Migrant Thrive: Thrive Space Colony Adventures Box Set Books 7-9

by Ginger Booth

  They called it the no-go radius for a reason.

  “Hail Mary,” he breathed, and brought the main star drive up to power level 8 of 10.

  “Full of grace,” Remi responded.

  Ben frowned momentarily in puzzlement, then shrugged it off. “We will attempt a micro-warp jump to 50k km off Gorky’s bow, along a line to Mahina Orbital.” He finished his lightning calculations. Yes, surprise surprise, that should be possible. “Clay, get your ass up here. You will be flying us today.”

  “Jesus. The Lord is with thee,” Clay replied. “Blessed art thou among women.”

  Wasn’t Jesus a guy? But Ben was too busy running for the shuttle to ask. Cope transferred Prosper’s warp-gate generator to Thrive. Ben took his own shuttle back today, with the original drive. He beat his previous speed record to reach the shuttle and slam on the warmup sequence, ignoring conversational gambits from everyone in his path.

  Four minutes to warp. He had four crew aboard. Someone had to stay on the bridge. And he personally needed to operate the warp controls on the shuttle. He opened a private line to Clay.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Ben,” the first mate complained, before Ben could say anything.

  “You are doing your best,” Ben assured him. “Clay, send Zan to me. All hands except you, report to the shuttle.”

  After a moment’s shocked delay, Clay issued those orders. A few seconds later, he replied steadily, “I’m alone.”

  “But not in spirit,” Ben assured him. “I’ll stay with you every step of the way. There is nothing you can do at this point. The helm is programmed to slow our orbital decay as best it can.”

  “If I’m reading this right, its best isn’t good enough,” Clay observed.

  “That’s why we’re warping,” Ben agreed. “Clay, your job comes after warp. You need to immediately close on Gorky’s position. Coordinate with him. And follow him home to Mahina Orbital. He’ll fire his guns to clear your path. Hail him now.”

  While Clay was occupied making friends, Ben made sure Remi, Zan, and Judge were safely stowed aboard the shuttle and didn’t dare breathe on the warp generator. Zan began the checklist on shuttle readiness to detach from the ship, if it came to that. Hopefully it wouldn’t. Last in, Judge dogged the airlock hatch.

  The timer pinged 30 seconds to ready. Ben got back on the line with Clay to perform each remaining step out loud, just to keep the man company. “Respect the hell out of you for this, Clay. If the ship breaks up, know that we will find you. Bet on it.”

  “Understood.”

  Ben unleashed the giant warp flower. Pono’s enormous gravity actually bent the pattern, streamers like fingers reaching for its tiger stripes, belts of vast pink stationary hurricanes in the gaseous maelstrom. The captain started to wonder what effect that might have on their warp integrity. No time for that! “Ready on three, two, one, warp!”

  And they were out! Ben gasped a laugh. His shuttle was still attached to his ship, and they were only 20k klicks off course, closer to Gorky than intended. “Clay, on my way!”

  He unbelted from his seat and lurched for the airlock. Remi reached it before he did, opened both doors, and jumped out of his way. Ben jumped down to the hold rather than bother with the half-floor ladder.

  “Cap,” Clay complained, “I have no ventral cameras.”

  Ben glanced up as his feet hit the floor of the hold. And he saw Pono shining through where his top hatch used to be, plus a section of missing hull up there. He paused for a split second, mouth hanging open, staring. He firmly shut his jaw. “On my way.”

  His helm control was shot. He didn’t dare fire a gun. Ben meekly followed Gorky’s Heavenly Bodies into dock on Mahina Orbital.

  As the locks clamped on, he shut down the engines. And he began laughing out loud. It took him several minutes to trust his voice again. “We’re alive! Welcome to MO! Hotel, dinner, drinks, baths, geishas, all on Spaceways! You made it! And that’s a rego miracle! You guys are awesome!”

  “Cap!” Judge reminded him. “Sass and Cope still want to hear from you.”

  That set Ben off laughing again. Clay took the call. “Not too honest, Clay! Save the real story for when they get home.”

  55

  Ben’s eyes lit as the team entered MO’s latest bathhouse, Denali Salt Springs. The five of them wore nothing but towels slung around their hips.

  Amidst the steamy heat, Denali geisha kneeled to wash a few patrons on stools. Beyond this prerequisite step lay the above-deck bathing pool. Most customers sat on shallow steps around its edge. Forest lighting, leafy fronds, and riotous flowering vines hung above the water. Some guests were attended by geisha in nothing but loincloths, mostly women. Offerings apparently included drinks, food, and massage tables, plus additional private nooks.

  “They have boy geisha,” Ben marveled. “How did I not realize this?”

  “You were with Cope,” Clay answered unnecessarily.

  “We’re single tonight,” Ben returned with a smile.

  “Really?” Zan asked. He knew Ben best.

  “Cope told me to check on the geisha.”

  Judge needled, “Check them how?”

  Ben pursed his lips repressively. “Wasn’t that long a conversation. Remi, Clay, you’re new to this. What happens in the rings, stays in the rings. And I am a Ringer.” He looked over the waiting line of geisha. Yes, a very fine selection!

  The host met them, a Mahina man rubbing his hands in eagerness. Not many customers sprang for the full-service spacesuit recharge and exclusive dressing room. Their towels proclaimed them rich marks. The guy probably figured they were straight off a mining skiff, won the month’s bonus, and looked to blow it all in one night.

  “A geisha for each of you gentlemen? Or two?”

  Remi blurted in astonishment, “Two!”

  “Ah, a gentleman of Hell’s Bells! Perhaps you would like one of each? A paddy to remind you of home, and one of our lovely new Denali?”

  “I –”

  “Take two if you want,” Ben encouraged. “All of you. I choose one. Him.” He made eye contact for himself to lure the young man over. The others began pursuing their own liaisons. “I’m Ben. You are?”

  “Tikki,” his new friend volunteered, slightly shorter than himself. Compact of build himself, and used to Cope towering over him, Ben quite liked this aspect of his physique. And indeed every other aspect, easily viewed since the geisha wore little but a smile.

  Ben remarked, “I’ve now met a Teke, a Tikka, and now a Tikki. This seems to be a popular name on your world.”

  “You’ve met many Denali!” Tikki drew him to a stool near his friends to begin washing him. The suds smelled wonderful, of grapefruit and flowers. The bath-man applied accomplished fingers, starting with Ben’s scalp. “The name comes from tiki torches.” He pointed out the flaming torches on sticks lighting the pre-wash grotto. “Wait. Teke. The only Teke is the physicist. You don’t mean you know him?”

  Remi self-consciously settled on the stool in front of Ben. He did select both paddy and Denali hand-maidens. Distracted, Ben replied, “I’ve known Teke 14 years. He stowed away on Thrive when we came back from Denali.”

  Tikki stared. “You’re…Ben Acosta!”

  “I am.”

  The geisha stood and summoned the host. “Asher, sir, these are the spacemen who brought us from Denali. Permission to serve them tonight on the house.”

  “Oh…” the host moaned. “Very well. Denali geisha only?” He winced hopefully.

  The Sagamore and Mahina geisha insisted they too wished to serve the Prosper crew gratis.

  “No, no!” Ben insisted. “I pay for them,” he assured Asher.

  Tikki looked deeply disappointed. He applied himself to Ben’s neck and shoulders with a sponge, another Denali critter, named after a lost Earth species and turned into a washcloth. “We lost one point five percent of the travelers on the way here.”

  Ben stiffened. Perhaps this was a bad idea.
“If you feel uncomfortable serving me, I can select another geisha.”

  The youth’s eyes widened as he met Ben’s. “No! We were warned one in ten would die.” Ben released a breath he’d been holding. “My particular friend was among the unlucky.” Ben held his breath again. “But Spaceways took him directly to an auto-doc. He’s fine now! He’s the bouncer, over there.”

  Ben sighed out in relief. “You had me going for a minute there.” Then he noted the muscle on the ripped hunter-turned-bouncer. Perhaps a platonic evening with Tikki is best.

  “Going…where?” Tikki asked, struggling with the unfamiliar idiom.

  “Nothing. I’m glad your friend survived. Most of us here flew to Hell’s Bells. But Clay was on your ship. His special friend is Captain Sass Collier.”

  “No! You flew the Prosper?” Tikka ceased washing again in alarm. “The new ship in dock. The one that looks like a pterosaur chewed it down then spit it out. Is it true? You flew today from Cantons, to Sanctuary, to Mahina Orbital? Three star systems. In a single day!”

  “Well, yeah.” Ben hadn’t intended to advertise the fact.

  “Asher!” Tikki called the host again imperiously. “They broke the ship! Free!”

  Asher sighed and capitulated. “Yes, fine. The works, on the house.”

  “No, really!” Ben countered. “I’m not asking anyone to work for free!”

  “Thank you, sir!” Asher acknowledged with a bow. “You will not regret it. Tikki? Please.” His hand flourished in a gentle reminder to Wash the customer! Ben suspected Asher owned the new bathhouse. No doubt he was getting an education on comparative interplanetary customs. Ben could relate.

  He chuckled, and asked Tikki, “How is it, obeying orders?” In his experience, Denali didn’t obey orders worth a damn, regardless of profession.

  “I don’t understand the concept,” Tikki confessed. Clay and Zan overheard and chuckled.

  But the geisha was talented at his job. Ben relaxed into his intimate massage. When it came to those whiffy nether regions, Tikki passed him the sponge, and adopted an adorable meditation posture, eyes modestly averted.

  Apparently he spent his time thinking. When the geisha resumed with the rinse water, he hazarded, “Captain, would you like help fixing your ship? Geisha would love to help you pretty up Prosper for sale.”

  Ben blinked, though wasn’t too surprised at the efficiency and detail of the MO gossip highway.

  Tikki continued, “We decorated this grotto. You could pay us by shortening our indenture period. No money up front. I’d love more work experience in decorating space interiors. Geisha is a short-term profession.”

  “Wow,” Ben breathed. “That is interesting. I’ll think about it!”

  Soon they shifted to the salt baths, claiming a corner to themselves. Indeed, Asher requested other patrons relocate to give the honored crazy guys more space. After the host whispered in their ears, Ben caught more than one astonished stare fixed on him, guys shaking their heads in admiration, or disbelief. Ben grinned back at them. In the rings, a reputation went a long way.

  When Tikki requested his food order, Ben asked, “How’s your Aloha three-world ramen? Authentic yam noodles? Excellent! And beer and water! Separate cups. Ice cold. With an ice wand.”

  Tikki nodded a solemn Got it.

  “What, cap?” Judge twigged him. “Not five-world ramen?”

  Ben imagined polluting a perfectly lovely bowl of ramen with Sanctuary’s dire cuisine. “No. The food on Cantons was excellent. But pastry and pizza doen’t go in ramen. No, Aloha all the way! Three worlds for me!”

  “To Mahina!” Clay offered, raising a glass. One of his geishas hastily pressed a spare beer on Ben since Tikki was running behind.

  Ben shook his head. “To space and the best crew in it! And Prosper! Cantons to Sanctuary to MO in under 18 hours! Cheers!”

  With authentic Denali noodles, the Aloha three-world ramen was excellent. The vast blackness of space, the captain’s true home, grew smaller and livelier all the time. The bored boy from Poldark couldn’t be happier.

  Sylvan Thrive

  Book 8

  Prologue

  Launched on a shoestring,

  The colonists were humanity’s hope for survival.

  They were failing in the Aloha star system.

  But the Thrive crew turned that around.

  In their travels, they learned of an

  Earth-like planet – Sylvan.

  Stuck on dire real estate, growing worse,

  The Denali hope to claim Sylvan.

  The whole wealth of Earth,

  And the ingenuity of billions,

  Launched the first Diaspora.

  Is it even possible now?

  Diagrams

  Thrive floorplan.

  Cabin assignments shift.

  Map of planet Sylvan.

  1

  “Button up for landing, chief!” Captain Sass Collier traded a smile with her gorgeous partner Clay Rocha, as the cargo door began to close between them. He’d generously agreed to step in to captain Sardine, freeing its Captain Zan to accompany his Denali people on their historic first landing on planet Sylvan.

  The high occupancy transport’s real name was Hopeful Thrive. The ship wasn’t designed to found colonies, merely lug as many people as possible into orbit, or from orbit to landing. The great terraforming crew ships that founded Earth’s far-flung refugee colonies, 120 years ago, were named for wonderful extinct species. Thrive Spaceways didn’t have one of those brave 30,000-passenger ships.

  Instead they had a sardine can named Hopeful, max occupancy 1,000. But it had a three-hour time limit at that crowding. Today it carried 300 packed in abject misery.

  Minus the forty she’d just transferred to her venerable ship Thrive One for first landing. These riders, mostly Denali-born hunters, perched in their pressure suits along the edge of the catwalk and down the stairs into the hold, feet dangling. An eager party atmosphere prevailed.

  Sass turned to the two engineers at the console. “Try not to rely on the temporary help, chief.”

  “I think Cope and I can manage,” Darren Markley agreed with a grin. He was her ship’s engineer for this voyage, a veteran of Thrive’s long journey to the planet Sanctuary. They left Sanctuary five years ago – time flew.

  “Now I’m your gofer?” John Copeland returned wryly. President of Thrive Spaceways, Cope naturally served as his husband Ben Acosta’s chief engineer on Merchant Thrive when he traveled. But Ben didn’t need an engineer to cool his heels in orbit. While the colony’s advance team needed all the expert help they could get.

  “Glad you’re with me,” Sass assured him, pressing his pressure-suited shoulder in passing. Like everyone else in the hold, they wore their helmets racked on their shoulders. The captain preferred maximum paranoia for this first landing. “Is there a guest engineer equivalent of admiral? Let lowly chief Markley handle the ship while you contemplate fleet technical strategy?”

  “There you go,” Cope encouraged. “Gotta say, cap, these guys’ rowdiness is gonna rub off on me.”

  Sass nodded, and raised her voice to the crowded catwalk. “Clear me a space! I gotta get to the bridge!” The usual dogleg staircase was paved with lounging bodies.

  The landing party erupted in cheers and applause. They pointed to the top of the ladder forward, buried behind a maze of delicate equipment, stacked in crates built of vivid Denali hardwoods. Sass countered by pointing directly ahead of her, where the hold was kept clear for trapdoor access.

  “Move!” Sass took a running jump and flicked her gravity generator to sail up to the catwalk. She tucked in her feet for a cannonball as she cleared the railing, hunters ducking from her path. She flicked her gravity back to 1 g and took the bulkhead with her shoulder to hoots and cheers. She sketched a bow and a wave, then marched to the bridge, toeing the occasional rump that strayed too far into her path.

  Cope was right. The landing team’s high spirits were contagious.
She reached the bridge as psyched as they were. She hit the pressure door seal and racked her helmet behind the gunner’s seat. “You’re in my chair, Zan. Move.”

  The Denali hunter looked up at her astonished. Though he hadn’t hunted on Denali for two decades, since he left his homeworld. He’d been working for Sass or Cope’s Spaceways ever since. “Really?”

  “If you can captain Sardine, I don’t see why not.” Sass waited for his rump to sluggishly shift to the pilot’s seat, so she could take the gunner’s station. “Sylvan’s your planet, not mine.”

  “Planet to be,” Zan quibbled. “Proposed planet.”

  Sass furrowed her brow in amusement. Zan didn’t talk much. Quibbling caution was out of character. “I can pilot us in if you want.”

  “Yes!” Zan swapped back to the gunner’s seat with gusto.

  “OK…” Sass settled in the pilot’s seat and commed Ben. His ship was a near-clone of hers, minus eight decades of wear and tear, and beautifully appointed – yeah, it put hers to shame. But the base model was the same. “Merchant, Thrive Actual. My timer says insertion in ten minutes. Is this also to your liking?”

  Sass fancied she heard Ben yawn on his own bridge. “Sure. Go ahead. You bring my husband back to me. Zan you can leave behind. Good luck. Merchant out.”

  Sass chuckled. She let Zan carry out the first mate spiel, confirming all pressure doors pressurized and bodies where they belonged. The hold was not secure, so he ordered the passengers to seal their helmets and hang on.

  When he finished, Sass cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to explain why you don’t want to take us down?”