Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Plan on returning to Washington tomorrow,” she replied, looking somewhat more hopeful. “It will be good to see you again … we need to talk.”

  Jason saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone had just entered his ready room.

  “I look forward to it,” he said, ready to sign off.

  Nan continued to stare at Jason for several beats. “I’m starting to show now. I think I felt it kick last night.” Nan looked down at herself and then up, with the beginnings of a smile. “Can you believe it? We’re going to have another kid …” Nan’s smile disappeared when she saw the figure standing behind Jason.

  Jason turned to see Dira standing at the entrance to the ready room. She was staring at the display, her expression a mixture of confusion, then shock. Her eyes shifted to Jason. Tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed. Without saying a word, she spun and fled from the ready room. Jason turned back to the display.

  “She didn’t know? You hadn’t told her?”

  Jason felt his cheeks flush hot. He hadn’t told Dira yet—there hadn’t been the right moment. How do you tell the person you’re in love with that you’re having a baby with your ex-wife? How does one even approach such a subject?

  “No. Was going to tonight,” he said, finding it hard to talk.

  “I’m sorry. I really am, Jason. Things are complicated … I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The connection was cut before he’d had the chance to respond.

  Now, standing on the back deck of his San Bernardino house that overlooked his family’s scrapyard and the hazy-blue San Bernardino Mountains beyond, he felt the familiar tug on his heartstrings. He’d tried numerous times to get Dira to just talk to him—let him explain the situation. But she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. She hadn’t spoken to him since. She’d immediately contacted the admiral, his father, and arranged for transport back to Jhardon. She needed to be with her family, she’d told him, whose world, and hers, was still reeling from the recent attacks by the Craing Vanguard fleet. At least half of Jhardon had been destroyed. Her mother, the queen, was ill and it was time for Dira to assume the role she’d been avoiding for too long. She was a princess, heir to the throne, and it was time she returned home and assumed her rightful duties there.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, Jason was up early. He and his daughters had enjoyed several weeks home, at the scrapyard, hanging out in the customized house Nan had builders create for them; languishing around the pool, they were basically free to do nothing much at all. With only a few minor emergencies to attend to, he was able to decompress to some extent, and, more importantly, reconnect with Mollie and Boomer. The truth was, it wasn’t his idea to take this leave of absence. His father had insisted. The toll on his son of a year battling the Craing made it look like he was on his way to total burnout. Added to the fact he was still mourning the departure of Dira, Jason hadn’t put up much of a fight. He’d spent the last several hours getting the house pre-locked-up, tightly secured, for another indeterminate span of time when he’d be away, returning once again to outer space.

  He decided to take one more patrol around the property before leaving. When he stepped out onto the deck, he saw Boomer was already there, dressed and waiting for him.

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “She’s not my sister.”

  “Where’s Mollie?” Jason asked, correcting himself.

  “Sleeping still.” She looked up at her father and scowled. “How is it she and I share the same DNA? We’re not even a little bit similar.”

  Jason chuckled as he headed down the steps leading into the scrapyard. He opened the metal gate and let Boomer walk through first; then he followed, latching the gate behind him. This wasn’t the first time he’d had the same conversation with either one, or both, girls. Several months earlier, after combating a Craing-induced, multiple-time realms situation here on Earth, there had been several significant time alterations, subsequently, in their own time-frame reality. One of its byproducts was the merging of two, parallel, time frames, which resulted in two identical Mollies, and two identical Teardrops, co-existing at the same time. As Jason watched Boomer walk ahead in front of him, he had to agree with her earlier statement. The two girls couldn’t be more different. Mollie, equally bright and rambunctious, was a normal nine-year-old in most every respect, while Boomer, who had been fine with changing her name, on the other hand, was a little warrior. She’d already been trained in close-quarters combat—had learned to kill an opponent—was an expert at knife throwing. Yes … her interests seemed to be well suited for space, and life aboard a warship.

  Mollie, though, seemed better suited to live on Earth, with her mother. Smart and tenacious, she had a personality that worked its way into anyone’s heart—not unlike her mother. Jason was happy to have them both with him. They may not consider themselves true sisters, but they were. In some ways, their bond was even stronger than what most siblings had. They often finished each other’s sentences—seemed to know what the other one was thinking.

  Boomer had picked up a long piece of metal and was using it as a walking stick.

  “Be careful with that, it’s sharp and full of rust.”

  Boomer pointed the end of the long spike in the direction of the fence. “I see two peovils moving around out there, Dad.”

  Jason stopped and looked where Boomer was pointing. “Ignore them. They can’t get in here. Even if they could, the drones would take care of them,” he added, gesturing to the two droids that were approaching them from opposite sides of the yard. Dewdrop came within several feet of Boomer and hovered there, close by. Teardrop rose into the air and drifted above the high fence, then, lowering back down, placed itself between the two peovils and the fence.

  “They creep me out. I don’t like the way they slink around.”

  Jason watched as the two figures kept coming. They looked like middle-aged men. One was tall and wore a scruffy beard, while the other one was chubby and mostly bald. Both were wearing ragged, stained pants and were shirtless. The taller of the two was drooling—long strings of saliva dripped down from the corners of his gaping mouth.

  “Stop your progress!” Teardrop commanded.

  The two kept coming, moving in the direction of Jason and Boomer. Teardrop deployed its primary weapon from its torso. “Stop now, or be destroyed.”

  “Come on, let’s keep moving,” Jason said, turning Boomer away from what was about to happen. Several times in the night he’d heard the droids fire their plasma weapons. He wasn’t sure what they’d done with the bodies afterwards—he’d have to ask them later.

  Jason heard one pulse engaging and then a loud clang, startling him, and he instinctively pulled Boomer in close. The chubby peovil lay motionless on the ground. He looked up and saw that the taller peovil had jumped and was now high up, close to the top of the fence. Its arms and legs flailed to get purchase on the greasy metal—but, immediately, it began to slip back down. Dewdrop fired twice and the zombie creature’s body was catapulted out onto the desert sagebrush. The two droids retrieved the dead bodies and then transported them further out into the desert. A moment later Jason heard more, extended, plasma fire. Well ... that answers my question: The droids are cremating the remains.

  “Didn’t Mom get bit by one of those things?” Boomer asked.

  “Yep … on the neck.”

  “Is she going to turn into a peovil?” Boomer questioned, looking concerned.

  “Your mom, and the rest of us, are immune. The nanites in our bloodstream protect us.”

  “Oh yeah, forgot about that.” Boomer smiled and looked relieved. “Is there no way to … I don’t know, help them? Cure them?”

  “Not sure. Scientists are working steadily on that but so far haven’t had any luck. Ricket, and the technology on the Minian, or even on The Lilly, may provide an answer. As soon as Ricket returns from his mission, he’ll look into it.” They continued their trek around the outside of the scrapyard,
just inside the fence’s perimeter. More peovils were approaching in the distance. These were former men and women. All were naked.

  “Let’s head back to the house, Boomer.” He steered her away from the fence and pointed toward a concrete pathway that intersected several other paths—the one leading back toward the house.

  * * *

  Mollie was up and busy in the kitchen when they reentered through the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

  “Something smells good!” Boomer said, quickly taking a seat on a barstool under the expansive granite countertop.

  Jason took a seat next to her and watched Mollie at work. She had an apron wrapped around her waist. A dusting of flour covered the tip of her nose, and she was using just about every pot and pan in the kitchen. He really wanted them to get going, clear out of the house right away, but with a smile, instead, he watched his daughter as she flipped the flapjacks on the grill. Each was perfectly golden brown. “How does a nine-year-old learn to cook so well?” he asked her.

  Mollie looked up for a brief second before returning her attention to the job at hand. “You’ve eaten Mom’s cooking … right?”

  Jason and Boomer nodded at the same time. Nan was a terrible cook. It made sense now: Mollie, who was spending most of her time living with her mother, would either have starved, or learned how to cook. Obviously, the latter case had prevailed.

  Mollie used a spatula to place pancakes onto three awaiting plates. “Boomer, can you get off your rear end and pour us some OJ?” Mollie ordered.

  Boomer made a face at her and headed off toward the fridge.

  “You excited to see your mother again?” Jason asked, as Mollie put a plate down in front of him.

  “I am,” Boomer replied, returning with a carton of orange juice.

  Mollie said, “I guess … she works a lot. I don’t see her all that much. Mostly, I’m asleep when she gets home at night. And when she is around, she’s crabby … I guess she has a hard job. Lots of people always bugging her.”

  “She has a very important job—” Jason started to say.

  “She’s the frigging president, Mollie!” Boomer butted in, coming back from the cupboard with three glasses.

  “I know she’s the president, dip-wad … guess who’s been living with her all this time?”

  “Hey, I don’t like that kind of talk from either of you,” Jason said, giving them each a stern look. He put a heaping forkful of hot, syrupy pancakes into his mouth and gave Mollie two thumbs up. “Really, really good, Mollie.”

  Boomer stuck her tongue out at Mollie, displaying a mouthful of half-chewed food. About to reprimand her, Jason stopped when he heard repeated, distant, plasma fire. He stood and looked out the back window. The fence was moving—teetering back and forth.

  “What the hell …” He moved to the sliding door and stepped out onto the deck. The fence was covered with climbing bodies. One after another, peovils were jumping onto the fence before sliding back down. The two droids were firing toward those making it anywhere near the top of the fence. In truth, he felt they were using a surprising level of restraint. He signaled to Teardrop with a waving hand.

  Within seconds the droid was hovering in front of him. Jason gestured toward the scrapyard and what remained of a plasma turret gun—a gun destroyed months earlier by the pirate Captain Stalls. “We’re leaving soon. What can be done to repair that turret gun?”

  The droid turned in the direction of the black-charred dome, with its drooping plasma weapon. “New parts would need to be manufactured. I would need access to The Lilly’s phase-synthesizer.”

  “How long?”

  “Two hours and eleven minutes, Captain Reynolds.”

  “Get started now. I want this location secured against all future attacks, even if no one’s living here.”

  Jason watched as the drone moved away, heading towards the old yellow school bus at the far side of the scrapyard. The surrounding fence was again being rocked back and forth. To his left, another peovil was attempting to climb over it. Jason recognized him. It was Larry Gipson—he owned the filling station just down the road.

  Chapter 3

  Both Mollie and Boomer had overstuffed backpacks slung over their shoulders, while Jason carried a Navy-issued duffle bag. All three were not only tan, but had sunburnt shoulders, foreheads, and noses. Jason felt a tinge of guilt as they came up the rear gangway and entered into the back airlock chamber of The Lilly. The hatchways were open—letting fresh air replace weeks of stagnant, recycled air. He heard the ship’s AI make the announcement, “Captain Reynolds has boarded The Lilly.”

  “Good morning, Captain Reynolds.”

  Jason stopped in his tracks, seeing Petty Officer Miller waiting just outside the airlock. The girls ran forward and wrapped their arms around her waist. This alone would have been a miracle two months earlier as neither girl had warmed to her much in the past. A conditional requirement imposed by Nan, the glorified baby-sitter officer had sacrificed much to protect the girls—especially Boomer. Jason’s mind flashed back to Captain Stalls and the torment he’d brought into all their lives. He briefly wondered if the psychotic pirate was still locked up within the brig on board.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again … especially anywhere near The Lilly,” Jason said, with a sideways glance.

  She extricated herself from the girls’ arms and readjusted her spacer’s jumpsuit. “I had no plans to return to this mad-house, sir. But over time, I became restless. Restless ... and feeling rather guilty. I realized what I did here was important. That the now acting president’s daughters needed me. That you needed me to be here.”

  “Whoa … slow down, Petty Officer … let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Jason said with a wry grin. He kept moving, heading for the closest DeckPort. He spoke over his shoulder, “You taking control of the little monsters?”

  “Yes, sir … I’ve got them.”

  * * *

  After a quick stop at his quarters to drop off his duffle and change clothes, Jason headed into the bridge.

  The ship’s AI announced, “Captain on the bridge,” as he entered the command center of The Lilly. The XO, Lieutenant Commander Perkins, stood up from the command chair and smiled at him. “Welcome aboard, sir. I take it your leave was restful?”

  “Thank you, XO. It was fine. Where are we at with things?”

  More of the bridge crew began filing in and Jason saw Perkins’ eyes flash over to Orion as she took her seat at the tactical station.

  “We’ve just returned from the line … what we now call the outer perimeter of the solar system, where we’ve set up—”

  “I know what the line is, XO … I haven’t been that removed from what’s going on. The line is where we’ve set up defenses against the three Craing fleets: Fleet 9, Fleet 173, and Fleet 25—comprised of at least five thousand warships—which have basically been in a holding pattern in space for approximately sixty days.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Still no communications from them? Still not responding to our hails?”

  Perkins shook his head. “No, sir. But they don’t seem to be accepting their incoming hails from command back in Craing space either. That could be important.”

  Jason chewed on his lower lip and thought about that for a moment. “That is interesting. What else?”

  “Well, before that, we were in Allied space. The admiral was with us.”

  “How we doing, bringing the Alliance back together?”

  “Mixed. A few of our old allies are considering rejoining the Alliance … others, though, are adamant they are better off on their own. In light of the destruction caused by the Vanguard fleet … the fact that neither The Lilly nor the Minian were there to assist them … they just don’t see the point.”

  Jason didn’t have an argument for that. He raised his eyebrows for him to continue. Again, the XO glanced over to Orion. “We, um … made a stop-off at Jhardon.” Perkins made a sympathetic expression and
Jason understood what his problem was.

  “Yes, you dropped Dira off on her home planet.” Jason turned toward Orion and then back to Perkins. “I’m not a child. You don’t need to pussyfoot around the subject. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Ensign McBride turned from his station toward the command chair. “Welcome back, Captain, what destination coordinates should I be configuring, sir?”

  “I have a meeting with both the acting president and Admiral Reynolds in Washington, in two hours.” That reminded Jason, he needed to check in with Teardrop on his progress with the plasma turret. “Give it another thirty minutes before we head out. I’m having some last minute work done above ground.”

  “Aye, Cap.”

  Jason retrieved his virtual notepad and started to review all the messages marked urgent. There were several from Ricket. Jason had been keeping up with him on his and Gaddy’s mission to Terplin. Their covert mission had required them to take the Streamline back through HAB 12 to Halimar, and then onto the north pole of Terplin. Once there, they were to meet with the revolutionary command. Jason scrolled down to the last message. Apparently, Ricket and Gaddy had met several times with Zay-Lee. Jason had been introduced to the young revolutionary on Halimar and had provided him with some weapons and SuitPacs; they’d obviously made a world of difference for the small band of revolutionaries. Jason noted that Ricket, now traveling under his alias of Nelmon Lim, and Gaddy were optimistic that the new, fledgling, independent government wanted to establish diplomatic ties to both Earth and what was left of the Alliance. This news alone was staggering, considering the events over the past few years. Of course, there was still the problem of the vast Craing force still stationed in space. So far, the now-alienated fleet, what was considered the Imperial Craing military in space, was leaving the Craing worlds alone, not hampering the new, quickening spread of independence—freedom from the old regime … and the ways of the Emperor.