Unclear Skies

by Jason LaPier

  Jax bit his lip. “I’m sorry, man. I really appreciate the rescue and all. I just don’t think I’m – uh – Space Waste material.”

  The other man sighed heavily and turned in a way that made Jax realize for the first time that there was a massive firearm of some kind strapped to his back. “Dava was really hoping you’d help us out.” He drew the words out carefully.

  There was a sudden dull pounding that caused Jax to flinch and look around the hallway. The source seemed to be a nearby door, similar to the one he just came through.

  “Mister Guy,” Barndoor said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, we’re going to rename him after initiation.”

  The pounding faded and Jax was sure he could hear soft crying. “You mean … is he a prisoner?”

  “No, he’s another recruit,” he said with a nod. “He’ll come around. They always do.”

  Jax tried not to stare at the sobbing door. “Did Dava say I could go if I didn’t want to take the job?” he asked quietly.

  Barndoor’s face scrunched up and his eyes rolled around as he made a humming sound. “Kind of. She said if you said no to put you out the airlock.”

  Jax blew his cheeks out in a sigh. “Does this job at least pay?”

  “Of course,” he said with a broad smile.

  “Good.” Jax nodded over his shoulder at the tiny room and the stain on the floor. “I need to replace my breakfast and then have several dozen drinks.”

  CHAPTER 20

  When they came out of subwarp, Runstom made the cadet take the stick so he could talk to McManus. The ModPol sergeant had barely said a sentence since Runstom had come to the rescue of the incapacitated prisoner transport vessel. When he’d shown up outside of Barnard-5, the gas giant around which Terroneous orbited, he wasn’t expecting to find anything but the tracks of McManus and his crew. If he were lucky, he thought he’d find them still on the moon, eluded by Jax, but he had not really expected to be lucky.

  Instead, he’d picked up their encrypted distress signal. No thrusters, no weapons systems, not much of anything other than life support, which seemed to be normal. As per protocol, they hadn’t contacted any civilians to ask for help, since it hadn’t yet been a completely life-threatening situation. He didn’t imagine they expected another ModPol vessel to happen along where the only life nearby was an independent moon. It seemed to Runstom that they were only going by protocol because McManus had wanted to sit around and stew about his misfortune.

  “Now this baby,” Cadet Katsumi said a few minutes after taking the pilot seat. “This baby is a mover.”

  “I can’t believe you’re letting her fly,” McManus grumbled. “She almost got us killed. Supposed to be some hotshot pilot and she couldn’t take on one fighter.”

  “It’s not my fault, Sarge!” She turned to protest. “That transport thing has no pickup, no maneuver. It’s like flying through mud.”

  “Turn around and keep your eyes on the road.”

  She gave him a look that was part challenge, part like she was trying to work out exactly what a road was. Her mouth pinched up and then she turned back to the stick. “But this baby, wow. What a rocket!”

  McManus cursed under his breath and gave Runstom a sideways glance.

  McManus had aged greatly in the several months that had passed since they’d last seen each other. The gray streaks that ran along the sides of his head had gone whiter and more prominent as the rest of his hair had thinned. And the title – sergeant. Runstom found it hard to believe McManus deserved a promotion.

  “So what is this,” McManus said, as though he could feel Runstom inspecting him. “Is it like the company car or something?”

  “Something like that,” Runstom said. “It’s a little too flashy for me.”

  The new ride had been waiting for him at Outpost Gamma, fresh in from a shipyard. His boss, Victoria Horus, had ordered it and had it sent to be there when Runstom arrived. She played it up like she was rewarding Runstom, or maybe spoiling him, or maybe trying to put Runstom in her debt. But there was a practical angle too, and that’s what her explanation was: that some potential customers were impressed by style and extravagance. Runstom thought that customers would see it as an unnecessary expense, a waste of resources, but Horus waved it off, saying that there were customers who would think, If they spend this kind of money on their image, imagine how much they spend on their guns.

  So there it was. An OrbitBurner 4200 LX. Top of the line AI-assisted coordination systems, flyable by a single pilot with no other crew, yet large enough to comfortably entertain two dozen guests. Runstom had to admit, it did seem to move like a dream, though at the compromise of having absolutely zero defensive capabilities.

  “Well, at least my guys are comfortable, I guess.” McManus’s crew had found the entertainment chamber and were watching HV. He glanced at the door of the bridge as though he wanted to join them, but was unable to. Trapped by Runstom’s invitation that he come up and chat. His eyes swung back around and glared at Runstom. “What the hell were you doing out there at Terroneous?”

  “I wasn’t on Terroneous.”

  “You were in the vicinity,” he snarled. “And there ain’t nothin’ else around there.”

  Runstom was quiet for a second, then said, “First you tell me what happened.”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “I rescued you, Jared. You can at least do me the courtesy of telling me why you needed rescue.”

  McManus’s mouth bunched up. “Fuck off.”

  “I saw the damage,” Runstom said. It was obvious there had been a fight. The thrusters were mangled. Scorch marks all along the bottom of the ship. “Even the airlock. You had to suit up and depressurize the rear cabin just to get out of the ship.”

  “Those bastards yanked the outer airlock door right off on their way out.”

  Runstom considered this. “To prevent you from spacewalking out and repairing any damage?”

  McManus huffed. “Like I got a crew of engineers here,” he mumbled.

  He hadn’t, Runstom had noticed. They were all bruisers, a collection of security guards and low-ranking officers, plus Cadet Katsumi. Remembering her presence, he glanced over. She was preoccupied but he drew McManus to the corner of the bridge and lowered his voice. “Still, who does that kind of thing?”

  “Goddamn Space Waste, that’s who.”

  “Really?” Runstom blinked and almost took a step back. Space Waste used to be nothing more than a fringe problem, but in the past year he’d encountered them far too often. “What did they want?”

  Now McManus gave him a long hard look. “Take a guess.”

  “I don’t know. Why were you there?”

  “Come on, Stanley,” he sneered. “I know you know why we were there, Mr. Detective. I’m sure you got it all figured out.”

  Runstom sighed. “I heard a rumor that Jax – Jackson – had resurfaced.”

  “You heard we were going to pick him up.”

  “Unsubstantiated,” Runstom said, to mean he may have heard so but had not treated it as fact.

  McManus laughed. “You never change, Stanley.”

  “It’s Stanford.”

  “Whatever. You want to grill me? I want to know what you were doing so close to Terroneous. Why you just happened to come along.”

  Runstom frowned, not wanting to have to explain himself to McManus, but knowing he needed to provide something. “I was working,” he said. “On mission to Ipo. You know, the mining colony there is incorporating. We’re trying to sell them ModPol services.”

  “Right, right.”

  “So,” Runstom said while McManus sat cross-armed and silent. “What happened?”

  He threw up his hands. “I don’t know, I really don’t. It was a cakewalk. We went down there, tracked Jackson to this underground facility out in the desert. And he came without a fight. I mean, he tried to wait us out, but he don’t know us. All we do is wait. So after a few hours, he gave himself up.”
/>   “And Space Waste?”

  “Well that’s the kicker, ain’t it?” McManus said with an unnecessary grin. “Those bastards come at us, shoot up our tail, then board us. I figure they want the ship. But nope, they just cart off Jackson. Didn’t even wake him up or take him out of his Securitube, they just carried the whole thing out.”

  Runstom chewed that over for a moment but couldn’t make any sense of it. “Who put you on that job?”

  “Oh, piss off.”

  “Jared, listen to me – Jackson is innocent, you know that.”

  “Innocent of some things.”

  “Of the things that matter.” Runstom’s voice had gotten louder and now he forcibly lowered it. “Help me out here.”

  “Look, Stan.” McManus’s hands went palms up. “I don’t know. It was an encrypted order. The key checked out. I don’t know who it was or why they picked me.”

  Runstom sighed, then shook his head. “Because you would jump at a chance to bring him in.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Jared, he’s an innocent man. He doesn’t deserve any of this shit, and never has.”

  “Yeah, well. Even if he is. We have a process. Or did you forget that already? After you left Justice for Defense?”

  “They’re both equally important,” Runstom said, feeling his temperature rise. “ModPol is Modern Policing and Peacekeeping.”

  “Boy, you sure are the first to drink the company punch when it comes around.”

  “Now you’re going to mock me for my loyalty.”

  “Come on, Stanford. Defense? What kind of runaround is that? You worked in Justice for over ten years. That’s where the work gets done. Defense is nothing but a racket.”

  “Justice is reactionary. Defense is preventative.” Even as he said it, he wondered if he was trying to convince McManus or himself.

  McManus laughed, genuinely amused. “You really believe that?”

  “I’ve already seen it,” Runstom shot back. “On Vulca, off Sirius-5. Defense fought off an attack.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that,” McManus said with eyes like a trap. “And who did they fight off exactly?”

  “Space Waste,” Runstom replied quietly.

  McManus shook his head. “Stan, Space Waste is not an army. In fact, what they are is organized crime. Crime. Justice should be dealing with them.”

  “Well you’re doing—” Runstom started and cut himself off. Was it worth cutting down all of Justice, worth highlighting their failures just to win an argument? Something about McManus always made Runstom’s blood boil. He closed his eyes and took a breath, forcing the anger to flush away as best he could. Then he let out a small laugh. “I don’t know, Jared. You know I’d rather be in Justice.”

  “Right,” he said, still trying to needle. “Still dreaming of becoming a detective? Just because your mother did it? And how’s that working for her? Do you even know where she is?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? She’s your mother.”

  “It’s for her protection.”

  “Sure, of course. What a great detective, can’t even find his own mother,” McManus laughed. Then he paused and his face flattened. “Wait a minute – you really didn’t know that Jackson was on Terroneous this whole time, did you?”

  “No,” he said firmly. Though in his heart, he’d known it. Jax didn’t have many places to go, and had taken a shine to the independent moon. Had talked about it in the last conversation they’d had, now almost half a year past.

  McManus laughed again, but this time the amusement was gone and his face turned down. “Well. Whatever. Guess it don’t matter now.”

  Runstom looked past him to the great oval viewport at the front of the bridge. It was something to behold – impractical, for sure, but a naked view unlike any he’d seen in other craft. A few thousand kilometers distant a gleaming speck had formed, and began to grow.

  McManus turned to follow his eyes. “Outpost Delta. I’m sure we’ll be real welcome there.”

  “It’s still ModPol,” Runstom said, but the fight had gone out of him. He could have taken McManus back to Gamma where the Justice precinct was, but had decided it was too short a trip.

  “Defense,” McManus muttered. “Defenders. Righteous twats.”

  “This is probably a good time to gather your crew.”

  McManus grunted and threw out a hand. “Well, as always, it was a pleasure chatting with you, Stanford. Best of luck selling insurance.”

  Runstom gritted his teeth but withheld any reply, despite McManus standing there for a moment waiting for it. Finally the sergeant stalked off, the bridge door swishing closed behind him.

  “Don’t mind him, sir,” the cadet said from her post at the stick. “He’s the biggest kind of asshole.”

  Runstom felt a smile crack his face. “Thanks, Cadet.” He stepped to that massive viewport. “This OrbitBurner sure is quite the sail, isn’t she?”

  “Oh hell, yes,” Katsumi said, her hands flexing on the wheel. She gave a quick look at him. “Sir.”

  “I thought someone else should have a chance driving,” he said. “Feels unfair for me to have her all to myself, to be honest.”

  There was a silence, as the cadet wasn’t sure how to respond. Then she said, “Where are you taking her next?”

  It was a fair question. After he’d gotten the message back to Defense that he had to detour from Ipo to rescue some Justice officers on the drift, they canceled the original mission. Told him to report to Delta, with new orders.

  He stared at the outpost as it grew larger. “There,” he said. “See that interstellar transport docked at the station?”

  “Of course, sir,” she said. “It’s a Colossus 9K. One of the biggest ships that’ll do Xarp.”

  He grinned, her enthusiasm contagious. “She’s the MPP Garathol. I’m taking this OrbitBurner aboard her and heading to Epsilon Eridani.”

  She sighed wistfully. “Epsilon. Nothing but wide-open space. You can really open her up there.”

  The outpost grew closer and Katsumi adjusted their approach speed. He wouldn’t be going to the Epsilon Eridani system to play with his hotrod toy ship. He would be heading to Epsilon-3, where a new colony was still under construction. State of the art domes, buoyed by state of the art terraforming and agricultural systems. Victoria Horus saw it as an easy sale: why wouldn’t they want to protect their investment? They were spending so much on a new civilization, it only made sense to spend a significant chunk on defense.

  The hitch was that it was new space. No one went to Epsilon, because there wasn’t yet a reason to go there. There was nothing worth plundering, ergo there was nothing worth protecting. Which was why they were sending Runstom. Someone who could consult the new colony’s leadership on the dangers of the known galaxy.

  And there was already a ModPol Defense outpost established in Epsilon Eridani, ModPol being the proactive organization that it was. Conveniently, a shipment destined from Barnard to Epsilon was prepping for the trip within the week. Horus had made sure there would be room for Runstom’s brand-new OrbitBurner aboard that gargantuan interstellar transport. He’d hitch a ride and then be off to EE-3 in a wink.

  Just Stanford Runstom, his ship, and all that open space.

  He took a deep breath as he watched the cadet ease the ship toward the dock. She had no trouble with it at all. He was impressed with both pilot and vessel. And yet, a part of him resented that modern technology had produced a ship like this that could be flown by a crew of one.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Space Waste base wasn’t much different than any other off-world station, by Jax’s initial impression once he’d had a chance to walk around a little. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected – maybe more security, or more terrifying decor. Apparently security wasn’t necessary because there wasn’t anything to steal. Sure, there was plenty of equipment and goods, but the Wasters had a “what’s mine is yours” attitude which applied to just about everything exc
ept the most personal of artifacts.

  After Jax had escaped his cell (if that’s what it could be called), the gangbanger who introduced himself as Barndoor took him to trade up the tight-fitting, gray jumpsuit McManus had made him wear for something a little more comfortable. The community clothing selection was divided between leather and high-flexing polymer, the latter being more practical in most cases, of course. Jax opted for fashion over practicality and was glad he did, because he and his leather drew little notice from the rest of the gangbangers he passed. He felt different wearing it, perhaps less vulnerable. No, it was more that he felt more primal in the imperfect but strong material, and thus less concerned with vulnerability. He supposed that this inward-changing attitude was projected outward, making him belong, if only to a small degree. A very small degree.

  Where the Space Waste outpost differed from anywhere else he’d been was in its abrupt transitions. In heading from the storage vaults to the living quarters, Barndoor had led him down a long, narrow tube of a shaft. This dropped into a larger perpendicular passage that curved downward in both directions. They followed it for a while, more ladders appearing over the horizon at intervals. The effect was disorienting, like walking down a steep hill that had no bottom, until Barndoor indicated a hand-painted sign that simply read R&R next to the ladder they needed to climb.

  Once they emerged through a floor hatch and into an octagonal hub, Jax noticed right away how different the materials and structural choices were from the storage vaults. When they took another tubular passage to the mess hall and again the style and everything changed, then he understood: the station was cobbled together from a collection of other stations, vessels, and whatever modules and materials the Wasters got their hands on. The center with all the ladders must have been the artificial gravity core which kept the whole place turning at a steady half-G. He wished he could see the base in its entirety from the outside.

  “Psycho Jack.” The tall, athletic black woman broke his reverie. She gave him an up-and-down look. “Nice digs.”

  “Dava. I haven’t seen you since you tried to blow me up.”