“How about our van … is it ready to go? Will the swapped reactor work?” Ryan asked.
“It’s fairly far along in its systems test and there are zero errors so far. Things are looking good.”
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. Tell me what to do with that maintenance panel.”
* * *
Once free of the airlock, Ryan came around the starboard side of the freight van, which was slightly less in view of the tanker. Becoming more proficient at the clipping and unclipping of his safety lines onto the hull eyelets, he moved steadily forward at good speed, then slowed as he moved toward the bow.
“Is the guy still sitting where he was?” Ryan asked.
“Still there.”
Ryan slowed his advancement on the tanker. “I don’t see the maintenance panel you were referring to.”
The AI said, “You will … keep going.”
Ryan, now at the van’s bow, was ready to step over to the Paotow Tanker. He looked along the hull for a place to clip his safety lines. There it is. It was fairly close to the clamping mechanism, so that, at least, was one positive. He unclipped both safety lines, which made him more than a little nervous, and was about to take the long step over to the tanker when the AI said, “Ryan … you’ll want to keep your head low. The vessel has an oblong porthole positioned relatively close to where you’ll be standing.”
“Terrific. Of course it does.” He stepped across—his knees bent—which did absolutely nothing since there was no gravity to tug his body downward. Arms outstretched, he immediately opened his palms wide when his fingers came in contact with the tanker’s hull to absorb his advancement. He gently pushed his hands upward—bringing his body down—but not before he got a momentary view through the porthole into the refurbished Paotow Tanker. What Ryan viewed didn’t quite register—not completely, anyway. He did see someone sitting within at a workbench, along the same side of the hull he was currently crouching at outside. He attached one of his safety lines to the one eyelet he’d spotted earlier. So far so good.
“Do you see the small maintenance hatch by your left foot?”
Ryan looked down and saw the nine-to-ten-inch square panel, with an eighth of an inch groove around it. “How do I open it?”
“Checking …”
Ryan let another full minute pass before asking, “What’s the holdup?”
“I’m still working on a solution … keep your pants on,” the AI said.
Waiting, the fleeting mental image of what he’d seen inside the tanker began to take form in his mind. It made no sense … it was nonsensical. The interior of the ship was like no other spacefaring vessel he’d ever encountered. The compartment was wood paneled—about twice the width and length of a typical school bus. Along the opposite hull were mountings—mountings of animal heads. One was a rhino-warrior—of that he was certain. But it was the one closest to him, mounted at the very end, which perplexed Ryan the most. Somehow familiar, why was he having such a hard time placing … oh … my … God.
Paralyzed, Ryan stared at the closed panel. “Two-ton?”
“Yes, Ryan.”
“Did my helmet-cam pick up the interior of the tanker?”
“Oh yeah.”
“So you saw what was mounted on the bulkhead?”
“Yup. Disconcerting.”
“I’m sorry, it must be …” Ryan didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t sweat it … remember … I’m an AI. I’m actually more concerned with your state of mind.”
“We need to get away from this crazy fuck as fast as possible.”
“You think? The good news … I’ve figured out how to access the panel. Simply press down on the two opposite sides of the panel simultaneously.”
Ryan did as instructed; using both index fingers, he applied pressure evenly and pushed down. The square panel recessed inward about an inch before springing back out and stopping about six inches above the hull.
“Ryan … there are four touch pads within the now-exposed control mechanism. One set opens and closes the clamp, while the other set extends and retrieves the extension arm. I would suggest you not touch the extension arm touch pads. The hydraulics associated with that big arm would, undoubtedly, be loud enough to alert that menacing-looking dude inside.”
Ryan, having a hard time breathing, couldn’t get Two-ton’s distorted, waxy-looking, face out of his mind. The eyes … so life-like. So incredibly real!
“You need to concentrate, Ryan.”
Ryan leaned in closer and found the touchpad switches that Two-ton described. It took him another few seconds to figure out which touch pads controlled which function. If he hadn’t been so nervous, so distracted, he would have seen right away that each was marked. With his forefinger he pressed on the touch pad marked CLAMP OPEN and then simultaneously heard the nearby clamp clank open.
“Get going, Ryan! Go now.”
The tension in the AI’s voice was enough to scare the bejesus out of him. He leapt toward the van, only to be abruptly halted in mid-flight. Damn! His safety line was still attached to the tanker. He hand-over-hand reeled himself backward toward the Paotow Tanker. He unclipped the safety line and, as his eyes came up, he again found himself staring into the tanker’s porthole. Only this time it was blocked. Blocked by the face of a crazed-looking bearded man.
CHAPTER 16
As it turned out, much of Dollywood had burned to the ground seven years before. With the high concentration of peovils in this part of the Smokey Mountains, the resort hotel, vacation cabins, and several roller coaster rides were destroyed by what remained of the U.S. Government. Now, from what Jason understood, most of Timber Canyon, Wilderness Pass, and Craftsman Valley—both the north and northeastern sections of the park—were gone, leaving only Show Street, Owens Farm, Country Fair, Rivertown Junction, and The Village. Surprisingly enough, the Dollywood Express steam locomotive was not only still around—but operational. A fact Jason was very aware of since he was sitting in one of the moving tour railcars listening to Mamma Picket explain everything there was to know about the ill-fated theme park, with a surprising level of detail.
Mamma Picket, standing between two vertical railings, had her hands wrapped tightly around them for support. The open-air car pitched and swayed as it followed behind the laboring steam engine. They were all getting the royal tour treatment, including a tour of what remained of the park.
“I met Dolly once. I was a child … no more than eight or nine. I thought she was the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth. Still do. Now, coming up here on the left, you’ll see Grist Mill, and just beyond that … Owens Farm.”
She’d positioned Nan and Pope before her—providing them both a front row seat to her presentation. The rest of the team—Billy, Bristol, Rizzo and Jason—were scattered about in the seats behind them.
The small, waif-like woman was sitting next to Jason, and he’d become immediately aware of her distinct, rather unpleasant, scent—unwashed and downright gamey. She looked up at him and attempted a shy grin. What little remained of her smile consisted of several missing teeth; the few still there—precariously clinging to blackened gums—were mostly crooked and brownish-gray in color.
“Mamma knows everything there is to know about this park. Heck, she can tell you the names of the carpenters that built that water tower over yonder.”
“That so?” Jason politely queried.
“My name is Eleanore Hatfield … of the Hatfield and McCoy fame. Everyone calls me Ellie.” She put out a small hand for Jason to shake.
Shaking her hand, he said, “Glad to meet you, Ellie. Tell me, what’s your relationship to Mamma Picket?”
“She’s my cousin … and my aunt,” she said with a sideways look.
Jason quickly ran through the mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how that could even be possible, then quickly gave up. “You live here … at the park?”
“Oh yes, we all live here. Mamma lives at the Dreamsong The
ater … it’s very grand. I live right back there, in the Grist Mill. Got a cot set up and everything.”
Jason slowly nodded, not knowing what more to say.
“Mamma’s going to let me go up in space, she promised, on their next excursion to the mining camps.”
“Asteroid belt?”
“Uh … I guess so. I don’t know for sure, anyway.”
“Where are we going now? Where’s this train headed?”
She smiled, her expression implying it was a ridiculous question. “Are you daft? We’re going to the train station. It ain’t far up ahead.”
“After that?”
“Oh … probably going to Mystery Mine.”
“Isn’t that one of the areas that burnt down?” Jason asked, remembering something Mamma had said earlier regarding Timber Canyon.
“No. That’s still there … didn’t burn down. Mamma says it was a miracle. Anyway, we usually take people there.”
Jason took the opportunity to glance around the railcar and the one trailing behind them. The three Picket brothers were sitting together four rows back. He could see their rifle barrels sticking up behind the seat back in front of them. In the training car were six other armed mountain men—all wore beards and had bored, expressionless faces.
When Jason caught the eye of Bristol, seated a row behind him on the other side of the aisle, Bristol leaned forward and said, “I’d throw myself off this train if I thought it would kill me.”
Ellie looked back at Bristol, then over at Jason. “That’s a strange thing to say.”
Jason nodded. “Bristol has a unique sense of humor. Takes a bit getting used to.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Um … well … I don’t think he does.” Jason didn’t want to get into it. Especially down here in the southland where Bristol’s sexual orientation might not be all that popular. “We’re slowing.”
“We’re here. Good thing, too … I have to pee.”
* * *
Mystery Mine was everything Jason expected it to be. On the outside, it was a rustic timber and corrugated metal structure, designed to look old and ready to fall down. The adjoining roller coaster was nothing more than a heap of metal tracks atop a small mountain of charcoal. They were ushered inside, where it was dark and, Jason assumed, pretty much looked the same now as it did during the park’s heyday. An empty roller coaster car that sat eight—two rows holding four passengers each—sat on a track that entered and left this concourse for Mystery Mine on opposite sides.
He heard Mamma Picket continuing her tour narrative. Both Nan and Pope turned, looking around at the various things Mamma was pointing out to them. Every so often Nan would ask her a question or two, but Jason couldn’t hear more than an occasional word said. He wondered if she had asked about Orloff … Mamma’s son? The whole reason they were there—to find the woman’s son and, hopefully, track down Nan’s nephew, Ryan.
Jason stepped in closer and asked, “Is this a good time to talk about our proposal?”
He was, after all, supposed to be the business broker here. “My Mau contacts await my answer. They want availability and pricing information for raw Tanzamine as soon as possible.”
Mamma looked annoyed. In the middle of a lengthy description of the song, Coal Miner’s Daughter, she loudly expelled her breath between red, puffed-out, cheeks. “I suppose. We can go in there,” she said, pointing toward what looked like the entrance to a mineshaft tunnel. With Mamma Picket in the lead, the group followed. Dark as the main room had seemed, inside the tunnel was even darker. Jason had to adjust his nano-devices in order to really see. He then noticed that the three brothers had brought their weapons up, where before they’d hung loosely down at their sides. Eventually, the tunnel opened wide into a large circular area. Here, too, the walls were only compacted dirt and, if he hadn’t known better, he’d assume they were hundreds of feet below ground. He noticed in the center of the room a large hole—easily twenty feet across and obviously deep, since he couldn’t see the bottom.
“Gather around, please,” Mamma Picket said, gesturing to the dark void in front of them. Jason and Billy exchanged a look that read … be ready for anything.
Jason stepped up to the lip of the hole and looked down. If it weren’t for his nano-devices he wouldn’t be able to see down, to the thirty or so feet to the bottom. There was movement down there—something alive milling about.
Mamma signaled to one of her sons with her chin. A moment later, a high-up spotlight came on directly over the hole. Jason heard Nan’s quick intake of a breath.
“What’s that?” Nan asked, her eyes locked on the five creatures moving about below.
“Those are molt weevils,” Brent said, the oldest of the sons.
“I know what they are. Why are you showing us them and why are they here?” Nan asked.
Mamma smiled—looking at her three sons like it was some kind of inside joke. She began walking the perimeter of the hole, moving behind the group. Considering her huge girth, it wouldn’t take much to shove any one of them over the edge. The spidery-looking molt weevils were now flittering around—agitated. Having a body the size of the average dishwasher—along with eight thick and hairy legs—the creatures seemed to be anticipating something. One molt weevil in particular was taking a special interest in Jason. Its cold beady eyes locked on him, as it tried to climb up the steep dirt walls only to slide back within seconds.
Mamma continued her slow trek around the group’s perimeter. “You want to do business with the Pickets, that’s good. Understand … we don’t tend to work with outsiders; we like to keep to ourselves.” She stopped behind Nan and Pope. “But I like you, Tanya. We are kindred spirits, I’m sure of that.” She placed a hand on Nan’s shoulder and leaned in, whispering something in Jason’s ex-wife’s ear. As casually as he could manage, Jason let his right hand find the SuitPac device hanging at his belt. His thumb and forefinger found the two inset spring tabs. He was ready to activate his battle-suit should it become necessary.
Mamma stepped away from Nan and continued on her way around. “I myself do not travel much into space. I manage things from here. My boys … they do the heavy lifting up there … in space. You’ll be working with them, but probably with Orloff, mostly. He’s not here. On vacation right now.”
Jason saw Nan and Pope nodding their heads. Progress.
Mamma halted again, three people down from Jason. He watched as she joined them, now standing at the lip of the open hole. She closed her eyes, as if saying a silent prayer, and looking as if she had the weight of the world upon her shoulders.
Suddenly, thick and muscular arms wrapped around Jason’s upper body. It was Brent. Jason smelled the giant man’s warm foul breath—a mix of coffee and chewing tobacco. He noticed that Billy, Rizzo, Bristol, and Pope were held also in a similar fashion by two of the other brothers, and two guards. Jason didn’t resist … not yet. With his nanite-infused physiology, breaking Brent’s grasp wouldn’t be difficult. But first, he wanted to see what this was all about. Once their cover was broken, there would be no turning back and they still didn’t have the answers they’d come for.
Mamma’s eyes popped open and, moving incredibly fast for a woman her size, she reached to her left, grabbing the back of Eleanore Hatfield’s loose-fitting dress in her hand. The little woman’s body tilted forward horizontally—her arms and legs frantically gyrating.
“Put me down, Mamma … please … please! Oh god, Mamma … I’m scared!”
The molt weevils below were squealing now, two starting to hop about. But Mamma’s eyes weren’t on her niece-cousin—or whatever she was—they were locked on Jason, preparing to let go.
“Put her down!” Nan shouted, her eyes wide as saucers. “Don’t do this, Mamma …”
Her words were cut short when Mamma released her hold on the small woman, who then fell screaming into the hole.
CHAPTER 17
Startled at seeing the lunatic inside the port
hole—the face that must have belonged to Orloff Picket staring back at him—Ryan kicked out with both feet. A knee-jerk reaction which, on reflection, might cost him his life. In that moment, he realized both safety-line clips were still clutched in his hand; that he was no longer tethered to either ship. Frantically, he reached to grab ahold of something, anything, on the tanker, but he’d already drifted several feet away from it. His only hope was that his backward momentum would send him toward his own freight van. Ryan watched in horror as it slid by, mere inches from his outstretched fingers.
“Dude … you’re hyper-ventilating.”
“Yeah … well, I’m floating off in space with no way to get back to the van … so yes, I’m hyperventilating.”
“Try to stay calm. We’ll think of something.”
Ryan did his best to relax. Either he’d suffocate as soon as his air supply ran out, in twenty-minutes or so, or … more likely … that bearded maniac was going to come after him. He briefly pictured his own head and upper body mounted on a bulkhead inside that Paotow Tanker. That would be worse than dying. Better to simply die out here, floating amongst the stars. His mind turned to Wendy, as it often did in times of distress. He briefly wondered if she would miss him? Who would be the one to tell her of his early demise? Probably Tony Post. He’d enjoy that.
Ryan’s thoughts turned to the last night he’d spent alone with her. Neither had slept—neither wanted to. The next morning she was called into work two hours early, undoubtedly Tony’s doing. She was in and out of the shower in two minutes flat as Ryan watched her from the bed. Naked, her hair wet and hanging in her face, he caught her eye in the still steamy mirror.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“Like what?” Ryan replied innocently.
She leaned forward over the counter—unabashedly giving Ryan a front row seat to view her amazing bare bottom. She brought her face closer in toward the mirror as her left, then right, eyelashes got a few rapid strokes of mascara. Their eyes met again and she stifled a giggle. “Don’t you work today too?”
Space Chase (Star Watch Book 5) Page 8
