Ganymede Steel
A Space Opera Adventure Story
Richard Parry
Contents
Meet Nathan Chevell
Pearl Diving
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
About the Author
Also by Richard Parry
Glossary
EXCERPT: DRAGON’S RUN
Running Forever
GANYMEDE STEEL copyright © 2019 Richard Parry.
Cover design copyright © 2019 Mondegreen.
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13 ebook: 978-0-9951148-9-0
First edition.
No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Piracy, much as it sounds like a cool thing done at sea with a lot of, “Me hearties!” commentary, is a dick move. It gives nothing back to the people who made this book, so don’t do it. Support original works: purchase only authorized editions.
While we’re here, what you’re holding is a work of fiction created by a professional liar. It is not done in an edgy documentary style with recovered footage. Pretty much everything in here was made up by the author so you could enjoy a story about the world being saved through action scenes and clever dialog. No people were used as templates, serial numbers filed off for anonymity: let’s be honest, October Kohl couldn’t be based on anyone real. Any resemblance to humans you know (alive) or have known (dead) is coincidental.
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Published by Mondegreen, New Zealand.
For KayKay, who captures the soul.
Meet Nathan Chevell
Our story starts in Cadence Port, Ganymede’s gateway to the stars.
Nathan Chevell’s destined to sail the heavens as captain of the Tyche, an ex-war heavy lifter. He’ll joust with the Republic’s military, run from a corrupt Earth government, and tangle with an alien menace.
We’re getting ahead of ourselves, though. Before Nate swashbuckled the skies, he grew up lean and hungry on Ganymede. At sixteen, he’s just over a hundred and eighty centimeters tall, athletic from dodging the law, and is too easy with a grin. He thinks quick on his feet, which gets him in trouble often as not.
Ganymede has her own story to tell. Largest of mighty Jupiter’s moons, pirates call her safe harbor. The domes of Cadence Port are worn, but thousands live there, smuggling under the Empire’s nose. For all that, honest folk can be found, if you know where to look.
It’s hard to imagine how Nate could sway the destiny of a pirate town. You’d have to be born lucky.
Pearl Diving
Some damn rich kid was about to get rolled, and here Nate was, enduring his regular shakedown ritual from the Ganymede Guard. Something about this particular rich kid made Nate pause before handing good Empire coin to Adelmar and Kendra. The rich kid might give Nate an angle to keep his coin from the sticky fingers of Ganymede’s finest.
Cadence Port Market was alive with at least a thousand people trying to play each other. It was the usual mid-morning dance, off-world traders mingling with the local populace, pickpockets circling like shy sharks. The air of the market was heady with the scent of spices, oil, and sweat. Stalls lay in almost-orderly rows as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t very far on account of the people clotting up the place. A massive ceramicrete wall armored the dome next to the market sector. Behind it sat Cadence Starport, where spacecraft delivered their stolen bounty from across the hard black.
Despite the noise and confusion, you could smell the money on the rich kid. It was enough to make a person’s fingers itch. Black clothes, cut to his body, nothing so gauche as to be off a rack. Personal console strapped to his wrist, some fancy special edition made in what Nate would bet was real gold. A rapier was in the kid’s hand. It was slim ship-forged metal that promised an unwholesome amount of pain, not an ugly length of street steel. The rich kid’s blaster still sat snug in its holster, suggesting he was wary of casual murder. He might have been a couple years older than Nate’s sixteen years, something about the way he stood saying he was eighteen but not yet nineteen. More Valerie’s age, and her type too, what with the dark hair and broad shoulders.
Rich kids never fight. They run. And here’s one with a length of steel promising murder. What’s his game?
Adelmar put a hand on Nate’s chest, muscled bulk under his yellow-and-black uniform obscuring his view of the rich kid. Adelmar’s blunt nose might have been from a fight, but could as easily be the gift of terrible genetics. “Chevell, it’s time to pay.”
“Hang about.” Nate ignored the widening of Adelmar’s dark eyes and the promised menace they held. He made to push past the guard and the authority of his outfit. What kind of clown colors uniforms like Earth wasps, anyway?
Nate was about to make good on his getaway, Empire coins in his pocket, shakedown not completed, when Adelmar’s partner, Kendra, pulled her sword a couple fingers’ length from its scabbard. She had hard eyes and a sharp nose, perfect for glaring down at street scum like Nate. Her voice was friendly enough if you missed the predatory smile. “What’s the rush?”
“Rich kid’s getting beat up.” Nate nodded toward the ruckus. A puddle of calm was expanding around the rich kid and his two assailants. “Looks bad.”
Adelmar squinted at Nate. “How so? It’s a problem that’ll solve itself.”
Nate tried on a conspiratorial smile. He clapped Adelmar on the shoulder, ignoring the officer’s glare, and pointed at a cam set high on a pole. “Rich kid getting beat up ain’t nothing special, I’ll allow. Rich kid getting beat up while two of the Guard’s best and brightest lounge around? That’s the kind of thing that gets a fellow noticed.”
“Hell.” Kendra glared at Nate. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Where would I go? Not like I can take a stroll out past the domes. Did you hear they found Norris Berg? Had some disagreement with the law. Ended up outside in the cold.” He flashed her a bright smile.
“It’s good we understand each other.” She gave him a last once-over, then turned in a swirl of her yellow cape. Adelmar followed in her wake, both officers drawing sonic sidearms. Nate winced. He’d been on the receiving end of those more than once. They made you feel like throwing up everything you’d eaten since the dawn of time.
The rich kid hadn’t backed down. His two assailants circled. They were ruffians known to Nate on account of their employer, Pearlescent Fang, stamping his claim on the seedy underbelly of Cadence Port. The tall, ugly one was Darin Telson, known far and wide as the kind of person you didn’t want to wake up to when tied to a chair. His partner, Anelise Chase, was a lean, hungry-looking woman, a pale white scar running down the side of her face. Both carried shock rods.
With Adelmar and Kendra doing the job they were paid for as opposed to extorting cash from honest folk like Nate, now was a good time to make a getaway. Slip off into the crowd, blow out on a squall. It’d be a few days before the Guard caught up with him, and by then Nate may have found a new job to scrounge more Empire coin. His dreams of importing an Interstellar Dynamics Personal Augment for Valerie felt like an impossible mission, but he owed her.
Was a time she took one for you. Nate and Valerie were on the run, the Guard hot on their heels. They’d split up, Valerie drawing them away because she was the faster runner. It usually worked, but not this time. She’d fallen from a building, cracking her spine, and since then she’d been trapped in a chair. Medtechs in Cadence were the flotsam that washed up on Ganymede, with no better place to go. And no one imported high-end chairs from Interstellar Dynamics. Not her
e.
Which meant Nate should go. He should pick up his feet, beat a retreat, and land a job worth more Empire coins than Adelmar and Kendra could shake back out of him. Nate never knew what the coin bought on account of the Guard laying into him with fists more than once, but it was always better to have friends. Or, fewer enemies.
Nate turned to go, but the clash of metal made him turn. The rich kid moved like a dancer, the thin blade licking out with a flash of silver, marking Darin’s face. He whipped the sword around, blocking Anelise’s shock rod strike. Electricity arced where her weapon connected with the rich kid’s steel. Expensive sword or no, the kid spasmed as the blue-white electricity danced along his blade, but he held onto it. Rich, but it doesn’t make him weak. Adelmar and Kendra made it to the fight, but rather than tearing into Darin and Anelise, they latched onto the rich kid.
Made sense. Wealthy tourists could be extorted for significant coin. Everything the kid had would go into the Guard’s Christmas fund, up to and including that fancy personal console. He’d be rolled out onto the street, penniless, unable to call home.
Two on one was bad enough, but four on one is ridiculous. Nate felt the pang of guilt that said, You made it worse than it had to be. Smart coin said run. Only an idiot would stay.
Hell with it. Nate strode forward, taking in the shared grins being passed like bad liquor between Adelmar, Kendra, Darin, and Anelise. He used a passing merchant as cover, the man’s bulk more than adequate to hide Nate’s slim frame. He slipped behind Darin and Anelise. It’d be a mistake to think anything about the next twenty seconds would be easy. A bigger mistake would be to try for Anelise’s shock rod. Diving in the middle and taking all four? Lunacy.
While the group were congratulating each other by way of a lot of high-fives, Nate cozied up behind Darin, whose arrogance let him ignore a skinny sixteen-year-old kid like Nate on a regular basis. Nate’s nimble fingers coaxed Darin’s shock rod from its holster, and before surprise could make it from Darin’s brain to his fists, Nate lit him up from behind. Darin danced like he was at a rave and took too many of the wrong drugs, then went down in a heap.
Anelise turned, eyes wide in surprise, so Nate stuck her with the shock rod too. Both of Pearl’s goons were out before catching the full measure of their teenage assailant, which promised good things for Nate’s life expectancy. Nate spun the shock rod in his hand, cocking his head. Adelmar and Kendra’s mouths fell open in shock. The rich kid nodded thanks at Nate, then bent to retrieve Anelise’s shock rod. He turned, the movement almost casual, and lit up Adelmar, blue-white electricity discharging into the guard.
Kendra drew and fired her sonic sidearm. The weapon wasn’t as impressive as a blaster; no blue-white fire, not even a sound in human hearing range, but they’d drop you well enough, leaving you wanting to throw up your own boots for a week. The rich kid stepped out of the line of fire, tapping her on the side of the head with the shock rod.
Four down, nothing left of their attempted extortion but comatose bodies and the smell of ozone. The rich kid turned to Nate. “Hi.”
“Hey,” said Nate. “Figured you could use a hand.”
“You also figure you’re going to ask for coin?” The rich kid’s eyes were wary, and he hadn’t relaxed his stance.
“Not as such.” Nate tossed his shock rod to the ground. “Wouldn’t say no to a drink, though.”
“I reckon you’re a little young for beer,” offered the rich kid.
“First time on Ganymede?” said Nate.
The rich kid blinked. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yeah. I know a place.” Nate glanced up at the pole-mounted cam. “What might cost coin is getting your face off the network.”
“I take it you know a guy.”
“Not a guy,” said Nate. “Let’s go.”
Triage Tearoom wasn’t really a bar. It was a place people bought cheap food, mystery meat mixed with noodles of questionable providence. It smelled of tea and stale cake, but Vera owned it, and she owed Nate for hustling a new dispenser to her in record time. The unit still worked two years on, which Nate counted as a kindness of the universe on account of Vera’s reputation. Her previous dispenser supplier was still in palliative care.
Also, Nate paid rent. That helped their relationship some.
Down the back of the Triage Tearoom, old bamboo benches were wedged between rusting tables. Nate and the rich kid nursed Ganymede Prime Lager. You could get it everywhere, even at a cheap noodle bar run by an ex-gangster like Vera. The rich kid, whose name was Donald Wootton, paid with Empire coin, clearly unaware showing cash on Ganymede was a thing that would get you killed.
The back of the Tearoom was quiet enough this early in the day. A doorway led to a toilet you’d never want to use no matter how urgent your situation, and another allowed a glimpse of steps leading up. Atop those stairs was the small room Nate shared with Valerie.
“What’s your angle?” asked Don.
Nate rubbed his chin, as if it’d help a beard grow in faster. “I don’t like bullies.”
“More specifically.” Don hunched forward. “Your face is next to mine on security feeds planet-wide.”
“Ganymede’s not really a planet,” said Nate. “It’s Jupiter’s most famous cast-off rock, is all.”
Don snorted. “Doesn’t really roll out the welcome mat. I notice you didn’t answer.”
“Not in the habit of responding to that sort of question,” said Nate. Trusting off-worlders who could up stakes and leave you with the mess wasn’t a thing that came easy. “No offense, but things work a little different around here than where you’re from.”
“What do you think I’m accustomed to?” Don watched him over the beer.
Nate leaned back, thinking that through. Rich kid, but he’d put his skids down on Ganymede. Unless you were in the business of specialized supply, which the unkind called piracy, there wasn’t much to buy and sell here. Under the ice crust of the ocean, smugglers kept caches. The domes on the surface were where all souls lived. Places like Cadence Spaceport provided a way to get your illicit wares up or down the moon’s meagre gravity well. Two types of rich folk came here.
First was the kind wanting a slice of adventure. Heard a tale or two, thought themselves up for the challenge of wrestling the bear. The others were those who had business here, playing long odds traded cargo wouldn’t be too bloody or hot to ply to an Empire world. Nate figured Don for one of them. “You want to buy something.”
“No, I want to steal something.”
“Huh.” Nate hid astonishment behind the best poker face on the moon.
“That’s it?” Don blinked. “You’re not surprised?”
“I’m impressed you’re still alive,” admitted Nate. “You’ve come to Ganymede to rob someone. Only person worth thieving from is Pearl, on account of Pearl running things not already run by the Guard.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to steal from the Guard?”
“The Guard doesn’t have anything worth stealing you can’t get off-world in better condition for less coin. So, you’ve got yourself a death wish.” Nate sipped, made a face, and put the beer down. “What’s Pearlescent Fang got that a fancy lad such as yourself couldn’t get closer to Sol?”
The lamps flickered for a moment, and Nate felt his body get lighter before the grav came back on. Don’s eyes widened. “What was that?”
“Reactors here ain’t as reliable as you might like. Endless field generators keep us at a comfy Earth G for off-world folks like yourself. When the power goes out, so does the grav.” Nate shrugged. “At least we’ve still got air. Maintenance on the domes isn’t a top priority.”
“Money is what I’m after.” Don put an Empire coin on the table between them. It was a gold one, not silver. It could buy a lot, including someone’s murder in Cadence Port. “See anything unusual about this?”
Nate picked it up. “Aside from its high denomination, no.”
He tossed the coin back, Don’s quick
fingers snatching it out of the air. Don placed the coin between them on the table as if were as valueless as the lager. “Rumor says Pearl has access to new tech. It makes coins good enough to fool the Imperial Mint. This coin here isn’t from the Mint.”
“How do you know?” Nate poked the coin with a finger.
“I know a guy.” Don smiled. “I want Pearl’s tech.”
“Tech like that would be useful,” offered Nate.
“You seem to know your way around,” said Don. “You interested in helping me out? I’ll pay.”
“No thanks. You’ll steal from Pearl, then he’ll work out who helped you, and after you and your money are long gone, I’ll be the throat he chokes.” Nate didn’t need any of that madness.
“Could get you off-world too,” suggested Don.
Nate thought about it. Off-world, there’d be a chance at a new life. A place to start again. Maybe a place where Nate and Valerie could get the damn boot off their necks. Nothing’s that easy. “No.”
“What?” said Don.
“No,” repeated Nate. “Leastways, not for a ticket. I want something else. Traders come here. They bring stolen goods. Everything from Europan whiskey to starships. I don’t need more whiskey, and I don’t want a starship. Nothing but trouble comes from having folk in your care.” He held a hand up, forestalling Don’s interruption. “What I need is an Interstellar Dynamics Personal Augment.”
Don raised an eyebrow. “You need a fancy wheelchair?” He leaned back, taking in Nate’s legs under the rusty table. “Why?”
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