Mission Pack 1: Missions 1-4 (Black Ocean Mission Pack)

by J. S. Morin

  “Just inside,” Esper replied. “I’ll unpack it myself.” She seemed to realize the rest of the crew were staring at her. “What? They gave me clothes to wear. It’s not like any of them are going to wear anything second-hand. Why let all those nice outfits go to waste?”

  Carl scratched his head. “You sure you want to come back?”

  Esper nodded vigorously. “It was like I was being hunted. It eventually got to the point where it felt like everyone on that ship was trying to sleep with me. It was Sodom, Gomorrah, and Vegas rolled into one.”

  “That’s it,” Carl said. “Next time, I’m getting captured by the pirates. You all can skip the rescue.”

  Mort snorted. “These pirates wouldn’t have you. These are educated pirates.”

  “Sophisticated, even,” Esper agreed.

  “I could fake that,” Carl said, sounding hurt.

  “Yeah,” Tanny said with a sigh. “He could.”

  # # #

  Tanny sat on her bed, alone. Beside her was a digitally locked crate, given to her by Janice before they parted ways in the middle of astral nowhere. A gift, she had called it. Tanny would receive the combination to open it once Janice and her crew had gotten themselves to a suitable destination to drop the colony ship planetside. That had been four days ago. Tanny had been tempted to challenge Mort or Roddy to open it, as much to spite Janice as to discover the contents. If she knew Janice, it was going to be an insulting gift anyway. But every morning, she took the crate, set it on the bed, and kept it company as she waited for word from her cousin.

  Today her vigil ended. She had set an alarm on her datapad for messages from Janice. It played a few bars of a heavy melody, filled with doom and dread. Janice had finally sent word:

  To Tania,

  We found a place that’s half shithole and set ourselves up in the half that isn’t. No offense, but you don’t get to know where. I know we butted heads for a lot of years, but you at least know how to work a job. If that Bryce had found dumber patsies, I’d be in lock-up right about now, or maybe dead. So I owe you for that.

  To make things up, the combination is in the attached file. Oh, and I didn’t fuck Carl when he stayed over at the resort. I just got him to play along and let you think I did. It would have been weird. Carl’s family, after all. Anyway, go ahead and open that crate. You earned it.

  J.R.

  Tanny opened the file appended to Janice’s message, and fed the multi-layer encryption key into the crate. The lock popped with a soft puff of released pressure. Opening the lid, Tanny gasped.

  Inside was everything she needed: Centrimac, Plexophan, Adrenophiline, Pseudoanorex, Zygrana, Cannabinol, and even Recitol. It had the mineral supplements she needed. There was even a supply of Sepromax. There was no way Janice could have gotten all that without Carl’s help. Only the crew and a couple suppliers might have been able to pass that detailed mix along.

  The song of doom played from Tanny’s datapad once more, and there was another message:

  I figure you got it open by now. Just so you know, that’s your cut. If you want a profit on this job, sell that shit at the nearest hellhole for marine burnouts. But if you want to stay hooked on that shit, it’s none of my business.

  J.R.

  An hour later, Tanny was beginning to feel like her old self again. Not her old old self, but the one she had been for most of her time serving on the Mobius. Things were starting to make sense again. She wasn’t feeling as paranoid, unfocused, or inexplicably angry. She was feeling enough like herself to feel guilty about taking the crew’s cut for herself, and but not enough that she was about to change her mind.

  “I’ll make it up to them,” she told herself.

  # # #

  As far as offices went, Bryce Brisson had seen more impressive. He’d seen the section chief’s office, with its so-new-they-sparkle holo consoles, polished glass desk and chairs, and oil portraits of Earth prime ministers and former section chiefs. He’d been to Oxford on an investigation once and seen a dean’s office appointed with antiques that cost more than his annual salary. But those and others lacked one aspect that made this office more intimidating than all the others combined: it had Don Rucker sitting in it.

  The syndicate boss looked just like the holos Bryce had seen for years working in Crime Disorganization. Take Don Rucker out of his expensive suit, confiscate his gold wrist-chrono, and remove him from his fawning associates, and you’d never tell him apart from a freight handler or a prison guard. He had the muscular shoulders of a man who once did his own leg breaking, and the ample gut of someone who’d had people for that sort of thing for a long while. But in the squareness of his jaw and the hard, disapproving glare, Bryce could see a lot of Tanny in him.

  “So, this is the guy?” Don Rucker asked. It was a formality. Bryce knew the Rucker Syndicate had dug up everything they needed to undo him. There was no chance of mistaken identity.

  “Sure is, Don,” Earl replied. “He came nice and peaceful.”

  Don leaned back in his chair. “A man resigned to his fate?”

  Bryce swallowed. He tried to say something, but no sound came. He licked his lips and tried again. “A man with everything to lose.”

  Don nodded with his lips pressed tight. “Yeah, you do. That wife of yours was a looker ten, fifteen years ago. I bet that’s still the way you see her.” He pressed a button on a console set into his desk. A tabletop holo popped up, showing Trisha walking down the street with an armload of groceries.

  Bryce made a short, jittery twitch of his neck muscles meant to convey a nod.

  “And those boys of yours…” Don let the holo finish his statement. With a press of another button, the holo changed, and it was Ben and Todd hopping onto the tram after school. They were heading home. Home. Bryce was never going to see home again. His lip quivered as he struggled to maintain his composure in front of the Ruckers.

  “That’s why you’re standing here right now, isn’t it?” Don asked, pointing less at Bryce and more toward the floor where he stood. “You coulda run. You coulda fought back. But you’re just standing here—eyes welling up like your dog just died.” Don hit a button and the holo disappeared.

  “You’ve got me,” Bryce said. “They don’t know anything. They haven’t done anything.”

  “Be a shame, seeing them scraping by on that ARGO widow’s fund payout,” Don said. The mention of his wife being a widow set the tears rolling down Bryce’s face. “Oh, for the love of God. Jimmy, pour this guy a drink. What I was saying is that I don’t see a reason she has to raise those boys on one salary and the chump change ARGO pays out for a killed-on-duty.” Bryce felt a tumbler pressed into his hands and absently brought it to his mouth. The liquid burned from lips to throat, but he drank. He tipped it back, relishing the pain. He came up for air gasping, and doubled over. Someone took the glass when he offered it back.

  Don, Earl, and Jimmy had a laugh at his expense. “Janice was right,” Don said. “This one’s not all bad. I tell you what, Mr. Undercover Tech Sneak; today’s your lucky day. I’ve got an offer for you, and you’d be wise to take it.”

  Bryce put his hand on his knees and pushed himself mostly upright. “An offer?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “I like having people with inside knowledge,” Don said. “You’re going to come work for me?”

  Bryce shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t betray ARGO.”

  “ARGO? What have they done for you?” Don asked.

  “Nothing,” Earl added.

  “They ship you off to the cold, dark side of the galaxy. No backup. No bonus pay. You risk your life so some silver-spoon lawyers don’t get their ships boosted,” Don said. “You work for me … well, let’s say it’s a safer life, believe it or not. New name, new digs, maybe a little cosmo so they don’t catch you on a biometric scan. Life gets a little harder for those boys who hung you out to dry in Freeride; life gets a little easier for Trisha and your boys.” Don popped the holovid up again, showi
ng Bryce’s family together at the tram stop, his boys just home from school. “Your little woman gets a patron in the form of a civic-minded individual who wants to help a widow make ends meet—and then some. Your boys get tuition to private schools, so they can get nice, safe, respectable jobs. Not like the jobs you just left, or the jobs you and me got now. Whaddaya say?”

  Bryce used to wonder about the sort of weak, petty men who got dragged into organized crime. He understood now. When it all came down to it, all that mattered was family. And Bryce Brisson—or whatever his next alias would be—was willing to do anything for his.

  “Deal.”

  To Err is Azrin

  Mission 4 of the Black OceanSeries

  J.S. Morin

  To Err is Azrin

  Mission 4 of: Black Ocean

  Copyright © 2014 Magical Scrivener Press

  The crew of the Mobius:

  Bradley Carlin “Carl” Ramsey (Human, Male, 32): Captain of the Mobius. Former starfighter pilot who left Earth Navy under questionable circumstances. Smuggler and petty con man with a love of ancient rock music.

  Tania Louise “Tanny” Ramsey (Human, Female, 31): Pilot of the Mobius. Former marine drop-ship pilot and Carl’s ex-wife. Daughter of a notorious crime lord who joined the marines to get away from her family.

  Mordecai “Mort” The Brown (Human, Male, 52): Ship’s wizard. On the run from the Convocation, he serves in place of the Mobius’ shoddy star-drive. “The” is his legal middle name, a tradition in the Brown family.

  Rodek of Kethlet “Roddy” (Laaku, Male, 45): Ship’s mechanic. Laaku are a quadridexterous race with prehensile feet, evolved from a species similar to the chimpanzees of Earth. Never to be found without a beer in hand, he keeps the cobbled-together Mobius running.

  Mriy Yrris (Azrin, Female, 16): Ship’s security. The azrin are felid race who still hunt for their food. Despite her lethargy and slouching posture, she is a ferocious warrior.

  Esper Theresa Richelieu (Human, Female, 24): Former initiate priestess of the One Church. She tried to do the right thing the wrong way, and it cost her a place in the hierarchy. Though she’s signed on with the Mobius, she’s still not sure what role fits her best.

  Kubu (Species Unknown, Male, Age Unknown): A sentient dog-like creature, rescued from an illegal zoo.

  The bounty hunter’s ship swerved around a derelict hulk, dodging fire from the Mobius. The chase had started out entertaining when the Remembrance, thinking he was making his exchange, dropped out of astral. It wasn’t ten seconds before he opened fire, ignoring hails as he fled into the Kapos IV scrap yard. But once a lucky shot had knocked out the bounty hunter’s auto-cannon, it had devolved into fox-hunt.

  As near as Carl Ramsey could figure, the captain of the Remembrance had few options. Curious whether his quarry had the same list in mind, he keyed the ship-to-ship comm. “Vessel Remembrance, this is Captain Michael Jagger of the independent ship Rolling Stone. It’s time to consider handing over that cargo of yours while you’ve still got some leverage to negotiate. You won’t shake us long enough to go astral. You won’t get us to crash in the scrap-yard debris. It’s time to hand him over before we accidentally blow out your life support or breach your hull.”

  “Burn in hell, Jagger,” came the curt response.

  Carl clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Such disrespect for a noble musician.” Of course, with the comm closed, the captain of the Remembrance didn’t hear that.

  “Probably too busy evading us to care,” Tanny replied from the pilot’s seat. It was her handiwork that kept the Mobius on the bounty hunter’s tail.

  “He’s wasting his time,” Carl muttered. With his arms crossed and feet up on the console, he knew he was far from the model of efficient time use, but his ship was winning. Winning bought a captain a bit of leeway.

  Tanny twisted the Mobius on its axis and they swung around the hull of an Earth Navy light cruiser. There was a hole the size of a small asteroid in the side—anti-matter torpedo, if Carl had to guess—and the Remembrance darted through it. The Mobius struggled to stay in the turn, but slipped through close behind. There was no sensation, no G-force tugging Carl from his seat—he wasn’t even buckled in. Tanny flew with the safeties engaged. Between the thrust limiters and Mort’s top-notch artificial gravity, her flying felt no different from sitting on a landing pad.

  Carl yawned. If he were piloting, they’d not only have caught up with the bounty hunter’s Osprey-class patrol ship, but they’d have had some excitement doing it. A staccato burst of plasma bolts shot across the forward window, narrowly missing the Remembrance. Mriy was picking at it with the guns, not wanting to destroy the ship outright. But it was damnably annoying to watch, knowing they were stuck giving chase until the azrin could land a lucky shot and take out the engines.

  “Maybe we should give Esper a chance on the guns,” Carl grumbled.

  “Yeah,” Tanny replied. “Same girl who won’t fire a blaster and pulls her punches in Krav Maga sparring.”

  “I was joking,” Carl replied deadpan. “Might not hurt letting Roddy have a crack at it though. He wouldn’t—”

  “Can you just shut up?” Tanny snapped. “This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

  “Of course, you know,” Carl said. “If you’re having trouble, I can take over. You’d do a lot better than Mriy in the gunner’s seat.”

  Tanny snorted. “We’ve got this won. We’re just running him down now.”

  Carl cringed. It was the sort of thing that just wasn’t said. Overconfidence bred carelessness. Thinking one step ahead could cause you to stumble over the one you were standing on. Plus, it was just plain old bad luck.

  On the other side of the holey cruiser, the bounty hunter swung around. The cargo hold of the Remembrance opened, and something small and silvery tumbled out. Of course, at a quarter kilometer or so, “small” was a relative term. The fleeing ship changed course again, heading away from the vector of the cargo it had dumped.

  “All yours,” the captain of the Remembrance snarled over the comm. “You can come after me or it, but it’s headed for the munitions dump.”

  Tanny checked the tactical sensors. “Shit! He’s right. We can’t—”

  The Remembrance exploded with a plume of ignited oxygen as Mriy connected with a salvo of hits directly to the crew compartment. Tanny swung the Mobius around on an intercept course.

  Carl leaned over and keyed the comm to the gunner’s turret. “We were all set, Mriy. He dropped the pod and was making a run for it.”

  “I know,” Mriy replied. “That was personal.”

  # # #

  Mriy strode through the common room, not pausing as she glanced at Mort’s holovid. He was watching a historical recreation from his home world. It was factual, if she was any judge of human narrators. The good ones rarely interrupted the action to have someone tell old stories.

  Mort looked up as she passed. “We get him?”

  “Not yet,” she replied.

  Down in the cargo hold, Roddy was waiting with Esper, both standing ready in their EV suits. Roddy gestured with his upper set of hands as she approached, but with the EV helmet on, Mriy heard nothing of what the simian mechanic said. He seemed to realize this and removed the helmet. “You gotta either suit up or get out of here. We’re intercepting the pod and bringing it in through the cargo bay door, not the airlock.”

  “Why wouldn’t we just—”

  “Out!” Roddy shouted. “We’re on the clock. Get pissy later.” She envied the laaku his ease with the human language, but her ears flicked at his tone.

  Esper, still wearing her EV helmet, shrugged an apology. It was just like her to avoid confrontation. She was like a bird, quick to chirp and quick to flight. Mriy showed a quick flash of fangs to the both of them and made a hasty retreat back to the common room.

  The door between had a small window, enough for Mriy to watch Roddy and Esper. Red light strobed, and a klaxon blared; it was loud even muffled by
the steel door, warning that the air was being pumped from the cargo bay. Mort’s holovid grew in volume as the wizard sought to drown out the annoying noise. Against the assault on her senses, Mriy flattened her ears against her head.

  “… the Roman senate was growing wary of Caesar’s rising influence…” the narrator droned on.

  The klaxon faded as the air left the cargo hold, but the human-deaf wizard left the holovid blaring. “Turn that down,” Mriy ordered. She fought the urge to attach a bodily threat to her command. Commanding Mort in the first place was an error of riled temper. The wizard’s own counter-threats ran far fouler than her own, and she had little doubt he could carry them out.

  “Don’t make me geld you, wizard.” “I’d have your claws turned to butter before you cut through my jeans.”

  She shuddered at the memory of that particular threat. A declawed azrin was no longer fit to be a warrior. She might still fight with blades or guns, but her hand-to-hand fighting would make her a jesting target among her own kind.

  Her own kind. Mriy returned her attention to the cargo bay, and looked out the open cargo bay as the Mobius matched speed with the cryostasis pod. The wreckage in the salvage yard was the only reference to show how fast they were traveling.

  The pod was a silvery, flattened sausage. It tumbled through the darkness, shimmering with the light of Kapos, the sun of the system by the same name. The silver sausage grew larger as Tanny tapped the maneuvering thrusters, allowing the pod to catch up now that the Mobius was ahead of it. As it turned over, Mriy caught a flash off the glass window, covering a quarter of one side of the pod. The glare made it impossible for her to see in at a distance. Indicator displays glowed below the window, a good sign even if she couldn’t make out what they said. At least the cryostasis pod had power.

  Roddy and Esper prepared an inflatable mattress—one of the useless wonders of the ship’s clutter—and lashed it to the cargo ramp. Roddy must have been coordinating over the comm with Tanny, because the Mobius sped up, slowing the pod’s arrival and lining it up such that it would not enter the ship so high above the mattress.