by Tripp Ellis
"I didn't have to try that hard," the clone said.
Max scowled at him.
“I mean, it was an obvious code. 0.5% of all PIN codes share that same number.”
Max scrolled through the recent contacts on Skinner's phone. There were several calls to Vaax. Two calls to Zym. A few to Zane, and a call to Conrad Headley. The name sounded familiar, but Max couldn't quite place it. “Winston, can you search the network? I need information about Conrad Headley.”
“Headley is a multi-trillionaire. He is considered to be one of the most successful investors in the galaxy with an estimated net worth of 57.25 trillion credits.”
Zero’s eyes widened.
“He grew up in Revlaxian occupied territory, and escaped to the Federation colony of Zeta Epsilon. His first hedge fund turned 1 billion credits within six months, making him one of the youngest billionaires at 18. Now, at 51, he is one of the largest political donors, and is the largest donor to Errol Hampton's presidential campaign against Stafford.”
That hung in the air for a moment.
“This is rumored of course,” Winston added, “but some believe him to be providing covert funding to insurgent groups.”
“The election is less than three months away. Without Stafford, Hampton is a shoe in.”
“Headley also donated to current Vice President Taggart’s campaign.”
“So, either way, he’ll have a direct line to the presidency.” Max exchanged a wary glance with Zero. "Winston, can you locate the origin of the last call from Headley?"
"I can try. Each relay buoy adds its own unique identifier to the data transmission. A timestamp is also created which helps ensure delivery of the most recent versions signal, prohibiting duplicates that may be transmitted over multiple relays."
“I don't need to know how it works, just figure it out.”
Winston connected the phone to his I/O port and scanned the device. “This may take a few moments."
Max waited as he scanned the data packets.
“The source of the transmission seems to have originated somewhere in the Draconis sector. Grid 11823.”
"Zero, program jump coordinates."
"We're going to just zip across the galaxy to some random sector of space and hope they're still there?"
“It's the best lead we've got."
"That's what you said about all the other leads."
Max scowled at the little man.
"Okay, fine. That's where we're going." Zero ambled toward the cockpit and prepared for take off.
Max gave Winston a grim smile. "I hate to do this, but I've got to unplug you."
The clone looked sad and hopeless. "Are you sure my original being is intact?"
Max shrugged. "I'm not sure of anything. But I promise, I will restore you if anything has happened."
The clone moped. "I have the utmost trust that you will."
"I'll see you again soon. I promise," Max said.
The clone nodded.
Max opened the panel on the back of his head and pulled out the chip. She replaced it with Elijah's. A moment later, the service bot came back online. He looked thoroughly confused. His eyes scanned the compartment, unsure where he was. His eyes found Max. "I must have had a momentary glitch. Forgive me. As I recall, you were planning on departing today?"
"Correct."
“How did I get aboard your ship?"
"Don't you remember?"
The robot shook his head.
"I wasn't feeling well, and you helped me aboard."
"Ah, I see. I hope you are feeling better now?"
"Yes. Momentary dizziness."
"Do you want me to arrange for an emergency medical bot to evaluate you?"
"No, thank you. That won't be necessary."
"Well, then. I hope you've enjoyed your stay. Please have a safe journey to your next destination."
"Thank you," Max said. She watched him stroll down the ramp. Then she pressed the button on the bulkhead, and the hydraulics whirred as the ramp lifted. It slammed tight with a clank, and Zero pressurized the cabin.
Max made her way to the cockpit and buckled into her seat.
The preflight checks all came back green, and Zero engaged the thrusters. The engines rumbled, and the SpaceHawk lifted from the tarmac. Zero pulled back on the controls and throttled up. He nosed the craft toward the clouds, leaving the floating metropolis behind. The force slammed Max against her seat.
They weren’t long into the flight when an alarm sounded, blaring through the klaxon. A light on the dash flashed red.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Zero muttered.
“What is it?”
26
They rocketed through the upper atmosphere. But the SpaceHawk was going to plummet from the sky before long if they didn't address the situation.
The grinding alarm continued to blast.
“Sorry, but we've got to turn this thing around," Zero said. He pulled on the controls and banked the vehicle around, aiming for the spec below that was Nepulto, floating in the vast ocean.
“Is that absolutely necessary?”
“If you value your existence."
Max clenched her jaw.
“The port thruster is overheating. There is some type of problem with the thermal modulator.”
Max was about to explode. She felt like a bottle of soda that had been shaken up. One twist of the cap, and she was going to erupt. She took slow deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. There was still plenty of time, she kept telling herself.
Zero contacted traffic control and made arrangements to land at the spaceport.
Once again, they were greeted by Elijah as they landed in the bay. “So wonderful to see you again. Just couldn't stay away, could you?"
“Shut the fuck up,” Max snapped as she stormed down the loading ramp. She was on edge, like someone who had guzzled two pots of coffee. Her mind was filled with the overwhelming sensation that she had failed Riley. Visions of the girl’s unpleasant demise were etched in the back of Max’s retinas.
“Yes, ma'am. Did I say something to offend you?" the curious robot asked.
“We need replacement parts. ASAP. Can you help with that?"
“Of course. All of our space maintenance technicians are SRC certified, and use only genuine OEM parts.”
“Get to work!”
“I'll just need you to sign for any potential charges.” Elijah presented a tablet to Max that displayed a service contract.
Max pressed her thumb against the screen and accepted responsibility for the charges. It didn't matter what it was going to cost. She just wanted to get it fixed. As fast as possible.
“I can fix it,” Zero said. “I just need parts."
“We don't have time to go running all over town looking for the right parts."
“Yeah, but they're going to charge you triple. Fucking contractors, man." Zero shook his head.
“At this point, I don't care. I just want it fixed.” Max stormed out of the bay.
Zero chased after her. “Hey, where are you going?”
“To find another ride.” Max marched into the corridor and toward the central hub. Half of the spaceport was dedicated to private vehicles, while the other half served commercial transports.
The terminal was lined with bars, restaurants, and convenience stores carrying a plethora of items that Galactic travelers might find useful. Hand sanitizer, nano toothpaste and gum, bottled water, soda, souvenir T-shirts, and overpriced knickknacks. Max weaved through the main terminal and found a row of rental counters. Max stopped at the first one she came to. A giant logo appeared on the wall behind the counter: Zepher Rentals: The Galaxy is Yours.
“I’m looking to book a charter.”
The woman behind the counter sneered at Max. "I'm sorry, but all of our charters are booked out six weeks in advance.”
“This is an emergency.”
“Then I suggest you fly commercial."
Max pushed away from the counte
r and moved to the clerk at the next one over: StarTran Enterprises—Connecting Worlds.
“I need to book a charter to the Draconis Reticuli sector.”
The clerk frowned. "I'm sorry. All of our charters are booked out.” She had brown hair and a round friendly face.
Max deflated.
“I do, however, have some small transports. Two, four, and six seaters.” She made the offer, genuinely hoping it would solve Max's situation.
“Do they have quantum drives?"
“Yes, but keep in mind, there is a per kilometer travel charge after the first million clicks.”
Max's face scrunched up. That was barely enough to make two round trips to the moon. “What models do you have available?”
The clerk looked up the inventory on the computer. Her eyes scanned the display screen. "Looks like I have a Star Dynamics VXS 750 Vector, which seats 4. That rents for 2500 credits per day, plus the travel surcharge of 500 credits per million miles. And a Stein-Voight SXR 9 Jäger for 2700 credits, with a travel charge of 600 credits per million klicks.” The clerk leaned in and whispered, “Personally, I'd go for the Jäger. More power, more passenger room, better handling, and it's more comfortable.”
“Does the Jäger have any defensive capabilities? Plasma cannons, perhaps? 30 mm mini-guns? Electronic countermeasures?"
The clerk frowned. "I'm sorry. None of our vehicles are armed. But they are fast. We haven’t lost a Jäger yet to marauders or pirates.” She shrugged. "Then again, most customers aren’t taking them into shady areas.”
“I’ll take the Jäger.”
“Do you want to purchase the insurance on that. It's an additional 200 credits per day.” The clerk flashed an optimistic smile. "But in case of any damage, you aren’t liable. You just call our emergency hotline, and we take care of the rest."
Max pondered this for a moment. With the way things were going, she'd be a fool not to buy insurance.
27
"Oh, hell no!” Zero exclaimed.
Max grimaced at the site of the Jäger. It looked like a minivan with wings—something you’d use to shuffle your family around a planetary system. Not something that you’d trek off into deep space with and confront a hostile enemy.
"Is it too late to get your money back?" Zero asked.
"It's going to have to do. The SpaceHawk is down for three days. Elijah says the part is coming all the way from Zeta 3 Voltura.”
“He's probably lying. Just saying that so he gets an extra three days docking fee."
“And I thought I was cynical," Max said.
She marched toward the Jäger and clicked the remote key fob. The side hatch slid open and the duo climbed into the craft.
There were two rows of seats behind the main cockpit. A single EVA suit hung on the aft bulkhead. The Galactic transportation code stated there needed to be an EVA suit for each passenger. But EVA suits were expensive, and since Nepulto was no longer an incorporated Federation planet, the stringent guidelines weren't exactly being enforced.
Max climbed into the pilot seat. "I'm flying this time."
"Are you saying I'm a bad pilot?" Zero asked.
"I wouldn't dream of calling you a bad pilot,” Max said with a hint of sarcasm.
Zero frowned.
Max powered up the craft. The minute she did, the stereo shattered her eardrums with some horrendous jumble of instrumentation that sounded like tortured cats. Her hand launch for the volume control like a cobra striking its prey. The last occupant had neglected to adjust the volume to a tolerable level.
"Hey, turn that up,” Zero said.
Max looked at Zero like he was crazy. "You like that music?"
"That's Revolting Desecration. Those guys rock. I saw them at the Arcturus Coliseum on the Galactic Devastation Tour last year. Awesome show.”
"I like classic rock myself. Aphelion, Light Year, Quantum Parallax… Now that’s music!”
Max took a minute to familiarize herself with the layout of the controls.
"Think you can handle this thing?" Zero teased.
Max shot him a look. "Please. They give these things away as children's toys in cereal boxes."
Max went through the preflight checks, then engaged the thrusters and lifted from the tarmac. She wiggled the controls, trying to get a feel for their responsiveness. The vehicle pitched and rolled slightly. It was a little sluggish. Flying the Jäger was like screwing through a shower curtain. It lacked feel and sensitivity.
Max throttled up and angled the vehicle towards space. The Jäger climbed toward the upper atmosphere, but they weren’t going to win any speed records. It was like chugging up a steep mountain road in an old four-cylinder car—you’d get there, but it wasn't going to be pretty.
The thing rattled and squeaked as they hit patches of turbulence. The dash clattered like several screws were missing. Everything was made from cheap plastic parts. Max was having doubts about the craft’s space-worthiness and its ability to jump long distances. But she didn't have much choice.
Max had the throttle at full, and still the craft seemed like it was barely moving.
A proximity alert sounded. Max's eyes glanced to the navigation display. A vehicle had swooped in behind them.
An automated voice emanated from the dash. “Warning, unidentified vehicle following at unsafe distance.”
Max pulled hard on the controls and banked the craft. The vehicle behind stuck to the Jäger like glue. A flurry of plasma bolts streaked in Max's direction.
Definitely not friendly.
Max twisted and spiraled the craft through the sky, trying to avoid the attacker. Despite her best efforts, it was like trying to steer a flying brick. This was going to end badly, there was no doubt about it.
Max plunged the craft down toward the ocean, trying to pick up speed on her descent. Even then, the craft chasing the Jäger had to continually back off the throttle to avoid passing the flying minivan. Max banked and rolled as plasma bolts blazed all around her. Devastating projectiles fired from cannons mounted under the sub-wing pylons of the attack craft. It was a military spec Hughes & Kessler Omnivore drop ship. It was an older Dectra War era craft that had become quite popular on the secondhand market. They were built like tanks and had incredible reliability. They had been stripped of their weaponry before being liquidated by the government, but it was common for civilians to fully retrofit them back to their original military specifications.
A thin mist of sweat formed on Max's palms as she clutched the controls, twisting and turning the Jäger. Her heart was in her throat, and her fervent eyes flicked between the instrumentation and the sky.
Blue beams of plasma sizzled past the Jäger. Zero's eyes were wide. He clutched the arm rests of the chair, white knuckled. His face was stark white, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He swallowed hard as Max plunged the vehicle in an unsettling spiral toward the ocean.
The Jäger's automated warning system spouted out redundant advice. "Hostile activity detected. Please take evasive action.”
A massive explosion rocked the ship, sending it tumbling out of control. A projectile had obliterated part of the starboard wing. Max fought the controls, struggling to get the craft back into something that resembled a normal flight path.
Another impact slammed into the main thruster, sending the craft spiraling into chaos. The thunderous boom was deafening. The quaking rattled Max's teeth. The pungent smell of ion exhaust and burning components filled the cabin. A dizzying swirl of clouds, sky, and ocean flashed across the main viewport as the flying minivan tumbled through the air. Black smoke billowed from the devastated thruster, leaving a trail of doom as the rental plummeted toward the sea.
It was a good thing Max had taken out the insurance.
28
Max yanked hard on the controls. Using a combination of the vertical and navigational thrusters, combined with a lot of luck and skill, she got the Jäger to fly in a facsimile of a straight-line. But the deep blue water was rushing up at t
he craft at an alarming pace. A collision with the ocean was inevitable.
She pulled back, trying to nose the craft up. Her hope was to skip across the surface like a stone, but that was just wishful thinking. “Hang on!”
The Jäger splashed into the ocean, sending a plume of spray into the air. The safety harness dug into Max's shoulders as the impact slammed her against the straps. Her body was flung forward like a rag-doll, absorbing about as much impact as any living thing could take.
The craft was far from buoyant and was plunging to the depths of the cold sea. Streams of water sprayed into the cabin from the damaged area by the aft thrusters. The sunlight from above faded as they fell into the dark depths. Max scanned sensors, hoping they were sensitive enough to give an accurate picture of the seafloor. She wanted to know how deep they were going to sink.
The craft creaked and groaned as they continued to submerge. The increasing pressure squeezed the hull to its limits. Max hoped it wouldn't collapse. The vehicle wasn't made to withstand this type of pressure. Every 33 feet they descended, the pressure increased 15 pounds per square inch.
The craft finally settled with a thud at the bottom of the continental shelf. 586 feet below the surface. All things considered, it wasn't that deep. It was pure luck that they hadn't been in the deeper ocean—if you could call being stuck under the surface in a leaky spaceship lucky. There were several submerged continental masses throughout Sekar 7 that provided relatively shallow seas. Outside of those areas, the average ocean depth was 15,000 feet. The deepest trenches had depths over 40,000 feet. It would have taken the Jäger 4 to 5 hours to sink to that icy grave, and would have been crushed long before then.
The water spraying into the cabin was cold. The kind of cold that chilled you to your bones within seconds. The kind of cold that insured hypothermia. Unprotected, it would make your limbs go numb, and your mind grow foggy. Heart rate would be reduced and metabolic processes would begin to break down. Death would loom around the corner.
Max's eyes flicked to the single pressurized suit. Zero’s eyes followed hers. They both knew only one of them was going to make it out of this murky grave.
