by Joe Vasicek
But if the pirates were bringing the ship in on her sublight engines, it would be days before the other colonists arrived. In that time, she’d be completely at the mercy of Salazar and his men. The thought made her heart pound and her legs go weak. Without Jeremiah or the others, she was powerless—absolutely powerless.
This can’t be happening, she told herself again. She closed her eyes as if to shut out everything else around her. It was never supposed to happen like this—never.
But there was nothing she could do to stop it.
* * * * *
The sensors lit up and the alarms started flashing almost the moment Lucca exited jumpspace. Outside the forward window, the cloud-covered world of Zarmina IV shone like a giant white marble, filling his view. Scanners showed it to be less than two thousand kilometers away—far too close for comfort. He was already falling into the gravity well, and would have to pull some last-minute maneuvers just to avoid a meteoric collision.
But that wasn’t the most worrisome thing.
The sensors showed a number of satellites in swing orbits around the planet. The nearest was less than five hundred kilometers away—well within particle cannon range. It wasn’t identified with a transponder, but a small space station orbiting at about 150 kilometers altitude was. They weren’t hailing him.
I’d better start talking fast, Lucca thought. He switched to the standard general comm channels and set the transceiver for an audio-only broadcast—no sense in showing his face until he had to.
“Attention,” he said in Gaian, “this is Lucca Tajjashvili of starship Gagarin, representing Gulchina’s Marauders. I wish to speak with Captain Helena. Where is she?”
Silence. The nav-computer plotted almost twenty possible courses that would put him into a safe orbit. He chose the one that most closely paralleled the space station and brought the ship around to bear.
Those particle cannons must be trained on me by now, he thought, his palms growing clammy. One shot, and the radiation would cook him alive while leaving his starship intact to be looted.
“Captain Helena, I advise you to hear me out before you fire,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Gulchina’s Marauders are not far from this system. If anything happens to—”
“Gagarin, this is Corporal Salazar, Helena’s second-in-command,” came a gruff voice over the transceiver. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Corporal,” said Lucca, disguising his relief with an air of affability. “I see you have built yourself quite impressive base in this system. Is that fifteen defensive satellites I count? Considering orbital pattern, I would guess the total is closer to twenty.”
The sublight engines engaged, the roaring muffled only slightly by the thick metal bulkheads. The green line on the sensor display showing the Gagarin’s trajectory bent out and slowly turned into a loop around the planet, not far from the red loop representing the station’s orbit. To the pirates, it would seem as if he were preparing to dock—an arrogant, presumptuous move, especially considering how they could shoot him out of the sky at any moment.
It’s perfect.
“Gagarin, we have our particle beams trained on your position and—”
“It would be very unwise of you to shoot me, Corporal,” Lucca said in the most nonchalant tone he could manage. “You need not fear me, of course—I come under flag of truce. But I report directly to Captain Gulchina, terror of New Pleiades. You have heard of us, no?”
Silence. The gee forces from the sublight acceleration pushed Lucca up against his chair, so that he felt as if he were lying on his back. He gripped his armrests and glanced from the nav-computer to the scanners.
“Why should we believe you?”
“Because Gulchina is not enemy you want to make,” said Lucca, not missing a beat. “But if you wish to see some token, perhaps this will convince you.”
He set the computer to transmit the private log files of the Aruna, a starship that Gulchina’s forces had captured less than eighteen parsecs from Gaia Nova itself. She was just a mid-range freighter, caught outside the protection of the Gaian Imperial military outposts. Lucca had been one of the first starfarers to pick up the distress signal, and had downloaded and cracked the log files before the Imperial forces could arrive. It had been a grisly scene on the ship—Gulchina’s men had breached the hull and vented its oxygen before boarding the wreck with EVA suits. The brazen attack, so close to the Coreward Stars, had sent shock waves rippling throughout the empire, and resonated through the Outworlds as well.
For several long moments, there was no transmission from the station. Since he was still alive, though, Lucca knew that they hadn’t yet fired on him. He waited patiently as the sublight engines finished their burn and fell silent. Outside, the cloud-covered planet grew ever closer.
If Captain Helena is not speaking with me directly, then she must not be with Salazar on station, Lucca realized. That meant she was probably elsewhere in the system—perhaps close enough that Salazar was asking her what to do.
He ran a quick scan and picked up a blip out near the fifth Lagrange point of the sun-planet pair. Its transponders were off, but Lucca knew that it was standard practice to keep away from the major planets before jumping into an uncharted system. The idea was to scout things out from a place far enough away that the jump drives could be given enough time to charge if it became necessary to run. Of course, if the pirates were expecting someone, they could easily circumvent that by setting up an ambush. Which, apparently, was exactly what they’d done. If that was true, then the blip on the scanners would be the Hope of Oriana, on track to arrive at Zarmina IV in the next seven to ten days. And if Captain Helena was there instead of at the station, then so much the easier to bluff his way through.
“Attention Gagarin,” came Salazar, “you have permission to dock. Captain Helena isn’t here, but anything you want to discuss with her you can discuss with me.”
“That is not acceptable, Corporal. Where is she?”
“Out of system,” he said abruptly. “She’s on a raid, but should be back any day.”
Lucca smiled. I know more than you think I do. Not for the first time, he was glad the transmission was limited to audio only.
“Very well, Corporal. I will await your flight plan for docking maneuvers.”
“Good. Salazar out.”
Lucca cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his chair. Things were shaping up for a very interesting adventure indeed.
Chapter 18
Why haven’t they come for me yet? Mariya wondered. She sat in a windowless cell with a cold steel floor and a mat in the corner for a bed. With the caged lights and the lack of any ventilation source other than the grill welded onto the hatch, she suspected that the place had originally been a storage tank for extra cargo. A dark stain on the wall and the stench of urine told her that she was not the first prisoner to be held here.
She hugged her knees against her chest and tried for the hundredth time to calm the beating of her heart. In some ways, not knowing what would happen to her was a lot worse than any of the horrible, sadistic things her imagination could conjure up. How long had she been in this horrid place? Hours, at least. They’d taken Jeremiah away, so now she was alone—totally alone.
Her stomach was starting to growl, and she had to pee something awful. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should call out and ask to use the toilet. The hall outside her cell was empty, but it was a small station—if she was loud and insistent enough, someone was bound to come down for her.
No, she told herself. Don’t make trouble—you don’t want them to do anything worse to you than they already will.
But how could things get any worse? They’d taken Jeremiah away from her already. If he was still alive, she didn’t know where to find him. And the others on the Hope of Oriana weren’t due to come to the planet for more than a standard week. She was alone—totally alone—and she really, really had to pee.
A sharp p
ain in her bowels made her whole body shudder. Enough was enough—she couldn’t hold it in much longer. Moving carefully so as not to burst herself, she crawled to the hatch and put her face against the grill.
“Hello?” she called out gingerly. “Is anybody there?”
No one responded.
“Hello?” she called a little louder. “Can I use the bathroom? I really have to pee.”
Again, nothing. From the deck above her, footsteps sounded through the bulkheads.
“I’m not kidding—I really have to go!”
At the far end of the hallway, someone swore in a language she couldn’t understand. She waited quietly for a moment, but when no one answered, she called out again.
“Hello, can you hear me? I said—”
“Shut up!” someone barked at her. “Quit making noise or I’ll make you quit!”
The pain in Mariya’s bowels sharpened. She winced and closed her eyes until it passed.
“Please,” she said softly. “I have to go.”
“Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said SHUT U—”
Another voice interrupted him, this one too soft for her to make out. The two men conferred with each other, the first one shouting back in his native language. They spoke for some time, but eventually the hatch swung open.
“On your feet,” said the first man. He grabbed her under her arm and yanked her up, an unsheathed laser-blade in his hand.
“W-where are we going?” Mariya asked. Her whole body shook with fear.
“To the toilet, of course. Follow me—and no ideas!”
The second man jabbed a gun in her side, making her flinch. It was too dark in the hallway to see either of them, not to mention the fact that they were both dressed in black. She put her hands behind her head, the way she’d seen other prisoners do, and followed the first, keeping her knees close together.
The man with the gun made a joke, and the other one laughed. Mariya swallowed—when is this going to end? The scarier question, though, wasn’t when but how—and that was one she didn’t want to think about..
* * * * *
Lucca checked his wrist console and made sure it was strapped on securely. The tiny computerized unit was his lifeline to his ship—the only sure way off of the pirate station. When the time came to run, he wanted to be ready.
Not that he was worried. The station was small enough, without any missile bays. They probably relied on the defensive satellites to do most of the shooting, as short-range projectile cannon were dangerous in such a low orbit. Too many shots could throw the station out of alignment and send them crashing to the surface below. No, as long as he could get back to the Gagarin in time, he’d be all right.
He strapped the holster for his energy pistol to his belt and straightened the jacket vest that he wore over his jumpsuit. Had to put on a best first impression. He admired himself in the reflection off the polished steel compartment door for the food synthesizer, then walked to the airlock and palmed it open.
A squad of four black-clad soldiers was waiting for him on the other side. They looked horrendously scruffy, with unkempt beards and unwashed faces. He nodded to them, but they only scowled in return.
Pirates.
“Where is Corporal Salazar?” he asked, returning their contempt with a presumptuous sneer. “He is supposed to meet me here, no?”
“The corporal is on his way,” said the nearest soldier. “You’ll have to leave your pistol with us.”
“I will not take commands from subordinates. Tell Salazar that Captain Gulchina expects her messengers to be treated with same respect as herself.”
The soldiers grumbled and swore, but they accepted his words at face-value. That was good—it meant that he had leverage. So long as he could keep up the act well enough to fool them, he’d be in good shape.
At length, the elevator at the far end of the corridor hissed open and a man stepped into view. He was just as scruffy and unkempt as the other soldiers, with a hand-rolled cigarette clenched between his yellow teeth. From the deference the soldiers gave him, as well as the obscure rank insignia on his arm, Lucca guessed it was Corporal Salazar.
He wrinkled his nose—the last time he’d been around people who smoked had been on his homeworld at the Tajjur system. There was always a hint of tobacco smoke mingled with the other exotic scents at the larger bazaars, but the cramped living space and lack of terraformed planets significantly curtailed the habit in the Far Outworlds. Apparently, though, there were those among the pirates for whom such concerns mattered little.
If they were all that stupid, then walking in and out of this place should be a piece of cake.
“Salazar,” he said, ignoring the soldiers as he stepped past them to offer his hand. “I was beginning to wonder if you would come.”
Salazar eyed his hand dispassionately. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”
So that’s how it’s going to be, Lucca thought as he withdrew his hand and hooked both his thumbs in his belt. Fortunately, Tajjis had a stubborn streak, and Lucca was no exception.
“I have orders to speak with Captain Helena directly. When will she arrive?”
“I can’t let you come onto this station with a live weapon. You’ll have to leave it with my men.”
Lucca pulled the pistol out of its holster and opened the socket for the power bolt to show that it was empty. “It is not problem, Corporal. The weapon is not live.”
Salazar frowned and crossed his arms. “Then what the hell is it doing on your belt?”
“It is just token, Corporal—something to carry for good luck. You cannot part man from his gun, no?”
“Let me tell you something, mister, ah—”
“Lieutenant Tajjashvili.”
“Tajjurshv—whatever. This is my station, and so long as I’m in command, I’m not going to let anyone but my men carry the weapons here. Do you understand?”
“What I understand, corporal, is that you hold me in contempt, and therefore Captain Gulchina as well. Now, it would be shame if such pettiness were to spark conflict between us, but since your commanding officer is not present, I am willing to graciously overlook this blatant disrespect—for now. Do you understand that, Corporal?”
Salazar’s cheeks turned redder than an M-class supergiant. For a brief moment, Lucca wondered if he’d pushed him too far, but the pirate grunted and relented.
“Very well, lieutenant. I’ll show you to your quarters.”
“That will not be necessary. It will please me to stay on my own ship until your captain arrives.”
“Then let me at least show you the facilities on our station. After all, you are our guest.”
If this is how you treat your guests, I would hate to see how you treat your prisoners.
The guards fell in close behind them, their rifles held across their chests. Lucca ignored the obviously threatening gesture and followed Salazar to the elevator shaft, where they all crowded in.
“Tell me, lieutenant, how did you know to find us here? Zarmina is not an Imperial-cataloged system.”
“Captain Gulchina does not rely on Imperial catalogs or Gaian scientific reports. However, word of your captain’s raids have spread far enough for Gulchina to take notice. It was not difficult to trace a pattern to this region of space.”
“That’s strange, considering that we leave no survivors for raids closer than five parsecs.”
“Yes,” said Lucca. “Well, let us say that Gulchina has … other sources.”
To his relief, Salazar appeared to buy his answer—or if he didn’t, at least he discontinued that line of questioning.
The elevator doors opened, revealing a long rimside concourse with floors that curved upward on either end. It wasn’t a small station, but it was small enough to give the illusion of a constant incline rather than a flat floor. No matter how many Outworld stations he visited, Lucca never quite got used to the effect.
The concourse itself was fairly Spartan. There was no decorat
ion other than a horizontal blue stripe that ran along the gray metal walls. The weld-marks and loose wires told him that the place had been constructed out of spare parts, though it did seem fairly well built. A long window ran along the ceiling, which curved like the inner edge of a doughnut.
“The canteen is down this way on the right,” said Salazar. “We don’t have much in the way of produce, but the meat is local.”
“Local to station?”
“To the planet. All sorts of critters down there. Most of them are only marginally edible, but mix in some enzymes and cook ‘em real well, and they’re not half bad.”
Mystery meat with synthetics, Lucca thought, shuddering a little. Thanks for the warning.
“We brew our own moonshine, though, and plenty of it. Keeps morale high between raids. You ever had home-brewed alcohol?”
“Of course,” said Lucca. “I am from Tajjur, after all.” And I doubt the rancid wastewater that passes for drink in this place can even compare with pure Tajji vodka.
“Well, you’ll get plenty of the good stuff here. The quartermaster is proud of this stuff, and rightfully so.”
“I am sure.”
They walked past the doorway to the canteen. A ragged bead curtain hung where the door should have been, letting out the stench of alcohol and sweet-smelling hookah smoke. Lucca peeked in and saw a group of burly-looking men sitting around a holographic projector, hooting and jeering at an image of a dancing girl who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. She pulled her top over her head, exposing her perky young breasts, and the catcalls grew louder.
“Plenty of entertainment,” said Salazar. “Though you’ll have to watch yourself—the men like to pick fights from time to time, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
