‘You just said you’re looking for a pilot.’
‘Yeah, sorry, I know someone I want to ask first, and I’m pretty sure he will join me.’ He meant Eddie, of course, but while he spoke with confidence, he was not so sure whether there was any chance he would join him. It had been so long.
‘OK, so you got a pilot,’ the young lady nodded and squinted her large Jindalar eyes. ‘But you need more crew, right? I can be your pilot, communications officer, engineer, medic – well, to be honest, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve stitched up a few wounds on my travels.’
Tredd glanced at Hugo, who only shrugged, staying out of it. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m looking for experienced dogs, ex-military, police… It’s not a place for a Jindalar girl.’
The girl frowned with contempt. ‘Not all Jindalar are artists or craftspeople, you know. Many even serve in the navy,’ she said, resting her hands on her waist and shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
‘I’m sorry, miss. I just don’t believe you’ve travelled enough. It can get rough out there and you’d be extra weight on our way. The answer is no.’ Tredd stood straight and crossed his arms.
The girl looked sullen. ‘Good luck on your big boys’ mission. I’ll find someone with a better ship then.’ She turned on her heels, and walked away with her hips accentuating her determination. ‘Extra weight…’
‘OK, bye,’ Tredd said, and turned to Hugo. ‘What was that about?’
Hugo shrugged again. ‘If you want my guess, she’s homeless and broke, or in some other trouble – drugs perhaps – trying to pass as a crew member to smuggle herself out of a Spit City dead-end,’ Hugo said, and chuckled. ‘Just like you.’
TREDD SAT in the cockpit of his Rutger-class cargo ship, pondering about the team he would need to hire. Hugo had suggested Tredd leave Spit City by himself and seek to hire crew from a space station instead of this cockroach-infested slum. He needed guys who had been in battles, had gotten a few scars, but still had the hunger for adventure. Not an easy task, but he had learnt to spot those types in the navy, and he knew that even one stray member could get the whole crew killed.
He wanted to have a skeleton crew – the minimum number to run the ship and provide support on the mission. This meant his guys had to be experts in their trade, but not to the point of being monomaniacal, more like all-rounders with one or two specialities. He needed a mechanic who could optimise the route, a pilot who could hack the Dawn Network, and a doctor who could infiltrate a fortress. Not only would those kinds of guys be more useful out on the field, but also he would have less people to take care of. He just wanted the mission done, without making a huge space opera out of it.
Eddie was his number one choice as a pilot. He could also help out with the rest of the crew. If there was anyone Tredd trusted, it was him. In the navy they never got to do a mission together, but he knew Eddie was good. It had been a long time since their active duty, and Tredd was unsure whether Eddie would be interested. However, he had a few cords to pull.
The spaceport opened up to the clear black night of infinite space. None of the raging red gas storms of Heeg were visible on this side of Spit City – which was a tidally locked moon – only the black of the night, with billions of stars far away. It made Tredd think of the doomsday device, the thing they had called the Starcrasher, and with his mind’s eye he could see those small dots moving, crashing into each other and bursting into more small dots like a faraway fireworks display. It all seemed so distant and unbelievable that he doubted the whole idea of the Starcrasher device at all.
The port control cleared him to exit both the spaceport and the artificial atmosphere of Spit City. He was just about to turn on the autopilot, but instead, kept it on manual, just to get a feel for the ship. Though it was a cargo ship, it was a ship capable of interstellar travel, and it had been a while since he had piloted one.
Tredd fired up the engines and checked the gauges. Everything was as he expected. Hugo had told him that the ship had received a full engine and systems check-up by the port service robots, even it didn’t look like it. These old ships were like that; while everything was fine for now, for the journey to Yedda, he would definitely need a mechanic – for insurance if nothing else.
As he was about to take off, he thought he heard a sudden clank behind him. He looked back, but saw nothing. He confirmed the gauges; all systems were operational, energy levels were all right, quantum pinch was charged, and the lander was secured.
Tredd gave it some more power. The ship trembled and shuddered when it took off the ground, and thumped when he pulled the stands in. No out of place sounds, just a plain old wagon heading out. He engaged the propulsion power and glided out of the port above the spiked skyline. Gently he gave the ship more throttle and it pushed through and beyond the artificial atmosphere.
He looked back at Spit City through one of the monitors. He marvelled at what a weird piece of existence it was, and how relieved he was to be leaving the dirty hole behind. He never wanted to go back there again.
Out in the calm of space, as Spit City and Heeg both disappeared into nothingness behind him, he set the autopilot to a nearby star, Gemma.
The ship was sailing smoothly. Tredd unbuckled himself from the pilot’s seat and headed down to the galley. He had fifteen hours until he would reach his destination. Once close to Gemma, he would take the ship down to the terraformed planet, Baleor, where Eddie had chosen to settle down.
It had been a while since he’d last seen Eddie. Then he was a recovering alcoholic, a former military monkey, just like him, but with the difference being that Eddie had met a woman who really cared about him. Last time they had talked, Eddie had told Tredd that he hadn’t had a drink for a full year. The effect of a woman on a man could never be underestimated.
Thinking of women and alcohol had made Tredd thirsty for a cool sting of liquor, and then a good night’s sleep, but first he had to have some sustenance. It had been a long day.
The galley was spartan, but two items left behind by the cleaning crew indicated the space had been inhabited by real people: a small red candle in a holder probably made of glass, and a picture of a fat cook with a sweaty smile on his face and a lump of meat in his hands.
Tredd slid a large metal plate under the foodalator, closed the hatch and said, ‘Steak, rump, three hundred grams, rare, with some mashed potatoes, lots of butter, and throw in a side salad.’
‘Unavailable,’ replied the foodalator.
‘Just kidding. Give me a nutri-chunk.’
Normally Tredd liked to cook his food from raw ingredients – it was his meditation – but this time he was too tired, so he let the foodalator do its thing. The machine was amazing, a sophisticated piece of technology so far detached from common knowledge that it was indistinguishable from magic to most. Tredd knew it was reorganising matter on atomic level to produce articles that had high nutritional value. With the focus on nutrition, creation of all mind-altering substances, including alcohol, was disabled, even though it was technically possible. He also knew that the raw material it used was organic waste, and that was why he never pondered how it worked. Thinking about it made him feel nauseous. Still, it was standard equipment, so someone must have done studies on its safety.
The foodalator hummed for a while, and then produced a happy digital sound. Dinner was ready. Tredd opened the hatch and pulled the plate out. A brownish, steaming slab rested on the white plate. Although it was not nearly as appetising as a real steak, it certainly was not the worst-looking imitation from a foodalator he had seen either.
He set the plate on the table and looked around for cutlery, opening a few drawers before he found the right one. While browsing through the knives, he thought he heard a noise from the corridor leading down to the rooms. He stopped and listened for a while, but heard nothing more. Perhaps it was just the clatter of knives. He picked up a knife and a fork and returned to the table.
The nutri-chunk tasted good, although it lacked the textu
re of real steak, which it tried to mimic. Even so, it left Tredd with a satiated feeling.
‘Computer,’ he addressed the ship’s core systems. ‘Why can’t the foodalator produce real food?’
‘It produces real food,’ the computer responded in a low, masculine voice with a weird accent. Tredd had expected the standard female voice.
‘Where does it come from then?’
‘It is recreated from human waste.’
The computer’s accent made Tredd chuckle. Someone had had humour selecting this voice on a Rutger. ‘So it’s not real food.’
‘It is real to your body’s digestive system.’
‘I get that, but why can’t I get a steak, mashed potatoes, and a salad?’
‘It is impossible to recreate the organic structure you seek in a plant or meat without actually growing them. It is also unnecessary. A nutri-chunk is more nutritious and—’
Suddenly he heard a loud thump, and then a rattle of metal. It came from the corridor. Tredd realised that he didn’t have a weapon – he had dropped all of his stuff in his quarters when he boarded the ship. How could I have been so careless?
He stood up. ‘Computer, is there anyone other than me on board this ship?’
‘No.’
‘What made that sound?’
‘Unknown.’
‘Useless piece of…’ Tredd murmured, and started creeping towards the cabins.
There were six doors, three on each side of the narrow corridor, all closed. He pressed the open button on the screen on the side of the first door on the left. The door slid open, revealing a standard cabin with a bed, desk and a chair. There was no one inside. The next one was the same. The third one was surprisingly locked, and could not be opened from the controls.
‘Computer, open this door.’
‘The door is now unlocked, Captain,’ the computer said, as the lock gave barely an audible shuffle.
An ‘open’ button appeared on the controls, and Tredd pressed it to open the door. As it slid open, Tredd could see that the room had the same layout as the first ones, but he could immediately see something black under the bed. He took a step inside and dropped down to see what it was. And when it moved, he jumped.
‘What the burst… Where did you come from?’
From under the bed peered a tattooed Jindalar girl in a full bodysuit of black and dark grey. It was the same girl who had tried to get into his crew.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, and crawled out from under the bed. ‘I really had to get away from Spit City.’
‘I don’t like stowaways,’ Tredd said with his right palm forward. ‘Who are you, and why are you here?’
‘I’m Evie Yeoh.’ She extended her hand with a hesitant smile.
Tredd shook her small hand. ‘Tredd Bounty.’
She stepped back and looked down at the tips of her black boots. ‘Yeah, so sorry, but the band just dumped me, in Spit City of all places, and I got no money.’
‘The band?’
‘It’s a long story… I followed them, virtually, for some time, but ran away from home—’
‘Wait a minute,’ Tredd said, and raised up a finger. ‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen.’
She looked much younger, and why would a nineteen-year-old run away from home?
‘Is that so?’
‘You don’t believe me?’ She pulled out a personal handheld terminal with a black and white scatter frame and retrieved her official Dawn Alliance profile on the screen and gave it to Tredd. Her unique registered name was xaontha.joie.evangeline.yeoh. The picture was clearly of her, with the same tattoo creeping up her neck, and her twentieth birthday was just around the corner.
Tredd handed back her terminal. ‘You could’ve made that up by yourself.’
‘Go see the original from the Dawn Net, if you want to,’ she said with a nonchalant shrug.
‘Perhaps I will,’ Tredd said, and squinted his eyes. ‘But tell me, how did you manage to get in without triggering any alarms?’
She leaned against the doorframe with a straight arm and cracked a mischievous little smile. ‘I had this ship hacked before you even saw it. The computer is programmed not to store any information it captures of me. Thus if you ask it about me, it doesn’t know. They are kind of simple in that sense.’
A hacker – they were dime a dozen. ‘I’m going to Gemma—’
‘I know.’ She pushed herself straight.
Tredd raised an eyebrow. He was tired – he didn’t even get to have his drink – and the girl was getting on to his nerves.
‘I’m meeting an old friend in Baleor, and I am going to have to leave you there.’
She looked around the walls as if she was considering, and then frowned. ‘If my option is Baleor, I’d rather have stayed in Spit City. Besides, I would make a really good pilot.’
‘And what experience do you have?’
Head lifted and chest out, she stood and smiled. ‘I was the lead pilot of a squad on a legion that was the first one to take down the rebel lord Tradewind.’
‘Where was this?’
‘In Momentum 6, of course. You must have heard about it.’
Tredd had, and it did not make hiring her a favourable proposal. ‘It’s a virtual reality game, right?’
‘Don’t look at me like that… Yes, it’s a game, but it’s all transferable to real life. And hey, for real, how hard can it be to fly a cargo ship?’
She had a point, but there was no way Tredd was going to let a young girl pilot this ship. ‘My answer is still no. My old pal, a veteran fighter pilot, is going to join me.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and looked down. ‘And where are you headed?’
Tredd brushed his hair back. ‘Just picking up some cargo from Yedda and then coming back. Not very exciting, is it?’
‘Yedda… That’s far away, in the fringes,’ she said, her face lighting up. ‘You must need a crew. Take me with you; I can do a lot of stuff. Let me be your comms officer, or systems maintenance woman – as you saw, the systems kneel before me.’
That was true, but this was not the time, the place or the way to get hired. And Tredd didn’t want a young girl around, slowing down his plans. He wanted to hire a real crew and was expecting to do it at the Gemma Central space station, once he had Eddie with him.
‘Tell you what. Take this room,’ Tredd said. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. ‘But only until we reach Gemma Central – then you’re out. And now I’m going to have a drink and then a good night’s sleep, so keep quiet.’
Evie held her palms together in front of her chest and bowed her head, smiling. ‘Thank you, Mr Bounty. Thank you so much. You will not hear a whisper from me.’
Tredd shook his head as he left the room. The girl was able to hitch a ride on my ship without me knowing. Even the computer is oblivious to her existence. I must be careful.
Back in the galley he poured himself a glass of some cheap alcohol they had stocked in Spit City. He took the glass with him up to the cockpit and sat down on the pilot’s seat. He took a big gulp of the liquor and heaved a sigh, looking at the small dots, every one of which was so damn far. It made him feel insignificant, but he tossed the idea aside. He was on his way to an adventure – just like he had been when the police took him, but this time it was he who was in control. And back at Spit City waited the key to his freedom: five million terabucks. He felt a tingle of excitement.
He also felt tired, and after he finished his drink, he waved goodbye to the stars. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, and dragged his weary body to his quarters. There was no sound from Evie. Tredd threw himself onto his bed, and it wasn’t two minutes until he was asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
TREDD WOKE UP WITH A JOLT, turning his brain back to the waking reality, recalling where he was: in the captain’s quarters on a Rutger. It was freezing cold, and dark. A small red emergency indicator glittering above the door emitted the only light.
He rubbed his face, and g
lanced at his watch. He had been sleeping only for three and a half hours, and it was so cold. How can it be so cold in here? He was shivering.
‘Computer, set the temperature to twenty-one degrees Celsius.’
There was no reply.
First thought in his mind was that the stowaway – Evie – had done something to the ship’s computers. That little pest has hacked the system, Tredd thought. His second thought was that the old ship had broken down. The latter one was more likely, but the former one needed more attention.
He pulled up his pants, and a sweatshirt, and switched on the torch on his wrist. By the fickle white light it emitted he scoured though his bags and found his trusty AA20LB, also known as the Light Burst. It was lightweight laser gun, but its embedded torch was much better than the one on his wrist. After all, it was a Dawn Alliance Special Forces (DASF) standard light weapon. He also slipped on his black boots, utility belt and a jacket. He dressed with swift motions, practised and applied again and again during his time of service. He left his room and scanned the surroundings by the light of his pistol. The corridor was dead silent.
Something clicked behind him.
Tredd whirled around and stood steady, pointing his pistol towards the source of the sound.
It was Evie, coming out of her room. Seeing Tredd pointing a pistol at her, she gasped and froze. ‘What’s happening? Why is it so cold?’
‘I was thinking you might know.’
‘Moi? I was fast asleep until you woke me up with the all the rumble.’ She held onto her arms, wearing only loose black pants and a black tank top; the white skin of her skinny arms had goose bumps all over.
Tredd lowered his weapon. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, but keep an eye on her, in case she tried anything funny.
‘Man, it’s chilly,’ she said, and jigged up and down.
‘The Rut’s an old ship.’ Tredd pushed his weapon back into its holster, and his hands to his pockets. ‘They said they had it serviced, but I’m not too hopeful about the service being anything more than filling the tanks.’
Starcrasher (Shades Space Opera Book 1) Page 4
