked Griff, thinking on his feet and trying to find a way to delay Cutler. He glanced back at the mercenary, while reaching for his pack of cigarettes. He could see that Cutler’s hand was already hovering near his holster.

  “Word of mouth,” replied Cutler, flatly. “Other mercenaries told me about it.” Then he gestured to the building again, “Are you finished with your unnecessary questions now?”

  Griff stopped and turned around, forcing himself to smile, and pretend to be Cutler’s friend. The mercenary’s impatience to get him inside the pre-fab only served to validate his suspicions. “These mercenaries; did they tell you about this place willingly or unwillingly?” Griff asked, as Cutler slowed, to avoid overtaking him.

  “What does it matter?” replied Cutler, tartly. “Just get inside, we’re wasting time.”

  Then Griff deliberately fumbled the pack of cigarettes, letting it fall onto the gravel surface in front of Cutler’s feet. The mercenary stopped just short of stepping on the packet.

  “Shit. You wouldn’t mind grabbing that for me, would you?” said Griff, his heart now pounding like a drum. “It’s my last packet, and I won’t get another while we’re on Earth.”

  Cutler sighed despairingly, and reached down for the cigarettes. “You would live longer if you just let me stamp on them instead,” said Cutler, snatching the packet into his hand.

  Griff took his chance and drew his weapon sharply, before aiming it at the top of Cutler’s head, “No, I think I’ll live longer without you around,” he said, as Cutler froze, then glared up at him. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Griff spat, “I knew you only needed me to get back on Earth. And I knew you’d double-cross me as soon as we got there, just like you’re trying to do now.”

  Cutler rose slowly, cigarette packet in hand. He looked at the pistol, and then into Griff’s eyes. “Put the weapon down, Inspector,” he said, appearing calm, but Griff could see the flicker of fear in his eyes. “I have no reason to kill you; we still need each other. We have more chance of evading the Council if we work together.”

  Griff laughed, “I won’t need to evade the Council once I hand them your dead body, and pin the Devan girl’s escape on you,” he said. Griff felt suddenly invigorated. If he handed Cutler over to the Council, plus whatever credits he had left as a gesture to compensate for their losses, he was sure it would be enough to get the criminal gang off his back. Then the credits that Wash paid him for saving her scrawny ass would reimburse him several times over. It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d planned it. “I’m afraid this is where our partnership ends,” he sneered, repeating the words that Cutler had spoken to Tory, before the mercenary had abandoned her on Chrome One.

  Then unexpectedly he heard Swinsler’s voice shout out, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Griff scowled and shot a glance over to Swinsler, who was standing just outside the door of his office. Griff could see a figure approaching the dealer, but he couldn’t quite make them out in the gloomy light. Suddenly his weapon was slapped from his hand, and Cutler rushed forward, driving Griff back and into the wall of the pre-fab building.

  Griff yelped as his head slammed against the wall, then he saw Cutler reach for his own weapon. Survival instincts kicked in, and Griff grabbed the mercenary’s wrist, forcing it down so that he couldn’t get a shot. They wrestled, Griff trying to shake the pistol from Cutler’s grasp, while the mercenary hammered him repeatedly against the wall, trying to break his hold. Despite Griff’s greater height, Cutler was by far the stronger of the two men. He overpowered Griff and forced him to his knees before driving an elbow into his craggy face.

  Griff collapsed to the gravel, blood pouring from his nose. His weapon lay on the ground a few meters away and, to his horror, the alien crystal fragment was sitting beside it. He patted down his jacket, pressing bloody hand prints to the fabric, and realized that the relic must have fallen out during the fight.

  “I have always despised you, Inspector Griff,” spat Cutler, aiming his weapon at Griff’s head. He appeared not to have noticed the crystal on the ground to his side. “I despise your arrogance, your over-inflated opinion of your abilities, and your abject cowardice. I even despise your ridiculous mustache! You are and always were nothing without that RGF shield.”

  Griff wiped the blood from his nose and mouth, and spat bloody saliva onto the gravel by Cutler’s feet. “So, what does that make you?” he hit back. If Cutler was going to kill him, he’d be damned if the jumped-up mercenary would get any satisfaction from him. “All you are is a hired hand. At least I was something. You? You’ll always be someone else’s errand-boy!”

  Cutler tightened his grip on the pistol. His face was red with fury, and all traces of his trademark composure were gone. “At least I won’t be your errand-boy any longer. Goodbye, Inspector.”

  Griff had nothing to lose. He dove for his weapon, but fell tantalizingly short of it. Despair overcame him, and he just lay, face down in the gravel, waiting for Cutler to end his life.

  “Do it!” Griff growled, tasting the gravel in his mouth. Then he shut his eyes tightly, and yelled, “Do it, already!”

  The crack of a pistol firing filled the air, but after the report had faded to nothing, Griff found that he was still alive. Tentatively, he lifted his head off the dirt and saw Cutler also lying on the ground close by. Griff frowned, and pushed himself to his
knees, unable to make sense of what had happened. He stared down at the mercenary, who was groaning in agony while clutching his shoulder, before turning to look in the direction the shot had come from. Standing in the lot, with smoke oozing from the barrel of her weapon, was Jane Wash.

  Griff scrambled to his feet, too stunned to speak, as Wash ran towards him. Then he spotted Cutler, scurrying away behind one of the pre-fabs, and he rushed to pick up his weapon. It was then that he noticed the crystal had gone. “Shit!” Griff cursed, punching the air in frustration.

  “Get out of the damn way,” Wash called out, causing Griff to spin around. She was waving her weapon at him, desperate for him to step aside. “Griff, move!”

  Griff ducked down as Wash ran alongside him, aiming off towards where Cutler had last been seen. However, the mercenary had gone, leaving a thin trail of blood on the gravel.

  “You idiot, you let him get away!” Wash cursed, before turning back to Griff. He was still too much in shock to react. “Well, don’t just stand there, go and find him!” Wash yelled in his face.

  The shrill shout of his former commander jolted his senses. It was like being back in the RGF briefing room again, while Wash dished out scoldings and orders. Suddenly alert, Griff grabbed his weapon off the gravel floor and followed the trail of blood, noting that Cutler’s weapon still lay discarded. Wash moved around the other side, and together they pursued the trail until they reached the perimeter fence of the lot.

  “Where the hell did he go?” shouted Griff, spinning around and checking the darker nooks and crannies of the lot. “He couldn’t have climbed the fence, not with his arm all shot up like that.”

  Wash moved to the fence and tugged on the wire. A flap lifted up; it was just enough for a man to squeeze through.

  “Damn it!” snarled Griff, peering through the fence to spot the mercenary. However, Swinsler’s lot was alongside a maze of abandoned and part-derelict warehouses and industrial units. It would have been easy for Cutler to slip away unseen, and in the darkness, Griff knew they had no hope of finding him.

  “I have only been here for five minutes, and already you’ve screwed this up!” snapped Wash, before kicking the fence.

  Griff glared at Wash. It hadn’t taken long for her contempt and condescension to surface. However, unlike Cutler Wendell, he actually needed his spiky former commanding officer to get out of the new mess he was in. “He’s shot up and unarmed. He won’t be a problem for us any time soon,” said Griff, standing his ground. “And we’ll be off this rock long before he is.”

  Wash glowered back at him and holstered her weapon. “You’d better be right,” she snarled, jabbing a manicured finger at him. This time, however, her nail was chipped. She then turned on her heels, and set off back towards Swinsler’s office. “At least you still have that alien crystal,” she added, glancing back at him.

  Griff winced and he could tell that Wash had immediately read his expression correctly. His former commander stopped, and spun back to face him.

  “Are you telling me that you don’t have it?” Wash screeched, throwing her hands up in despair.

  “Cutler has the damn crystal, okay?” replied Griff, though he chose not to explain how or when the mercenary had acquired it. “Or he has a fragment of it, at least.”

  Wash then folded her arms, “What do you mean he only has a fragment of it? What happened to the rest?”

  “Look, I’ll explain how later,” said Griff, trying to head off another dressing-down.

  Wash shook her head again, “You just can’t do anything right, can you?”

  “We don’t need the damn crystal,” Griff hit back again. At this point, even Cutler’s company would have been preferable, he thought to himself. “You have the credits, and I can get us IDs. We have a shuttle. So, what does it matter?”

  “That crystal is the only bargaining chip we have with the CET and MP authorities,” said Wash. “Sooner or later this mess with the alien ship will blow over. And if the CET or MP military catch up with us, that crystal is our negotiating power. It’s our insurance.” Then she held Griff’s eyes and pointed her finger at him again. He recognized the look at once; Wash had made her decision, and there was no reasoning with her. “We are not leaving until we have it back.”

  Seemingly content that she’d made her point, Wash started to head back towards the cowering form of Swinsler. The crooked dealer had apparently been quietly observing the scene as it unfolded.

  “Getting it back won’t be easy,” Griff called out. He knew it was pointless to argue with Wash, but he also wanted to make his points heard. “Cutler will just sell it the first chance he gets.”

  However, Wash didn’t stop walking this time. Instead, she just glanced back to Griff and said, “For your sake, Inspector, you’d better hope you get it back, before that happens.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Hudson stepped off the Orion and onto the deck of the hangar bay at Deimos Station. After taking a hit from a seed drone during their escape from Sapphire Alpha, he wanted to get the Orion checked over properly. Moreover, as a consequence of their many alien upgrades, they were also low on fuel. Like a big V8 muscle car, the Orion was powerful, but not exactly economical.

  Hudson hadn’t wanted to rely on the services in the Gale Basin, and Tory had agreed. Council-run spaceports were notorious for supplying low-grade fuels, sometimes causing ships to become stranded, or even blow an engine. Besides, Hudson had considered it wiser in general not to allow criminal organizations to work on one's ship.

  Deimos Station was unusually quiet. Besides the Orion, the only other vessels that were docked were MP military ships, and a couple of private shuttles. There was also only a skeleton crew on deck.

  “Where is everyone?” Hudson asked, stepping up to the deck chief.

  The man shrugged lazily, “This gossip about a giant alien spaceship has them all spooked, I think,” he said, while looking over the Orion’s manifest. “Not that I blame them. The MP folk are all in the lower decks, in their outpost here, so the rest of the station is dead.”

  Hudson nodded. News of Goliath had spread, and it was no surprise that people would want to return to their homes, whether on Mars or elsewhere in the core system or portal worlds. “So, why are you still here?” Hudson asked the deck chief, curious as to why he’d stayed, despite knowing about the threat.

  “Are you kidding? I get triple time covering for all those chicken-shits that bunked off,” he said, smiling. Then he waved a thumb towards the MP ships in the hangar. “Besides, have you seen the firepower in here? And word has it that all the top dog MP cruisers are in orbit around Mars too. Hell, if anything big, bad and alien does come at us, I figure the safest place is right here.”

  Hudson turned to look at the rows of MP gunboats in the hangar. Ordinarily, he would have considered the deck chief’s reasoning to be sound. However, the man was blissfully ignorant of what Goliath was capable of.

  He turned back to the deck chief, and fixed him with a sober stare. “Take my advice, chief, and get out of here while you can,” he said, wiping the could-care-less look off the man’s face. “Trust me, if that alien ship does come here, all the firepower in the MP’s armada won’t make a dent in it.”

  Hudson left the man to ponder what he’d said, and stared back at the gunboats. Thousands of people crewed the military ships of both the CET and MP fleets. However, that number paled in comparison to the millions on the portal worlds, and the billions on the planets, moons and space stations of the solar system. All would perish if Goliath’s rampage was left unchecked.

  Despite the threat from Goliath, the military build-up around Earth had also enflamed tensions between the MP and the CET. Admiral Shelby and Commodore Trent may have agreed to amass their fleets as a precautionary measure, but the deep mistrust between them remained.

  Hudson had experienced the paranoia and intransigence of Admiral Shelby several times before. He could well imagine that the stuck-up MP commander would
be more concerned about a CET invasion, than an attack from an alien mega-ship. Hudson shook his head. Despite their advances, and despite all the might of humankind’s powerful military warships, it fell to him and a few others to save humanity. Because if they didn’t stop Goliath then no-one would.

  While Hudson was lost in his own thoughts, Tory had paid the docking fee and fuel costs, without being asked, and was now waiting for him by the docking bay exit.

  “Given the lack of deck crew, it will be a few hours before the inspection is complete,” said Tory. “Though it will be interesting to see what they make of the tech your friend Morphus added.”

  Hudson nodded, “Let them be confused,” he replied, “so long as they tell me the Orion can still handle a few high-g burns, I don’t care what they think. We’ve got a long way to travel yet.”

  “Well, I guess there’s only one thing for it then,” said Tory, walking through the archway and into the corridor outside.

  Hudson raised a curious eyebrow, and followed her. “What’s that then?”

  Tory glanced back at him, and returned a matching eyebrow-raise. “We go for a drink, of course.” Then she shrugged, casually, “Well, a few drinks, actually…”

  Hudson smiled and jogged briefly to catch up with her. “I’m game, so long as you don’t mind being the one to fly us down to Mars later,” he said, remembering how the only person he’d ever seen put away more whiskey than Tory in one sitting was Ma. Then he remembered the miraculous pills that Ma had slipped him in the Landing Strip, before his raid on the UEC vault, and huffed a laugh. “Though if you happen to be stashing any nanolivers in one of those pouches on your belt, I guess we could have a proper session.”

  Tory glanced over at him, the faintest suggestion of a smile curling the corner of her mouth. She then popped open one of the pouches on her belt, and removed a box. She shook it, and it rattled.

  Hudson shook his head in astonishment, “You do have some, don’t you?” he asked, but Tory just shrugged again, before slipping the box back into the pouch and refastening the popper.