Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel

by George Ellis

  “I expect it from you,” he told Avery, before glaring at me, disappointed. “But your mom told me you were a good kid. I guess that’s one more thing she was wrong about…”

  My dad’s words trailed off as he studied me. He twitched his nose.

  “Either one of you is wearing perfume, or you had some fun in town tonight. Maybe at Red Desert?” he asked. He looked back at Avery, who glanced ever so briefly at me, but that was enough.

  “I guess some exceptions can be made if this was the night you got laid for the first time,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept my mouth shut. That must have been the right thing to do, because my dad simply mussed up my hair and headed to the door. Before leaving, he turned back.

  “One-time pass,” he warned.

  Once he was gone, I punched my brother as hard as I could in the arm. It stung him and he jumped back, surprised. He wanted to tackle me. Something held him back.

  “That’s how you thank me for getting you some tail?” he asked.

  “Why were you talking to the Silver Star guy?” I accused.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Is that why you didn’t tell dad? So he wouldn’t worry about it, either?”

  Avery lunged at me and caught me by the shoulders. He slammed a fist into my cheek. “One word about this gets to the old man and you’re dead, Denny. Got it?”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been punched in the face by Avery, and it hadn’t even been the hardest (it barely hurt), but I’d never seen him so angry. I knew he’d been doing something dad would’ve been really pissed about. I quickly nodded and wriggled out of his grasp.

  “You’re just a kid,” he said. “You wouldn’t get it. But someday you’ll know what dad’s really like. In this verse, there’s only one person that’s always looking out for you, Denny, and that’s you. Not dad. Not me. Not even mom. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  And with that, he flipped off the light and plunked down onto his cot. I stood there in the dark, shaking with anger and nerves. Deep down, I knew he was right about looking out for ourselves. It didn’t make me feel any better, though.

  The next day, I sat at my normal spot in the galley. It was a table off in the corner. Normally I would eat alone, or with Avery if he was feeling charitable. It wasn’t so much that the rest of the crew avoided me. I just didn’t feel like one of them. On my first day aboard the ship, my dad had warned me it would take time, and I shouldn’t force it, or they would sense my desperation.

  About half of the crew was in the galley eating, my dad among them. When he saw me sit down in the corner, he grabbed what was left of his meal and walked over.

  “This seat taken?” he asked.

  It was the first time he’d offered to sit with me. I was more surprised than anything, but I tried to play it cool and kicked out the seat for him. He smiled as he sat down.

  “So, tell me about it.”

  I could feel my face getting hot. I hadn’t slept much the night before. I’d spent much of the night conflicted about how I’d lost my virginity. I could tell my father wanted me to be proud and macho about it, so I did my best to tell him it wasn’t bad and that the woman said I was a natural. In other words, I lied.

  I’ll never know if my dad realized I was stretching the truth, because the real reason he came over wasn’t to share in the moment (as twisted as that was). He wanted intel.

  “What were you guys doing there, anyway?” he asked between bites, trying to be innocent about it. “I mean, did you see Avery talking to anyone?”

  I was angry. I also felt stupid. I’d thought, for a fleeting moment, that my dad had taken an actual interest in me. When it turned out he was just trying to squeeze information out of me, I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him Avery was, in fact, meeting with his rival, just to see his face when he knew he’d been betrayed by his favorite son.

  But I knew if I did that, I’d be playing right into his hands. I didn’t even know why Avery was talking with the guy. Maybe it was just a little side hustle or he was selling him uppers or something.

  “Mostly just the bartender,” I said.

  My dad frowned. In that moment, I could see his interest in me disappear. Either I didn’t know or I wouldn’t tell him, he must have figured. He abruptly got up from his chair and started to walk away. Then he stopped and turned.

  “I hope you wore a jimmy,” he joked. “Those New Chicago companions have a lot of mileage on them.”

  I’d never told him the woman was a companion. I guess he just assumed.

  * * *

  Before I had time to fully process the anger I felt, Avery hopped into the seat next to me.

  “What did he want?” he asked.

  “To congratulate me.”

  “I bet. The old man’s a real dog,” he said. “I’m sure mom told you about it.”

  My mother had alluded to my father’s affairs, but she never spoke of any of them specifically. Despite the clear issues between her and dad, she was content to take the high road and not talk too much trash about him. She knew no matter what happened, he would always be my dad. And she respected that. It didn’t hurt that she was happier without him. I didn’t know if the same could be said of my dad.

  “That’s all you talked about?” my brother asked, trying to seem just as casual as my dad when mining for information. It struck me how similar they were. I knew I was more like my mom. “He didn’t want to know what else we were doing in New Chicago. What I was doing?”

  “What were you doing, Avery? Other than hanging out with Silver Star captains.”

  Avery wanted to smack me again, but it was too public a venue. He contained his anger and lowered his voice. “What did you say, Denny.”

  “This time? I kept my mouth shut. But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, maybe I’ll be more honest next time.”

  Avery studied my face for a moment, seeing if I was bluffing. I didn’t even know if I was, which meant it was a good bluff indeed. He nodded. “Not here. C’mon.”

  We left the galley and headed to the cargo bay. It was deserted. It was also fairly empty, as we had dropped off a shipment of air recycler filters the day before. We weren’t usually a cargo hauler, as our bread and butter was as a wrecking vessel, fixing and towing other ships from around the verse. But on the long hauls, my dad liked to maximize his profits by transporting goods.

  My brother checked to make sure nobody was around. Satisfied we were alone, he led me to the back of the bay, behind a few storage crates. Each of the crates were marked with numbers – codes to identify the goods inside. I was too new to the ship to know what the codes meant, but for someone who’d been on board, you could pretty much tell what was in a box before popping it just by looking at the first few letters and numbers. F22. X1A. Shorthand like that. Like I said, I didn’t know what they stood for.

  Avery pointed to a crate marked F31.

  “Anything with an F designation means Filters,” he said. “Pretty simple. 31 means it’s got three of one 1 type of filter. Understand?”

  I nodded. I knew we weren’t there to talk about air filters, so I waited for him to proceed.

  “So last night, when I gave you that nice present, do you think I paid for it with my salary on this ship?” he asked.

  That had been bothering me. How could my brother afford his “present” as he called it?

  “If the old man paid a fair wage, I wouldn’t do this,” he said. “But he doesn’t, so we all have some side hustles.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Supply and demand, Denny. Supply and demand.”

  I was lost. He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “People need filters. Sure. But they also need other things,” he explained. “So when we hit a port like New Chicago, where I’ve got connections, I see what else they need and slip ‘em in with the filters.”

  He was smuggling things. Why didn’t he just say that?

>   “I smuggle stuff,” he said, proudly. I shook my head.

  “Like what?”

  “Booze. Drugs. Hell, tube socks for all I care. Whatever they need that I can get my hands on. I pick up stuff from one port and take it to the next. Just like dad does. Only it’s my own little operation. Could be ours, actually, if you want in.”

  He dangled the offer as a way to shut me up. I was young, but I wasn’t dumb. I knew he was trying to buy my silence.

  “What does Silver Star have to do with it?” I asked.

  Avery sighed. “We’re not the only ship in the verse with access to good stuff, Denny. There are dozens of Silver Star ships out there stopping at stations all over, and so sometimes I gotta make a deal with them. It’s not personal like it is with dad and Largent. It’s just business.”

  “What did the Silver Star guy at the Red Desert have?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I wanted it and now it’s in this box, along with those air filters. You in or you out?”

  I looked at my brother and knew my answer would forever dictate the nature of our relationship.

  Chapter 20

  There were bodies everywhere.

  Face down on the floor. Slumped at their stations. Strewn about the galley. Except for the sound of our boot heels clicking on the metal grates as we stepped over the still members of the crew, the Rox was silent.

  I looked at the timer on my handheld and it said we had 12 minutes and 18 seconds before people started waking up from the Halothane I’d smuggled on board and fed into the ventilation system.

  Romy followed closely behind me, looking even more hipster-punk than usual with a black gas mask covering her face. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the bodies of the crew.

  “They’ll be fine in a few minutes,” I assured her.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said, her voice muffled from the mask.

  I reminded her to flip on her comm link. She did and I heard her voice crisply in my earpiece. I whirled around quickly as more boots clicked in the corridor behind us.

  I saw Edgar’s eyes smiling above his gas mask as he looked at the former members of his crew, laid out at his feet. “Nice work,” he said. Batista turned the corner.

  “Alright, we have 11 minutes and 8 seconds to get back on the Stang,” I informed everyone.

  “Don’t you mean the Ford 5.0?” Gary joked in my earpiece.

  “Whatever. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Four hours earlier, we had received the distress call from the Rox.

  We were spinning our drive about 30,000 miles from Jasper Station, waiting for the signal to come in. I didn’t want to get too close to Jasper, as I feared the Rox’s captain might think it was a little too coincidental that his ship was disabled and the Stang happened to be right in the neighborhood, waiting for the distress call.

  According to Edgar, the captain was a brilliant but volatile guy. His name was Grissom, but everyone called him Griss. He didn’t like being called by his formal title of captain, for some reason. Edgar didn’t know much about his background, but he said the entire time he was on the Rox with Griss, he only saw one person challenge his authority. Griss made an example of the guy, snapping his neck with his bare hands while the crew was eating dinner. He then ordered that the body remain where it dropped for two days so it could serve as a gruesome reminder of what happened when you questioned his judgment. I got the impression that even Edgar, who had serious problems following rules, probably kept his natural instincts in check. I wondered how my brother had survived more than a week on the Rox. He was an insubordinate pain in the butt on his best days.

  Shortly before the call came in, Batista gave us a heads up that Avery had messaged her to say that Marcum had agreed to come on board and activate the warp drive. I realized I would soon be seeing my brother face to face, if the plan worked. I wasn’t sure if I was going to punch him or hug him. Probably both, in that order.

  We had rehearsed how I’d answer the distress call if Griss wanted a face to face beam. Edgar and Romy would be nowhere in sight. It would just be me and Batista in the cabin. And Pirate, most likely (I left that decision up to him). It turned out Griss did in fact want to chat, so Batista and I cleared the cabin then I leaned back in the chair to collect my thoughts.

  I accepted the transmission and a man with bulging neck muscles and a shock of red hair filled the screen. He tilted his head and just studied me for a moment, then glanced at Batista with a grin.

  “You single?” he asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I was talking to the lady, kid.”

  “Ah, my bad.”

  Batista folded her arms, nonplussed. “Single but not looking.”

  Griss grunted and grinned once more, apparently liking her sass. Then he turned to me.

  “Ford 5.0. What’s that about?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I got time.”

  “It’s a reference to the ship’s real call sign,” I explained. “It’s not exactly safe to advertise that one right now. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Griss said. Just as he did so, my scans confirmed his weapons were hot. Locked and loaded, as they used to say.

  “Deal. You first.”

  “I’m Grissom, and this here is the Roxelle Baker.”

  He leaned closer to get a good look at my reaction. That was the part I had practiced the most leading up to the transmission. First, I pretended to be surprised. Then, with a little bit of fear in my voice, I simply said “No way.”

  Griss made a gesture that indicated I could believe him or not, he didn’t care. “And you are?”

  “Denver Boyd, captain of the Mustang 1.”

  A flicker of recognition showed on his face. He’d heard of us. He looked offscreen at someone and then nodded.

  “I could make a lot of credits bringing you in if that’s true,” he said. “There’s a warrant for 10,000 credits on your head. I’m actually impressed, to be honest.”

  That was news to me. I hadn’t heard the bounty was upped yet again. It was hard to keep track of it with all the other stuff going on. I guess that’s one good aspect of being handed problem after problem, you start to forget just how many are on your plate.

  “Yeah, but if you’re really the Rox, assuming that ship even exists, you aren’t bringing us in to the feds for 10,000 measly credits,” I said.

  “Good answer,” Griss admitted. “But I’m still trying to figure out why you’re spinning your drive out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “We were thinking about heading to Jasper. Then I remembered there was no beer on the station.”

  Griss laughed. He nodded his head. “Believers. Can’t stand the lot of them. Nothing good ever came from religion.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do say so. And I also say you should head over here pronto, as I got a power supply issue that is baffling my lead mechanic. Or I should say it was baffling him. He’s not currently my lead mechanic anymore. He’s just a grease stain in space.”

  I could tell he wasn’t bluffing. The dude had killed his own crewmember for not being able to do his job.

  “I hope for your sake you’re as good as the rumors suggest,” he said. Then he cut the transmission.

  I exhaled loudly. Batista relaxed a bit too and leaned back in her chair.

  “Never liked Ruddy anyway,” Edgar said. “He was a worthless mechanic. You’ve gotta be at least as good as him.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  I set our navigation to intercept the Rox a thousand miles off Jasper Station. The trip would take a few hours. Once Edgar had created another encrypted beam, we contacted Slay and told her the particulars. We would get aboard the Rox and retrieve the item (the details of which I pretended we still didn’t know). Once we disconnected from the Rox, Slay and the Burnett would magically warp-swo
op in and destroy the sniper ship before they knew what hit them.

  Then, we’d rendezvous with the Burnett, deliver the merchandise and be on our merry way. At least that was Slay’s version of events. Ours ended with the Golden Bear blasting the Burnett to hell and then we’d deliver the drive to Desmond. And then – hopefully – he would honor his end of the bargain and let me continue running from the fed bounty on my head that seemed to be growing by the day.

  We went over the game plan a couple times as we made our trip to meet the Rox. It was dangerous, but fairly simple. Romy and I would board the ship first, with her posing as my apprentice. I had a toolbox with a hidden compartment in it, where I would hide the Halothane. While we worked on fixing the ship, we’d slip the sleeping gas into the ship’s ventilation system, knocking everyone out. Upon receiving the all-clear, Edgar and Batista would join us on board and then we’d get the warp drive, Marcum and my brother off the ship before anyone woke up.

  That was the idea, anyway.

  Any number of things could go wrong. Maybe someone on the Rox would recognize Romy. Or Marcum Marcum, the genius, would see Romy (who used to be on his team) and tip off the crew. Then there was my brother. What if he was playing for the other side?

  There were so many variables it was making my head spin. So when we finally saw the long, cylindrical ship come into view, I was more than ready to just get on with it already.

  Edgar had raided the Stang’s armory and was disappointed with what he found. He and Batista geared up for battle anyway, each of them strapped with no fewer than four weapons each. Romy and I had nothing, unless you counted my tools, which had been used as weapons more times than once, of course.

  The first thing I noticed when I stepped on the Rox were the faces. They didn’t belong to insecure feds or calculating Tracers. This was a motley crew of dead-eyed, angry men and women. It was about as cheerful as a graveyard. Three men waited for Romy and I as we crossed the airlock gate onto their ship. They didn’t bother brandishing their weapons. It was a given that we did as they said or we (and our ship) were toast. We might’ve been toast anyway.