The Great Space (Scrapyard Ship Book 6)

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Nan, I think you know I’m not new to fighting the Craing. But six dreadnaughts and a fleet of fifteen hundred Craing warships are too much for us. Even if we had the Allied fleet fully intact, it would still be a slaughter. The only way we survive is holding them off long enough to bring the Minian back into the fight. But that’s going to take a day or two, at a minimum.”

  * * *

  Jason reentered the bridge to find two consoles torn apart. In addition to Ricket and the two Gordons hard at work, doing whatever they were doing, Bristol was working there as well.

  “I need to dump some additional code into the AI’s core.”

  Jason wasn’t quite sure whom Bristol was talking to until he saw the skinny, pimply-faced ex-pirate staring back at him.

  “If you want to track where my brother is, get this probability matrix operational, I’ll need your permission to modify systems level code,” Bristol said, first glancing over to Ricket, who had undoubtedly told him the same thing.

  “Only under Ricket’s direct supervision,” Jason said.

  “Well, he’s working on the communications crap with the two Gordon ‘tards.”

  “I won’t tolerate that sort of talk on my bridge. I’ve warned you before, Seaman Bristol.”

  Ricket separated himself from working with the Gordons and moved to Bristol’s side. “Captain, we’ll need to update the AI core or the new hardware won’t be recognized. I’ve looked over his code. It’s sound. Please understand, the upload will bring down all ship systems for a period of five minutes. Weapons, shields, life support … everything. There’s plenty of air to breathe in that time, but we will lose gravity … it’s a complete system reset.”

  Jason thought about that prospect—being totally defenseless for five minutes. That would leave both the Minian and The Lilly sitting ducks. With the Craing, as well as Captain Stalls, somewhere out there in near space, that was unacceptable. “Gunny, roust our fighter pilots. I want every available pilot sitting in a fighter and ready to deploy within two minutes.”

  “Aye, Cap.”

  Bristol went back to work, burying his head inside a console.

  “Ricket, keep a close eye on him. I don’t need to remind you it’s his brother Stalls, a fellow pirate, we’re dealing with. I have no idea where Bristol’s loyalties lie, when it comes down to it.”

  Ricket didn’t reply to that. “Captain, on a different subject, the Gordon twins have nearly completed their work on the communications equipment. It’s really quite ingenious. With the reset of the core, we should be able to both receive and transmit Craing communications. Since it will be interfaced through the AI, all real-time translations will take place as well.”

  “Captain, thirty fighters are ready to deploy,” Orion piped in.

  “Go ahead and get them into space, Gunny.”

  Bristol looked up from the console at the same time the Gordon twins looked over to Jason, their thumbs pointing upward. Ricket looked at Bristol, who made an exaggerated, mocking, thumbs up gesture as well.

  “We’re ready, Captain,” Ricket said. “Both the new comms equipment, as well as new Caldurian tracking capability, are installed. We need to bring the ship’s systems down now.”

  “Put me on ship-wide, Seaman Gordon.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “This is your captain speaking. Over the next few minutes all ship systems will be down. This is only temporary and nothing to be concerned with. Complete, halt, whatever you’re doing and prepare for weightlessness until the ship’s systems have been reinitialized. Captain out.

  “Okay, Ricket, let’s get it done.”

  Ricket entered a string of commands at his terminal and a moment later the bridge went dark. Almost immediately, dim backup lights came on. Everything went still and, as Ricket had said, gravity was now non-existent. Jason, seated in the command chair, clung to both armrests to keep himself from floating upward. Bristol, who hadn’t grabbed on to anything, was already four feet off the ground and, with his legs out and his hands behind his head, was feigning being asleep.

  The above three hundred and sixty degree wrap-around display was now disabled and the bridge seemed smaller, more confining. The bridge crew, with the ship dead in space, either sat with their hands holding on to something, or they floated above the deck, while the seconds ticked by.

  Jason was being hailed.

  “Go for Captain. What do you have, Lieutenant Wilson?”

  “It’s at the far reaches of our sensors, Cap; it’s faint, but it looks like the signature of a Craing dreadnaught. It’s moving toward Mars.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant, keep me posted on any other new developments.”

  Jason wondered if The Lilly being dark could actually be a good thing, but then remembered The Lilly was virtually impossible to detect anyway, by either long- or short-range sensors. His thoughts turned to the passing Craing ship … Why send in another dreadnaught? It didn’t make sense—another one was overkill. Or was it? Perhaps the planet-annihilation process required seven dreadnaughts, not six. The presence of the distant ship brought Earth’s perilous situation to the forefront of his mind. He’d get back there the first moment he could.

  Jason kept his eyes steady on Bristol as the last remaining seconds winded down. With a clunk, The Lilly’s systems began to come back online.

  Bristol, now hovering six feet off the ground, started to flail around. “A little help, please!” The words no sooner left his lips than the gravity generators kicked in and Bristol plummeted to the deck. He landed hard on his ass and bellowed a high-pitched yelp as he hit.

  Jason stood. “Let’s get these consoles closed up and the new equipment tested. A lot depends on what it will provide us.”

  Bristol slowly got to his feet, rubbing his hindquarters, and moved back to the console he’d been working at.

  As things got battened down and the bridge returned to normal, Jason thought about his next move. He had to furnish Earth a reprieve from the all-too-imminent attack.

  Seaman Jeffery Gordon approached. “Captain, the connections are complete. The next step will be testing the equipment.”

  “Let me ask you something, Seaman. I understand we’re now able to intercept communications from Craing ships, and even from the Craing worlds. You also mentioned we’ll be able to transmit. I want to transmit via a communications channel to both the Craing fleet, sitting off Saturn, as well as to the dreadnaughts parked near Mars. It’s important we lead them to think this message originated from the Craing worlds.”

  “Absolutely, Captain. That’s part of what we’ve engineered here. Celestial location markers accompany all Craing transmissions. We’ll imbed the Terplin location, perhaps somewhere close to the Emperor’s Palace, or what used to be the palace—we should be able to do that now.”

  Jason frowned. “This has to be one hundred percent believable. An audio alone transmission won’t cut it … Ricket, do you still have that Craing costume lying around … Emperor Quorp’s?”

  “No, Captain. But I can have an identical one replicated.”

  Jason continued to stare at Ricket. Days earlier, Ricket’s looks had been temporarily altered, via a MediPod, for his mission to Terplin and the Ion Station.

  Ricket continued, “With the emperor reported injured, it would fall on one of the high priest overlords, at least temporarily, to speak for the emperor. Shall I have the garment made, Captain?”

  “As soon as possible. You are going live in one hour.”

  Chapter 5

  Boomer awoke on the floor in the dark. Disoriented, it took her several moments to come to. Where am I? What happened? Then she remembered the sounds of plasma fire; Petty Officer Woodrow pushing her to the deck, and then … his dead, staring eyes. Boomer’s heart froze in her chest when she relived Teardrop being repeatedly shot at, then suddenly crashing to the deck, immobile.

  Boomer tried to sit up and felt a spike of pain in her back. That’s right, she thought, Stalls had shot her,
or stunned her, while she was writing a message to her dad—a message in her own blood. She fingered her other hand where she’d cut herself and felt no pain—no sign of a wound. Her internal nanites had apparently repaired the injury so there wasn’t even a scar. Her hands moved to her belt and her knife. It was gone. She felt something around her ankle. I’m chained up like a dog. It rattled as her fingers explored the bindings and long chain.

  Something stirred to Boomer’s right.

  “Boomer? Are you there?”

  “Is that you, Petty Officer Miller … Priscilla?”

  “Yes. I’m here. Are you hurt, Boomer? Are you injured?”

  “No, I’m fine. Where are you?”

  She heard rustling and then, in the near darkness, saw movement. A hand touched her leg and then arms found her, engulfing her in a hug.

  “I thought you were dead. We’ve been abducted, Boomer.”

  Boomer rolled her eyes, even though the effect was lost on Miller in the darkness. “I know that. It’s Captain Stalls. The pirate. He’s the one who took us.”

  There was silence for several beats before Miller spoke in a quiet, measured, voice. “I want you to follow my orders. We do whatever we’re asked to do. If he says jump, we jump. We do nothing to upset him. It’s all about survival until your father can rescue us. If he can rescue us. Do you understand?”

  “Um … no way. I know Captain Stalls. You don’t. He’s a monster. He’ll do bad things to us. He came close to killing me and my mom once before. So if you think I’m not going to fight back, you’re crazy. Even if it gets me killed. I don’t do the victim thing anymore.”

  Boomer heard Miller exhale a long, labored breath.

  “I’m responsible for you. You’re just a little girl. It’s my job to protect you.”

  “No. I’m responsible for me. And I’m not so little anymore. Remember … I’ve been captured by the Craing, fought wild boars and saber tooth tigers, and even fought Captain Stalls. You do what you want. I know what I’m going to do.”

  They sat there in silence for a while. It was faint, but Boomer heard the words: “If you’re sure about that, you’ll need this.”

  Boomer heard more rusting and then felt Miller feeling for, and then finding, her left hand. Something cold and hard was placed in it. Boomer knew what it was—her knife. “How did you …”

  “During the fight on the Cutlass, while we were on the floor, I took it from your belt. It’s been hiding in my bra ever since. Keep it out of sight.”

  “I will, I promise,” Boomer whispered back. “Thank you.” She tucked it into a side pocket of her spacer’s jumpsuit. The handle was a tad longer than the pocket and protruded out about an inch. She’d have to keep her hand over it or keep her hand in her pocket for it to stay hidden.

  “I wonder where we are,” Miller said.

  “We’re in a Craing warship, but not one of ours. Can’t you smell it?”

  She heard Miller inhale. “Oh, yeah … there’s a slight burnt smell, like charcoal and something else … something foul.”

  “That’s from their Sacellum … I’d know that smell anywhere … it’s from their cooking caldrons. What you smell is cooked flesh. It’s part of the Craing custom … to eat the people they defeat in battle. So gross,” Boomer said.

  The implications of that were obviously not lost on Miller. They sat quietly for several long minutes when the silence was suddenly broken by a loud clang in the distance. A shaft of light appeared that progressively expanded out as a hatch door slowly opened. Someone stepped inside, revealing a tall silhouette against the bright light coming from behind him.

  Boomer had zero doubt who the tall man was as he continued to stand there.

  “What is he doing?” Miller whispered.

  “Trying to scare us,” Boomer whispered back. Sitting side by side, Boomer could hear Miller’s heavier breathing and it was evident the scare was working. She too was scared, but Boomer remembered Woodrow’s words: Don’t let fear of your adversary consume you; if you do, they’ve already won.

  More of the smoky air was wafting into their compartment from behind Stalls. Boomer tried to ignore him long enough to take a look around. The compartment was filled with metal tables and counters … everything metal. With the absence of light, everything looked gray. But she could make out odd-shaped things on top of the tables.

  Stalls moved again—slowly making his way to a distant bulkhead where he stopped. When the overhead lights came on, both Boomer and Miller shielded their eyes from the brightness. What had been blackness and shades of gray was now a vivid kaleidoscope of colors. Both Boomer and Miller stared in horror at their surroundings. A macabre, horrific sight that brought bile to the back of Boomer’s throat and sounds of gagging from Miller. There were bodies everywhere—on tables, stacked two and three high against bulkheads—most of them in some form of dismemberment. Boomer recognized the headless upper torso of a rhino-warrior, lying atop one of the closest tables. Congealed, rust-colored blood was everywhere—on the tables, on the deck, and on the myriad of sharp, metal tools strewn about the compartment. Without a doubt this was some kind of meat preparation room. So caught up in what lay about them, Boomer hadn’t noticed Stalls coming to stand right in front of them.

  “I know, it’s really quite disgusting, isn’t it? The Craing certainly have their peculiarities. I, for the life of me, will never get used to these people.” Stalls gestured to the room around them. “Until recently, this area of the ship was open to the frigidness of space. What you’re looking at is a perfectly preserved ship’s galley where, over a year ago, the Craing crew were busy preparing for their next meal. All it took was a well-placed missile, most likely one fired from your father’s ship, and their dinner plans were permanently cancelled. I suppose one of these days we’ll need to get this mess cleaned up. Perhaps a task suitable for crewmembers exhibiting unsatisfactory behavior, or maybe a job for newly arrived captives.”

  Boomer couldn’t keep herself from making a disgusted face. “My father’s going to kill you, you know.”

  Stalls raised his eyebrows while he considered her remark. “He’s had more than a few opportunities to do just that, little girl, and you know what? I’m still here. I’m still alive and now I have something that is of great importance to him. No, I’m sorry to say, Mollie, the next time I see your father he will most certainly die a most uncomfortable death.”

  Boomer did not correct his use of her former name. There was no reason to let him know there were two Mollies now. She instinctively knew nothing good would come of sharing that information.

  Boomer did not like the way Stalls was looking at Miller. Always the ever-present smile on his face. He patted his pant pockets until he found what he was looking for and retrieved a key. He lowered himself into a crouch, reached in, and unlocked the manacle on Miller’s ankle. He gently opened it and let it noisily fall to the deck.

  Stalls continued to let his hand rest on her leg while he watched her. “You’re an attractive woman,” he said, looking closer at the name tag on her spacer’s jumpsuit. “Petty Officer Miller.”

  Boomer kicked out at Stalls with her free foot, missing his kneecap by inches. “Don’t touch her. You stay away from us!” she yelled.

  Stalls found that funny. He laughed out loud for several beats and then, in the next instant, turned serious. With surprising quickness, he reached out and grabbed Miller’s ankle. She screamed, then pulled and thrashed to escape his grasp but was unable to break free. Stalls slowly stood, not releasing her ankle. He changed his grip around it, and then turned himself around and walked away, dragging the continually thrashing Miller behind him.

  “Just do as he says, don’t fight him,” Miller yelled back, terrified.

  “Let her go!” Boomer yelled after them. “Stop! Let her go!”

  Boomer’s words had no effect. He neither slowed nor sped up, but continued to drag the whimpering petty officer out through the open hatchway. Once they were out of si
ght, Boomer heard what sounded like a slap and then the hatch slowly closed and clanged as the locking mechanism engaged.

  Now alone in the Craing galley, Boomer tried her best to keep her fears at bay. She purposely averted her eyes from the dismembered bodies, the dried blood, and the sharp tools the Craing used to butcher the bodies. Dad, where are you? She tried several times to hail him via her NanoCom … nothing, no answer. It was then, while staring at the deck, Boomer noticed something. A key. Miller must have kicked it from Stalls’ hand.

  Chapter 6

  Ot-Mul received the news he’d been waiting for: The replacement dreadnaught would be joining them soon. Receiving the newest warship, fully equipped with the necessary weaponry to match that of other dreadnaughts in his Vanguard fleet of planet killers, had taken somewhat longer than he’d counted on. Actually, the delay should have been expected … there was more than a little disruption among the Craing fleets right now, having had much of their military hierarchy destroyed back at the Craing worlds. Truth be told, Ot-Mul could not be more pleased—the lot of them were old gasbags, unable or unwilling to make the tough decisions. Now that he was acting-emperor, all that would change. He’d summon the nearby Craing fleet of fifteen hundred warships, now orbiting Saturn, to move in closer and provide an impenetrable outer ring defense, while his Vanguard ships moved into a higher orbit around Earth. Then he could proceed with the next stage of his plan, which had evolved over the last few sleepless hours.

  Ot-Mul continued to lie in bed within his softly lit cabin. Knowing he had only minutes before he’d be rousted by one of the junior officers, he rubbed his tired eyes. Sleep had eluded him the past few nights and, for someone who never had problems sleeping before, it only underscored the momentous times they were living in. Soon, he would give the order to clear out all interstellar riffraff around the Craing worlds, and then operation Great Space would commence. How many planets would cease to exist? How many lives snuffed out—hundreds of billions? He felt his heart rate increase, his breathing quicken. He would be building a legacy, a pivotal point in time had come that would secure not only the Craing’s, but his own, ever-lasting dominance throughout the universe. But like all great military leaders did, one must adapt as strategic situations changed. Destroying Earth before Captain Reynolds was properly dealt with would be a mistake—a mistake that could come back and bite him later. But it wasn’t only the Earth captain needing to be decisively dealt with; those two Caldurian vessels, the Minian and The Lilly, also needed to be captured, or destroyed, or additional attacks on the Craing worlds would surely continue. Wasn’t that what the Great Space was supposed to safeguard against? No, nothing was more important than corralling Earth, the Caldurian vessels, and Captain Reynolds. Total destruction of his beautiful blue planet could wait. Ot-Mul would be happy to do to Earth and the Allied forces what they’d done to his own worlds … Wherever you are, Captain Reynolds, soon you’ll be rushing back to protect your home, a home that will be in great jeopardy. You will see what it is like to witness your planet being strategically bombarded. An eye for an eye—your seat of government, a place called Washington, D.C., obliterated, in retaliation for what you did to the Emperor’s Palace. We’ll start there.