Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
FORWARD
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
EPILOGUE
Coming Soon - Galaxy Man
Acknowledgments
Other books by MWM
SPACE
CHASE
A Star Watch Novel
Written By
Mark Wayne McGinnis
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2016 by Mark Wayne McGinnis All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by:
MWM
Edited by:
Lura Lee Genz
Mia Manns
Published by:
Avenstar Productions
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9974514-4-3
To join Mark’s mailing list, jump to:
http://eepurl.com/bs7M9r
Visit Mark Wayne McGinnis at:
http://www.markwaynemcginnis.com
FORWARD
Quick Tip:
For those using web-enabled e-readers, or who have access to the web via a PC,
you can now refer back to the author’s website for some pretty cool background
information. In addition to illustrated floor plans of ships, such as The Lilly’s
and the Minian’s various decks and compartments, as well as those of another
vessel called the Parcical. Recently added, are beautiful—rotatable—3D diagrams of the
Pacesetter II, the Consignment Freight Van, Sand-Crawler, and the ominous
refurbished Paotow Tanker.
More ship diagrams will be added over time. Throughout this book, look for
the various little icons (such as the one below) — provided as a quick reminder of this
option—simply click on the ship icon to jump to the Explore The Ships website diagrams:
Quick Tip 2:
After seven Scrapyard Ship books and five Star Watch books, there’s a ton of character names, various alien star systems and planet names, not to mention all of the series-specific SciFi terms and phrases … well, help is here! On the Mark Wayne McGinnis website there’s a complete Glossary of Terms for your reference:
CHAPTER 1
Jason entered the Jumelle’s bridge and made a beeline for the captain’s chair. Sergeant Major Stone looked back at him from her helm post. As usual, half her face was hidden behind long, one-sided, blond bangs. Recently, she’d added several new piercings—one over her exposed brow, and one just above her upper lip. She didn’t need to say anything—her sad expression made her thoughts perfectly clear. As Rizzo’s girlfriend, she believed she should be involved in determining such life or death decision-making for him. Maybe she’s right, Jason thought. But in the end, he knew he alone would be the one most responsible. The mere thought made Jason sick to his stomach.
The young man’s family had gotten back to him specifically, because of his long friendship with their son. How on Earth was he supposed to determine the right decision to make? Be the one to arbitrate whether Rizzo should continue on life support or … not. Jason’s thoughts flashed to a rundown New England farmhouse and a lone MediPod, installed in the middle of a once younger boy’s bedroom. Was it necessary to determine the best course of action to take right away? Oh God, Rizzo … are you really going to make me pull the fucking plug? Wake up, buddy, you miserable son of a bitch!
“What’s on the agenda today, Cap?” Gunny Orion asked from her tactical station, behind him to the right. “An attacking star system warlord, or perhaps a fleet of attacking space Gorlicks?”
Jason smiled. “Not this time, Gunny. We have an old-fashioned missing person’s case to solve.”
“And how, might I ask, does that rate the attention of Star Watch?”
It was a fair question. Since the reorganization of Star Watch, there was kickback. Ten Star Watch captains had individually, or in combination with others, complained about their new district posts, by one means or another.
But change was necessary—even essential. Starting with the fact that most of the Allied worlds were fed up by the lack of attention—protection—they were receiving from the U.S. fleet’s high command. Outright threats to leave the Alliance were becoming an issue. And then there was the dismal matter of the previous Omni’s poor administrative skills—his own. It was amazing that Star Watch functioned as well as it had. Jason assigned to himself District 1, which included Sol, Alpha Centauri, Bernard’s Star, Luhman 16, Wolf 359, Lalande 21185, Sirius, and about fifty other major star systems contained within a radius of about thirty light-years from Sol. Everyone wanted District 1. Some captains cried nepotism—Jason being the Omni’s son—but the Omni was fine with Jason’s selection. After all, Jason, in one way or another, was responsible for them having a job in the first place.
Jason said, “The missing person is a young man who works for Consigned Freight. He drives an interstellar delivery van. Apparently, he’s a nice kid who just happens to be our previous president’s nephew.”
“Your ex-wife? Nan’s nephew? I didn’t know she had a nephew … or even a sibling, for that matter,” Orion said.
“Well, she does. She has both a brother and a sister. This is her older sister’s kid. He’s in his early twenties. I’ve never met him …Nan says he’s a terrific young man.”
“So what’s the story? Any leads?”
“Just that he may have arbitrarily bumped into the wrong spacecraft and the absolute worst owner of such a craft.”
The top of Ricket’s head appeared as he moved along behind the front row of bridge consoles. Turning the corner, now fully in view, his attention was focused on his projected virtual notebook. He remarked, “Private commercialization of space within the Sol System has grown substantially over the last five or six years.” He turned his atte
ntion to Orion. “One area in particular … mining. The need for new and rare elements has increased by a factor of three hundred percent in the last year alone.”
“That’s interesting, I guess, Ricket,” Orion said.
“Based on dispatch records, the nephew plowed into the personal RV craft of one Orloff Picket,” Jason said.
“Picket … I’ve heard that name before. Seen it stenciled on ginormous space freighters,” Orion said.
“The Picket name carries a lot of weight when it comes to the mining industry in the Sol System. Especially in the mineral-rich Kuiper Belt … beginning at the orbital outskirts of Neptune.”
“So how does this Orloff Picket relate?” she asked.
“According to Nan, Orloff is a son of the infamous Mamma Picket. From what I understand, she’s the family matriarch, also the company’s general manager. A tough, no-nonsense old bird who is not to be taken lightly. There’s an old saying in Appalachia … Don’t mess with Mamma …”
“Appalachia!” Billy exclaimed, striding onto the bridge, bringing an apple up to his mouth. “That’s one place you sure don’t want to visit unless you absolutely have to.”
“And why’s that?” Orion asked.
“Tennessee … West Virginia … mountainous areas and really rough terrain. There’s still a crapload of peovils in that part of the country.” Biting into the apple, his mouth full, Billy added, “Those things breed, you know … like mangy rabbits.”
Jason continued, “So anyway, prior to the infestation of molt weevils by that infamous Craing, Ot-Mul … and the ensuing, near eradication of all human life on Earth—the name Picket was the most infamous in coal mining. Responsible for a large portion of surface mining in that part of that country. Tops of mountains were sheared off … the landscape ravaged beyond recognition. At that time, coal mining was on its way out. Companies like Picket’s were able to stay afloat only by cutting corners. Miners were given the barest minimum in the way of safety equipment; there was improper ventilation; long extended workdays below ground. You know, that sort of thing. Mamma Picket had long before run the unions out. Then, brought up on charges by the government, she was expected to go to jail.”
Billy said, “Ot-Mul was the best thing to ever happen to her.”
Orion ignored Billy’s comment. “So we’re going to see this Mamma Picket?”
Jason nodded. “Apparently, she keeps a very tight rein on her boys … always knows where they are and what they are doing.”
“Even Big Bubba up in space?” Billy asked.
“Orloff,” Orion corrected.
“Even Orloff?”
“Especially those in space,” Jason said.
Ricket, his attention back on his projected virtual notebook, said, “The Picket family makes little income from their earlier coal-based businesses. Whereas, their space mining ventures have proven to be enormously fruitful.”
Jason added, “Yup … we’re talking billions of dollars. Mamma Picket, though she may not act like it … or look like it, is one of the wealthiest women on Earth.”
Billy said, “So what’s next? We visit a bunch of hillbillies?”
“First, we’ll meet up with Nan and go over how we’re supposed to conduct ourselves. She’s adamant that we must act and look like locals. Any whiff that we’re Star Watch … space police … will screw up our chance to acquire information necessary in tracking down her nephew, Ryan Chase.”
“I’m in,” Billy said.
“I’d like to go, Captain,” Ricket said.
“Sorry, Ricket … you’d stick out like a sore thumb in those parts. No, we need to keep this a tight-knit team.” Looking over at Sergeant Major Stone, Jason thought, if anyone here needs a diversion, it’s her. “Stone, would you be willing to lose the hardware for an away mission?”
She pursed her lips. “You want me along on this?”
“Yeah … I do,” Jason said.
She smiled. “Definitely.”
“Good. Then it’s Stone, Billy, myself, and Nan.”
“Nan is one of the most recognizable people on the planet,” Billy said. “Add to the fact that she has a security detail lurking around her twenty-four seven …”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Billy. She says she’s reduced her service agents and she’ll make sure she’s unrecognizable,” Jason said. “I’m not saying I like any of this … but the decision has pretty much been made. So it’s Stone, Billy, myself, Nan and her security detail.”
CHAPTER 2
Three days earlier …
The thundering base, thump … thump … thump, rhythmically pulsated from two fourteen-inch woofers—mounted high up on the small cockpit’s rear bulkhead. With legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the helm console in front of him, his boots kept beat to the Boss, singing Boooorn in the USA … I was boooorn in the USA …
Singing along, Ryan Chase took another oversized bite of his carne asada burrito and reached out for the open can of Mountain Dew. Feeling the lightness of the can—he shook it and felt, more than heard, the sloshing of what little remained of the liquid. He downed the last drops of Dew and chewed contently. Eyes closed, his thoughts drifted to another time—another place. In his highly opinionated twenty-three-year-old mind, there simply was no better era than the late 1980s, back on Earth. He knew everything there was to know about that particular time period. The music, of course, and also the styles of clothes back then. The awesome cars … like the Pontiac Firebird. If only I’d been born forty years earlier, he thought.
Ryan, allocated thirty minutes for lunch, knew he’d already spent close to forty. There were half a day’s deliveries still to make, plus an extended run out to the glacially frigid Erass5B. He really hated making deliveries to that desolate crap-hole of a planet. Why would any species choose to live in a world where they had to wear thermal environ-suits twenty-four seven?
The strong abrupt jolt was enough to send the remainder of his burrito flying, and his empty can of Mountain Dew to fling, clattering, into the forward observation window. Thrown from his seat, Ryan found himself planted face down on the hard metal deck. In that same instant he knew exactly what had happened: Space drift. He’d forgotten to engage the RTM gyros … again. Shit Fuck! Shit!
Ryan staggered to his feet, rubbing the goose egg now blossoming in the middle of his forehead. What he saw next out the forward observation window made his heart skip a beat. Paralyzed, he stared at a concave dent on a … what the hell is that? He fired up the space truck’s low-powered drive and eased the vehicle backward—goosing the reverse thrusters in small bursts—until he could see what he’d bumped into in its entirety. At fifty feet out, he shut down the drive and engaged the RTM gyros, which would keep his delivery van from drifting around in space, like it just had, unfortunately, only moments before. Why the hell hadn’t the AI engaged proximity sensors—warned him about the drift—like she was supposed to?
“Music off!” he yelled over Springsteen’s final verse.
The cockpit went quiet. What Ryan was seeing, his eyes open wide, was a true classic beauty. To most, the ship’s rounded tubular, out of date dark-brown hull would simply look decrepit—like one of those rusted old Santa Fe tankers, or those Union Pacific cars, found back on Earth. But to him, the ship’s coppery patina was simply magnificent—or had been, before he’d added a five-foot-diameter dent into it broadside.
It was, Ryan knew, a refurbished Paotow Tanker. The very first fuel tanker deployed to space. Only a few of those bad boys were made before the company went belly up. Anyone lucky enough to own one—or chance discovering one in a scrapyard somewhere—would do exactly what this owner must have done—refurbish it. Ryan, goosing the drive a little in order to maneuver around to the side of the spacecraft, noted, Ah … he’s added the Amersand-T20 conversion kit, transforming the old propellant freighter into something pretty cool. Again, he stared at the big dent, now from a different angle, wishing he could rewind his life ten minutes. He
’d inadvertently careened into the side of someone’s multi-million-dollar RV conversion. Crap … Shit! … Fuck!
Ryan let out a breath and weighed his options. Sure, he could continue to simply back away. Within seconds, his little delivery van would be no more than a pinprick of light—far away in the vastness of space. Hell—accidents happen. Isn’t that why companies carried insurance, for this kind of mishap? Three weeks ago, his friend, Gary Lomar, plowed into a house-sized rock, somewhere near the inside edge of the Kuiper Belt. Ryan had experienced some close calls there also. The nearly impassible remnants of the solar system’s early formation—composed largely of frozen volatile ices, such as methane, ammonia and water. Yeah … but this was different, Ryan knew. He didn’t mind pushing certain gray areas regarding rule bending, like taking forty minutes for lunch instead of the allocated thirty, but committing a Department of Space Compliance felony? That wasn’t him. Crap!
Ryan, suddenly remembering, stomped his boot angrily down on the deck. He’d muted Bella, the onboard AI. Her bitchy voice was driving him crazy. He’d needed a reprieve—a few minutes peace while he sat and ate his lunch. He knew it was a big no no as far as Consigned Freight, his employer, was concerned, but everyone muted their AIs every now and then … had to. He’d heard stories of drivers quitting for no better reason than to get away from hearing the superior-sounding, schoolmarm-ish, voice yak on and on. The problem now was that the delivery van’s AI also controlled the proximity sensors. Mute one and the other muted too.
Ryan tapped the rapidly blinking red touch key on the console. Bella’s voice, now unmuted, once again filled the small cockpit. “Collision! Collision! Collision! Safety protocols have been implemented.”
“Put a sock in it, Bella. Just tell me what’s going on with my van. Give me a damage report.”
Space Chase (Star Watch Book 5) Page 1
