by G J Ogden
The exotic material may have proven to be the key that unlocked interstellar travel, but flying along the bridges wasn’t without risk, and being inside the tanker’s engineering section reminded Cad of this fact more than he cared to admit.
“I’m going to need you to haul back on this pressure valve so I can access the main reactor assembly,” said Alexis, gathering a collection of tools from her backpack, which she’d slipped onto the deck.
Cad moved over to the lever that Alexis had indicated and stood ready. “This isn’t going to end up cooking my balls or anything, is it?” Cad asked, starting to regret proposing the plan in the first place.
“Only if I mess this up,” said Alexis as she finished removing a panel from the main drive housing. “Okay, on three, pull that lever. Three… two… one… pull!”
Cad sucked in a deep breath then pulled down hard. It required every ounce of his not inconsiderable strength to make the lever budge, but eventually, it started to move, and he saw a section of the drive open up.
“Hold it there!” Alexis called out, diving inside the opening with a rectangular-shaped device in her hand that was roughly the size and shape of a chewing gum pack. “Just five more seconds…”
Cad would have cursed at her if it wasn’t for the fact that he was still holding his breath. His fingers were already stinging and his biceps burned from the effort.
“Okay, let it go,” Alexis added after what felt like an hour, but was actually closer to the five seconds she had estimated. She then glanced anxiously up at the Randenite radiation indicator on the wall and breathed an audible sigh of relief. “It’s okay, no radiation leaked out, so we’re done. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
Cad shook the feeling back into his hands and blew out a breath before gulping in more air. “So this sucker will blow when they try to bridge to another world?” Cad asked, following Alexis back along the central walkway of the tanker.
“Oh, it’s way better than that,” replied Alexis, smiling back at him. “I slipped a hijacker onto the Randenite fuel control circuit. It will kick in a few minutes after launch.”
Cad shrugged and shot her an uninspired look. “What does that mean in English, Alexis?”
Alexis scowled. “It will take over their fuel control system and start pumping too much Randenite into the drive. It will read within norms from the cockpit, but even if they wanted to do anything to stop it, they won’t be able to. The hijacker will block their access. A few hours after entering bridge space, the drive core will crack, and when it pops, they’ll end up scattered over a dozen light years.”
Cad released a grunt of satisfaction. “So long as that asshole Knight is dead, I don’t care,” he said as they reached the hatch. “I’m impressed you even know how that drive works at all,” added Cad as Alexis slung on her backpack again. “I thought only the wunderkind, Shelby Rand, understood them, before she got killed anyway.”
“I haven’t a clue how the damned thing works,” admitted Alexis. “All I’ve done is the equivalent of over-fueling an old combustion engine.”
Cad snorted a laugh then stepped down the metal staircase to the hangar floor, with Alexis close behind.
“I wish we could be around to see this thing pop,” said Cad, thumping a fist on the tanker’s armored hull as he started to make his way back toward the crawlspace hatch.
Suddenly, Cad heard a short, sharp whistle, and he froze. He recognized Draga’s warning call straightaway and shot a glance over to the hangar exit. Draga was tucked in behind a fork lift, but the door to the hangar was now open, and two Consortium heavies in their customary black uniforms were heading inside.
7
The two CSF Enforcers strolled into the hangar chatting and joking with each other. For several seconds, they remained oblivious to the presence of the intruders, until one of them spotted Cad, and their jocularity came to an abrupt end.
“Jam their radios,” Cad said to Alexis as the two heavies started to approach them. Both had wrapped their hands around the grips of their sidearms, though neither had yet drawn their weapon.
“Hey, this hangar is restricted. What are you doing here?” one of the enforcers called out, now displaying far more caution as he inched closer to Cad and Alexis.
Alexis drew her palm computer from its pouch and worked fast to jam any outbound frequencies.
“Hey, put that down,” ordered the enforcer, drawing his weapon and aiming it at Alexis. The second enforcer followed suit while speaking urgently into his earpiece microphone, but from the frustrated look on his face, Cad knew that Alexis had already blocked his transmission.
“No need for concern; we simply wandered into the wrong hangar,” said Cad, casting his eyes beyond the duo of heavies to see Draga advancing with the stealth of a puma. She had a crowbar held low in her right hand. “We’ll just be on our way.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said the lead enforcer, glancing down to the sidearm and sword hanging from Cad’s belt. The man’s eyes sharpened and his grip on the pistol tightened. “Drop the weapons and place your hands on the wall.”
There was no sign of stress in the enforcer’s voice; for the most part, the Consortium security forces were well trained and disciplined. There were always a few rotten eggs, such as the guard they had caught napping earlier on, but Cad could tell that the man facing him now was of a different caliber. He wouldn’t falter, or back down, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I said drop it!” the enforcer yelled at Alexis, and this time, she complied, placing her palm computer on the deck.
“Okay, already; it’s just a computer,” Alexis hit back in a whiny, hacked-off tone. “Take it easy, for crying out loud.”
The enforcer then seemed to spot something behind Cad and frowned before again focusing his attention back on the intruders. Cad glanced back, saw the crawlspace cover still sitting against the wall, and sighed. Adapt or die… he reminded himself.
“Call it in, Cody,” the lead enforcer called back to his partner. “We’ve just caught ourselves a couple of Darkspace Renegades.”
Alexis suddenly let out a high-pitched laugh, which caught both heavies completely off guard.
“What’s so funny, lady?” said the lead enforcer, scowling at her. “You’re about to get locked up for a long time, assuming you don’t get ghosted first.”
“Well, two things, really,” said Alexis, casually bending down to pick up her palm computer.
“Hey, leave that on the deck!” the enforcer shouted, but Alexis ignored him.
“The first is that we’re not Darkspace Renegades, though it’s amusing that you would think so.” She glanced at Cad. “I guess that’s more of an in-joke between us, though,” she admitted, shrugging.
“Lady, put the device down, or I will shoot you!” the enforcer yelled again, slipping his finger onto the trigger.
“And the second is that you’re about to die,” Alexis continued, and for the first time, Cad saw fear behind the thick-set enforcer’s eyes.
Suddenly, an organic crunch filled the space between them, and the enforcer called Cody groaned and crumpled to the deck. The other enforcer spun around to see Draga Vex, crowbar in hand, dripping with blood. The enforcer raised his pistol at her, but Draga slashed it out of his grasp before he could take the shot. Again, the crunch of bone preceded the howl of pain. Draga raised the improvised weapon again, but the man spasmed and croaked, as if his windpipe had suddenly been crushed. Draga lowered the crowbar as the tip of a blade pushed through the enforcer’s chest, cutting cleanly through his armor. It vanished just as quickly, before the man fell, revealing Cad Rikkard, Black Prince sword in hand. Blood was running along the central ridge of the blade, which shone brightly under the harsh lights of the hangar.
“He was mine,” complained Draga, tossing the crowbar to the deck with a sharp clatter.
“Why should I let you have all the fun?” replied Cad while cleaning the blade on the dead guard’s b
lack pants. “Lock the door, then help me get these two into the container.”
Draga grumbled and stormed away while Cad turned to Alexis. “We’ll need to get rid of this blood too. Can you hack the hangar’s cleaner bots to take care of this mess, but wipe it from their memory?”
Alexis nodded and activated the palm computer that was still in her hand. “I’ll get us clearance to leave too,” she said, quickly cycling through the various commands on the device. “It’s probably best we’re not still here when these three heavies start to be missed.”
“Agreed,” said Cad, sheathing his sword as an assortment of maintenance and cleaner bots popped out of their compartments and got to work mopping up the blood. Then he looked at the two dead bodies and tutted. “All this trouble just because two uptight, lowlife bridge runners got all arsey about food they didn’t even have to pay for.”
Alexis sighed and nodded, “I know, right? Some folk just take things way too far.”
8
Hallam yawned as he climbed the metal staircase to the hatch of the armored tanker. Their far-later-than-expected dinner, plus the drinks he and Dakota had consumed afterwards in order to wind down, had meant that he’d had less than five hours of sleep. As usual, Dakota, takeaway cup of black coffee in hand, looked far sprightlier than he did.
“How can you be so damn chipper this early in the morning, after so little sleep?” he asked, stepping through the hatch and yanking on the lever to close it.
Dakota shrugged, slurping loudly on her coffee. “I’ve never needed more than around four or five hours of sleep.”
Hallam followed her along the corridor and into the cockpit before slumping down in his seat and letting out a long, weary groan. “Is that a skill you can teach me? Because I could probably do with an extra four or five just to feel human again.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Dakota as she dropped into her seat with far more decorum than Hallam had managed. She then placed her coffee into the cup-holder she had retrofitted to the chair. “This stuff really helps too,” she added, tapping the lid of the takeaway cup.
Hallam made a “yeurgh” sound and stuck out his tongue. “No thanks. I don’t know how you stomach that stuff. It tastes like burned toast.”
Dakota snorted and tapped Bob the bear on the head, shooting it a cheery “hello.” She then moved on to the launch checklist.
“Well, you can go ahead and cop a few extra zees while I take her out,” said Dakota, running through the list. “Though if you can check through our launch notifications before you nod off, that would be helpful. Heaven forbid you actually do some work this morning…”
Hallam replied with an affronted huff and activated his computer console before switching to their notices and orders.
“Looks like the usual stuff to me,” Hallam said as he scanned along the list. “The repairs were all finished, so that’s good. And we’ve been loaded with an additional container of ship supplies,”
“Why?” asked Dakota, taking another slurp of coffee. “They only gave us a crate on Vesta, two stops back. How much canned soup do they think we can drink?”
Hallam shrugged. “Who knows? But I’m not complaining, so long as the crate includes some more mini pretzels. I love those things.”
“You’ll look like a damn pretzel if you eat any more of them,” replied Dakota as the thrum of the ship’s engines started to climb.
“Other than that, we have a full consignment of Randenite and are ready to go.” Then he read the final entry and swore.
“That doesn’t bode well,” said Dakota, knowing that Hallam very rarely cursed.
“We’ve been reassigned,” said Hallam darkly. “Our first stop is now Minerva.”
“Oh, crap,” replied Dakota, realizing now why Hallam was so cross. “What are they sending us to that backwater hell-hole for? I thought Riggs and Naomi drew the short straw for that gig.”
Hallam tapped on the reassignment order to get the full details, then read the report as Dakota maneuvered the tanker out of the hold, radioing their sole remaining escort to form up with them once they were clear of the dock. Hallam barely noticed as the bright lights of the hangar bay were replaced by the inky blackness of space; he was too caught up in what he was reading. He reached the end of the report and shook his head.
“Riggs and Naomi did get that job, but it says here they got attacked,” he said despairingly. “Their tanker was interjected by Darkspace Renegades en route from Orcus to the Centrum. Looks like no one made it.”
Dakota sighed and flopped back in her seat. “That’s too bad. I liked Naomi,” she said wistfully.
“Too bad? That’s one way of putting it,” said Hallam, slightly taken aback by Dakota’s easy-going reaction. “I just hope that means those terrorist assholes have had their pound of flesh for the week, because now we have to fly out into the badlands with only one escort fighter.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” replied Dakota, again seeming surprisingly nonplussed by the prospect of another renegade attack. “Anyway, they’re not terrorists; they’re just fighting for a cause they believe in.”
Hallam laughed. “That’s kind of the definition of terrorists, Dak,” he said, more unkindly than he’d planned, but his own fear and anger had colored his response. “That and the fact they blow stuff up to get their own way.”
“You should pay less attention to the lies that come out of the BridgeNet news networks,” Dakota hit back crabbily. “You know that slimeball Damien Doyle controls almost everything that those channels spew out, right?”
“You know I detest Doyle and his propaganda networks as much as you,” Hallam answered. He could feel that this conversation was heading toward a row, but it had already gone too far, and now he couldn’t stop himself. It was like a powerful underwater current, drawing him out to sea. “But whatever their reasons, you can’t justify murdering innocent people. Hell, Dak, those renegades are trying to kill us. Why are you defending them?”
Dakota steered the tanker toward the gate beacon for Minerva and activated the bridge synchronization clock so that their escort could bridge with them. Despite being the farthest bridge world from Earth by some distance, Minerva was linked to the Centrum by a direct bridge, although it would still take around twelve hours to reach the planet.
“I’m not defending the loss of life,” Dak answered after locking in the autopilot for the bridging sequence. “But we’ve both seen firsthand what the Consortium is doing to these new worlds. They screwed up Earth already, and now they’re doing the same to these other planets. Besides, this Randenite stuff is more volatile than the stock market. And the only person who actually knows what the hell it’s made of died a decade ago.”
Hallam rubbed his face and stared out into the empty space ahead. He hadn’t bothered to shave that morning and wished he had; there was something about being unkempt that made him feel mentally disheveled too.
“I hear you, Dak,” Hallam eventually replied after giving her comments some thought. “And maybe you’re right, but there has to be a better way. Without this Randenite, there are millions of people who will get cut off, from Earth and the other planets. It’s always the innocents that suffer, Dak. Good intentions and the moral high ground don’t stop people from starving.”
Dakota didn’t answer, but Hallam could see that the conversation was driving a wedge between them, so he decided to drop it. They both sat in silence for a time, until the pulse of the Shelby Drive system rose to a crescendo, and there was a brief flash of red before the tanker entered bridge space. Hallam could see that their escort fighter had slotted in behind them in a perfect slipstream. Barring any interjections from the renegades that Hallam and Dakota had just been arguing about, it would be another half a day before they reached Minerva. And he didn’t want to spend that time rowing with Dakota. He knew she needed space, so he decided to give her some time alone.
“Anyway, hopefully, we don’t have to worry about renegades on this trip,�
�� Hallam said, pushing himself out of his seat. It took more effort than it should have done, and he realized he was much more tired than he’d originally thought. “I’m going to grab a couple of hours of shut-eye; buzz my cabin if you need me for anything.”
Dakota nodded, but didn’t look at him, and idly slurped from her coffee again, which Hallam guessed was probably lukewarm by now. He was about to head out when he noticed that there was an orange light on the Shelby Drive status panel. He tapped the indicator, one of a number relating to their Randenite fueling system, and read the more detailed report, but the value was still within norms. He turned to Dakota with the intention of suggesting she keep an eye on the fuel pressure and flow rate, but the stormy look on her face made him think twice. He sighed again before heading out of the cockpit and toward his bunk.
9
Hallam woke with a start to the sound of the warning alarm blaring inside the cabin and the strip lights that ran along the middle of his walls flashing red. He rolled out of his bunk and dropped heavily onto the deck, still groggy and disorientated from the rude awakening. It took Hallam another few seconds to gather his senses before pulling on his boots and staggering to the door. It swished open automatically, and the blare of the alarm assaulted him even more severely. The main central corridor was flashing red, like his cabin, and now that he’d regained his balance, he could feel a deep vibration through the deck and walls.
“Dak!” he cried as he stumbled along the corridor, struggling to maintain a straight line. “What the hell?” he said out loud as each step took him further off center. Then, without warning, he was slammed to the opposite side of the corridor and pressed against the wall, as if the entire space had been turned by ninety degrees. Hallam righted himself and tried to shake the fogginess from his mind. To his astonishment, he was now standing upright on what should have been the wall of the corridor. “Dak!” he cried out again as he forced one foot in front of another and eventually made it to the cockpit door. The gravity shifted again, and he was tossed to the opposite wall, landing face first. He tasted blood and spat out a tooth before pushing his body up and clawing his way into the cockpit.