Star Dragon Box Set One

by Blaze Ward

  “Too bad,” Gareth said. “What was it?”

  “A short-range, optical laser,” Doctor MacCormaic said. “You put it up against your cutting face and turn it on. It combines a mass spectrometer with a short beam focus, so you can tell what rocks you are vaporizing as it cuts cone-shaped plugs from the stone, letting you track a seam of valuable materials more closely.”

  “That would be very useful, sir,” Gareth said. “And it gives me an idea. Landsman Hlavka, you got back to the ship and get my Lasrifle from my cabin. We’ll have to cut him loose.”

  “Me, sir?” the man was nervous.

  “We’re in a hurry here, Hlavka,” Gareth reassured him. “Everyone will swear that I did it, so you won’t have to fill out any paperwork for being in possession of a lethal weapon.”

  “Oh,” the spacer said, relieved. “Thank you, sir.”

  With that, he was off, stumbling carefully across the rough surface of the moon, back to Bellerophon.

  “Thank you for saving my father.”

  The girl was suddenly right there, standing so close Gareth swore he could smell her perfume, even through two space suits and stellar vacuum.

  Gareth rose.

  “Not yet, miss,” he said. “But we’ll be there shortly. He’ll be safe with us.”

  He wanted to take her in his arms and press her against his chest. Taste those lips. Ruffle that onyx-black hair with his fingers.

  From the look in her eyes, the same improper thoughts appeared to race through her mind as well.

  Gareth concentrated on the man trapped by the rockfall.

  “A laser is a very dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, sir,” Gareth said, squatting down to get the girl out of his line of sight.

  “I’m aware of that, young man,” the doctor replied primly. “But I’m a researcher with Yamazaki Heavy Industries. Part of the Technology Division of your Earth Force Sky Patrol. Most asteroids are just nickel and iron. It’s not worth even trying to grind them up wholesale. I’m trying to invent a device that a single man can use when he lands on a larger rock, or a moon, and just go after the exotic materials. The platinum group, for instance, or the so-called Rare Earths that we need to maintain a technological society. Earth is running out of such materials, trying to colonize the entire solar system, so something must be done.”

  “Well if you’re with Yamazaki, you’ve got the kind of brains the job will need, sir,” Gareth said, spying Hlavka returning, holding the Lasrifle like it was a bomb in his hands.

  Gareth stood and took the weapon.

  “Good work, sailor,” he said, checking the settings.

  The rock trapping the boffin’s leg was nearly a foot thick at the narrowest part. He would have to be careful when making his cut, not to release the entire mass in such a way that he shifted the stone and dropped it on the man.

  And the Lasrifle was a dangerous weapon. As an officer with Sky Patrol, Gareth was the only one here certified to handle it in the field. Everyone else could make do with their Stunners. After all, it wasn’t like the Dark Ages of early space flight, where all the nations of the world had maintained armies and threatened each other with deadly force.

  Today, everyone had to work together for the good of mankind, whether it was in the Balloon Cities of Venus, the Hives of UnderMars, or the Gas Miners of Jupiter and Saturn, to say nothing of the Comet Wildcatters, seeking their fortunes in deep-system water mines. No, Earth Force Sky Patrol kept the peace these days, and did it with authority and justice, rather than force. It made the Solar System a better place.

  Gareth opened the butt of his Lasrifle to reveal the controls and made some adjustments. Cutting heat was more important than range or pulsing damage at a target.

  “Everybody stand back a safe distance,” he ordered brusquely, taking aim with the chrome and wood weapon.

  He steadied himself with a deep breath and pulled the trigger. A beam of ruby light flashed out and struck the stone, above and to the right of the trapped scientist. Rock flashed red hot and then puffed to smoke as it vaporized under the terrible, destructive eye of that beam, a modern Balor striking down the De Daanan sailors below.

  Down and in a little for the next few shots, a slow-motion woodpecker digging in a petrified tree for lunch. It felt good.

  Suddenly, the rock cracked. The mass began to shift forward, intent on crushing the scientist.

  Gareth dropped the Lasrifle and sprang forward, driving his strength into the stone and lifting with all his immense might.

  “You men, grab the doctor and pull him out,” Gareth ordered loudly. “Do it now.”

  He couldn’t hold the mass back for long, but enough of the stone should be cut away for them to break the rest.

  Feet appeared at the edge of his vision, but Gareth was entirely focused on the stone, holding it back like a tide trying to come in. He didn’t need long, but he absolutely had to keep it back.

  “Ugh, he’s stuck,” someone yelled.

  “Pull harder,” Gareth replied. “You’ve only got seconds.”

  Under him, he could feel the angry weight try to elude his will. To complete its slide and take the life of the inventor.

  He would not allow it!

  “Got it,” Duewall said suddenly. “Sir, he’s clear.”

  “Everybody, back safely away. Immediately,” Gareth ordered.

  He would only get one chance to do this, and needed a clear field. He glanced right, left.

  Open space, with his three men over by the ship, two of them holding the man up while the medic inspected the trapped leg. Beautiful Paulette waited close by, hands clenching and unclenching.

  Gareth took a deep breath, shifted his feet as much as he could, and leapt as hard as he could, up and backwards, using all the powerful muscles in his well-trained body.

  Success.

  He flew clear as the rest of the avalanche snapped greedily at his toes, but he was away.

  Maneuvering, Gareth landed lightly atop the hull of the MacCormaic freighter, holding on to a radio post to keep his balance.

  “You did it!” Paulette cried as he leapt lightly down to land beside her.

  The young woman threw herself into his arms, pressing her entire body as flat as possible against his chest in ways that made Gareth uncomfortable.

  “How can I ever thank you?” she asked, looking up at him.

  But for helmets in the way, he would have considered stealing a kiss and then putting himself on report. Fortunately, technology saved him.

  “All in the line of duty, miss,” he replied, untangling himself, as detestable as he found the notion, and stepping back so he could inspect her father.

  Images of Philippa Loughty haunted him as he did so, his Little Lady of the Lake, waiting oh-so-patiently for him to return to her, but he crushed those desires, all the wistful dreams, beneath his duty.

  “My hero,” Paulette swooned.

  Her voice didn’t help his calm.

  “Doc, how is he?” Gareth asked, focusing himself on duty, and nothing else. Desires could wait.

  “Bruised and banged up,” Spacer Third Class Medic Vitro replied. “But nothing is broken. I recommend rest for a few days.”

  “And the ship?” Gareth asked.

  “The ship is fine,” Doctor MacCormaic replied. “Paulette doesn’t know how to pilot it, but I can back it out of the slide with no problems.”

  Well, of course. Who would train a woman to fly a spaceship? They were far to dainty and demure for that sort of rugged existence. Leave that to menfolk.

  “In that case, our work is done here,” Gareth announced, bowing to the two civilians. “Doctor, Miss, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Thank you so much for saving us,” Paulette crooned heartfully, almost taking a bite out of Gareth’s soul. “Will we ever see you again?”

  “We’re the Earth Force Sky Patrol, miss,” Gareth said, fists on hips and head thrown proudly back. “We’ll always be there when you need help.”


  “My hero,” she said.

  “Well, yes,” he said awkwardly. “Back to the ship, men. There are patrol rounds to finish.”

  The men fell in, happily repeating the story. It would look good on his report. Hopefully, another gold star that would get him promoted from Deputy to Auxiliary Agent.

  But first, he really needed a cold shower.

  Tin Can Pirates

  An Earth Force Sky Patrol File: Solar Year 2383

  “Mayday, mayday,” a ragged, tired voice emerged from the speakers on the bridge of Patrol Cutter Bellerophon. “Please respond. Life support is giving out and I don’t have much time left.”

  “Track that signal, radioman,” Gareth St. John Dankworth barked the order at his bridge crew. As an Auxiliary Agent of Earth Force Sky Patrol, he was the only commissioned officer aboard, the rest being enlisted men. He was responsible for all of their lives.

  Gareth stood up from his station on the compact bridge and keyed the overhead address system.

  “All hands, stand by for maximum maneuvering,” Gareth ordered. “Chief, bring the reactor to full power and be prepared to push it hard.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the call came back.

  “Mayday repeating,” that lonely voice called again. “Please respond. Warning. My claim was hit by pirates. Protect yourselves…”

  Gareth lurked over the radioman, watching the man furiously spinning knobs and watching gauges.

  “What happened, Ferrie?” Gareth demanded.

  “Lost his signal, sir,” the Spacer Two replied. “Got a partial vector, but it’s like he just stopped transmitting.”

  “Give me the new course,” Gareth said, keying the ship-wide again. “All hands, brace for acceleration.”

  Ferrie tore off a piece of paper from his pad and handed it to Gareth. As commander of Patrol Cutter Bellerophon, Gareth took two steps to the big man standing at the ship’s wheel. You had to have muscles to spin the wheel while simultaneously pulling and turning it on the post. Tom Atkins was always equal to the job, nearly as big and strong as Gareth.

  “Come about Atkins.” Gareth read the numbers. “New heading right three points, up five. Lock that in and pour on the juice.”

  “Right three up five,” Atkins echoed. “Stand by. Ready for acceleration.”

  “Hit it, mister,” Gareth said.

  Aft, the full power of the Choueiri Arcjet Ionic Drive lit, a blue-white, electrical fire driving the sleek greyhound of Sky Patrol across the dark depths of the asteroid belt.

  “Radioman,” Gareth called without looking at Ferrie. “Keep your eye on your scanners. There will be rocks ahead of us.”

  “Commander?” Chief Edevane called from the reactor room. “At this speed, should we spin the shields forward instead?”

  “Good idea, Chief,” Gareth replied. “Bring them to zero, zero, zero.”

  “Coming up, Gareth,” the Chief said.

  The Star Shields. A five-yard thick concrete barrier you kept between you and the Sun at all times, just to reduce the solar radiation the ship absorbed. They had solar panels on them to supplement the reactor, and the ship was still exposed to the cosmic background radiation, but every little bit helped.

  At this speed, having a concrete shield in front might protect them from ramming a small asteroid at speeds too great to maneuver safely.

  As the Star Shield came around, the big picture window across the bridge was occulted. Atkins and Ferrie would be flying on instruments and scanners, rather than good, old-fashioned eyeballs, but Gareth couldn’t imagine two men better for the task.

  “Commander, I’ve got a new signal,” Ferrie said. “Two of them, as a matter of fact. One stable on the surface of that asteroid there. The other seems to be receding.”

  Receding? Why would it be receding? Of course, his ship had gotten here before the pirates could flee.

  But those folks were running now. Just as the Law was arriving, like in any good western vid.

  Gareth ground his teeth, but he really had no choice now but to let them go.

  “Ferrie, lock everything you have on the second signal and track them as long and far as you can,” Gareth ordered. “All hands, prepare for full reverse acceleration. Atkins, bring us to rest with the asteroid and land us as close as you can to the signal.”

  Bellerophon had a gun on the bow. She was a patrol cutter, after all. But Gareth’s duty was to rescue the vessel’s crew, assuming they could. Only after that, or if the man was dead when they arrived, could the posse set off in pursuit.

  Simple orbital geometry and physics worked against him now. They were going faster than the supposed pirate, and could run him down if they turned. But every minute might be one too long for a man injured and perhaps dying down there.

  Justice never slept, however. Earth Force Sky Patrol would never rest. Right now, he was just spotting the pirates a head start, that was all.

  The second signal receded as the ship slowly settled on the surface, but remained on Ferrie’s screen.

  You can run from me. You cannot hide.

  “Duewall, Vitro, Hlavka, get suited up to join me on the surface. Chief, you’ll be in charge until I get back,” Gareth ordered, moving aft to the main airlock.

  The three men were his usual team for missions on the ground, so they had anticipated him. All were already in their fishbowl helmets in the airlock when he arrived.

  Unlike an officer of Sky Patrol, in his tall boots, white hotpants, and maroon tunic, these men wore short boots in black leather, laced up the front. Gray pants flared outward a little at the knee like mushrooms 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.

  Gareth had stopped by his cabin and grabbed the Lasrifle from that locker as he headed aft. Better to be overarmed than under. Once he got to the airlock, he used his thumbprint to open the arms locker and hand each man an Ionic Stunner and a stick-on holder for their thighs.

  He locked the fishbowl over his head and opened the radio.

  “Bellerophon, this is Dankworth,” he said loudly. “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.

  Asteroid mining was frequently a lonely, obsessive task. Most of the true rocks were almost completely nickel and iron. Huge mega-conglomerates could grab those with robot ships and feed them into enormous hoppers that reduced them to stacks of bars and ingots.

  Small-scale miners had to prospect in places the big guys didn’t bother, with their spectrometers and gear, looking for the exotic metals, up in the platinum group, for example, or the rare earths, for the things Earth’s economy needed to continue to grow. Here, you dug for a while, then moved on, hoping to find a vein of the pure stuff left over from the ancient supernovae that had seeded this solar system.

  Every once in a while, a man might find a stone as big as a patrol cutter that was nearly a pure nugget. If he could keep it secret and register and protect his claim, his grandchildren might still be fabulously wealthy.

  Assuming no pirates came along and robbed you.

  The hatch opened and Gareth let his Earth muscles drive him across the surface of the small moonlet like a swimmer in the low gravity. Behind him, the other three followed as well as they could, but none of them had his skill or power.

  Ahead, a steel and composite box, longer than it was tall or wide. Blunt at one end and flared for drives at the other.

  Gareth spied a figure in a mining armor splayed to one side, as though he
had been trying to crawl back to the ship when he collapsed. Or died.

  Gareth homed in on the figure.

  “Vitro,” he called. “I’ve got a man down here. Move it.”

  Rather than speak, the medic surged ahead of his companions for a second before they caught up.

  Gareth was there and had the man turned over. When he did, he could see the air and drops of blood seeping out of a series of blaster marks on the surface of the armored suit. At least the man had stood facing them when they shot him.

  Quickly, Gareth pulled emergency patches from a pocket of his suit and began slapping them in place on the leaking holes. Mining armor usually had weeks of air and a solid air scrubber aboard, as you might just live in the suit for several days, rather than lock through to the interior of your ship.

  Gareth felt the medic slide in alongside him and start pressing buttons of the side of the man’s helmet.

  “I’ve got lifesigns still, sir,” the medic said. “Weak, but present. Looks like we got here in the nick of time.”

  “We’ll need to get him out of the armor, Spacer,” Gareth said. “His ship or ours?”

  “I trust my equipment better than some random stranger, sir,” Vitro said. “But mining armor’s too heavy to lift, unless we get a mover or something out of his ship, maybe.”

  “There’s no time for that,” Gareth decided. “Will he survive if we move him?”

  “Can’t tell without getting him open, sir,” the medic shrugged. “But those are heat burns, so they might have cauterized inside. Probably worth risking.”

  “Good enough,” Gareth said. “I’ll carry him on my back. Duewall and Hlavka, you each stabilize a hip. Doc, you get to the ship now and get your medbay ready.”

  Gareth slipped an arm around the armored figure and lifted. Even in the low gravity of this moonlet, there was a lot of mass. But Gareth was not deterred. He grabbed and thrust upward with his hips and thighs, getting the figure more or less standing as the other two Spacers gripped arms and held him.

  Gareth turned and backed into the armor to piggy-back him.