“We have to hurry! It’s an open contract!” Captain Reilly said. “Anyone could be closing in and we wouldn’t see them until they’re right on top of us.”
Jazdie flinched. It was not like the captain to yell. She must be anxious. “Uh, yes, captain. I’m . . . trying to. . . .”
“Get out of the way, girl!” Phix said, pulling her away from the hatch inside the small airlock.
Jazdie was so small that she went flying through the short corridor and sprawled onto the deck eight feet back.
“Phix, you asshole!” Cyril said while picking her up.
Phix opened the hatch and stepped back to allow the captain through. Cyril grabbed him by the neck and threw him up against the bulkhead. “Don’t you ever touch her again! Do you hear me?”
Phix stared at him for a moment, eyes blazing. Then, he shrugged. “Okay. Sorry, girl. You were taking too damn long, that’s all.”
“It would do you well,” Cyril said, releasing his grip on the other man’s throat, “to learn some civility.”
“Whatever you say, man. I don’t get what you see in that waif, though.”
Jazdie walked up to Phix as if about to say something, and instead, kicked him solidly between the legs, causing him to rise a couple inches. “It’s not enough that you physically assault me, you have to insult me too? Don’t touch me again, motherf—”
“Whoa! Hold on there!” Captain Reilly had stepped back through the airlock hatch. Phix was lying on the deck, hands between his legs, moaning.
“You saw what he did to her, captain,” Cyril said. “He chased a fake apology with an insult. Now he’ll need an ice pack for his juevos.”
“Ooohhh!” Phix moaned, rolling back and forth on the deck.
“Phix, get up, goddammit! Get your ass in there and start salvaging.”
He slowly stood, leaning against the bulkhead for a moment, and then penguin-hobbled into the attached ship, giving Cyril and Jazdie a wide berth.
“Just what we need, an enemy in close quarters,” Cyril whispered into Jazdie’s ear, stroking a lock of hair hanging down over her cheek. She kissed him hard.
“If you don’t mind,” the soft-spoken Locke said, standing behind Jazdie, “I’d like to get started on salvage?”
“Thought you were downstairs, Locke,” Cyril said.
On a small ship like the Black Dahlia, there were no secrets among the crew, and they often shared more than just meals.
“Heard the commotion,” Locke said, trying to squeeze sideways past Jazdie into the narrow airlock passage. She leaned back, pressing her shapely behind against him as he passed. She leaned back a couple inches, pushing Locke against the wall.
“Oops,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder.
Locke’s eyes went wide as he looked up at Cyril, worried about the other man’s reaction. Cyril just raised his eyebrows, amused.
“Um, right, look, ma’am,” Locke said as he gently held her hips in his hands while trying to slide away.
Jazdie laughed loudly, her head pressed against Cyril’s chest and her hands patting him on the shoulders. “A madam, he says!” Then she looked over her shoulder and smiled at Locke. “You appear compromised, sir. And . . . oh, my . . . do I feel something?”
Locke turned a bright shade of red as he squeezed past her into the hatch, swearing under his breath. “Pardon me.”
“Uh! Did you hear that, mon amour?” she said, looking at Cyril with her arms around his shoulders.
“You’re so bad,” Cyril told her, pushing her away by the shoulders. “I had no idea. . . .”
“My dear man,” she said, “do you know how boring farm work is? And, did you know that soil and water are what I’ve done my entire life? A girl has to make up for lost time.”
“Lost time? You’re practically still a—”
“Don’t say it!” she yelled, fire in her eyes. “Age of consent is sixteen on Luna.”
Captain Reilly came through the hatch just then.
“Ah, captain,” Cyril said, more for Jazdie’s benefit than an informal salute, and composed himself.
“Look, uh . . . I don’t have any problem with you two being . . . together,” Reilly said. “But, I must insist that you keep that shit to yourselves, in private quarters. This ship is too small as it is, I can’t have that kind of behavior out in the open. Understood?”
“Yes, captain,” they both said, sounding subdued.
“Good. Now, Jazdie, get to the helm and monitor the scope. I want to know immediately if another ship comes into range. Tap into Luna City’s array and get a position on all traffic in orbit. I want no surprises!”
“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Jazdie said.
“And you,” Reilly said, pointing to Cyril, “into the docked ship, get to work!”
“Right away,” Cyril said.
Captain Reilly stepped back through the hatch behind Cyril, noting how similar the systems were to the Black Dahlia’s own.
“Reilly,” Locke said from the rear hatch, “the cargo bay has been vented, nothing but vacuum. Whatever this ship was hauling is long gone now.”
“Damn,” Reilly said. She sat in one of the two control seats in the middle of the bridge. “I don’t know how anyone can live like this,” she said while kicking trash out of the way. Reilly punched several buttons, flicked switches, but nothing happened.
“I don’t get it,” Cyril said, wiping something gooey off his hand with a rag. “If the hold is gone, and the cabin is still pressurized . . . .”
“Where’s the pilot?” Reilly suggested.
“Exactly,” Cyril agreed.
“Yeah, well, this rig is dead in space, and she’s not going anywhere, either. Fuel was purged with the cargo, and the engines are dead,” Phix said, still hunching over from the lingering pain. “We’re breathing leftover air and whatever comes through the hatch from the B-D.”
“So this was just a waste of time. Not so much as a peanut here,” Cyril said.
“How do we blow it without fuel tanks?” Reilly asked.
“I don’t recommend—” Phix was about to say when he was interrupted.
Locke said, “Look at this!” from the rear of the tiny bridge.
“What is it?” Reilly demanded, already impatient from the lack of salvage.
“Uh, I . . . have no idea,” he stammered.
“What are you talking about?” Cyril asked, as they all took a few steps toward Locke in the rear corner.
“It looks like a mannequin,” Locke said.
“The hell?” Reilly said, kneeling down to examine it. A mannequin should have a smooth surface, while this humanoid . . . thing . . . was dark gray and had strange line indents on its surface. “Help me lift it up.”
She and Locke each took an arm and lifted.
“It’s heavy!” Reilly said. “Must be some kind of robot.”
“You know, I’ve heard rumors about these back home,” Locke said. “Never seen one myself, though.”
It stood upright on its own once its feet and legs were oriented correctly, although the joints appeared to be capable of articulation.
“What do you make of that, Phix?” Reilly said.
“We have incoming!” Jazdie yelled through the fully-open airlock, which was being used as an access hallway rather than as intended. It was dangerous, but Reilly pushed the limits of safety to eke a living out of salvage work.
Reilly jogged back to the hatch. “What is it?”
“A blip came over the horizon. I didn’t think anything of it, but now it’s heading straight for us!” Jazdie said.
“Shiiit, we’ve gotta move,” Reilly said. “Okay, you two, get this thing over to the B-D. We’ll figure it out later. Locke, get to your station. We might have to fight our way out of this.”
Locke trotted through the airlock and jumped into a chair on the left side of the bridge, half surrounded by display screens. The captain appeared behind Jazdie to look at the RADAR data.
Phix and C
yril hauled the robot to the hatch at the rear of the bridge, then closed the airlock.
“They must be pushing their engines,” Locke said. “They’re shifting orbit, heading straight for us rather than waiting for the orbit to bring them around to a better position.”
“In other words, they’re ignoring the fuel cost,” Reilly said.
“Right.”
“Not good! Not good at all! Ident?” Reilly demanded.
“Nothing,” Locke said.
Reilly sat in her command chair and tapped a few buttons on her armrest padd. A moment later, it beeped at her.
“Attention unknown vessel, this is Captain Reilly of the Black Dahlia. We’re conducting a legal salvage of this derelict and do not need . . . or want . . . your assistance. In other words, bugger off.”
She hit the send button. A reply beep sounded almost instantly. She pressed the receive button to open a live channel.
“Reilly, huh? Well, whaddya know. So nice to hear a familiar voice. Now, power down your engines and I’ll only take your cargo, not your lives.”
“Drake. Lovely,” Reilly said sarcastically.
“Is he serious?” Jazdie asked.
“Dead serious,” Reilly said, deadpan. “Let’s get the hell out of here! Locke, punch it!”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Locke said, frantically hitting buttons and adjusting power levels.
The ship surged to life, taking them all by surprise with sudden acceleration.
“Who is this guy . . . Drake?” Jazdie asked.
“You don’t wanna know,” Locke said.
“I kind of do, actually,” she replied.
“We both worked for T3 until last year,” Reilly said.
“T3?”
“Tandem-Tesla-Tasc,” Cyril said.
“Heavy industry conglomerate. They sent a crew into space to acquire discarded Seerva facilities. The military beat them to Seerva’s old space station, so they set up camp at the abandoned Moon outpost.”
“Wait, you don’t mean, Luna City?” Jazdie said, surprised.
“Of course, I do, that’s the only Moon colony.”
“But . . . I never heard of T3 and I grew up there!”
Reilly glanced at Cyril, who shrugged. “Well, I doubt if anyone there knows much about it. T3 took possession of Kepler Outpost. Expanded the underground domes. Offered to transport people to populate the facility. I’m sure they believe it’s their colony, but in fact, a corporation owns everything.”
“That can’t be true! My parents own a water processing plant. They manage it and we all help run it,” Jazdie said, feeling a little anxious.
Reilly shrugged. “If you say so. Long story short, Drake went rogue, claimed the corporation’s ship as his own, then kicked the three of us off. The bastard didn’t give us any time to prepare. He waited until we began salvaging the Black Dahlia, which was a derelict, then cut us loose. We were supposedly cycling Lunie crew back to Earth, but they turned out to be his new lackeys.”
“So, that’s how you got the Black Dahlia?” Jazdie asked.
“Sure, only she was a wreck, not a working ship. Who knows where it came from? But, there we were—me, Locke, and Cyril. No life support. No engines. We were bound to suffocate within hours.”
“Oh, no! What did you do?” Jazdie asked, feeling foolish but not denying her curiosity peaked.
“Ask me again sometime, if we survive this,” Reilly sighed.
Jazdie frowned and turned around. Cyril was smiling at her from his bridge station, which caused Jazdie to grin back.
Chapter 3
Otherwise Engaged
“Jazdie, SEND the tactical up on the central screen,” Reilly ordered.
“Um . . . okay . . . I think,” she said, and then looked up to find the tactical data on the left screen instead. “Oops.”
“That’s okay,” Reilly said, “that’s fine, leave it there.”
“Locke, let’s have visual up front and center, maximum magnification.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and a moment later, the center screen flickered but remained black. Then, either the exterior camera was panning or the ship was moving quite fast—Jazdie couldn’t tell which. The Moon slowly came into view on the right. First as a sliver, then it slowly filled half of the screen.
“There, I see him, right on the horizon line,” Reilly said, pointing to the center of the screen. “That bastard! What’s our course, Locke?”
“Twenty-three degrees—”
“No, I mean, relative to Drake.”
“Okay,” Locke said, “in that case, we’re heading . . . here,” and he added a trajectory marker to the display, showing the Black Dahlia’s projected course.
“Excellent, perfect—hey, how did you do that?”
Locke held his hands up and wiggled his fingers, “Magic! We’re on a course perpendicular to theirs, so they’ll have to do another heavy burn to intersect us, and by then we’ll be skimming the Moon’s surface.”
They waited. Five minutes. Ten. Then, the other ship definitely looked bigger on the screen. Reilly’s console beeped. She hit a button.
“I warned you,” Drake said over the radio. “Last chance. Power down your engines or you’re done.”
Reilly hit another button. “You traitorous, backstabbing motherfucker! You and I both know you aren’t going to fire on us. Even if you had weapons, you don’t have anyone to calibrate them for range. You’ll want the artifact, too.”
“Artifact?” he said.
Got you!
“Of course, the artifact we retrieved from that derelict. The idiots who looted her were too stupid to realize what they had—left it behind. Their loss, my gain. Kind of like you, Drake. You threw away the best crew in the system.”
“Right-o!” Cyril shouted.
“Damned straight!” Locke growled.
“Alright, you bitch! Salvage this!” Drake said savagely before closing the channel.
“What . . .” Jazdie whispered. “Oh, I’ve got a new blip here! What do I do? Someone help!”
Reilly walked to the navigation console and looked over Jazdie’s shoulder. “Shit,” she said in a flat tone. “That asshole never could take criticism. That velocity . . . must be a missile!”
Locke and Cyril jumped to their feet, and Phix poked his head into the bridge. “He’s not playing!” Locke said.
“Where did that sumbitch get military hardware?” Phix asked.
“It’s definitely tracking us. Six hundred fifty miles. We have about two minutes,” Reilly said, returning to her command seat. Up on the tactical screen, they could all see the dot representing the missile, quickly closing the distance.
Think, Reilly. Think!
“Suggestions?”
“Head for the opposite horizon?” Jazdie offered.
“No time,” Locke replied, “it’s too fast.”
“Cut all power, go silent, maybe targeting will fail?” Cyril suggested.
“Hmm,” Reilly hummed. “Perhaps. But we don’t know what kind of targeting system that missile is using. It could be infrared, electromagnetic, laser. . . .”
“The derelict! Move behind it, get it between us and the missile,” Phix suggested, stepping fully onto the bridge.
Reilly stood and wagged a finger at him. “Yes, that just might work, Phix. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to get back to it from our present location.”
She glanced at the tactical screen again. “Ninety seconds. Damn! Where did he get a missile, anyway? Is it likely that it even has a warhead?”
Cyril looked at Locke who shrugged and said, “No way of knowing until it goes off . . . or doesn’t.”
“Alright, Locke, here’s what I want you to do. Adjust course straight for the missile.”
“What?” Cyril and Phix said together while Locke punched in the new course.
Jazdie said, “You’re heading straight for it?”
“Course ready,” Locke said.
“Okay,”
Reilly said, “give it a full gee for two seconds.”
Everyone lurched at the sudden acceleration. Jazdie, who was still staring at the tactical screen, said, “Oh, no, it’s almost right on us!”
“Locke, rotate ninety degrees, perpendicular to our current course, and hold there until my signal, then—and only then—give it a full burst.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Locke said while preparing the maneuver. “We’re sliding now, broadside to the missile.”
Reilly stared at the tactical display on the front left screen, then switched to her command seat’s display.
“Thirty seconds,” Jazdie announced.
After a quiet pause, “Twenty seconds.”
“Okay, get ready for a full burn, Locke, everything she’s got, on my mark!”
“Ready, captain,” he answered, and wiped sweat from his brow.
“Get ready. Brace yourselves, everyone!” Reilly ordered, and Phix took one of the rear bridge chairs.
“Ten seconds,” Jazdie said, “nine . . . eight. . . .”
“Now! Locke, punch it!”
They were all thrown back into their seats under the high-gee thrust. Locke moaned while trying to turn his head toward the tactical display to his left. Jazdie’s chair began to vibrate and she let out a short squeal.
“Kill it!” Reilly shouted over the noise.
The thrust stopped suddenly, causing everyone to lurch forward in their seats. Phix and Jazdie weren’t strapped in, so they both fell forward. Phix flew onto his feet and stopped himself with a “Whoa!” while Jazdie caught the navigation console in her abdomen, gasping out an “Oof!”
“Status?” Reilly shouted.
“Clean miss, captain, but it’s tracking back around again for another pass,” Locke said.
“Shit!” Reilly yelled. “Phix, cut power to everything! Quickly, man! It’s our only chance now that it’s lost—”
“Wait, captain, it’s just disappeared off the scope. It wasn’t coming back around after all. Must have had a self-destruct safeguard after missing its target.”
“So it’s over?” Jazdie said in a harsh whisper, wincing while holding her stomach.
“You okay?” Cyril asked, half standing out of his seat.
The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2) Page 3
