Ignite (Blackout Book 1)

by Daniel Young

  Jackson didn’t want to start thinking about this bunch of warring hostilities as his crew. He didn’t want to consider them a crew at all, and he sure as hell didn’t want to rely on them for anything.

  Quort dragged his big body along the passageway. His bent legs moved a foot in front of Jackson, who braced his arms to pull himself forward when an agonized crunch set his teeth on edge.

  He and Quort both froze. The next second, the conduit in which they lay tore away from its anchors. The rusted bolts ripped out of their sockets, and the whole tube bent at a steep angle.

  Jackson lunged forward and thrust out his hand. “Quort! Grab onto me.”

  Quort shot him a desperate glance over his shoulder. He moved a fraction of an inch, and the tunnel creaked out of position another foot. Tearing metal screamed under Quort’s weight. It slammed down and stopped.

  Quort slid forward. He tried to turn, but his bulk prevented him from moving fast enough. The housing broke free and tipped before it banged to a halt again. Quort bellowed something inarticulate. His weight pulled him to his doom.

  He skidded another yard away from Jackson, who made one wild dive. Quort’s leg slipped under his hand. In his last act of desperation, Jackson’s fingers clamped around Quort’s ankle.

  The instant Quort stopped sliding, the steel under Jackson’s chest rent the rest of the way off. The razor edge dug through Jackson’s uniform. The next thing he knew, the whole cylinder came away and dropped. It tilted and then sailed into open space.

  Except that the space wasn’t empty. A yawning chasm opened beneath Jackson’s body. It ended at a grate some fifty feet below him. He wouldn’t have believed the Blackout could be this big.

  The cylinder stabbed through the air and landed on its end with a withering crash. Jackson barely had time to fling out his other arm and grab Quort’s leg in both hands, or Quort would have fallen, too.

  Quort howled in surprise. He twisted and almost tore himself out of Jackson’s grip. “Hang on!” Jackson roared. “Keep still! I can’t hold you!”

  Quort turned a few more times before he realized what Jackson was yelling about. He craned his head back and stared at the floor below. “Let go! I can land down there.”

  “Are you cracked?” Jackson thundered. “You aren’t landing down there! You’d be pulverized.”

  Quort rumbled something else, but Jackson had his hands full holding up this massive creature against…well, it couldn’t be gravity, could it? He didn’t understand how the Keter Legion produced gravity, but it sure as hell was working now.

  Quort grumbled something. Jackson’s fingers slipped. He couldn’t hold on. The cut steel rim pierced his chest. The pain was becoming unbearable. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and worst of all, Quort’s weight was beginning to tow Jackson closer to the edge. He would have to let Quort go or fall himself.

  Slowly, Quort turned himself in Jackson’s grasp. Jackson couldn’t tell him to keep still. He couldn’t even breathe. Just when he thought his fingers would release of their own accord, Quort extended one of his long arms along his body. He reached back and grabbed the jagged lip under Jackson’s stomach.

  Quort consolidated his hold, and his haunted eyes turned to lock on Jackson. “Let go.”

  Even then, Jackson didn’t think he could do it. If something went wrong and Quort splatted to his death below, Jackson would never forgive himself.

  Quort’s eyes hardened. With a mighty effort, Jackson uncurled his fingers, and Quort fell away. His bulk dropped against his arm, and he swung around. He flapped his other arm upward, caught the rim, and held.

  Jackson lay limp and frantic on the cold steel. Quick as thought, he grappled to close his fists in Quort’s clothes, but the big Urval was in no more danger of falling.

  He hung there, but he couldn’t pull himself up. He was too damn heavy. Jackson couldn’t pull him up, either. He tugged and panted and heaved, but he couldn’t budge Quort’s weight.

  Quort puffed and flexed. Nothing. He didn’t get any closer to safety. He looked down at the floor between his feet. “I’ll just…”

  “No! Stay there.” Why did he bother to say that? Quort wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Captain.” Quort’s voice spoke to Jackson’s shattered nerves. He peered down to find Quort looking up at him with an indescribable expression.

  How many times in his life had Quort called someone that and meant it? Probably never. Jackson gazed down at this creature. He was Quort’s captain, and Quort was his crew. Jackson carried this creature’s life on his shoulders. He couldn’t let anything happen to him.

  Gently as gently could be, Jackson eased his fingers off Quort’s jacket. “Stay there. Don’t let go.”

  Jackson pushed himself back from the brink. How he was going to get Quort back into what was left of the passage, he couldn’t fathom.

  12

  Jackson whipped around, floundering everywhere for some lifeline. Lifeline. He needed a lifeline. He scuttled down the tunnel, thinking fast, and emerged on the lower deck. He dove for the equipment cabinet and tore out the rope hanging there. He snatched a few woven straps, too. He would have taken more, but he didn’t have time.

  He raced back to Quort. The Urval hung in the same spot, stranded. Jackson burst into action. Quort didn’t look distressed, but that could be an act. Quort could be hanging by a thread for all Jackson knew.

  He looped the rope into a knot and tied it to two of the straps. Then he passed the rope between two metal girders holding up the passage. He scurried farther away and doubled it up to form a windlass.

  He hooked it around his waist and lay down directly over Quort’s head. “Keep still. I need to get these straps around your legs.”

  He lowered the makeshift harness as far as Quort’s feet. Quort watched, and when the harness came into position, he swung his feet into the loops. Jackson hauled back on the rope, and the harness cinched into place around Quort’s midsection.

  Jackson dove backward and laid all his weight against the rope. He leaned forward to draw it tight, and then lowered himself almost flat on the footbridge. He repeated this countless times, taking in a few feet of rope each time.

  His arms and back burned from the strain. His body broke out in sweat, but each time he looked behind and saw Quort rising over the ledge, he doubled down with an even greater effort.

  A minute later, Quort’s lanky arms slithered around Jackson. Quort grabbed the girders, and with one last bone-crushing heave on the rope, he landed hard on the footbridge next to him.

  Jackson flopped back, rasping for breath. When would this driving tension end? He wanted to go home.

  “The footbridge is ruined,” Quort muttered. “We can’t get to the discharge ramp this way.”

  “The twins aren’t doing anything, anyway.” Jackson hauled himself upright. “Let’s get back to the cockpit. We have more important things to do than spy on our own people.”

  “They aren’t our people. They could be plotting your death right now.”

  “If they are, I prefer to die none the wiser. Let’s go.”

  Jackson checked Quort one more time while he wound up the rope and untied the straps. Quort studied him with an even stranger expression. Quort didn’t glare or scowl at him—or at least, not as much.

  That expression made Jackson uncomfortable. He turned away when Quort muttered, “I would have killed you at the bar.”

  “What of it? You had no reason to consider me one way or the other.”

  “I would be dead now if I had.”

  “I would be dead now if you hadn’t distracted the Legion with your cannon, so let’s call it even.”

  Quort inclined his head the other way. “Call it even.”

  “It means we don’t owe each other anything.”

  “That is not what it means. It means we both owe each other everything.”

  “I don’t want to think about what it means,” Jackson said. “I want to go to the cockpit so we can think abo
ut getting you home.”

  Quort didn’t move. “Why are you doing this? You saved me and Woolzi in the bar. You saved Liri and Lana from the Legion, and now you want to take me home. You aren’t well in your mind.”

  Jackson had to laugh. “I’ve been called worse. Let’s just chalk it up to my breeding. People help people where I come from, especially when they can’t help themselves. Maybe I just don’t much like the taste of some alien marauders taking you to another world as a slave and leaving you there.”

  “You are not well in your mind if you think that way.”

  “Well, that’s the way I think. Now let’s get out of here, unless you want to go back to Keter.”

  He made his way along the footbridge. Quort emerged on the lower deck behind him. Jackson put the rope and straps away, and then they both went to the cockpit.

  Jackson stepped inside to find Woolzi still seated at the pilot’s station. Roy was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Roy?”

  “Gone to take care of himself,” Woolzi replied over his shoulder.

  “Take care of himself,” Jackson repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “Skeeter active,” Woolzi reported. “Twins activate.”

  The news distracted Jackson from his previous question. “Great. Can you read if it’s all fit to fly?”

  “All fit. All systems active and operational. Twins activating feed track—checking bombardment stack.”

  “Perfect.” Jackson bent over Woolzi’s station. The Blackout was still on a direct course for Zenith, so it didn’t really matter where Roy was. “How many guns does the Skeeter have?”

  “Two blocks—both fully functional.”

  “Wonderful. Now I need you to pull up a chart of Zenith and Urval in relation to our current position.”

  Woolzi did it, and Jackson looked down at the arrangement of local star systems. He’d seen this map thousands of times in his career, but it meant something different to him now.

  “This is Zenith here.” He pointed at it. “We’re still inside Keter space, but the Legion doesn’t venture this far away from the planet. They’re all in a tight orbit around Keter.”

  “Never venture,” Woolzi replied. “Stay at home Keterans.”

  “That’s lucky for us. Here’s Silden space here.” He frowned at the chart. “That’s weird. The Krakzid who attacked our convoy aren’t showing up.”

  “Never show up,” Woolzi told him. “Krakzid covert screen. You no see Krakzid until they strike.”

  “How do they do that? They came out of nowhere when they attacked us. One minute, we were flying through empty space, and the next minute, they were on top of us.”

  “They always attack that way,” Quort muttered. “They stay hidden and then strike from ambush.”

  “What technology are they using? Is there a way to break through it so we can see them coming?”

  “No one discover technology,” Woolzi replied. “Everyone fall to covert screen. No way to defeat.”

  Jackson knew now who everyone was. Zenith. Urval. Silden. Keter. Four systems fallen to the Krakzid. No! Zenith would not fall to the Krakzid. If the Krakzid invaded with a plan to overrun Zenith, Jackson had to stop them. That was all there was to it.

  He turned his attention back to Quort. “Show me where Urval space is.”

  Quort extended one long arm and stabbed his gnarled hand at a space beyond Silden. Jackson knew nothing about it, and no wonder. The Zenith Militia hadn’t discovered it—yet. “There.”

  “Krakzid invade Silden,” Woolzi went on. “Establish there. Use Silden to launch into Urval. Take Urval. Establish there. Use Urval to launch into Zenith. Establish Zenith. Use Zenith to launch somewhere else. Krakzid work that way.”

  Jackson’s hair stood on end. When he checked Quort, he read the same certainty on Quort’s face. “So the Krakzid invade and conquer. Then they establish a permanent base in the newly conquered territory and use it as a staging point to attack the next system. That’s the way they spread this empire of theirs.”

  “Use Urval to launch into Zenith.”

  “Is that true?” Jackson asked Quort. “Are the Krakzid setting up in Urval to attack Zenith?”

  Quort looked away. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t returned to Urval for almost twenty years. I was on one of the first slave transports taken out of the system. I don’t know what the Krakzid have been doing there since.”

  “In that case, we’d better go find out. Alter course for Urval. We’ll find out what the bastards are up to. If they are staging to attack Zenith, we’ll find a way to stop them.”

  13

  Roy wandered into the commissary and started pulling open cabinets. He found the usual plates, cups, dishes, and cutlery, but no rations. Damn. After years in storage, this bark might not even have any water supply. He and Jackson might die of dehydration long before they reached Zenith.

  He ambled across the room to an array of compartments against the opposite wall. He opened one. It contained one large mechanism with gears, pumps, and tubing exposed behind clear glass. Water squirted through the channels. It seeped through a filter to a reservoir at the bottom. Choice!

  He grabbed a cup from the cupboard and held it under the reservoir. It automatically dispensed exactly the right amount of water to fill the cup. Then it shut itself off. Brilliant.

  Roy tipped up the cup and drained it. The water was perfectly filtered and refreshing. Now if he could only find some food…

  He shut the compartment and opened the next one down the line. He’d give anything for some nice sampan rations from the Zenith Militia, but that was asking too much for this train.

  The next cabinet held sealed packages containing a number of Keter Legion uniforms. He shut the door without touching them. He wasn’t about to put one of them on anytime soon. He opened the next door.

  Inside, he beheld a solid surface of what looked like black, inflexible plastic. Holes dotted its smooth face. That was it. He stuck his finger into one of them. A channel ran up inside the thing, but he couldn’t tell what it was for.

  He shut it, got himself another glass of water, and wandered across the catwalk to the infirmary. He went through the cabinets there, too, but the shelves were mostly empty. A few contained supplies of bandages and other non-perishable goods, but nothing that someone might have been able to salvage. Maybe scavengers had stripped the ship after the Legion left it in storage. Anything was possible.

  He was just about to leave when he heard voices coming nearer. He recognized Liri and Lana talking, so he headed for the door. They advanced down the catwalk without seeing him.

  He almost went out to meet them when he heard Lana say, “He’s an idealist. People like that are always easy to kill.”

  “I don’t know, Lana,” Liri remarked. “He seems pretty sturdy to me. He assumed command during the battle. He knows his business. I think you might be misreading him.”

  “So now you’re making decisions for both of us about reading people?” Lana sneered. “Leave the thinking to me.”

  Roy backed into the infirmary. He listened hard, fighting down rising alarm. The twins were talking about Captain Keogh.

  The sisters turned into the commissary. Roy shifted his position behind the threshold and saw them approach the compartments against the opposite wall. Liri opened the one with the smooth panel.

  She took a bowl from the kitchen and pushed it into one of the holes. The thing slotted back, and steaming hot soup blobbed into the bowl. Lana brought over a plate and another bowl. She put the plate into another slot. It came out loaded with three equally proportioned piles of food that Roy didn’t recognize.

  Lana got herself a bowl of soup and sat down at one of the tables. Liri put her soup on the counter and ate it standing up.

  “It’s easy,” Lana was saying. “We hide in the discharge ramp. We’ll use the Skeeter’s buffer guard to veil ourselves from detection from the cockpit. Then, when Our Hero comes to look for us, we ambush him along wit
h whatever chump he brings to help him. He’ll almost certainly bring that big stupid nob of his, so we can take ‘em both out in one drop.”

  “That leaves Quort and Woolzi.”

  “We don’t have to worry about Woolzi, and with the other two out of the way, we can drop Quort, no problem. We can jettison all three and take the ship back to Keter. Nothing could be simpler.”

  Liri didn’t answer. She spooned soup into her mouth. Roy watched her tongue moving it around her mouth before she swallowed. Her brain appeared especially noticeable for some reason.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Lana snapped. “Don’t tell me you’re developing some kind of liking for these worms.”

  “It isn’t that. I just think maybe you’re not taking into account all the factors involved.”

  “I think I understand the situation well enough that you can skip using big words like ‘factors’ and ‘involved’,” Lana minced. “Do you really want to go all the way to Zenith and maybe even Urval before we get home? This is the only way.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Liri murmured. “If we run into the Krakzid or even the Legion again, it’s gonna take all six of us working together to get anywhere. If we dump those three, it will be just us and Woolzi left. Woolzi can fly the ship. That leaves the two of us manning two ejection blocks. That isn’t enough to get us back to Keter—or anywhere else, for that matter. We wouldn’t even be able to get back to Doing-Doing to refuel.”

  Lana dropped her spoon with a bang. She spun around on her bench and glared at her sister. “So now these aliens are your best friends?”

  Liri didn’t look up. “I never said they were my best friends, and they aren’t aliens. The Zenith are as human as we are.”

  “You want to throw away what could be one of the most lucrative hauls of our career on him and you don’t even know him!” Lana countered. “You don’t know either of them. We tripped over them on the street.”

  “He didn’t know us, either, when he saved us from the Legion. What difference does it make if we all get what we want in the end? We can deliver those two to Zenith and Quort to Urval. Then you and I and Woolzi can take the Blackout anywhere we want.”