by George Ellis
“I’m fucking with you, Denver,” she said, patting me on the chest as she stood up. “But I do think this is where we have to part.”
“Oh, yeah…I probably need to get off this barge,” I stammered. “But thank you too. For…that?” It probably sounded horrible, but I was still a bit shook from the moment and sudden passion we had shared.
“You don’t have to thank me. That was one of the best makeout sessions of my life.”
“Same. Very much same,” I said.
“They don’t know who I am. I just gave them a little too much attitude when they tried to pick me up. But you…can you get back to your ship?” she asked, concerned.
“No, but my ship can come to me.”
A few minutes later, Debra was gone from my life forever and I was waiting by the garbage bins for Gary to swing the Stang around and pick me up. Ah, the life of a wrecker! I felt something tickle my neck. It was a long, dark brown hair that had intertwined with mine. I pulled it free and let it float away in the breeze of the air system vent.
Then I heard the familiar turbine whir of the Stang as it rounded the corner of the dock. I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds to remember every detail of the red corridor encounter before I stepped back on my ship.
Chapter 12
Phobos was home to the most expansive junkyard and parts exchange in the solar system. As a wrecker, it’s important to keep enough parts on hand to fix the most common ship problems. While towing a troubled ship is always an option, it’s much easier to just fix the issue on the spot and let the ship be on its way.
Located on the larger of Mars’ two moons, about 3,400 miles off the planet’s surface, Sal’s Parts Depot took up most of the 5-mile-wide Stickney Crater. From above, the yard looked like the final resting place of every kind of ship you could imagine, rising from the dusty moon like gravestones.
Nobody knew why it was called Sal’s Parts Depot. The guy who owned it was named Mike. Maybe he just liked the sound of Sal’s. Anyway, the process was pretty efficient. Incoming ships waited in a queue to head down to the moon’s surface, where one of five rovers would meet you and follow you around as you retrieved parts from various ships.
I didn’t figure I was taking too much of a risk stopping at Sal’s right after my escape from Port Lauderdale. The feds on the barge weren’t there on official business, meaning they likely wouldn’t put out a bounty on me or the Stang. And even if they did, I’d be out of the neighborhood soon enough. As I waited for my number to be called so I could head to the yard and pick up a few things, I scanned the inventory available. First priority was to acquire some backup filters for the Stang’s air system. Those could be purchased from Sal’s stock. The rest of the items on my list were likely to come from the ships on the lot.
“I’m no genius – well, actually I am – but do you think we should maybe not stop right now?” Gary asked. “Kind of ruins the idea of a getaway when you go shopping right around the corner.
“Relax, those guys are morons and on top of that, they won’t be following us anytime soon,” I said. “I may or may not have unplugged a thing or two when I left the 405 unsupervised.”
Gary said my uncle would have got a kick out of that. As much as I liked my uncle and learned a lot in the brief time we spent together, I took Gary’s word for it, as he would always know my uncle better than I did.
“Mustang 1, you’re cleared to enter the depot,” an automated voice informed me. I selected the area I’d be landing in, then took the Stang down to the moon’s surface.
An hour later, I walked down the gangway in my space suit. The rover driver was waiting for me at the bottom, standing next to his vehicle, which had a medium-sized cargo bed in the back for moving parts around the lot. The tag on the guy’s suit said “Egon.” Once we were in the cab of the rover, I asked him if the name had any connection to the old movie about ghosts. He said he wasn’t sure, but his mom had been Earth-born, so anything was possible.
I told him the ship I was interested in checking out, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. He cast me a few glances that suggested he didn’t get too many customers my age shopping at the depot. I was going to have to get used to that treatment, I reminded myself. He parked the rover next to a large orange ship with white paneling. The shell was covered in rust, which meant the ship had likely been on Earth or in low orbit at some point, as the relative lack of oxygen in space meant most metals didn’t really rust. I pulled up the available history of the vessel on Sal’s store page. According to the depot’s files, the ship had been there for 10 years and still had a decent amount of parts intact.
I left the rover and went inside to search for what I needed. Walking through a still, deserted ship always kind of creeped me out. I knew there were no threats looming around the corner of any given corridor, but I still gripped my flashlight a bit harder than usual when searching for the engine room. I eventually found it and went to the auxiliary fuse box. The ship was an S-class leisure cruiser made by the now-defunct Boeing Corporation. Before going belly-up 50 years earlier, Boeing had built a variety of ships in the verse, both private and military. Their fuses were some of the more versatile around. I popped open the box and saw that all of the fuses were still there. I removed them one by one and all but two of them were intact and likely functional.
I reported the fuses to Egon when I got back to the rover. He placed them in the cargo bed and logged the items into the computer. I had a limited amount of credits I was working with, so I had to be choosy and remember to save money for the air filters. I told Egon to add the filters so I didn’t forget; Sal’s had a strict policy that once you removed something from a ship on the yard, you had to buy it. They didn’t take kindly to having to return merchandise to a ship because a customer couldn’t pay.
We hit a few more ships and I was about to tell Egon to head back to the Stang when he looked over and asked if I was in a tight spot with credits. I told him I wasn’t, but he must have seen that I wasn’t being totally honest, because he grinned through his visor.
“Just saying there’s a card game going back at HQ if you want to try and charge your pot,” he said.
* * *
They were playing 8-Card Hold ‘Em when I walked in. Two tables of Sal’s employees plus a few visiting captains and crew. I didn’t spot any blue suits. Not surprising, as their first thought would be to bust up (or tax) Sal’s for running an illegal gambling operation. Taking their credits wasn’t worth the hassle, even if they were probably easy marks.
Sal’s HQ was a series of small domed structures, about 20 feet high at their apex and maybe 300 square feet each. This one was filled with vape and cigar smoke. Guess when you have unlimited filters and air system parts, smoking wasn’t as much of a concern. Still, I didn’t like the smell and the instant eye-burn that accompanied the haze. I nearly jumped when I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down to see a thin black and white cat. I reached to pet him, but he skittered away under a chair in the corner.
I spotted an empty seat at the larger of the two tables. I hovered near the table until a hand was finished, then sat down in the empty chair. The other players all gave me the same look, assuming I was the new mark (kid) in the game. Little did they know I’d been playing cards with guys like them for years thanks to my days on the Sheffield. And I’d usually been on the winning end of things.
They were all rough-looking types. That was to be expected for people who either worked or shopped at Sal’s. No place for softies at the depot. The other table had a female player, but at mine it was all dudes.
“Is your dad gonna be joining us?” one of the men joked. He was a rail-thin guy with a shaved head and yellow teeth. He chewed the last bit of a cigar like he was making love to it. I took him for 20 credits on the first hand and he shut up pretty quickly after that.
I didn’t have my best day at the table, but I was good enough to be up about 100 credits a dozen games in. I was thinking about he
ading back to the Stang when I was dealt in again. One last game before I took off, I thought to myself.
It was a good hand. I had three aces over jacks and there was probably some good stuff in the hole too. I decided to go all-in, wagering those 100 credits I was up. It was too rich for most of the people at the table, save one. He was a Silver Star wrecker that had been pretty quiet during the games – not much table talk. A few hands earlier, he’d tossed a few chips down to the cat, which was his, apparently. Not that he seemed to care for it much.
We took turns drawing cards and I raised him one last time.
“We could do credits, but why don’t we make it more interesting?” he asked.
“What do you have in mind.”
“Everything I got in here and everything you got in here.”
I knew what he was interested in. He had been eyeing my watch all night. My dad had given it to me when I was on the Sheffield. Just about the only nice thing he’d done for me during my stint aboard his ship. I wasn’t particularly attached to it, but it did have some value.
“What do you have on you besides credits?” I asked. He didn’t have any noteworthy items like a watch or jewelry. The guy smiled and pulled a Swiss Army Tool out of his pocket. He placed it on the pot. The tool was a combo of 11 different variations, each available at the touch of a button. It was roughly the size of a hammer, but easily the most versatile tool around. Needless to say, I was intrigued. I nodded and put my watch on the pot.
“Here, I’ll even throw this in. That way if you win, you can feel like a real wrecker,” he said, tossing his Silver Star hat on the pile. It was a common jab. Silver Star captains were notoriously arrogant. I looked across the room and motioned to the cat.
“He’s yours too,” I said.
The guy paused a beat, then agreed. Then he laid down a full house of aces over 10’s. The other players at the table all reacted the same way: they assumed I had lost.
Until I put down my aces over jacks, of course.
The Silver Star guy took it pretty well, actually. He only broke a couple fingers when he slammed his hand down on the table. He tried to take a swing at me, but I kicked the table into his gut and a couple of the Sal’s depot crew grabbed the guy and reminded him he’d lost fair and square.
I took the pot and scooped up the cat, who I realized had only one working eye. The other was glazed over and half-closed. In that instant, I knew what I was going to call him: Pirate. I gave him a moment to decide whether he wanted to go with me. He rolled in my arms, belly up and purred loudly. So that was settled. I told Egon I was ready for my ride back to the Stang. When I got back to the ship, Gary was none too pleased with the excursion or the new crewmate.
“I would have preferred a dog,” Gary said. “Cats are so picky and they pee everywhere. What if he pees on a circuit board and I get fried?”
“I should be so lucky,” I said as I sat down in the pilot chair. “Now that I’ve pissed off both the feds and Silver Star, I think it’s finally time to vacate the area.”
Pirate hopped into the co-pilot seat and began kneading the leather. I liked him already.
Chapter 13
I was reclined in my chair with Pirate nestled in my lap. I thought back to when I won him in that card game. We’d been through plenty of jobs and tough times together since then, and I was hoping we’d make it through the current mess. He was hoping I’d give him a big snack when he woke up, probably. Such was the nature of our relationship.
Edgar burst into the cabin. I actually heard his footsteps before he arrived. They practically shook the floor.
“We’re out of candy bars,” he complained. For a big guy, he sure did whine a lot. In fact, his whining had gotten worse since he came aboard. I couldn’t decide if that was him softening to a more laid-back environment or just being really picky about his food intake.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten so many,” I said. “I haven’t had one in days.”
“The soda is also running low. Looks like we’ll have to stop for supplies before we get to Jasper,” Edgar said, as if it were a foregone conclusion.
“Uh, no, I don’t think we do,” I replied.
Batista turned toward me from her co-pilot chair, where she’d been reading the news on her handheld. She frowned.
“You too?” I asked.
“Pretty hard to maneuver properly without fuel,” she said, noting the low reserves. We had enough to get to Jasper, but it would be tight.
It didn’t help that we were getting on each other’s nerves. I could count on one hand the number of times we’d been in the same room together in the two days since the airlock incident. And it wasn’t like we were a well-oiled machine to begin with.
“We need a break from each other,” Edgar said, as if reading my mind. “I don’t care where, as long as it’s got a fun zone.”
“Fun zone? What are you suggesting, an amusement park?” I cracked.
Apparently, no, he just meant a place to decompress. Preferably with companions and/or a casino. That was his idea of a fun zone.
I turned to Batista to get her take. “What about you? Are you also in the mood for fun zones?”
“The guy’s right, Denver. We need supplies and I need to not look at you for a while, otherwise I might give in to the urge to punch you in the face, regardless of what Desmond might think about it.”
“Then where?” I asked.
“Hey, you’re the captain. That’s up to you,” Batista said with mock-cheer. She then put on headphones and turned on the news on her handheld. I looked back at Edgar, who was hovering over me like a petulant child.
Fun zones. We were about to rob one of the most dangerous ships in the verse, and this dude was thinking about fun zones. I called up the map on my monitor and took a look. There were four potential options between us and Jasper Station.
The first two were known federation haunts and I immediately ruled those out. Of the two remaining stations, I’d never been to one. And the other? I chuckled to myself as my stomach grumbled.
“What’s so damn funny?” Edgar asked me.
“My stomach just decided where we’re stopping,” I replied.
Chapter 14
Moon 12 wasn’t a moon at all. It was a station that had been created by fusing together a dozen ships. Some had been federation, some private. They were purchased by Aldo Jones, a wealthy trade merchant who decided it would be quicker and cheaper to building-block a station than construct one from scratch. He was right.
The result, commonly known as M12, was a technological mashup unlike anything else in the galaxy. The various quadrants (ships) were linked together by heavily guarded walkways. Each quadrant served a different function. An old fed warbird was converted into a hotel. A leisure cruiser was transformed into a casino. And so on. Nine of the 12 quads were open to the public. The remaining three were reserved for the rich and famous.
With a 3,000-credit bounty on the Stang — it had tripled since the incident with Admiral Slay and the Burnett — I normally would have steered clear of a well-traveled destination like M12. But, Edgar had managed to mask our call sign and drive signature, meaning the only way to tell this was the Stang was a visual ID. As unique as my ship was with its sleek chrome plating and dual turbines, you still had to know what you were looking for to report us to the feds. The warrant was out and surely some people at M12 would be doing just that, but I knew a nice secluded spot to park.
And it was worth the risk.
Not just for the food and fuel, although we badly needed those. It had been three days since Batista and Edgar walked out of the airlock, and they were right – we needed the time apart. Things had cooled down immediately following Desmond’s intervention, but the growing sense of dread of going up against the Rox had gotten to all of us, even Edgar. It didn’t help that he’d been binge-watching Six Feet Under, so he was just in a dour mood all the time, constantly making references to death and the afterlife.
W
hatever rapport Batista and I had built up in the first leg of our journey had been decimated by her lies about Avery. And there was that whole matter of me threatening to space her. I was prepared to go the stretch run and try not to stop for supplies until Jasper Station, but Edgar had done the math and it didn’t work in our favor. We would have had to cut rations to 15% of their usual levels just to make it to the scene of the fight.
So he had suggested a few modifications to the Stang to change its drive signature just enough to confuse anybody who wasn’t looking too closely. I’d heard of other ships doing things like that, but it was a delicate process because it involved literally changing how your vessel’s propulsion system operated. Edgar did it in about three hours, and afterward, I actually noticed the Stang was running a little faster and more efficiently than usual. I did not mention this to Edgar, as I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He probably knew, anyway.
Just about the only one who wasn’t miserable was Gary. He seemed to revel in the tense environment of the ship. One minute he was snarking at me, the next he was joking with Batista or Edgar. It had been a while since he’d had an audience, and he wasn’t letting the opportunity pass. I was still wary about micro-adjustments in his behavior, but I was unable to pin it down to anything specific. He just seemed a bit off. I’d considered having Edgar run a diagnostic on him, but then realized he was a prime suspect if anyone had tampered with Gary’s intelligence board in the first place.
Some people thought M12 was an abomination, a kind of floating graveyard with no style or class. I wasn’t among them. I had always admired Jones’ entrepreneurial spirit and ingenuity. Maybe it was the mechanic in me. But the idea that he just glued together one of the most popular stations in the verse out of a dozen random ships…well, I liked that. I’d never met the man himself, but if he was anything like his creation, I had a feeling we’d get along fine.
