by Blaze Ward
Star Dragon Box Set One
Blaze Ward
Knotted Road Press
Contents
Patrol Cutter: Bellerophon!
Untitled
Tin Can Pirates
Untitled
Birth of the Star Dragon
I. Criminals
Desperation
Field Agent
Wormhole
Maximus
Tea Room
The Arsenal
Disguised
Constable Baker
Underworld
Witness for the Prosecution
Travelers
Hurquar
II. Hunters
Examination
The Arsenal
Br’er Rabbit
Dreams
The Hunter
Plainclothes
Made
Gazelles
Hunted
Rescued
Escaped
Safe
III. Heroes
Morning
Warlord
Square One
Awakening
Closing The Trap
Ant Hills
Confrontation
Overlord
Getaway
Prisoner
Constable
Flight of the Star Dragon
Vanir
Constable
Crime Boss
Scientist
Hunters
Fugitive
Officer of the Court
Scientist
Draco-form
Prime Investigators
Omelets
Tip
Into The Shadows
Cotton Candy Skies
Possibilities
Haberdasher
On The Run
Lifeblood of the Grace
The Red Carpet
Showtime
Dinner
The Chase
Paparazzi
Relentless
Nightfall
Yet Higher Mathematics
Witness
Home
About the Author
Also by Blaze Ward
About Knotted Road Press
Patrol Cutter: Bellerophon!
An Earth Force Sky Patrol File: Solar Year 2382
“Commander, I’m receiving an emergency distress signal.”
Gareth set down the history book he had been reading and sprang into action, pausing only to stuff his feet into his tall, black leather, Sky Patrol boots and check his maroon tunic and blond hair in the mirror. The SP logo on the front still made him proud, every time he gazed upon it.
“On my way, Radioman Ferrie,” he pushed a button and called back. “Roust the Chief and have him bring the reactor to full power.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the man replied.
For luck, Gareth placed a hand on the wall-painted logo of his ship, the Patrol Cutter Bellerophon, as he exited his cabin into the hallway. It was his first command and he was responsible for the lives of eleven other men, and whoever else needed his help.
He was Sky Patrol.
The bridge on the space cutter was cramped, with walls needing a fresh coat of white paint and gray carpet that should probably be replaced in another few patrols, but this was a working ship, not a pleasure yacht. Stuff happened.
Outside the big window that stretched across the front of the bridge, the black depths of space waited, speckled with thousands and thousands of stars in the firmament of heaven. Gareth recognized Spacer First Class Atkins at the strip’s wheel by the man’s solid maroon neckerchief and broad shoulders. It took a lot of muscle to spin the ship’s helm-wheel while simultaneously pulling and turning it, but Tom Atkins was the man for the job.
Omar Ferrie was hunched over his radio gear, alternatively spinning knobs and plotting things on the tabletop with an electronic compass as he worked his tech magic. His gray kepi cap was pushed way back on his head as he scratched the side of his temple in apparent frustration.
“Have we got a vector, mister?” Gareth asked, coming up behind the radioman and putting a companionable hand on his shoulder.
“Almost, sir,” he said. “It’s down in the asteroid zone, but I’m picking up a lot of interference.”
“Well, then, Omar,” Gareth laughed, turning to Atkins. “Let’s get you a better view. All ahead full, pilot. Since the radioman said down in the rocks, bring us to starboard and nose her over. Pass us under 624 Hektor for now, but be on the lookout for smaller rocks that might do us harm.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Atkin called, louder than necessary, but better that everyone hear than somebody miss. “Starboard dive at full speed, navigating off asteroid 624 Hektor.”
The ship seemed to leap like a greyhound, quivering with the pent-up power of the latest atomic pile reactor and the Choueiri Arcjet Ionic Drive. Gareth placed a firm hand on Ferrie’s seat as the ship came about, like a clipper turning into the wind of a hard storm back on Earth.
Gareth reached out a strong hand and flipped a radio button on the overhead console to open the public address system.
“Medbay, this is Dankworth,” he called. “We’re responding to a distress signal. Make sure your little, black bag is ready to go.”
“We’ll be prepared, commander,” Bennie Vitro replied. The man was only a Spacer Third Class, but he knew his way around, from setting broken bones after bar fights to curing the worst hangovers. Gareth was glad to have the man with him.
“Mayday. Emergency. Somebody, please help us!” a voice came from the speakers suddenly.
“By the Gods of Vashal,” Gareth reacted. “That’s a woman. Why didn’t you say something, Ferrie?”
“Sorry, sir,” the man hunched in on himself. “The first signal was their automated beacon. That’s the first time I’ve managed to get a voice.”
“Tell me you’ve got a line,” Gareth raged in helpless futility.
“Almost,” Ferrie muttered. “Almost. There. Got it.”
Quickly, the man scribbled a set of coordinates on a notepad, tore it off, and handed it to Gareth.
“Pilot,” Gareth stepped close to Atkins. “Come left two, up one, and prepare to reverse thrusters full on my command.”
“Aye, aye, commander,” Atkins said. “Left two, up one, full stop on your command.”
“Execute, pilot,” Gareth ordered, making sure he was braced hard with a hand on the bulkhead.
Bellerophon groaned with the strain of the engines suddenly backing as hard as they could. The little patrol cutter wouldn’t stop on a dime, not as this speed, but she was really giving it her all.
“Radioman, where are they?” Gareth yelled over the roaring engines.
“There, sir,” Ferrie stood and pointed out the window.
Gareth followed the hand and saw it. A ship, landed or crashed on the surface of a large asteroid, almost a moon in its own right, lacking only a planet to orbit.
The ship was larger than Patrol Cutter Bellerophon, but without all the sleek speed and grace of the Sky Patrol vessel. No, it was a boxy-looking thing, an awkward duck meant to trundle along the space lanes with a heavy load. It rested on the gray surface of the little moon like a fly waiting to be swatted. Perhaps it already had. There had been an emergency distress beacon.
Gareth opened a radio.
“Distressed vessel, this is Sky Patrol Deputy Agent Gareth St. John Dankworth, aboard the Patrol Cutter Bellerophon,” he said calmly, not wanting to scare the poor girl any more out of her wits than she already was. “What is your emergency?”
“Oh, thank all the gods,” she replied. “There’s been a landslide. My father’s trapped under the rockfall and the ship has been damaged. Please h
urry!”
“The Sky Patrol is on its way, miss,” he replied firmly, cutting the line.
“Atkins, take us in,” Gareth ordered, reaching to flip the PA system live. “Put us down close, but not too close. Duewall, Vitro, Hlavka, get suited up to join me on the surface. Chief, you’re in charge until I get back.”
A chorus of assents echoed through the narrow confines of the ship.
Gareth turned and raced aft to the airlock. There, he found three men, already locking their fishbowl helmets into place to leave the vessel: Spacer First Class Eddy Duewall; Spacer Second Class ‘Doc’ Vitro; and Landsman Matt Hlavka, a new rookie with a promising career ahead of him.
Unlike an officer of Sky Patrol, these men wore short boots in black leather, laced up the front. Gray pants flared outward a little at the knee like a bell covering their feet. Their collarless, pullover tunics in maroon at least matched his for color, and they had left their kepis with the ship, the short brim of the cap even then too much for their fishbowls. Each man wore his rank on his neckerchief: Duewall’s solid red; Vitro’s solid white, and Hvalka’s solid black; so Gareth could at least tell them apart from behind.
All uniforms being ready to transform to surface suits, Gareth was immediately ready as he reached for a helmet to don. Tall, black leather boots, polished to a shine. White pants tucked into the boots, cut in a style he had heard more than one female refer to as hotpants. Across his broad shoulders, the standing-collar, maroon tunic of the Sky Patrol, with the black and gold SP logo on the bib front between the gold buttons, wrapped in the single, white ring of an Deputy Agent. At his waist, a black, leather, Sam Brown belt, with the SP logo worked into the buckle.
Because they were leaving the ship, Gareth opened the arms locker and added a holster and a Ionic Stunner pistol to his gear after his helmet clicked into place. The Sonic Stunner version of the pistol was as much the symbol of Sky Patrol as his badge, but it only worked in an atmosphere. Gareth turned once to make sure all his men were ready, getting firm nods in reply.
“Bellerophon, this is Dankworth,” he said over the radio. “We’re all set here. Go ahead and activate the airlock.”
Behind them, a bank vault door swung shut with a loud beeping before it clanged into place and a wheel spun to set the bolts. Air hissed out of the room around them, until Gareth felt his uniform tighten just a little. A light began to blink, and the outer airlock door swung in.
Gareth took the lead, loping across the gap between the ships, careful not to jump too hard in the light gravity.
“Sir!?!” a voice came over the comm.
Gareth paused and looked back
Landsman Hlavka had jumped too high, confused by being on the surface of a sphere and thinking they were under a higher gravity. He was perilously close to floating off into space.
Gareth thought quickly. It would take too long to send the ship after him, and time was critical, so Gareth gauged the distance carefully and leapt, aiming to pass beneath the man.
“Steady, Hlavka,” Gareth ordered, flying towards him. “I’ve got you.”
Rather than risk a collision, Gareth grabbed an ankle as he went by, tugging hard. Unlike the Landsman, the Deputy Agent had plenty of experience with low-gravity situations. Their combined mass slowed him down and pulled them to the surface, where the rookie landed hard, and Dankworth came down in a classic three-point stance.
“Oh, thank you, commander,” Hlavka cried.
“Just pay attention, Landsman,” Gareth replied breezily, clapping the man on the shoulder. “We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.”
Gareth turned to assess the situation. The other two men had made it to the ship and were waiting for him. With the rookie in tow, Gareth joined them.
Before he could trigger the radio, the door to the bulky freighter’s airlock swung inward, revealing a young woman in a clingy spacesuit.
Gareth tried not to react, but seeing a woman in pants instead of a skirt was a touch unnerving, even as he understood the necessity of it. Still, it was awkward, being able to trace the line of those firm thighs up to a petite bottom and a narrow waist.
He tried to focus on her face, but that promised almost as much trouble.
She was gorgeous.
Young. Maybe only twenty years old, although it was hard to tell.
Black hair in short ringlets framed a heart-shaped face that might have been cast in porcelain. Bright blue eyes and dark red lips. Gareth was glad they both wore helmets, so he wasn’t tempted to simply kiss her.
“I’m Deputy Agent Gareth St. John Dankworth, of the Earth Force Sky Patrol,” he announced over the radio. “How can we help?”
“My name is Paulette,” she replied in an emotional voice that Gareth couldn’t help but compare to a morning songbird. “Paulette MacCormaic. My father is trapped and the ship is stuck. You must help us.”
“That’s why we’re here, ma’am,” he said. “Show us where your father is.”
“This way,” she began to walk around the bow of the ugly ship, Gareth and the others in her wake.
On the internal radio, Gareth heard a low wolf whistle. He stopped and turned to his men with a thunderous scowl.
“Sorry, sir,” Eddie Duewall replied sheepishly. “Won’t happen again.”
“If it does, you’re going on report, Spacer,” Gareth warned him.
Authority and probity re-established, Gareth turned again and walked after the young lady. It was difficult to concentrate, as he kept being mesmerized by the shapely bottom in those clinging pants. He wanted to wolf whistle as well, but kept it to himself.
One of these days, he would be promoted to Field Agent, and he could finally ask Philippa to marry him, back on Earth. They had both worked so hard to keep themselves pure. Surely, it wouldn’t be too long before his Earth Force commanders recognized all his hard work and promoted him.
Until then, he tried to swallow past a dry throat with a lump in it as the beautiful, young woman sashayed ahead of him.
“There he is,” she stopped suddenly and pointed.
Gareth moved forward far enough that he could concentrate on something other than the beautiful woman plaguing him with awkward, lustful thoughts.
Sure enough, a rockslide had ripped past the area, moving right to left. Part of it was pressed firmly against the side of the young woman’s ship. Over across the debris field, he could see a man, flat on the ground and half-covered with rocks and scree.
“With me, men,” Gareth ordered.
Rather than risk the unsteady surface, he took two steps and leapt far and flat across the surface of the asteroid, almost flying as his powerful thighs drove him like a diver off a cliff face.
He landed perfectly, just a few feet from the trapped man, and turned towards him.
Through the man’s clear helmet, it was obvious he was the father of the beautiful woman waiting safely for them to return. The same black hair, much of it gray now. The same bones in the face framing intense, cerulean eyes.
“Thank God you’ve come,” the man said.
“What happened?” Gareth asked.
Close by, his men were just now stumbling their way towards them across the rocks.
“My name is Doctor Ewan MacCormaic. I was looking for a good spot to set up my new mining invention,” the man said, obviously in some pain from the tone of his voice. “Something happened and the slope of the hill suddenly gave way. I’m not hurt, as near as I can tell, but my right foot is trapped by something under the gravel and I can’t move.”
“Very good, sir,” Gareth said firmly. “Sky Patrol’s here now. We’ll take care of it.”
He looked around, spotting what he needed leaned up against the side of the man’s ship.
“Duewall, grab that shovel,” he ordered. “Hlavka, help me dig. Doc, you get ready in case we need to treat an injury when we get him out.”
Gareth plunged his hand into the loose stone and swept a handful to one side with his mighty muscles. T
he Landsman did the same, but lacked the strength to move much at a time. Instead, the younger man put his head down and concentrated.
Quickly, the small rocks were cleared, and Gareth began encountering larger rocks, almost like dragon eggs from some fantasy novel. Even in low gravity, they were heavy, but Gareth was equal to the challenge, grabbing a large one in both hands and staggering to his feet. He shot-put the rock safely off to one side as the other two men kept at it.
Within minutes, they had the older man dug out from the rubble, but he had been right. A huge rock had come down. Had it landed a little to the left, it probably would have crushed the man’s leg, possibly severing it until he bled out, trapped in vacuum, but for now, it was better than a manacle for keeping him in place.
“A shovel’s not going to be any good against that,” Gareth said aloud, looking at the trapped man. “Even in this gravity. What kind of mining invention were you going to test? Anything we could use?”
“If it was assembled, yes,” the man said sadly. “But we had just landed, and the device is still in pieces in the hold of the ship.”
