by G J Ogden
“Are you taking a nap?”
Hudson opened his eyes to see Liberty slide into the chair opposite, smiling broadly.
“We’re going to need to work on you being a little more discreet,” said Hudson, humorlessly. “Relic hunting is a sneaky business, which means not announcing who we are to a bar full of people.”
“My, aren’t we grumpy?” replied Liberty. Then she noticed the ID card on the table and picked it up excitedly.
“You look like a youth offender in that photo,” said Hudson, grinning and taking another swig of whiskey.
Liberty scowled and then peered down at the photo on Hudson’s license. “Hmm, I take it back, you actually do look like a serial killer.”
Hudson quickly snatched back his license and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He then picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Speaking of killing,” he said as he poured a measure into a clean tumbler on the table, filling it to the brim. “We need to seal our arrangement properly, through the act of murdering some brain cells.”
Liberty looked at the glass and then turned up her nose, “Ugh, no way, that stuff tastes worse than mouthwash.”
“As your captain, I insist,” said Hudson, sliding the tumbler towards Liberty, spilling some of the contents onto the table as he did so.
“We’re in this fifty-fifty, remember, so why do you get to be captain?”
Hudson sat back in the chair and held up his glass, “Can you fly a VCX-110?”
Liberty scowled again, “Well, no, not exactly…”
“Then that makes me the captain,” said Hudson, smirking, “Now, have a drink with your captain or you’ll hurt his feelings.”
“Fine,” growled Liberty, picking up the tumbler, “If it will shut you up.”
They both knocked back the contents in one, but while Hudson swallowed the amber liquor as effortlessly as water, Liberty looked like she was experiencing a medical emergency.
“What is this crap?!” she coughed, spluttering spittle over her new ID card. “It tastes like hydraulic fluid…”
Hudson laughed and then re-filled his own tumbler, leaving Liberty’s empty. “You get used to it. So, where are we headed?”
Liberty wiped the water from her eyes with the back of her hand and then reached through the slits in her coveralls. She pulled out a plastic wallet with the name, ‘Yellow Line Trans-Portal Shuttles’ written on it. She opened the wallet and handed Hudson one of two tickets inside. “The closest and cheapest portal world is Bach Two, so that’s our next stop.”
“Bach Two?” queried Hudson. He knew the planet pretty well, but there wasn’t much call for extensive RGF patrols there anymore. As one of the first portal worlds (and alien wrecks) discovered, the hulk had been pretty much picked clean over the decades. Hudson knew that the chances of finding a score that would cover the outstanding balance for the VCX-110 was pretty slim.
“Is there a problem with Bach Two?” asked Liberty, looking a little concerned.
Hudson considered a lie, but he didn’t want to keep secrets from Liberty. And even a white lie was still a lie. Then he remembered about the alien crystal tucked inside the hidden compartment and realized he should tell her about that too. But a crowded bar with a couple of loitering RGF cops nearby wasn’t the place to do it.
“Hudson? Is there a problem with Bach Two?” Liberty repeated, since Hudson hadn’t answered.
“I was just thinking that finding a good score on the wreck there is going to be difficult,” said Hudson, returning his attention to Liberty. The young engineer’s head dropped, and a streak of blue hair fell across her face. Hudson didn’t want to put a downer on what should have been a celebratory moment, and so quickly added, “But I’m up for the challenge; how about you?”
Liberty smiled, “Bring it on.” Then she poured herself a shot from the whiskey bottle and downed it, before crumpling forward on the table in another coughing fit.
Hudson laughed, but then he spotted something about the ticket that wiped the smile from his face. “Hey, these tickets are one way!”
Liberty sat back up, thumping her chest with the palm of her hand. “Yeah, that’s all I could afford with the hardbucks I had left.”
“You do know that it rains for two hundred out of the three hundred days in the year on Bach Two?” said Hudson. If he’d been wearing glasses, he would be peering at her over the rim, like a suspicious teacher.
“We won’t get stuck there,” Liberty hit back, seeing where Hudson was leading.
“And in the summer, the scavenger town is plagued by tiny biting insects that swarm in groups so thick it looks like smoke…”
Liberty scowled, “We won’t get stuck there…”
“And in the winter, it’s dark for ninety per cent of the entire day…”
Liberty kicked him under the table, “Enough, already, I get it!” but she couldn’t help laughing. “We won’t get stuck there. Have a little faith, Hudson Powell.”
“We’re going to need a little more than faith, but what the hell,” Hudson replied, slipping the ticket into his pocket and then raising his glass. “Let’s take a one-way trip to one of the most annoying planets in the galaxy.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Liberty, reaching for the whiskey bottle, but before she could pour the contents, a shadow crept across their table. They both looked up to see two RGF cops looking down at them, thumbs tucked into their belts. Liberty glanced across to Hudson, who was now rubbing his temple and trying to hide his face at the same time, before turning back to the two officers. “Is there a problem?”
“The problem is I don’t like drinking in bars that let stinking traitors inside,” said the woman.
Liberty was about to answer, when Hudson cut in. “Violet, what a pleasure it is to see you again. Your face looks positively radiant.” He then looked up at the officer and frowned, “Oh, sorry, that’s just the sunburn.” Liberty smirked, but the woman was not amused.
“That’s Corporal Hodges to you, traitor,” she replied, while subconsciously touching her face, as if testing its temperature. “Now, I think you should leave, before things get ugly.”
Hudson drew in a deep breath and let it out. He didn’t want a confrontation, but his tolerance for taking crap from the RGF had run out long ago. He pushed his chair back across the tiled floor, causing it to screech like someone drawing their fingernails across a blackboard. Then he stood up and faced off against Hodges.
“I can call you whatever the hell I like, Violet,” said Hudson, glowering at the stern older woman. “And I can drink wherever I like too. If you have a problem with that then you can shove it up your uptight, saggy ass.”
Hodges smiled; she loved conflict and seemed pleased that Hudson had bitten back, rather than turned tail. She glanced over to Liberty, looking her up and down with distain. “Who is that?” she said, meeting Hudson’s eyes again. “Got yourself a new girlfriend already?” Then her lips curled into a cruel smile, “It was such a shame what happened to the last one...”
Hudson snapped and blinded by rage he shoved Hodges hard on the chest, sending her crashing backward into another table. He was ready to advance, when Yang drew his weapon and leveled it at him.
“Get back, now!” Yang yelled, as Hodges pulled herself off the table. Suddenly a dozen more chairs screeched across the tiled floor, as other patrons quickly scampered away. It was like the scene of a Wild West tavern shootout, except no-one had started shooting – at least not yet. Unseen by Hudson, Liberty had also stood up and moved off to the side of Yang, but she remained silent.
Hodges strode back up to Hudson, teeth gritted and body clenched tighter than her fists. “You’re going to regret that, traitor,” she snarled, words seething through the gaps in her toothy grimace.
Hudson had recovered some of his composure, but he was still in no mood for being pushed around. “This isn’t a portal world; you don’t have any authority here.” Then he looked at Yang, who still had the weapon on him.
“And we both know you won’t shoot me. So just get the hell out of my way.”
Hodges slammed a kick into Hudson’s gut, sucker punching him while his attention was distracted. The blow stole Hudson’s breath away, and forced him to double over in pain. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, traitor,” said Hodges, grabbing a thick tuft of Hudson’s hair and yanking his head back. “Me and Yang here are going to have some fun first. Isn’t that right, Officer Yang?”
Yang didn’t have a chance to answer, because Liberty had darted towards him, grabbed his wrists and stripped the weapon from his hand. Hudson looked on as she then struck Yang with a forearm, sending the officer staggering back.
Hudson shook off Hodges, but he was still too winded to fight. “Run!” he barked, struggling to achieve any volume. “Liberty, run, get out!”
Yang recovered and together with Hodges they both rounded on Liberty. Both officers drew riot batons.
“That was a big mistake, girl...” growled Yang, teasing the end of the baton towards Liberty.
Hudson staggered forwards, trying to intervene, but as Hodges raised her weapon, ready to strike, he was powerless to help.
Hudson watched as the baton swung towards Liberty, however instead of being struck, she deflected the attack, before spinning on the heels of her heavy safety boots and snapping a fast kick into Yang’s chest. The officer was taken completely by surprise and staggered backwards, an oily boot mark pressed onto his shirt. Hodges struck out again, but Liberty evaded, then blocked, and stripped the baton from her grasp, claiming it as her own. Hodges stood back, stunned by the ineffectiveness of her attacks and the fact she had been so easily disarmed. However, Liberty gave her no opportunity to attack again, hammering defensive strikes into the Corporal's shoulders and thighs. Hodges’ legs gave way and she fell, grasping at her crushed muscles. Yang darted forward again, slashing his baton at Liberty’s head. She blocked the attack and then turned into Yang, gripping his belt and sliding an arm underneath his for leverage. Before Yang knew what was happening, Liberty had thrown him down onto their table, collapsing it under the weight of the impact. Yang groaned, holding the back of his head, but he didn’t try to stand.
Liberty picked up her transport ticket, which had scattered to the tiled floor after the table gave way, and went to help Hudson to his feet.
“I thought you were an engineer, not a damn ninja,” said Hudson, holding his ribs.
“You’re welcome,” said Liberty, “but I think it’s about time we left.”
“No shit,” said Hudson as they both swiftly headed for the door, passing other drinkers who were still hiding under tables. “Bach Two is sounding pretty appealing right now.”
Liberty smiled, “What was that you said about me needing to be more discreet?”
There was a pause as Hudson looked into Liberty’s eyes, before they both burst out laughing.
CHAPTER 7
The last trans-portal flight that Hudson had taken had been from Brahms Three to Earth, in order to fulfil Ericka Reach’s dying wish. At that time, he was on the run from Logan Griff, broke, plagued with guilt, and clueless about how to rebuild the tattered remains of his life. Now, he was a licensed relic hunter, about to go on his first hunt. And he wasn’t alone; he had a partner that he’d only just met, but felt like he’d known for years. The prize, should they manage to scavenge deep enough inside the wreck to bag a decent score, was a VCX-110 light courier runner. This was more than just a ship, Hudson thought to himself – it was freedom.
What a difference two weeks can make, he mused, while looking out of the small porthole window. The transport had just begun its descent through the atmosphere of Bach Two, on course for the scavenger town.
“Come on, let’s go to the front observation deck,” said a giddy Liberty Devan, leaning across him to peer through the porthole. She then unbuckled her harness and sprang up as if it had been an ejector seat. “We’ll get a better view of the wreck site.”
Hudson felt like reminding her that he’d already flown into dozens of scavenger towns, and seen just as many wreck sites, but Liberty’s enthusiasm was infectious.
“Come on!” she called out, already several rows ahead of him.
“Okay, already!” Hudson hollered back, “You go ahead; I’ll catch you up.”
Liberty didn’t need telling twice. She had already climbed the spiral staircase to the observation level, before Hudson had even got out of his seat. As he wandered down the aisle, he caught sight of the spaceport arrivals board on one of the public infopanels. Something compelled him to read it, and he stopped to scan through the ship registries. As one of the more developed inner portal worlds, a couple of million people lived on Bach Two, spread out across several small cities. The scavenger town was one of them, and It was about ten times the size of the shipping-container town of Brahms Three. It was a bustling travel hub, though more for business travelers than for relic hunters. The majority of scavengers had moved on to more distant wrecks, where the risk levels and reward opportunities were both significantly higher.
He was about to carry on past the infopanel when one of the line entries caught his attention. It read, ‘Landed: 09:52 Earth Standard | FS-31 Patrol Craft, Hawk-1333F’. He took a step closer to the panel, and peered at the entry. Where have I seen that before? he asked himself, feeling suddenly more anxious. The name had triggered something in his subconscious mind, but he couldn’t dredge it back to the surface. Then Liberty ducked her head beneath the floor of the upper level and yelled at him again. Hawk-1333F… Hudson repeated in his mind, wracking his brains, but drawing a blank. Another holler from Liberty drew irritated glances from other passengers, which strangely were all directed at Hudson, rather than the woman doing the shouting. He left the infopanel and jogged up to Liberty, muttering apologies and platitudes to the passengers who scowled at him along the way.
“Look at that thing!” said Liberty, who was already standing by the window.
Hudson squeezed in amongst the other passengers who were also excitedly looking out at the wreck site. The transport was making its customary slow bank around the checkpoint perimeter to give its passengers a bird’s eye view of the alien spectacle. The crashed hulk was half buried underneath Bach Two’s muddy surface, but it was still an imposing sight. Hudson may have seen it and wrecks like it many times before, but despite his earlier indifference, he admitted to still being in awe of the giant alien ship.
“It’s something else, right?” he said, “Wait till you see inside.”
“You’ve already been on a hunt?” asked Liberty, looking up at him with her curious, azure eyes.
“No, not on a hunt, but I have been inside a wreck. Recently, in fact,” replied Hudson, remembering the adventure that had led to his first meeting with Tory Bellona. “We need to be careful, though; other hunters set booby traps inside to catch out newbie scavengers like us.”
“Figures,” Liberty tutted. “But don’t worry, I’m used to watching my step.”
The transport veered away from the wreck and descended into the spaceport on the outskirts of the scavenger town. The change in scenery from spectacular to mundane caused most of the other onlookers to filter away. However, despite the frequent calls over the transport’s PA system asking passengers to return to their seat, Hudson and Liberty remained in the observation lounge.
“Come on, we need to buy some gear, before starting our hunt,” said Hudson, stumbling as the shuttle’s landing struts touched down on the deck. However, Liberty was still pressed to the window. “Hey, come on, there’s nothing to see now.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Liberty, “this spaceport is like a supercar showroom for sexy spaceships.”
Hudson smiled and returned to the window. Liberty wasn’t wrong – besides the commercial shuttles and freighters, there was a wide diversity of privately-owned starships on stand too.
“Hey, avert your eyes, lady,” said Hudson, waggishly. “We already have a ship. So long as we can f
ind a score here to pay for it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m just window shopping; nothing here tops our VCX-110.” Then she made a cooing noise and pointed across the deck. “Though that FS-31 is pretty badass too.”
Hudson looked over to where Liberty was pointing and saw the ship in question. It was sleek and had an iridescent blue-black skin like a Grackle. Liberty was right, it was a handsome ship. Then he remembered it was the same model as the one that had caught his attention on the infopanel. FS-31 Patrol Craft, Hawk-1333F, Hudson remembered. Suddenly he felt his skin crawl and his stomach tighten in a knot. “Hawk-1333F…” he said out loud. “That ship is registry Hawk-1333F.”
“So what?” asked Liberty.
“That’s Cutler Wendell’s ship,” replied Hudson, staring out at the shimmering vessel. “That’s the ship owned by the asshole who’s trying to kill me.”
CHAPTER 8
The equipment stores in the larger scavenger towns were like toy shops to a fully-grown man like Hudson Powell. While there were usually several to choose from, apart from on the more distant portal worlds, the leading supplier was a chain called ‘Scavenger’s Paradise’. Hudson could never contain his smiles as he walked through the large revolving doors, which were a trademark feature of the brand. He was standing just inside the foyer of the Scavenger’s Paradise on Bach Two, grinning like a proverbial Cheshire cat. It was a welcome distraction that had temporarily stopped him fretting about whether Cutler was about to knife him in the back. As he glanced across at Liberty he was pleased to note that her expression was a mirror of his own.
“You shouldn’t have brought me in here,” said Liberty, her eyes popping out as if on stalks. “I’m going to buy the entire store…”
“I’m afraid we don’t have quite enough hardbucks left to do that,” said Hudson, acting as Liberty’s inner voice of reason. “We’ll have to restrict ourselves to essential provisions.”
