Space Chase (Star Watch Book 5)

by McGinnis,Mark Wayne

  CHAPTER 5

  Light headed, Ryan fought back the urge to throw up a second time. He lowered his eyes and let himself float for several moments within the wrecked delivery van’s cockpit. He was dimly aware of Bella’s voice, droning on and on inside his helmet.

  Ryan steadied himself, grabbing ahold of a nearby partial bulkhead railing. He needed to get out of there. “Bella … you documenting? What’s happened here?”

  The AI’s hesitation only underscored the gravity of what he’d just encountered. A cataclysmic space collision—the near-total destruction of the delivery van’s cockpit—and his friend’s unsuccessful attempt to stay alive, in spite of losing both an arm and a leg.

  “Yes, Driver of 412. A vid-record has been stored and dispatched to Consigned Freight management.”

  “Make sure the proper authorities are notified. Hell … maybe even Star Watch. This looks like murder … whoever did this must be held accountable.” Ryan mentally imagined the course of events: Two-ton’s CF van, just moseying along in space, when suddenly struck by a much larger craft. The almost instantaneous cabin decompression, along with the crushing-in of the hull and metal struts—where Two-ton was situated in the cockpit—resulted in the severing of his limbs, the sudden loss of blood. But even with all that, his friend had tried; had attempted to stem the blood flow, in vain. No one could survive what happened there.

  The AI’s prolonged, pregnant silence set off warning signals in his head. But before he could pursue his present train of thought, something that happened several hours earlier reoccurred to him. There was no flipping way his little delivery van, having withstood only minor damage, could put a five-foot-diameter dent on that nearly-indestructible refurbished Paotow Tanker. Not from a mere space-drift impact. Far more likely, the true cause of that huge dent resulted from what he was seeing now. The first real hit and run was right here, and Two-ton never had a chance.

  His visor, clouded with steamy chunks of vomit, prompted Ryan to get out of there before he was sick again. Authorities would have to make heads or tails of the two incidences. He gave Two-ton—Don—a final glance. Sorry buddy … sorry this happened to you.

  Spinning back around weightless and heading toward the exit hatchway, something within the cockpit caught Ryan’s eye—the van’s plug and play component rack. Nearly identical to that in Van 412, he noted a secondary AI Pac floating weightlessly close to the deck, a crudely tied red bow affixed to its top. The gift Don was going to give him. Without further thought, Ryan grabbed up the X-Box-sized component and tucked it under his arm, then headed back out the same way he’d entered. Eerily, it seemed as if Two-ton’s floating corpse was following him down the stairs and through the small living compartment. Even as Ryan hurried out of the van’s rear hatch, he felt Two-ton’s body beside him. Reaching his own van, he turned and saw the lifeless body, slowly emerging into open space. Tempted to go back, push the body back inside, he decided not to. Two-ton always had a mind of his own, so why should this moment be any different?

  * * *

  Once extricated from the soiled environment suit and stuffing it into a waste storage bin, Ryan, still in a haze, stumbled forward, plunking his body down at the compartment’s cockpit controls. No matter how hard he tried to focus elsewhere—images of a floating, partially dismembered Two-ton returned to the forefront of his mind.

  Hunched low in his seat, Ryan waited. He’d been instructed to stay on the scene of the accident—or whatever this was—until proper authorities arrived. Ryan wasn’t sure who they would send. Most definitely an official, likely from CF. They needed to be on top of this—spin it in the right light. He had no idea who else would be sent—maybe someone from the Department of Space Compliance.

  Bella’s voice, a steady droning in the background, had pretty much been ignored since his return to the spacecraft, but there was an immediacy to her ramblings that sparked his attention. Raising his eyes from the Mountain Dew container still rolling around on the deck, he saw the approach of a vessel’s running lights. Wow, that was fast!

  Sluggishly, he sat up in his seat and assessed the myriad of readouts on the board in front of him. He furrowed his brow. “Huh … you may want to slow down there, dude.”

  Still too far away to make out the contours of the approaching ship, Ryan became conscious of a sudden tightness in his chest—the quickening of his breathing. “Bella … notify the approaching vessel to slow the fuck down!”

  “The approaching vessel has ignored multiple hails already, Driver of 412.”

  “Well, who is it? The Consigned Freight rep?”

  Ryan didn’t need to hear her response. Rising to his feet, his eyes stayed fixed on the approaching tanker—one he’d recently come in contact with—literally.

  “Bella! Hurry! Power up the drive. I need you to accept an unauthorized high-speed acceleration. Do it!”

  The approaching Paotow Tanker was coming on fast. Headed directly toward his van’s bow, at one hundred yards out Ryan could see the small concave section on the space tanker’s hull, caused by the earlier collision. “Going manual!” Ryan said, pulling back on the controls. Immediately, he felt the delivery van’s drive start to whine as the spacecraft began, sluggishly at first, to back away from Two-ton’s wrecked van.

  “Collision imminent … collision imminent … collision imminent,” Bella announced.

  “Shut up, Bella! Send out a distress … ” Ryan didn’t get to finish his command.

  The Paotow Tanker Retro Fit, with an approximate gross weight of 65,000 lbs., was nearly upon them. Ryan continued to throttle backward, bringing the drive indicator into redline territory. Unconcerned with the condition of his vessel’s propulsion system, his only concern was surviving the next few seconds.

  Ryan nervously watched the ominous-looking tanker draw closer, wondering if it was going to slam into the already crumpled delivery van. He pictured the van—struck again; a glancing impact that would probably obliterate it. Like a toy smashed with a hammer, pieces would fly off in every direction. But that didn’t happen. The tanker, having slowed, came close to the damaged van then seemed to hesitate, allowing Ryan to gain a glimmer of hope. A half-mile distance now separated Freight Van 412 from the Paotow Tanker Retro Fit. Ryan needed to flip his van around—move forward—in order to achieve a higher rate of speed. He felt the barrel-hold on his chest loosen somewhat.

  “Bella … send out that distress call.”

  “Driver of 412, the CTB has been damaged; due, perhaps, from the initial impact with the tanker. Interstellar communications are not possible.”

  “What? Oh come on … you’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Driver of 412, humor scripts were not initialized for this AI Pac.”

  Ryan knew the CTB she referred to was their Communications Transmission Beacon. Undoubtedly, the microwave oven-sized fixture, externally situated on the top of his van, was struck by some shrapnel-like pieces, blown off of Two-ton’s annihilated van.

  “We need to flip around,” Ryan said aloud, bringing the overly heated ion-drive back into black. Engaging three consecutive bursts of the reverse thrusters, G-forces forced him up on his toes and pushed his thighs hard into the forward console. He spun the controls, forcing the equivalent of a three-pointed turn in space. Bringing the small spacecraft back up to speed, Ryan kept his eyes locked on the display. The tanker was still back where it collided with the other van. Maybe … just maybe … the son of a bitch was going to let him go. He pushed the propulsion system forward, just under redlining, and watched space between the two icons grow further apart. Ryan let out a steady breath.

  First things first, he needed to find some means to establish communications with CF. That and have his van inspected for damage. “Bella, bring up the location of the closest space port. Someplace where I can get repairs and call dispatch.”

  “The closest space station is back in the same direction we came from, driver of 412.”

  “That is not an option
. Hopefully, you’re intelligent enough to know that.”

  Bella for once stayed quiet.

  “So what’s ahead of us? There has to be some kind of port, or base, in the relative vicinity … huh?”

  “Driver of 412, three days at our current rate of speed will bring us to the fringe of the Kuiper Belt. From there, locating any of six local mining establishments would be possible.”

  “Go ahead and set the course, Bella, and you can now take back helm control.” Ryan slowly sat back down. Settling in, he crossed his arms over his chest and stayed in that position for over an hour, never letting his eyes stray away from the display screen. Then he saw the icon—the Paotow Tanker was again on the move. “Shit!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Three days later …

  Carl and Melissa Rizzo lived off Taconic—a winding two-lane country road on the outskirts of Greenwich, Connecticut. Captain Jason Reynolds, Master Sergeant Major Gail Stone, and Commander Billy Hernandez phase-shifted directly into the couple’s expansive front yard. The threesome retracted their battle-suits and stood still, studying the colonial brick two-story mini-mansion. Jason figured the New England home was about as old as the country itself. But in spite of its once snooty zip code, the house looked to be run down and in need of repair. Like every other home on the street, there was a fifteen-foot-tall chain-link fence around the perimeter of the property. Atop it—loops of razor wire. There wasn’t a town or city in the country, or around the word, that hadn’t needed to safeguard against the ever-present peovils.

  Stone wrapped her arms about her body against the morning’s frosty chill. “Are we going to go ahead and do this or just stand around all day?”

  Jason was fairly certain Rizzo hadn’t returned home to visit in quite a while. His parents probably had no idea he had a girlfriend. A fact Stone was undoubtedly conscious of, and Jason attributed that to her nervousness.

  Billy headed for the front entrance—his jaw set. There was no trace of humor in his eyes. For him, like Jason, the sad realization they were about to say goodbye to someone who was nothing short of a brother had fully set in.

  Billy and Stone held up at the front door and waited for Jason. He stepped up onto the stoop and knocked. Nodding to them both, he wore a resigned expression—let’s just get this over with.

  He heard a commotion within the house—multiple voices talking at once. The front door opened and a heavyset woman, who looked to be in her mid-to-late sixties, looked back at them quizzically. “Yes … can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Rizzo, hello, I’m Captain Reynolds. We met before … when …”

  “Oh yes … Captain, of course!” Her face brightened as she swung the door all the way open. “Come in out of the cold, all of you. We have a fire going in the family room, so come in and get warm.”

  She led the trio into a circular foyer, then down a hallway and into a large, well-decorated room with high ceilings and crown moldings. A comfortable-looking leather couch and two matching chairs were on one side of the room, a large sliding glass door on the other. Outside, rays of sunlight streamed through a distant row of red maple trees. At the far end of the room, within a broad flagstone fireplace, a well-established blaze was burning. Jason could feel its heat from twenty feet away.

  Jason saw Rizzo’s father, a silver-haired man, who looked about the same age as his own dad. Like his wife, he too was formally dressed, and talking with two other couples—perhaps friends or family members. There were ten or so people milling about the large room and probably more in other rooms of the colonial. Rizzo’s father eyed them as they moved farther into the room, his gaze mainly fixed, Jason noticed, on Gail Stone. He pretty much ignored Billy’s, and his own, presence.

  What struck Jason most was the almost-jovial atmosphere in the room. Several folks entered the family room and, like everyone else, they too wore smiles, contributing to the home’s overall aura of cheeriness. Jason and Billy exchanged a quick glance. Billy, leaning in close, said, “I guess this is more like a wake … maybe they want to celebrate Rizzo’s life.”

  Overhearing him, Stone grimaced. She looked ready to say something but held her tongue. Melissa Rizzo signaled to her husband with a high wave of her hand. He managed to extricate himself from the other couples and made his way over to them. She said, “Dear, you remember Captain Reynolds … Ricky’s C.O. and close friend.” Billy and Stone raised their brows. Jason suspected neither had heard Rizzo’s first name before, as he never went by anything other than Rizzo. Billy silently mouthed the words Ricky Rizzo, looking over at Stone quizzically. Jason, seeing her bite her bottom lip, knew she was stifling a laugh. A poor time for a case of nervous giggles. Quickly Jason said, “This is Commander Billy Hernandez; I think you’ve met him before, and this is Master Sergeant Gail Stone. Um … Rizzo … Ricky and Gail were very good … close … friends.”

  Carl shook Jason’s hand, then Billy’s. “Yes … yes … good to see you again.” When Stone offered hers, he clasped it in his two large hands, sandwiching hers between his. “Oh yes, he’s talked about you before.”

  “I think he’s quite smitten,” Mrs. Rizzo said.

  That was a surprise to Jason, wondering how they knew about their son’s relationship before he was killed. Their use of the present tense only emphasized that they were having a hard time dealing with the current situation.

  Jason saw tears welling up in Stones’ eyes—she was an emotional mess. This whole party—wake thing—was a nice send-off for his friend, but Jason had already come to terms with Rizzo’s passing. Jason now only wanted to get things over with—pull the proverbial plug and hightail it out of there. He suspected Billy and Stone shared the same sentiment.

  “This is nice … all that you’ve done for Rizzo.”

  “Ricky,” Billy corrected him.

  “Sorry … Ricky. Unfortunately, we are on a bit of a schedule and …”

  Both Rizzo’s parents stared at Jason in confusion, not offering up the obvious “Oh yes, we’ll take you to his room now so you can do what you’ve come here to do.” In fact, they looked like they were on the verge of laughing.

  “I’m sorry,” Stone said accusingly, “but your reaction … your cheerful attitude … how can you be so upbeat when Rizzo is lying in there, about to have—”

  “Hold on there, Missy!” Carl Rizzo said, suddenly serious. He looked at his wife then back at Stone. “You don’t know? None of you know?”

  Jason, only half-listening, was watching a small, gnome-like being move about the room. He had a drink in one hand and, although Jason had never seen him drink alcohol before, looked somewhat tipsy. He stood in front of the fireplace, tilting his over-sized head off to the side.

  “Ricket!”

  The room went quiet as all heads turned toward Jason. Conscious of his loud outburst, he said, “Oh … sorry,” and signaled Ricket, now looking back at him smiling broadly. He swayed and staggered over.

  “When did you get here, Ricket?” Jason asked.

  Before he could answer, Billy asked, leaning down closer to him, “Have you been drinking?”

  “Mrs. Rizzo offered me a … I believe she said it was a mimosa?”

  Melissa Rizzo beamed. “We love this little man more than you can imagine, Captain Reynolds. I just want to pick him up and squeeze him!”

  “What … the … hell … is … going … on … here?” Stone said between clenched teeth, clearly having enough of the craziness going on around her. She glowered first at Ricket, then at Jason and Billy, but they weren’t looking at her. No one was. They were looking behind her.

  Jason, his jaw dropping, was having a hard time finding his voice. He watched, stunned, as the tall and handsome Ricky Rizzo wrapped his arms from behind around Gail Stone. She stiffened for a moment—staring straight ahead—then a flood of tears began to fall and her body shook as realization slowly set in. Rizzo, leaning in behind her, softly spoke something in her ear. She laughed happily through her tears and spun around in
his arms. She punched him in the chest then, hugging him, buried herself in his arms. Jason, Billy, and Rizzo all looked at each other. Rizzo was all smiles.

  “Welcome back, my friend,” Jason said.

  “Thanks, Cap … good to be back among the living.”

  Ricket said, “You know, Captain, it was your idea.”

  “What was my idea, Ricket?”

  “To use a newer model—one of the more advanced MediPod’s on the Parcical. It was the only thing I hadn’t tried. So I brought one down last night. It worked! Within two hours he was …” Ricket pointed a finger up at Rizzo, “… completely awake. An hour after that, he was up and moving around.”

  Rizzo’s parents had drifted off to socialize with friends. He said, “Cap, I’m ready to get out of here … like as soon as possible.”

  Jason chuckled, “That’s good, because we have some business to attend to about a thousand miles south.”

  Billy said, “Ever been to Dollywood … Ricky?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Just over five hours had elapsed. In the silence of the cockpit of Consignment Freight Van 412, Ryan studied the small console display. He’d done the calculations three times. Yes, for sure the tanker was gaining on him—but only marginally. At his current rate of speed, Ryan’s van would be well into the Kuiper Belt before being overtaken. After that, it would still be a concern, but only if that lunatic, whoever he was, hadn’t lost interest in him and changed course before then.

  Ryan checked the time. Wendy would be ending her shift about now—heading over to Bottoms. Ryan wondered if she’d look for him. Or would Tony Post make good on his promise? He couldn’t imagine Wendy being interested in Tony. Apart from being almost twenty years older, he was a douche bag. Ryan was well aware he would drive himself crazy thinking about her over the next few days, especially with his comms down. No, he needed to find … something. Some diversion.