Star Streaker Boxed Set 1 (Star Streaker Series)

by T. M. Catron

  “Yes, Captain.” A ghost of another grin crossed his face.

  Rance sighed. “I don’t allow drinking on board. No companions in quarters, no swearing while on duty.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “Is it? Most people find that harsh enough to decline my job offers.”

  “Who was the last person to decline?”

  “A somebody-or-other on Ares who thought being on a spaceship meant he could act without any morals at all.”

  “Yes, Captain. I don’t drink much, if at all. I’m not looking to bring any women on board.”

  Rance smirked. “And the swearing?”

  “What do you have against swearing?”

  “Nothing, actually, but it’s one of the rules.”

  Roote looked puzzled, but had the sense not to ask anything more. Truth be told, he was growing on Rance.

  “If it helps, Captain, I only know Harrison through the station office his father owns. I gather you and he are not as close of friends as he claims?”

  “You’ve gathered correctly.”

  “Then I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “You haven’t wasted my time. But I want a combat test before taking you on.”

  “Ah. I’m afraid…” He shifted on his feet, looking truly uncomfortable for the first time.

  “Spit it out.”

  “With respect, I have sworn off violence. I hope this doesn’t offend you.”

  “With respect, it does. We’re a small ship with minimal firepower, but we transport very valuable cargo. Pirates aren’t out of the realm of possibility. I need to know my crew can take care of themselves if the need arises.”

  “Oh, I can take care of myself. But I’ve vowed not to demonstrate any untoward displays of violence.”

  “No one is looking for an untoward display, just a quick measure of your skill. No demonstration, no job.”

  Roote stood fixed to the floor, his eyes averted. Some sort of war was going on in his mind. Rance couldn’t imagine being that conflicted. If he’d gone to the Academy and been top of his class, a demo shouldn’t be a problem. He would have completed one every day for the two years he was there.

  Rance walked around the table to face him, her face set. “No demonstration, no job,” she repeated.

  The struggle played out across Roote’s face. When he raised his eyes to hers, they were hard, flashing with anger. But he nodded stiffly and faced her, arms at his sides. Then he bowed.

  She did the same, keeping her eyes on Roote. He was bigger than she, which meant she’d need a different tactic than if he’d been a smaller, more nimble opponent. But she’d sparred with plenty of bigger men in the Academy and still won.

  The galley was also too small for them to move around much, but Rance was interested to see what he could do in close quarters.

  Roote moved so fast she almost didn’t catch him. His arm darted out, hand open, ready to jab her throat. Rance moved just in time, knocking his hand away and bringing her knee up to his chest. He blocked her knee. With a quick turn, he brought his other arm around to her shoulder. Strong fingers dug into the pressure point in the hollow near her collar bone, and Rance crumpled to her knees.

  In a flash, Roote stepped back, letting go of Rance as if she’d stung him. She gasped, then rose to her feet and looked at him appraisingly. He looked wary, perhaps wondering if he’d gone too far.

  Rance rubbed her collarbone, which would have a bruise. She looked at him in admiration, and her bad mood lifted. She’d never seen anyone move quite that fast before. “That was a good move, Roote.”

  “My apologies, Captain.”

  She waved him away. No way was she letting a candidate this good slip through her fingers. If Roote wanted a job, he had it. She smiled for the first time since returning to the Star Streaker. “Would you like to move into the ship tonight or tomorrow?”

  “Tonight.”

  “All right, then. Welcome aboard, Roote.”

  Chapter Three

  When they walked out of the galley five minutes later, Tally seemed surprised by the look of satisfaction on Rance’s face. In fact, she was satisfied. Roote was decisive, well-mannered, and more than qualified for the job.

  “Congratulations,” Tally said, although Rance couldn’t be sure if he was speaking to her or Roote.

  “When you come back to the ship,” she said, “Tally will show you your quarters. They aren’t much, but since you’re the CO, they’re as nice as mine. I’ll be around as soon as you’re settled, show you the duty rosters, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m ready now, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Roote said, looking at Tally. The alien’s unblinking eyes must not have caused a problem for Roote. Another point in the man’s favor.

  “You don’t have anything to bring aboard, sir?” Tally asked.

  “No, just me. I have a flight suit in my bag.” Roote gestured to the satchel he’d left next to the cargo bay doors. “If you don’t mind, Captain, I have a couple of questions about my duties.”

  “Meet me on the bridge in five.”

  Four minutes later, Roote appeared on the bridge, looking taller than ever in a navy flight suit. He looked so tall that Rance pitied him when he gazed at the short crash chairs and cramped legroom.

  “Luckily we don’t have to sit in them much,” she said. “It’s only bad when we’re waiting for clearance to land, or when we’re being chased.”

  Roote quirked an eyebrow. “Does that happen often?”

  Rance shot him a sideways glance. “More often than you might think. Didn’t Harrison tell you what type of cargo we carry?”

  “He was rather vague about it.”

  “Guess I better fill you in now so you have the option to leave before we go off-planet again.”

  Roote held up his hand. “With respect, Captain, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “That’s a first. Most people can’t wait for me to satisfy their curiosity. But you need to know anyway. We specialize in carrying certain goods throughout this sector. Goods that might not do too well on official transport.”

  “So we’re smugglers.”

  Rance smiled at the we. “I prefer anonymous transporter. You have sixteen more hours to decide if that’s what you want to do. I’m trusting you not to turn us in or anything.”

  Roote smiled. “It doesn’t bother me. As long as what we’re transporting doesn’t harm anyone.”

  “It usually doesn’t, unless we’re the ones getting harmed.”

  “Like your first CO?”

  “Yes,” Rance said with a small pang. Talking about him still hurt, but she’d long ago relegated the pain to a small corner of her heart. “After Terryn died, I swore I’d always protect my crew. So I hope you weren’t too worried about the little display downstairs. I consider it a requirement for everyone who travels with us. It’s a last resort only. I don’t expect you to have to use it.”

  “Understood.”

  “To be clear—none of this bothers you?” Finding people on Xanthes willing to work with smugglers wasn’t difficult. The money was good, and it got them out of the mines, away from the dust. But Roote seemed a little proper to be aboard a smuggler’s ship.

  He shrugged. “I don’t have the luxury of allowing it to bother me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As you can see, I don’t have anything with me. All I own is in my bag. This is my chance to start over, although I don’t feel like sharing the sordid details with you right now. Come to think of it, they aren’t very sordid. More like a boring hard-luck story.”

  “I won’t pry,” Rance said.

  Over the next few hours, the crew members began to trickle in. None of them looked worse for wear, but Rance wasn’t fooled into thinking they hadn’t indulged themselves a little while on leave. She didn’t inquire, and they didn’t volunteer. It was the only way they all stayed happy.

  She turned away ten applicants, telling them the job was
filled. She got a lot of muttering, dirty looks, and more than a few choice words, which only sealed her decision to hire Roote.

  The rest of the crew was surprised to learn she’d filled the position so quickly. Tiny Harper was the first to welcome Roote aboard. She almost squeaked when she shook his hand, her straight dark hair falling down over her eyes. The science officer and medic was so short next to him she looked like a child.

  As usual, James was the last to board, dashing through the cargo doors with a cloud of dust just as Rance and Roote were taking inventory. At first glance, Rance thought James was in his usual rush to get back before leave ended. But when she saw his flushed face and the sweat soaking his clothing, she stashed her handset in her pocket and moved to close the doors after him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as they hummed shut.

  “Got to go. Now,” James said, already sprinting up the stairs to the second level. Rance ran after him. Roote followed, using his handset to tell the rest of the crew to prepare for take-off.

  He hadn’t even waited for Rance to tell him. She was feeling better and better about Roote all the time. Harrison couldn’t have known how helpful Roote would be, or he wouldn’t have recommended him.

  Rance threw herself into her crash chair as James flipped switches and ran pre-flight checks. The engines began to purr, sending a stream of vibrations down the length of the ship.

  “They’re closing the star ports,” James said.

  Rance hurried to strap herself in. She didn’t need to ask who James was talking about. Unity was the only real authority out here with enough clout to close an entire port.

  “Why?”

  “Looking for someone.” James shot her a look. “A ward of the government.”

  Rance’s blood chilled. She was a ward of the government.

  Harrison had ratted her out.

  She began working her own pre-flight list. Roote came in and strapped himself into his own chair before Rance could finish introductions.

  “Welcome aboard, Roote,” James said as the engine’s purring changed to a whine. “I’m sorry we don’t have time for orientation.”

  “Orientation?” Roote asked.

  “Don’t mind him,” Rance said. “If he’d been on the ship instead of cavorting in the city, he could have been here to do that himself.”

  “I wasn’t cavorting. My girlfriend works in the port office, so we have her to thank for the heads up about Unity. Hopefully we’ll get out of here, and then we can give Roote a proper welcome.”

  Roote frowned at James. Rance let him fret. She wasn’t above a bit of good-natured hazing, but now wasn’t the time. If they didn’t get off-planet, his new position as CO might land him a position in jail.

  The whine turned into a roar as the Star Streaker took off. The purple sky looked hazy, but not so hazy Rance couldn’t see the Unity Dark Fighters headed their way.

  “Company,” James remarked calmly.

  Rance touched the screen, asking the computer for a flight path. “I see it. Preparing coordinates for a jump into hyperspace.”

  “They haven’t hailed us yet. If we jump now we can claim ignorance.”

  “I know, I know. Shut up so I can work.”

  To her right, Roote gripped the chair’s armrests until his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t ask what was happening or interfere with their concentration.

  Harrison McConnell—just wait until Rance saw him again. She had no doubt she would. He always turned up like a counterfeit credit.

  Just as Rance finished the calculations for a jump, the tower signaled them. “Star Streaker, return to port and shut down your engines.”

  “Shut it off, James.” She was proud of herself for keeping her voice so calm.

  “Captain?”

  “Shut down outside communications.”

  On radar, the UDFs were frighteningly close. A few more seconds and they’d be hovering over the Star Streaker, hemming them in.

  James shut down communications and waited on Rance’s go ahead. “If they hit us with an EMP cannon, we’re stuck.”

  “Or dead,” she said. EMP cannons were meant to disable only. The EMP would make a ship go dark, shutting down shields, weapons, and engines. Then the ship could be picked up without hassle or towed somewhere. But if the UDFs struck them with an EMP while they were flying in atmosphere, they’d go dark and crash back down into the sand. Rance knew of several “accidents” like this. Fortunately, she knew Davos wanted her alive, so actually dying was unlikely.

  The alternative was almost as bad.

  In no universe would Rance allow herself to be forced into marriage with Harrison. And if they caught her ship, that’s exactly what would happen. She was already operating under a false registration. One more infraction—however large or small—wasn’t going to change her fate.

  “Shields up,” she said.

  James obeyed. Rance punched in their coordinates and glanced over at Roote as the hyperdrive spun up. If they left like this, they could never return to Xanthes. The rest of the crew wasn’t from here; they wouldn’t care. Rance wondered what exactly Roote was leaving behind.

  Without knowing his story, however, the captain had to make a call. And that was to get out while they could.

  An in-atmosphere jump was inadvisable. Risky. Maybe even downright dangerous. Rance didn’t have time to think of everything that could go wrong. With the fighters closing in, it was the right decision. No one could touch them once they were in hyperspace, and since she hadn’t left a destination with the port authority, no one could when they left, either.

  James flipped a switch. The stars shifted, and the Star Streaker burst out of Xanthes' atmosphere as the first white streak from an EMP cannon headed their way. It disappeared in the field of blue, and Rance sank back in her chair.

  James leaned back in his seat with a sigh of relief. Roote was pale, his hands gripping his seat with an iron hold.

  The artificial gravity kicked in with a jolt that made Rance queasy.

  “Relax, Roote,” she said as she unbuckled her harness. “That was close, but it could have been worse.”

  James shot her a look, which she ignored. She got on the comm. “Lady and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. In case you missed it, we have successfully jumped into hyperspace and are en route to Doxor 5. Please feel free to unfasten your seat belts and move about the cabin. ETA is ten days.”

  She pressed another button and opened a channel to Tally. “Everything all right down there?”

  “Great, Captain.” His voice betrayed his annoyance at the shortened launch. But she couldn’t have done it if he didn’t keep the ship in such pristine condition.

  “Ten days?” Roote’s voice shook. “Doxor 5?”

  Rance slapped him on the shoulder as she moved past. “Think of it as a pleasure cruise.”

  She left the bridge. Roote followed.

  “Captain.”

  “Yes?” She turned at the top of the stairs.

  “May I ask why you were so anxious to leave port? We don’t have any cargo yet. Wouldn’t it have been better to let them check you out, and leave when approved? Then you wouldn’t have drawn so much attention to yourself.”

  Rance scowled. “Good call, Roote. I’ll let you know when I need any more advice.”

  “We won’t be able to go back.”

  “Yeah, I am sorry about that. But you could always return on a different ship. Did you tell anyone you were signing on with us?”

  “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “I don’t know. You didn’t look like one back in the galley, but I’m prepared to change my mind if it makes you feel better.”

  Roote’s face hadn’t got its color back yet. Perhaps he wasn’t used to such close calls.

  “What’s this about?” she asked.

  “I’m not in a hurry to return. I just wanted to offer my opinion about leaving Xanthes in such an unfortunate way.”

  “Your opinion is note
d. Anything else?”

  “Will they come looking for us?”

  “Possibly. Does that scare you?”

  “Not at all, Captain.”

  “Something I’ve learned since I became captain of this ship, Roote, is that the universe is a big place. It’s pretty easy to get lost out here. We’re safe.”

  Chapter Four

  At dinner, the crew crammed themselves around the galley table. Rance picked at her food, steaming about Harrison’s betrayal. They’d had a deal. And as much as Rance detested Harrison’s bad manners and entitled attitude about life in general, he’d never completely let go of his feelings for her, whatever they might be. Before now, Rance had used them to her advantage. Apparently, Harrison had recovered and didn’t like her blackmailing him.

  If he was going to play it that way, she had a few things she could let slip about him, like how he’d gambled his father’s title away. His father didn’t know. The bet came into effect the minute Harrison took charge. Davos wouldn’t be happy either—the man he’d betrothed his daughter to would be a puppet, a noble in name only.

  Harrison McConnell had better hope Rance never returned to Xanthes, because she had a very big bone to pick with him.

  “Roote,” Abel said, interrupting Rance’s thoughts. Abel took up three times as much room as Harper, who balanced delicately on the edge of the bench next to him. “What’d you do before this?”

  Roote repeated what he’d told the captain. When he mentioned the Renegade, Abel whistled.

  “What did you do to get kicked out?”

  “Why do you think I was kicked out?”

  “Because only a crazy person would leave a Renegade for a pocket-sized ship like the Streaker.”

  Roote shrugged. “The Streaker is a decent ship. And I didn’t come from a Renegade.”

  “You from Xanthes?”

  “No.”

  Tally stared pointedly at Abel, who changed the subject. “Did you see the picture of that Galaxy Wizard?” he asked no one in particular.

  “Yes,” Harper said. Tonight, her short, dark hair was spiked and stuck up all over her head. She wore a flight suit like everyone else, but Harper always managed to look distinctly childlike in hers—more like she was wearing sleeping clothes. “I wonder what he did.”