There came that racket again. His head pounded, though he’d downed four Vicodin within the last two hours. Still, the headache had only worsened.
Bang … bang … bang …
Orloff stared blankly at the adjoining bulkhead. He visualized her in there—that wild little hellcat. Normally, he would have taken her by now. Stripped her down—grabbed a fistful of her long blonde hair …
Bang … bang … bang …
Turning his head, he could just barely hear her words, “Let me out of here … you crazy son of a bitch!”
In spite of the pain, a smile crossed his lips: Wild little hellcat. He knew exactly how to silence her. Slowly and methodically, Orloff reversed his handiwork—rewinding first the bandage over his foot before putting the tube sock back over it. He slowly got to his feet.
* * *
Wendy stopped to catch her breath, giving her ears a short reprieve from the ultra-loud clanging. He’d left an old metal bucket and a roll of toilet paper—the entirety of her bathroom’s accommodations. She took a few deep breaths, then, grabbing ahold the wire handle with both hands, swung the metal pail into the closest bulkhead. Eventually, she knew, she’d need to use the bucket for other things than making noise. For now, she intended to continue doing everything in her power to drive the SOB mad. Hah … he’s already mad! She screamed out again, “Where … is … Olivia? Let me out of here! Let us both go!”
She stopped to listen, sensing she’d heard something. For close to twenty-four hours the weird spacecraft had been deathly quiet. The distant sounds of Olivia’s screaming were no longer present. What’s happened to her? God … what’s he done to her? She silently reprimanded herself for letting her thoughts latch on to the worst: Had he beaten her into unconsciousness? Did he rape her? Did that son-of-a-bitch rape my best friend?
Earlier, it was decided that Wendy would take the short spacewalk over to the old, rusty-looking vessel since, technically, she was not yet a pilot—two years working through a three-year CF pilot’s certification program.
So Olivia, staying with the van, instead gave Wendy the riot act as she suited up: “You drop off the delivery, then get the hell out of there. Tell him your partner is six-five and packs two-thirty pounds of solid muscle.”
“He’s handicapped … probably old and infirmed. This is a good thing we’re doing, Olivia, delivering his prescription meds personally.” Wendy, after winding her long hair into a makeshift bun, pulled with practiced efficiency her helmet over her head.
“Normally … I’d agree. You know I’m all for breaking rules, but with Two-ton and Ryan both AWOL … something’s not right.”
“You promised you wouldn’t mention his name again for at least a month,” Wendy said, bringing her attention to the HUD readings displayed on the inside of her visor.
She caught Olivia rolling her eyes.
“What?”
“As if in a month you two won’t be back together.”
“No, this time it’s apart forever. I think we’re just too much alike. We drive each other crazy. There’s no trust there.”
“Has he ever cheated on you? Done anything to warrant your suspicions?”
Wendy, now suited up, stepped into the airlock. She turned back and looked at Olivia as guilt suddenly spread through her like a surge of electricity. It wasn’t Ryan who’d been disloyal—unfaithful. It was her. It only happened once. She and Ryan had fought and he’d left for a delivery to Liberty Station. She’d then consumed way too much to drink at Bottoms. Tony Post was there too … and she’d made a horrible, horrible, horrible mistake. What Olivia didn’t know was that Wendy felt so deeply ashamed; that she didn’t deserve Ryan. Hell, at their last parting she couldn’t even look him in the eye. No … he would never understand. If she could do it all over again, she’d toss the second, or was it her third? Long Island iced tea into Tony Post’s smug face. Recalling his hands on her naked body, she tasted bile at the back of her throat. How could she have, with that old—groping—pudgy … Sick guilt coursed through her again.
Wendy gave Olivia an over-confident smile. She smiled back, showing concern in her eyes. They were like sisters—both had the same athletic build. Wendy, a Scandinavian blond, had bright blue eyes. Olivia’s hair, worn long, was auburn and her eyes a warm chocolate. Alone, they caught every man’s attention. Together, they could bring a disco to a standstill.
“I’ll be careful … I promise,” Wendy said, reaching out to activate the inside airlock hatch.
Brought back to the present, hearing a scraping sound as the hatch to the small compartment opened, she moved farther behind the metal hatch door. Still clutching the bucket’s handle, with mere seconds to spare, she raised the bucket and wound her body around—like a batter readying for a fastball pitch.
CHAPTER 28
In the eerie dim light, the large silhouetted shape—dark and lurking—stepped into view in the open hatch. A waft of something acrid assaulted Wendy’s nose. A smell so foul it only underscored that something evil was nearby. Oh my God … I know it. He’s going to kill me. A moment passed and, in that brief timespan—that second of indecision—she lost any advantage she might have had. In the semi-darkness, the huge figure defensively raised his arms. Wendy swung the bucket at him anyway.
At barely five-foot-five, she was a foot shorter than the gargantuan standing before her. Unfurling her body like a released spring coil, tightly holding on to the pail’s handle, Wendy swung with everything she had. In horror, she watched as the bucket fell short of its mark—the lunatic’s head—by a mile. Instead, with a loud clattering noise, it struck him beneath his left armpit.
The jolting force of the impact caused Wendy to drop the bucket. She waited for the huge figure to pounce—pick her up like a rag doll and throw her against the bulkhead. Instead, a shrieking scream of pain, followed by prolonged wails of agony, emanated from the doubled-over abductor.
Wendy ran from her prison cell, unsure where to go. Now, standing in a narrow passageway, she momentarily hesitated. Just behind her was the cell compartment she’d just exited, and just beyond that she could see a somewhat lit-up compartment. Positioned at the room’s far end was an unmade bed. His bedroom.
Running in the opposite direction, Wendy yelled out, “Olivia! Where are you? I’m free … come on … tell me where you are!” She turned the knob on a standard framed door and peered inside—into some kind of storage room. She heard rustling behind her … he was coming. “Olivia, make a noise! Let me know where you are.” She continued down the passageway, twisting doorknobs along the way. Each was locked. “Olivia?” She stopped to listen for her friend’s voice but heard only rustling coming from behind her. She ran on. Ahead, at the end of the passageway, she spotted a stairway and sprinted for it. Grabbing on to a metal railing, she swung her body around. From the corner of her eye, she saw his beefy hand swipe out, missing her by inches. Flying down the steep metal stairway, she stumbled halfway down, nearly falling before righting herself. As her captor pursued her, descending the stairs right behind her, she heard his deep, labored breaths.
Wendy, upon reaching the bottom level, found barely enough light to make out even basic shapes. Taking in what was before her, her memories were fractured—remembering only bits and pieces of when she was first abducted and brought inside the vessel. Shaking her head to clear her mind, what she needed was a weapon. Her eyes roamed over the expansive single room compartment and spotted a wooden workbench, of sorts. A lit, old-fashioned swing light—a circular florescent bulb, surrounding a large magnifying glass—was pushed low over the bench surface. Hearing heavy footfalls nearing the bottom of the stairway, she darted for the table. Spotting a battered black leather case, she unsnapped it. Unfurling the two ends apart, she found inside an assortment of metallic tools of varying sizes—each secured to a silk-like fabric with elastic loops. To Wendy, it looked like a kit either a dentist or doctor would use. Seeing several thin knives, she grabbed up the longest one. With the kni
fe now in hand, she looked back toward the stairs. He wasn’t there. Her heart pounded within her chest and she had a hard time catching her breath.
Click.
Numerous indirect spotlights came on—illuminating a series of items hanging high up on the adjacent wood paneled bulkhead. Wendy, looking left and right, raised her knife hand—poised to slice or stab the fucker as soon as he came at her. Waiting for what seemed an eternity, her eyes slowly elevated toward the upper portion of the bulkhead before her. She saw the familiar branch-like antlers of an elk and took in the animal’s long snout and its large brown eyes. They seemed to be gazing back at her. She’d seen mounted deer heads numerous times at her grandfather’s cabin, so no big deal. But as her eyes moved to the left—to other mounted creatures—her pupils widened. She recognized the unmistakable profile of a two-horned rhino-warrior and … what was that? Mounted together were two Craing female heads and torsos—identical twins. Her stomach churned as her throat constricted. She needed air—badly needed breathable fresh air. As the room began to swim around her, she blinked—tunnel vision affecting her sight. Her heart stopped in her chest as her eyes came to rest on Two-ton’s face. She took an unsteady step in his direction—relieved he was right there, still alive—only to realize a split-second later that those glistening, all too real seeming eyes were unnaturally fixed and unmoving.
Wendy’s legs began to shake—her knees on the verge of buckling. She knew the unique color of Olivia’s long auburn hair. Like no one else’s—it shimmered and glistened when she walked. Olivia always said it was her best feature. Wendy didn’t want to look at her face. As she slowly sank to the deck, her body shaking uncontrollably, she noted her friend’s nakedness and perfection—even in death. Finally, she let herself gaze upward into her best friend’s eyes. They were speaking right to her—as though Olivia was saying the words aloud—Help me, Wendy … Oh God … help me.
* * *
For the last twenty minutes, Ryan was again working beneath the deck plates at the stern of the van. He’d been ready to head out—find the refurbished Paotow Tanker and find Wendy—but on throttling up the newly installed Aldo reactor, he found the Consignment Freight van’s propulsion system incapable of acquiring the necessary near-light speed that was required for traveling in the vastness of open space. Upon closer inspection of one of the numerous hidden cable bundles, he finally found the problem. Although not a recommended practice, Ryan kept the reactor online while conducting repairs. He wasn’t willing to pay for the time he’d give up for it to come back online. The heat of the reactor, far too close to his face, was nearly unbearable and as he felt his forehead begin to blister, he determined he’d inadvertently reversed two wires. Once he rewired them properly, he hurried from the crawl space, replaced the deck plates, and ran to the cockpit.
Not bothering to sit down, Ryan carefully eased the controls back, but even that small adjustment threw him backward, and into his seat. The sudden inertia, at first, was more than the van’s G-force compensators could handle. He heard Two-ton’s AI yell a loud “Yahoo!”
Ryan let a brief smile cross his lips. Finally, something positive! “Just make sure we stay on course.” Leaning forward, he slowly increased the throttle then said, “Now we’re talking! This baby’s got some serious horses under the hood …”
“I can guarantee there is not a quicker freight van within ten light-years,” the AI affirmed.
“Just maybe then we’ll make up some time. Maybe even catch up to Orloff.”
“Keep edging the speed up, but realize eventually you’re going to far exceed the compensators,” the AI said. “Let me know if you start feeling lightheaded … find difficulty breathing.”
“I feel fine,” Ryan said, edging the controls back further. “What’s the ETA for reaching those coordinates? What is it … Alaster-Rei?
“At this rate of speed … close to three hours. We’re really moving along.”
“What can you tell me about it? Is it … a planet?” Ryan asked.
“Not even a dwarf planet. Quite a few celestial bodies have been discovered within both the Kuiper and Oort belts. Alaster-Rei lies saddled between two asteroids—one’s highly volcanic and one’s radioactive. Both are massive. The latter puts out almost as much light for Alaster-Rei as the sun does for Earth.”
“What’s the terrain like … is there breathable air?”
“A desert-like environment—yet more life than anywhere else in the region. Supposedly, it’s a hunter’s paradise. If anyone else could aver get there.”
CHAPTER 29
Ryan found it interesting that the approaching moon-sized baby planet, Alaster-Rei, was situated between the Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud. Over the last few hours they’d made their way through the Kuiper Belt, via Vanguard’s Breach. Historically, it was the location of Sol System’s—Earth’s—most devastating attack, by the Craing Admiral Ot-Mul, and his fleet of Dreadnaughts, nearly a decade ago.
The console display indicated there were no fewer than ten celestial bodies, all clumped together, in this one region of space. Almost a mini solar system, the radioactive My Brittany and the heat-producing Eng252 introduced life-supporting heat into the region, while the baby planet’s continually melting ice poles—creating limited amounts of water—provided a bazaar combination of factors that supported life on Alaster-Rei.
“We’ll need to take things slow from here on,” the AI said.
“Yeah … what a mess,” Ryan said, increasing the display’s sensitivity. While both the Kuiper Belt and Oort Cloud had trillions of asteroids present, they were, usually, spaced many miles apart from one another. Only larger vessels needed to be concerned with undue collisions. But, as they approached the mini solar system, there were multiple rings of tumbling asteroids that seemed positioned on top of each other.
“How in hell are we supposed to navigate through this shit?”
“I’ll have to do it. Fortunately, the van is small, and, with my far-quicker response time mechanics, I can well handle navigating. No problem.”
“Fine … but Orloff’s huge tanker is five or ten times our size. How did he make it through?”
“There is another passageway, similar to Vanguard’s Breach. While this one is a natural, interweaving course through the asteroids, it is a laborious—time-consuming—obstacle course. Unfortunately, I can’t access that same secret, highly guarded roadmap for us to follow. Probably another reason Orloff selected this place for a vacation home.”
Ryan thought about what the AI said. The van was within close enough proximity to the asteroid rings now to wonder if attempting to go on further was suicide. But what other choice do I have? He pictured Wendy—what it must be like for her right now—being Orloff’s prisoner. So far, he’d managed to push away any thoughts of what he could be doing to her. But now, since he’d opened that door a tiny crack, his blood began to boil.
The AI said, “I think I have a lock on the tanker. It’s down there, on the surface of Alaster-Rei.”
Ryan, staring at the approaching house-sized rocks—swooshing by at different speeds—said, “Do it … take us in.”
“Strap yourself in, Ryan … this is going to be a bumpy ride.”
The small van suddenly slowed, changing course. Ryan reached for his harness, which he’d never used before, not even once, and strapped himself in. Though he pretty much had a cast-iron stomach, he wondered if he was up for what was about to come. The van lurched upward as it changed course again. Accelerating, the van sped between two smallish asteroids. Ryan flinched. The Two-ton AI’s rapid calculation prevented the van from being struck by fractional distances.
“How about a little music?” the AI asked, not waiting for his reply. Ryan, who’d programmed in Two-ton’s favorite music playlist a while back, instantly recognized the blaringly loud Born To Be Wild, by Steppenwolf. Somehow, the music calmed his nerves and he found himself anticipating the rapid stellar swings, both left and right or up and down. For a momen
t, he wondered if he, too, could have navigated through this continual onslaught of space obstacles. He knew he was a damn good pilot—even touted, when in the service, as a bit of a hotdog by his commanding fleet officers.
* * *
By the time he’d listened to Two-ton’s hundred-plus song playlist twice through, they’d made it through the bulk of the rocky torrent. Ryan released his harness and stood. Approaching them was the strange system: Alaster-Rei—a red, Mars-like orb—nestled between, and on the same orbital plane as, the bright-red volcanic asteroid, Eng252, and the bright-white asteroid, My Brittany.
They slipped into a fast, low orbit around Alaster-Rei. “You can give me back manual control, Two-ton,” Ryan said, putting his hands on the controls. He peered through the forward observation window as he dipped the van lower into the atmosphere. The terrain below was much more dramatic than he anticipated—a desert of red sand sprawled below. Countless towering sandstone buttes, each a distinctive windblown column, rose high into the air. A harsh and unforgiving landscape yet one startlingly beautiful.
Ryan noticed a small red icon blinking on the console display. Adjusting his course, he headed directly for it. The closer they got, the more the topography became slightly hillier. Now traveling five hundred feet above the surface, Ryan could see there were indeed signs of life below. Peeking up through small crevices in the rocks, and on the sandy surface, were patches of green scrub and an occasional short—stunted—tree.
“On the other side of this next rise, what we’re looking for should come into view,” the AI said.
Space Chase (Star Watch Book 5) Page 14
