by GARY DARBY
“How long have I been out?”
Stinneli looked up at the digital chronometer. “Umm, about eighteen hours or so.”
“Eighteen hours!”
“Yes, but only because I put you into an induced light coma; wanted to give your brain a chance to work through the concussion you suffered.
“I don’t have the facilities here to do a full-blown brain scan, but from what I can tell, I think the effects will be minimal.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“What do you remember?”
Dason was slow to answer. “Lost my hold on the basket, started to fall and then I hit something hard. Really hard.”
He paused, trying to remember more. “Things are a little blurry after that.”
Stinneli chuckled and asked, “Want me to fill in the missing parts?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, from what I understand you had quite a fall, and not a very pretty one at that. I would say that not much acrobatic blood runs in your family. When you hit, the impact knocked you out, but at least you had the good sense to drop at the right instant.”
Dason rubbed at his eyes. “Didn’t drop, not on purpose. Something hit me, and I lost my grip.”
“Well, the Stinger Two crew knew you were having trouble hanging on,” Stinneli explained. “Lara decided not to zip straight up at max thrust because that most certainly would have caused you to lose your grip.
“She decided to go in the same direction as the wave, gradually gain height, less stress on you until they could reel you in.
“When you fell, your forward velocity and the breaker’s almost matched. Plus, the wave was going uphill against the slide-out mass, and slowing down."
Careful not to shake his head, Dason held up a hand. “‘Slide-out mass’?"
Stinneli elaborated. "The volcano you landed on had built up an enormous bulge on its side due to upwelling magma and gasses. You didn't notice it because it was so big that up close you mistook it for just ordinary terrain.
"What appears to have happened is that just after you took off, a seismic event caused the flank to rupture near the base, releasing the pressurized magma and gasses.
“In turn, the sudden release caused a massive amount of the ground to 'slide out' into the lake and pushed an enormous volume of liquid outward, forming a tsunami."
"Oh," Dason answered, "I thought the mountain had blown its top and dropped it into the lake."
"Might have been better for you if it had," Stinneli replied. "Less mass, hence a much smaller wave."
He put aside his micro-optic scanner. "For what it's worth, another team flew over the area, and from what they observed, it was the granddaddy of all slide-outs."
"Lucky me," Dason replied.
"Lucky you, indeed. When you fell into the soup, well, you hit pretty hard but you landed on the crest’s backside. You kind of body-surfed partway down before the wave played out.”
Stinneli flipped on a small handheld light and flashed it into Dason’s eye pupils several times while he remarked, “The Stinger One craft was following right behind.
“I believe it was Nase who rode the cradle down and plucked you out of the acid. And a good thing too, since there wasn’t much left of your flex-suit.
“You might want to thank him for pulling you out of the soup the next chance you get.”
“I will,” Dason replied. “I guess I have a lot of folks to thank for getting us out of there. It could have been a whole lot worse.”
Stinneli nodded. “If you had dropped one second earlier, the wave’s front trough would have caught you and the churning action would have ripped your suit open.
“If you had fallen a second later, the wave’s crest would have passed by and you would’ve fallen about twenty or so meters straight down.
“Let’s just say that if you had survived the impact, well, I don’t have the medical facilities to treat multiple bone fractures, ruptured organs—”
Dason held up both hands to stop the outlaw medic. “I get the picture.”
Stinneli eyed Dason and asked, “Say, are you a poker player? If you are, I’ll stake you for half your winnings. You are one lucky space jockey.”
Careful not to shake his head, Dason replied, “Sorry. I don’t gamble.”
“Good for you, bad for me because I’m the constant loser around here.”
The door opened, and Bianca walked into the room. A soft splint covered one wrist, and she had a purplish discoloration on one cheek. Otherwise, she didn’t appear any the worse for the adventure.
Scrutinizing Dason, she asked Stinneli, “And how is our junior hero doing?”
“He’ll live,” Stinneli began. “A good-sized lump on the head, mild concussion, terrific headache, and way too many bruises to count, but otherwise okay. I gave him an injection of Exediene; it’ll relieve the headache plus reduce the concussion effects.”
He rose and ended with, “He’ll be pretty sore for a while. Give him twenty-four hours of quarters, and he should be fit for duty.”
He laughed and pointed at Dason. “And you need to quit visiting the infirmary so often; people are starting to think you’re a malingerer.”
Bianca nodded toward the exit. Stinneli took his cue and left the room. Dason sat up, swung his legs over the narrow bed. “Sami, Jy?”
“Jy has a fractured arm and bruised ribs,” Bianca answered, “but otherwise okay. Sami’s fine. Just knocked cold by the explosion. He’s outside with the rest of your team. They’ve been keeping vigil ever since we got back.”
She leaned back against a waist-high metal counter and folded her arms. “Tell me what happened after we hit the drink, that’s about the last I remember.”
Dason recounted in detail what occurred after the ill-fated scouter nose-dived into the noxious lake. He finished by saying, “I remember falling and hitting the acid, but nothing after that until I woke up here.”
Bianca nodded to herself as if in deep thought, her eyes fixed on the floor. She looked up at Dason. “I have to admit, that was an extraordinary piece of work, getting us out of there like you did.”
Her mouth lifted in a skewed smile. “Hate to say it, but I guess I owe you one. I’ll remember what you did. For what it’s worth, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Dason replied. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t give you warning before we nose-dived. I should have, but just forgot.”
Bianca gave a small shrug, saying, “Forget it. You had your hands pretty full. Sometimes you just can’t think of everything.”
“Still—” Dason started but stopped when Bianca held up a hand. “Things happen,” she stated. “It’s the nature of the beast working out here. Some days, everything goes your way and life is good, but today wasn’t that day.”
“No ma’am,” Dason muttered. “It certainly wasn’t.”
Bianca gave Dason a curt nod, walked to the sick bay door and turned. “You’re on quarters for twenty-four hours to recuperate. After that, it’s back to duty. Understood?”
“Got it,” Dason replied.
The outlaw leader opened the door and motioned for Dason’s fellow novices to enter. She said to them, “We struck out on any quadro-diamonds, but I can’t hold that against you.”
She nodded several times while saying, “So, all things considered, you fulfilled your side of the bargain. Do as well with the rest, and I’ll hold up my end.”
With that, she closed the door behind her. Edging up to Dason, Sami said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Nice going. Now we’ve got them right where we want them.
“Our bravery on the high seas, saving El Capitan Bianca’s life, methinks the crew will be voting you in as captain and giving the ol’ heave-ho to Madam Bligh there.”
TJ screwed up her mouth and turned Sami around. “What do you mean ‘our’ bravery? You slept through the whole thing.”
Sami sniffed. “I was there in spirit, urging Thorne on to ever greater—”
“Stow it, Sa
mi,” Shanon retorted. “We’ve got more important things to talk about.”
“More important? What’s more important than—”
Shanon’s death look stopped Sami in midsentence. “Nase, go ahead,” she ordered.
Before Nase could start, Dason interrupted him, saying, “Thanks very much for pulling me out of that stuff, Nase, I truly appreciate what you did.”
Nase nodded and replied, “You’re welcome, I was just glad your suit held up long enough for me to get to you.”
“We all are,” Shanon offered with a smile to Dason. “Go on, Nase.”
Nase leaned up against the bed and began. “We boosted off Stygar about an hour ago.”
Dason raised his eyebrows at that. “Wow, I was under the impression the Queen got hurt pretty bad, bad enough to maybe not fly.”
Nase gave a curt nod in agreement. “Thought so, too, but not when you consider that they had help with the repairs.”
“What do you mean?” Dason asked.
“After we got back,” Nase explained, “I went into the hangar to retrieve some gear. Several outlaws were unloading objects from two scouters and being curious, I made myself small and watched.”
Dason waited, but Nase remained silent. “Well, what was it?” Dason blurted out. “They couldn’t have been poaching; Stygar Six has no alien life and Bianca said they didn’t find any quadro-diamonds.”
“No,” Nase responded. “Neither of those. Body bags, twenty or more, plus plas-containers and what looked like shipboard equipment.”
For a long time, there was silence in the room. Then Dason declared, “They were bringing the remains back from the crashed ship. But why?”
TJ bit down on her lip and murmured, “To sell.”
“To sell?!” Dason burst out. “What do you mean to sell? Sell to whom?”
“To their families.”
Dason looked aghast at his teammate. “You’re not serious.”
“It happens,” TJ replied. “These are renegades. They work outside the law, outside the typical values of civilized society. To you and me those are the remains of honored comrades. To this bunch, they’re a way to make easy money.
“The families of that ship’s crew will pay a premium to get their sons and daughters back to a final and proper resting place.”
Dason rubbed his forehead with a hand. The XT poaching, TJ’s kidnapping, blackmailing them, those were bad enough, but this—this made Dason feel unclean, sick to his stomach.
“So that's where those ships were going,” he breathed.
“You spotted them too?” Shanon asked. “On the scope just after we up-shipped?”
Dason nodded. “That's why they were in such a hurry. Wanted to get back from their grisly mission before we did. Hide the . . .”
He stopped, unable to go on with the thought of what the poachers had done. Turning to Nase, he asked, “What about the shipboard equipment and plas-containers?”
“I suspect from the same place,” Nase replied.
“Okay,” Sami frowned, “for what? I don’t get it.”
“Imperium technology and access to their data banks, Sami,” Shanon explained. “The information alone could be priceless to outlaws.
“For example, it could tell them the location of newly discovered worlds with valuable minerals or other resources, allow them to get in before legitimate prospectors or big corporations start working the planet. A treasure trove for this bunch and well worth the risk they took.”
No one spoke for several seconds before Dason asked, “The repairs? You said they had help?”
“I heard an outlaw telling another that they needed to get a ship ready for an out-run in about four hours,” Nase explained.
“I managed to be around when that second mission returned. Before they chased me out, I saw them off-load Holett patches. They have a very distinctive outline; you can’t miss them.”
“Sorry,” Dason replied. “A Holett patch?”
“It’s a plating made up of a composite of titanium, loridium, plas-steel, and other exotic metals,” Nase described. “You use it to repair the outer skin and interior framework of hyperspace craft.”
“Okay,” Dason answered in a drawn-out breath. “I’m listening, but I don’t think I understand your point.”
“Holett patches are top-of-the-line repair systems,” Nase explained, “and very, very, expensive. There are other, less costly ways to repair a ship like this, but if you've got the resources, Holett patches are the first choice.
“It practically requires a doctorate in structural engineering to apply them in the correct manner. But they’re only a temporary measure until you can make permanent repairs.
“Still, it’s pretty tricky stuff. If the bonding and melding process aren’t done right, when the ship accelerates past light speed, the patch shatters and with it goes a chunk of surrounding plating.
“In other words, you get a bigger hole than you had before. And if the patch covered a ship’s critical section, well, you could lose the whole craft.
“But if done right, it’ll hold at almost any hyper light velocity. Other patches are strictly short-term measures to get you to a repair dock for more permanent work.
“Still, a Holett patch gives you some flexibility, the payoff being that you can transit at hyper speed for some time before you need to go to a space dock or repair station.”
Sami gave Nase a direct stare. “How do you know about this stuff?”
Nase turned and matched Sami’s stare. “I just do, okay?”
“So,” Dason asked, “why were they off-loading them from the scouter?”
“They’re not something that ship’s maintenance would carry in stock,” Nase explained. “My guess is that they somehow managed to get a drone supply vessel through the asteroid field.”
“So, they off-loaded that supply drone, and someone on this ship had the technical expertise to repair the damage using the patches?” Dason asked.
Nase held out his hands in a frank gesture while saying, “We didn’t implode when we jumped to hyper speed, so, yes.”
“Boy, am I glad we didn’t implode,” Sami declared, making a face. “Sounds kinda squishy.”
Dason considered Nase’s explanation before saying, “Just before we lifted in the scouters, Bianca and Zane had one serious powwow in the hangar. I thought he must be telling her we couldn't lift off. It’s obvious my assumption was wrong.”
Shanon spoke up. “Given how hard we got hit, not a bad assumption, Dason. But the real question is how and from whom does a gang of renegades get a drone to resupply them with such a sophisticated repair system?
“I mean—they had those patches within hours of our landing on this planet.”
“And,” TJ questioned, “who among a band of deep-space outlaws has the expertise to make such high-tech repairs?”
In the silence that followed TJ’s question, the team peered from one to another, searching for an answer. Dason could tell from Nase’s countenance that he was holding back. “Nase, from your expression, I’d say you have an idea.”
Nase glanced down and then back up. “Among those that operate this far away from civilized space, there are several possibilities that come to mind.
“Star Scout Command of course, the Imperium Navy, and the major interstellar corporations.”
Nase shifted in his stance as if he didn’t want to share what was on his mind. “Other than those,” he offered with a little hesitation, “I believe there is only one other organization that has the resources and savvy to make major repairs this far off the main star routes.”
He remained silent before TJ pushed at him and demanded, “Who?”
Dason could tell that Nase was wrestling with his thoughts before he answered in a halting voice, “We haven’t been shanghaied by a bunch of renegade poachers.”
He looked around and caught all their eyes. “We’re right in the middle of a nest of Gadion Faction mercenaries!”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Star Date 2433.059
Colorado River, Earth
Churning, raging brownish water pulled the kayak closer to the sky-towering red-rock pinnacle wall. Roiling against the smooth stone, the current spun off a swirling whirlpool that tried to seize the tiny boat in its watery grasp and send it to a certain death.
Spray and foam leaped over the kayak’s bow as Double Star strained to paddle away from the vortex before it could grip the small watercraft and smash it into the canyon wall.
Spotting a break between head-high waves, Double Star dipped his double-bladed paddle, propelling the kayak forward, using the raging flow and his own powerful strokes to sprint past the churning explosion of water.
Seconds later, he shot out of the turbulent rapids into a wider canyon. The soaring striated walls lowered to let the late afternoon sunshine onto the river. Sparkles of light bounced off the gurgling water.
Leaning back in the kayak, Star let the now lazy current carry him along and breathed deeply. Blasting the rapids in this particular river was one of the few real pleasures he allowed himself, though this trip was more than just a two-day getaway.
He had business to do and far-reaching business at that. If he didn’t find some answers soon, the violent vortex that he had just escaped would seem like a calm lake on a cool autumn day.
At the cliff’s base, little brown beaches checker-boarded the now placid river. He spotted the tiny bay that he sought and paddled with vigorous strokes, shooting the kayak’s nose into a small inlet and grounding it on the soft sand.
Above the shoreline, sitting on a flat boulder, sat a rather plain-looking man who glanced from side to side.
Uncomfortable and anxious, he had the nervous habit of pulling at his right ear lobe. Though the sun shone bright and warm above, his sallow skin looked pale and cold as if he never ventured out into the sunlight.
“I don’t like this,” he spat when Double Star walked up. “What if someone comes down here? There’s a lot of people up on the rim rock trail; someone could have a sound scope on us, listening to our conversation.”
“Nonsense, Sada. No one knows we’re here, and it’s very doubtful that anyone followed you, and those people are too far away to hear us. Besides, if someone did have a sound scope on us, you’ve piqued their interest by now, don’t you think?”
