Spaceship Thrive (Thrive Space Colony Adventures Book 2)

by Ginger Booth

  “Outstanding!” Sass winced, realizing she’d spoken too loudly. “Well done.”

  “OK, we’ll get back to you. Abel?”

  “Full water tanks and reagent hopper for the star drive. Crew is cranky, but cooperating. This meeting should help. Channels 5 and 6 are clean for comms, no audience. But what’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to Sagamore,” Sass replied. She nodded to Wilder. “Three guards on board. You, Cortez, and Clay should be able to get the drop on them. Copeland, we can’t spare you for a fight. Steer clear. Lavelle accepted me as the only hostage on Gossamer –”

  “I don’t like it,” Clay interrupted. Abel and Ben shook their heads in outrage as well.

  “Best I could do,” Sass growled. “I won’t get hurt. Eli, you’ll be ready with our bribe for Hell’s Bells?”

  The scientist solemnly nodded. “Gift packaged with a code-controlled bow. Copeland, I’ll need help building that.”

  The engineer looked curious, but didn’t ask for details.

  Sass smiled at them. “Make sure the wrapping has a window. Give them a preview of their present.”

  “Delay,” Clay suggested. “Wait for the next launch window to Sagamore. See if we can sell Lavelle on a better offer first. Drive a wedge between him and Burgeron.”

  “I hear you,” Sass acknowledged. She worried her lip. “No. My gut says Lavelle won’t give up without one last attack on Sagamore. And we came here for Carruthers and star drives. Better to go while everyone’s off balance. Burgeron isn’t on board with Lavelle’s choices. If wiser heads prevail, we could lose control of the Thrive. Besides, how long do you think I can keep the bloom on a new romance? While I’m sharing a cabin with a pirate? I’m not that good an actor.”

  “Your call,” Clay conceded. Sass was the one on point getting a feel for their enemies.

  “OK, here’s the plan,” Sass began. She figured she didn’t have much time before Martin and his goons – only three boarders now – got nervous and demanded that the crew break it up.

  35

  The crucial difference between Sagamore and Mahina colonies was day length. With a 28-day diurnal cycle, open-air agriculture was impossible on Sagamore. So they never built a breathable atmosphere. This left the later settlers far more susceptible to control, dependent on air supply.

  “Almost show time,” Abel murmured in the bridge. Six days later, Gossamer ahead of them fired their first shot at Dome, the capital city of Sagamore. Its immense dome system of glass and girders beckoned dully ahead. It shone under a three quarter Pono, a small yellow coin in the night sky above, and the flare of its own meteor-defense guns.

  Ben scooched up straight in the gunner’s chair beside him. Their approach came in low over the regolith, an unnervingly different shade and texture of moon rock from Mahina. The gas giant Pono was half the size in this moon’s sky, and the night strangely purple, stars brighter than even during Eclipse on the Pono side of Mahina.

  Ben clicked a few buttons to display a new countdown. “Time, 30 minutes until Sagamore Orbital has a shot at us.”

  “Keep a happy thought,” Abel returned. “And stay ready and terrified until we’re needed, I guess.”

  Their jailer Martin grunted agreement behind them, supervising the bridge in person in the spot where Sass ought to be. If all went according to plan, pilot and gunner would do nothing. The Thrive was remote controlled from Gossamer. Ben and Abel sat ready in case communications were knocked out.

  Or if Gossamer needed help, Abel supposed. The temptation to cut and run under those conditions would be overwhelming. The cost was leaving Sass behind.

  “Gossamer, Thrive ready,” Abel reported.

  “Thrive, wait on Gossamer’s first shot,” Sass’s voice replied.

  Abel and Ben exchanged startled grins.

  “– Thrive will destroy front left gun,” Sass continued. “I’ll do that from here, Abel, but carry through in case. Everybody OK?”

  “We’re fine, Sass,” he replied, surprised how starved he was for her voice. They hadn’t spoken since departing Hell’s Bells four days ago. “Hoping to stay that way.”

  “Hold that thought,” Sass agreed. “No chatter now.”

  Lavelle must have decided to let her remote-control the Thrive, trusting she was in it to win it. And certainly she was motivated to save the ship and its crew. Good work, Sass!

  Before them Gossamer cut right and up for vantage, then fired on the right gun tower closest to them. Caught by surprise, Dome didn’t get a shot off before they lost their only gun that could train on the pirate’s ship.

  Thrive wasn’t as fortunate. Farther back, the Sagamore defenses had a split second shot at them, and took it. An instant of blinding pink light, and the ship bucked in agony. The grav blinked out briefly, causing Martin to bounce his helmet off the overhead, and swear a blue streak. Abel and Ben in their pressure suits and harnesses didn’t budge.

  The ship slowed, out of Abel’s control, making them a sitting duck for another shot from Dome’s meteor defenses.

  “C’mon, Sass,” Ben begged beside Abel, not on the Gossamer channel, as their target turret glowed lurid red with its cool down and recharge. Sagamore’s guns were slow but powerful, a match to the guns that rarely shot to protect Mahina Actual anymore. Mahina’s breathable atmosphere was far more potent against ring debris incursions than Sagamore’s thin air. Which was good, since not a single settler town had guns.

  “She can’t shoot from a bucking horse,” Abel reasoned. His fingers flew, attempting to help stabilize the skyship. But he remained locked out.

  Beside him, Ben did much the same. Unwilling to give up, he kept jabbing his unresponsive fire button for the bow gun.

  And then suddenly they fired. The top blew off the turret in another brilliant flash of white-blue and red. Abel blinked a couple times before he could see again. The Dome turret was shattered. Only a single shard still jutted up from the regolith. Debris still rained down in the low gravity, like the beautiful lazy cascade of falling embers from a fireworks explosion. The pieces would reach over a kilometer from the domes.

  The dome closest to the tower was shattered through. Abel spared a prayer for anyone who lost pressure by surprise in there. He spent only a moment on the shock. Then he recalled he was still in command.

  “Copeland,” Abel prompted. He shouldn’t switch his speaking channel to damage control.

  Ben gulped. “Right. Copeland, status?”

  “Blew a hole through my goddamn fucking ventilation system again. And nicked the plumbing. We’re leaking.”

  Abel heard him fine on the damage control channel. True testament to stress, he barked a laugh. As Copeland continued his tale of woe, he paraphrased for Sass over on the Gossamer. “Major damage, Gossamer, leaking air and water.”

  “Thrive, understood,” she replied. “Pulling back. Hold for Gossamer negotiations with Dome.”

  “That’s it?” Ben complained. “Three shots and we’re done?” Alas, he spoke on the damage control channel.

  “Is your brain broken, chump?” Copeland retorted. “Off my channel!”

  Abel chuckled. “You deserved that one, Ben. Cheer up, Sagamore Orbital is above the horizon again in 23 minutes. Saggy minutes.”

  Ben switched to a side channel before replying. “There’s that. We could fight caught between the two of them.”

  The young idiot really did seem disappointed that actual ships and a domed city couldn’t summon the will to keep firing to mutual assured destruction. Everyone had too much to lose, and little to win.

  “Dome can’t afford to lose another gun, Ben,” Abel explained. “Their meteor threat is way worse than ours at home.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ben agreed.

  Suddenly they were moving again, toward the city. “Maybe Sass thought of that,” Abel returned.

  “Thrive, we are sheltering beside the city domes,” Sass confirmed. “Frustrate the orbital’s aim.”

  “Sass,
any chance we’ll see you there?” Abel asked.

  After a pause, she replied, “Try not to. Double-cross.”

  A loud sound like a slap cut into her channel. The next voice was Lavelle’s. “Thrive, prepare all crew to exit the ship.”

  “Gossamer, cannot comply,” Abel attempted.

  “That was an order! Gossamer out.”

  “Out,” Martin reiterated. “Assemble in the hold.”

  Abel’s mind rapidly grasped at straws. “Copeland needs to repair the hull breach. He needs assistants. We’re leaking water.”

  “Gossamer knows how to patch holes, idiot,” Martin retorted. “I said move!”

  Ben moved to obey, unclasping his seatbelt. “Eli,” he whispered.

  Abel caught the hint immediately, including the belts. “Eli, the botanist. He needs to stay on board or his research and the gardens systems will be ruined.”

  “What do I care?” Martin nudged him with a short laser rifle.

  “The value of the Thrive includes its crops.” Abel hastened to evacuate his seat like Ben. He unsnapped his helmet from its rack, ready to seal onto his shoulders. They’d need to depressurize the bridge to exit to the hold. “Eli’s science projects include fresh water aquaponic crops and fish stock for Hell’s Bells. Ask your boss if you don’t believe me.” Eli’s gift of freshwater aquaponics was a bribe for the road home.

  “You already did,” Martin noted in triumph. “Command circuit.”

  Abel blinked his eyes slowly. He knew that.

  Apparently Lavelle answered, via the earring the pirates wore for a comms device. “Yeah. Hold on. Delveccio? Confirm damage is hull breach and water loss… Yeah, Pierre, the the damage is legit.” Pause. “All of us?” Pause. “You’re the boss.”

  With a much put-upon sigh, he dropped his hand from his ear. “Pierre wants you to fix the leak.”

  “Can’t until the hull is repaired,” Abel answered quickly. “We’ve been through this before. Remember how pissed off Copeland was?”

  “Right. You two. Help get that hull breach and leak fixed ASAP. Don’t dawdle. You might still ride this death-trap back to Hell’s Bells.”

  “But I doubt it,” Abel said experimentally. Ben shot him a sharp glance of concern.

  “You got that right,” Martin confirmed. “Latch those helmets and depressurize the bridge.” He snapped his own headgear shut first.

  When the guard shoved him, Copeland shoved right back in equal measure. “I just fixed the damned hull for you! And the plumbing! I want food and something to drink, damn you!”

  “I’ll bring it!” Jules called down from the catwalk, and scurried to fetch him a snack.

  Copeland sighed. Toss a hint out there, and sometimes the wrong person is going to catch it.

  Cortez was rousting Jules and Kassidy. Cortez and Wilder made pretty convincing turncoats these days. Maybe because they really had switched sides to join the pirates. Sass pissed them off pretty bad when she cut off their porn.

  Jules got away with her little side trip into the galley, honking her little donkey bray in self-delight. She offered Cortez a cookie. Cortez goosed her butt with a rifle to get her moving toward the hold again.

  “I said strip that pressure suit,” Copeland’s tormentor demanded again.

  “Do it, Copeland,” Abel advised. He and Ben already stripped to normal ship’s coveralls and stocking feet.

  “Can I get my boots?” Ben asked. “They have huge sentimental –”

  “Shut up!” Their goon poked him hard in the sternum.

  Clay rapped on Eli’s door. “We’re leaving in a few, Eli. Take care.”

  “Move it!” demanded his herder. Clay was the last one down the stairs.

  Copeland could have wished Wilder caught Clay herding duty. Now was the time to make a breakout move, in his opinion, before they lost the ship. He’d spun out a couple tasks to make sure Sagamore orbital set below the horizon right about now. Another trial balloon tossed into the air. Catch it, Clay!

  Clay appeared to cooperate with the pirates, hands in the air, as he trotted down the aft stairway. Copeland caught his shift with narrowed eyes. The old man – hell, he looked younger than Copeland – suddenly reversed course, hopping up and slamming his head back into his guard’s face. Copeland spun to grab for his own captor’s rifle while he was distracted. Wilder lunged for a gun as well. Cortez swung hers on the pirates.

  Shots rang out. But Copeland’s own wrestling match demanded his attention just then. Delveccio was tougher than he looked. Straining, they both pulled the barrel this way and that. Finally Copeland managed to lever his leg behind his opponent’s and trip him. Delveccio flailed for balance. The engineer won the gun and bashed the guy across the face with its stock before turning to assess.

  The backup guard stood still on the catwalk above, gun aimed directly into Copeland’s face. “Drop it.”

  Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard any scuffles other than his own still going on. He quickly glanced around. Wilder lay on his face, fingers locked behind his neck. Kassidy tore the sleeve off Cortez’s shirt to get at the disabling laser burn to her upper arm. A guard below had her gun.

  Where was Clay? Copeland lowered his hard-won weapon and laid it on the floor.

  Jules rose from where she’d huddled on the catwalk, arms shielding her head. She cried out and ran down the stairs, ignoring orders to stop. The small throng in the hold shifted so he could see.

  Clay lay on the floor broken. The front of his shirt burnt off, his chest blackened by the laser blast. His limbs akimbo at angles a living man would never choose. The side of his face, destroyed, leaked blood in a puddle around his head. The more fatal laser wound had self-cauterized.

  “You killed him!” Jules shrieked in agony. “You monsters! You murderous swine!” She bent to listen for a heart-beat. She kissed his mouth trying to apply CPR. And with that, the last trace of her village idiot act vanished.

  “Get her under control!” one of the guards demanded.

  Abel hastened to comply. Jules hammered her fists into his chest, sobbing hysterically. He folded his wife in his arms and held her tight. She shifted her furious pummeling to his sides and kidneys, and kicked him in the shins.

  Copeland winced in sympathy.

  “Move out. Now! Hands on your heads. You with the girl! Keep her under control!”

  Subdued, they marched out the wide-open cargo lock into a remarkably long umbilical. From much recent experience, Copeland automatically noted the new sheen of the accordion-like tunnel, not merely well-repaired but recently made, without a patch on it.

  The engineer was the last out before they closed the cargo lock. Still stunned, he stared behind into the hold until the lowering door cut off his view of Clay’s body on the deck.

  36

  Sagamore’s social structure was essentially elites vs. slaves. Oddly, it seems to have started out more egalitarian than Mahina. But several technological disasters left them dependent on human-intensive labor in low-yield underground rice paddies.

  Sass’s heart fell as the crew shuffled out of the umbilical. She’d hoped they’d find a chance to win control of the ship at this juncture. Judging by the laser-burnt rags on Cortez and Wilder, they tried. Her eyes narrowed. Four or five of them should have jumped the guards. Ben and Copeland didn’t have a scratch on them.

  Where are Clay and Eli?

  Lavelle shoved her toward her crew. Hands tied before her, she stumbled a step before righting herself.

  The umbilical retracted. Through the double-armor-glass window wall, she saw the Thrive retreat away from any airlocks, though still nestled alongside the domes to discourage pot-shots from orbit.

  Not one of them wore a pressure suit. Well, that sucks.

  From pillow talk with Lavelle, she knew the Sagamore atmosphere was survivable, but not for long. Even here inside, with oxygen levels adequate, the alkali tang seared her sinuses. Unfamiliar metallic undertones made her uneasy. Running, she estimat
ed a normal person would pass out from lack of oxygen well shy of where he parked the ship. That’s how she’d position it.

  The pirates were ‘normal.’ Her crew wasn’t. She carefully neglected to mention the varying physical toughness of her crew members. She and Clay could certainly run that far. The urbs might make it. The settlers would collapse to the ground gasping for air long before they reached safety. And dammit, the umbilical wouldn’t just snake out where she wanted it. Where Thrive once parked, a clear docking spot was painted on bare rock, apparently blasted flat.

  Sagamores carved regolith better than Mahinans, she’d give them that.

  The captain merged into the group beside Abel. He clamped Jules tight under his arm, she was relieved to see. Their false separation had been hard on him, and worryingly easy for Jules. But Sass was four days out of touch, she reminded herself firmly. Careful not to assume. “Where are the others?”

  “Eli is minding the plants,” Abel said softly, subdued. “Copeland sealed the hull. Water down a third. Clay…”

  Sass glanced at him sharply. “How bad?”

  “I’m sorry, Sass. He’s gone.”

  “Gone? As in gone?” Sass demanded. She winced at her own loud voice, and brought it down to a whisper. “Or is his body still on the ship?”

  Abel raised hands in a fending off gesture. “The body is in the hold.”

  Sass breathed a sharp sigh, and turned to glance at her captors. They waited in a utilitarian dingy-grey tack room and loading dock, Lavelle still deep in negotiations over his ear-piece. She scanned the walls, seeking pressure suits or air masks. But they didn’t seem to be stowed here.

  She pressed Abel’s arm, awkwardly with her hands tied, and shifted toward Wilder, next to Cortez, to inquire about their injuries. She didn’t reach them.

  “Attention!” Lavelle called out. “The two guards from Mahina Orbital, get them to medical on the Gossamer. The other women are with me. The rest are now Dome custodial workers.” He sneered at them. “Your new foreman will collect you soon.” He waved an arm forward, and strode ahead, flanked by eight of his men, heavily armed.