The Star Pirate's Folly

by James Hanlon

  Starhawk clenched his gauntleted fist, seething at the thought of his grand opportunity being squandered. Everything hung on Two-Gut’s pudgy slumped shoulders.

  He cast aside his doubts and continued his recording where he’d left off. “If not you’ll have put my back to the wall. I’ll have no choice but to come for Jensen Lee myself. We leave no man behind. These are your options. Choose wisely.”

  The feed from Gruce’s helmet camera took up a small square of Starhawk’s lens display. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Gruce leaned in close to the quivering hostage to get a detailed shot of his battered face. Hargrove arched away from the armored pirate as much as he could in the chair he was tied to. Swelling on the right side of his face had his eye nearly shut completely. Blood trickled from a split lower lip.

  “Good, that’ll work fine,” Starhawk said. “Get what you can from him and keep him alive. We’ll need him to get out of here.”

  Combining his recording and the footage of Hargrove into one video, Starhawk broadcast his message on all common channels. Anyone listening would pick it up and everyone in the Core had to have an ear out for his messages. Starhawk watched Gruce’s feed as the exhausted pirate knocked the hostage around with several armored slaps.

  “Tell me what you know about Slack Dog,” Gruce blasted from his suit’s external speakers.

  “Go on, you brutes,” Hargrove groaned. “Do what you want, I won’t breathe a word. Go on then.”

  “Here’s the other,” Pluck sang as he forced a man in an identical jumpsuit onto his knees next to Hargrove.

  “That one’s a fabricant, you moron,” snapped Starhawk. “A Robert model, I’ve seen them before. Spike him for data, he’s no use as a hostage.”

  Pluck gasped, drawing the data spike from his belt. “I never knew! Looked so real I never knew I never knew. Let’s see what you know, dearest.”

  “What are you doing?” demanded Hargrove as Pluck advanced on Robert626. “Stop that. You don’t need to do that. Please.”

  No response from the little man as he raised the spike in the air, the attached cord a black snake dangling in the air. Robert626 locked eyes with Hargrove and said, “We’ll come for you, brother.”

  Pluck grabbed Robert626 by the hair and forced his head down before plunging the spike into the base of the fabricant’s neck. White viscous fluid seeped from the wound and Robert626 spasmed, held in place as Pluck let go of the spike to grip him by the shoulders. Hargrove shouted with horror, toppling over in his chair as he struggled to break free of his restraints.

  “Oh dearest—this one… this one’s ripe with knowing,” Pluck said with a euphoric slur. He swayed as he stood, muttering incoherently over the channel. Suddenly Pluck slid the spike free, dropped the twitching fabricant, and stabbed a finger at Hargrove. “He sent a message to Optima! A privateer ship.”

  “Privateers,” Starhawk growled. “Dirtlicking privateers.”

  “Not just any,” Pluck said. “It’s Wanderlust.”

  Starhawk crowed with laughter. “Anson! Of course it’s Anson! Of all the privateer crews in the system—this is fate, boys, no question. What did he say?”

  “Just lovey-dove nonsense to some girl. She left with Wanderlust before we came.”

  “Find out who she is.”

  Pluck sifted through Robert626’s memories starting with the stored visual feed of most recent events, stopping where necessary to inspect certain sequences more closely. He licked his lips, nearly slobbering as he pored through the data stockpile from the dead fabricant. So much delicious—so many files—he saw through Robert626’s eyes the video of a girl who boarded Wanderlust. She left shortly after, followed by a man from the ship. He grabbed her, they fought, and when the alarms on the station started she fled with the man from Wanderlust.

  Farther back the fabricant had seen surveillance videos from the hotel. More of the girl—they must have been looking for her. She had to be important to have them sniffing around topside under bombardment. In another video she served drinks behind a bar, talked to a patron. Pluck recognized the man as he stood with a drunken stagger—Slack Dog! The video flashed forward and showed the girl leave the bar briefly, returning to pick something up off the bar. A datapad.

  “The girl spoke with Slack Dog, took his pad. She could have a copy of the map Jensen missed. Sending vids now.”

  Starhawk watched what Pluck saw. “Find out for sure. If they’ve got another copy I’ve got some grubs on Optima who can relieve them of it.”

  “The girl took Slack Dog’s pad with her off planet,” Pluck said. “Sold it to the privateers—and for a good chunk of coin, too. Nothing here to tell where after that though.”

  “Anson. Had to be Anson.” Starhawk growled and slammed his fist against his knee. “Can’t be a coincidence. Keep looking, Pluck. Find out where they’re headed after Optima. We’re going after them, this city’s a lost cause. Hold tight boys, we’ll get you out of there. We’ll need to trade that hostage for safe passage.”

  Gruce whirled on Hargrove and yanked him upright in the chair as Gruce’s speakers boomed, “The girl you sent the message to! Where’s she going after Optima?”

  Hargrove snapped to attention. Bee. He shook his head in defiance. “If I knew I wouldn’t help you. They’re going to come for you, all of you. You won’t get away.”

  The glob of spit oozed down the pirate’s faceplate. Gruce dug armored fingers into Hargrove’s shoulder with one hand, made a fist with the other, and jabbed a weak punch into the man’s gut. A strike even approaching full force could easily kill an unarmored target. Hargrove doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath.

  Chapter 25: Hostage

  Governor Strump breathed in deep through his nose and exhaled between thinly parted lips. His gaze flicked across the screens on the wall of his quarters aboard Aristeia. Between them he had live video from the orbital station, the hotel in Overlook City, and several satellites which tracked Starhawk’s ships above the city.

  Overlook City police, along with a smattering of privateers and local militia, had the Midtown Hotel surrounded. Above the city Starhawk’s remaining warships circled beyond reach of attack, yet kept close enough to prevent being targeted by the planet’s orbital guns.

  Strump’s pad buzzed on a desk nearby. An incoming video call from Surface, unregistered. He swallowed and picked it up.

  “This is the Governor,” he answered.

  “This is the Starhawk.”

  A frigid fist closed in the Governor’s gut. “How—”

  “Yes, Strump, I know exactly where you are. I want a manual off-grid shuttle outside that hotel in one hour or my grubs crush your hero’s skull,” Starhawk said. “I’ll agree to a ceasefire in exchange for his life as long as we’ve got a guarantee we can leave Surface now untouched. Let them out of the city and you’ll never see us again.”

  “You killed my fellow citizens. You bombed my home. You’re not going anywhere.” Governor Strump struggled to infuse his words with a tone of barely contained simmering rage, conscious that Aristeia’s main computer had no doubt notified the Captain of the intrusion and recorded the conversation.

  “And you killed most of my men,” Starhawk said. “We’ve both taken losses, Strump. Let’s not spill any more blood. A ceasefire in exchange for one manual off-grid shuttle and safe passage off planet or your hometown hero dies.”

  “Absolutely not. You know we don’t negotiate with pirates.”

  “Life is negotiation. If you don’t let us go, we’ll broadcast his execution over the public airwaves. We’ve got no reason to play nice. What’ll it be? You want to see him die?” Hargrove’s face popped onscreen in graphic detail, mottled bruises under streaks of fresh blood.

  “Don’t kill him!” Strump yelled. “Don’t kill him. We’ll—we’ll consider your demands.”

  The Governor sagged with relief when the pad’s screen blacked out. He’d swapped it for a new one before he left Surface—how coul
d it…? His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. The real threat wasn’t killing the hostage, it was exposing Strump’s involvement with the pirates, the Core Fleet excursion, everything. He’d fallen right into the pirate’s trap, unable to refuse his demands without giving up everything he’d spent his life working for.

  At least the hostage gave him a decent argument. The thought gave him hope but Strump cursed himself for his weakness. A stronger leader, a nobler leader, would refuse even in the face of complete personal ruin. But he would never have made it to the Governor’s office if he was a different man.

  It should have worked. And it did, for a while. He won reelection after the drastic reduction of pirate raids following the Core Fleet’s excursion led to an economic boom which promised years of safety and prosperity for the Core. Of course he suspected there would be hidden costs, but he never imagined—!

  “Captain Nguyen has requested you speak with Admiral Perry on the bridge, Governor,” Gim said from near the door.

  Strump flinched. He’d forgotten the fabricant. “Yes, of course.”

  Everything hinged on this conversation. They wanted it all on Record. Governor Strump straightened his back and smoothed his hair against his scalp before accompanying Gim to the bridge. No one suspected his involvement with Starhawk—that he knew of—so he at least had that assurance as he marched through the halls of Aristeia. If he wanted to keep it that way he’d have to let the pirates go. Starhawk would expose him if he felt his back against the wall.

  After the destruction the pirates brought it would not be a popular proposition among the brass of the Core Fleet. But Starhawk’s high-value hostage changed the rules. A broadcast of the man’s execution would cause massive public outcry and shake Core citizens’ faith in their government. The whole excursion into the belt was a mistake, left their defenses weak. Heads would roll if they didn’t contain the chaos.

  Yes, that sounded convincing. Best to appeal to fear, make them think about their own skins instead of directing blame. Strump organized the argument in his head, talking through the points he’d have to highlight. Planning made him feel solid even when everything seemed to be in free fall.

  ***

  “What’s your involvement?” Gruce shouted.

  “You bombed my hotel,” gasped Hargrove.

  “And you killed Jensen Lee! How do you explain that? You a privateer too?”

  One eye swollen shut, blood leaking from torn skin, Hargrove wheezed and let out a laugh which turned to coughing. “Idiot left the door open.”

  Pluck chimed in on Gruce’s channel. “Got us surrounded. Troopers, militia, police. They’ll send a team in soon.”

  “Boss is working on our exit,” Gruce said, projecting confidence he didn’t feel. “We’ll get out.”

  Pluck whined his displeasure at being trapped before dropping from the channel. Gruce crouched and squeezed the laser wound in Hargrove’s leg, drawing howls of pain as charred scabs cracked open and seeped bloody pus. “Tell me what you know about the map.”

  Hissing between clenched teeth, Hargrove again shook his head. “You’re after Bee. I’m not telling you a damned thing.”

  “Suit yourself,” Gruce said as he let go. Hargrove groaned and sagged with relief. “You’ll talk eventually. Once we get out of here you’ll talk to Starhawk. You’ll tell him everything. They always talk to him.”

  “They won’t just let you leave.”

  “You just wait and see.” Gruce opened the channel to Starhawk. “Tough bastard. He won’t say anything. What we got from the fabricant is as much as we know.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Keep your guard up.”

  ***

  Governor Strump found it helpful sometimes to look at the forehead instead of directly into a superior’s eyes while under reprimand. Admiral Perry, commander of Surface’s lone orbital space station, glared with such crushing force between his eyebrows that they quaked and strained against each other as they vied for dominance. Strump dropped his gaze to the floor of the bridge as the seasoned war veteran berated him.

  “I have been insistent from the beginning that the Core Fleet remain a defensive measure,” Admiral Perry said. “Their involvement in this fiasco is a stain on my reputation as much as yours—and indeed, on the Fleet itself. Not in the Core’s entire history has there ever been an undetected sustained assault like this. By all the damned stars, Strump, they’re sieging the city! And they’re beating us! We were completely unprepared for this and I expect a full investigation of this incident on your return, Governor. This is a highly irregular breach of protocol. All contact should be handled in the light of the Record.”

  “Of course I agree, Admiral,” Strump said, deferring with a bow of the head. “We must find out where the blind spots in our defenses are to prevent another attack. The datapad was somehow infected before I left Surface.”

  Perry continued his offensive but shifted targets. “We’re just lucky we haven’t lost more civilians. These kinds of mistakes are disgraceful—and thus far have not been isolated incidents. Captain Nguyen, how could you allow a compromised device past your security?”

  The black-and-blue clad Core Fleet captain stood ramrod straight beside Strump, mortified at being admonished in front of his crew. “Apologies, sir. In our hurry to return to Surface we did not adhere to standard inspection protocols. It won’t happen again.”

  “A foolish mistake like that should never happen. As for the conversation you had with Starhawk, Governor, it should be obvious we can’t let them leave. We have no guarantee that he would keep his word after we let him go. One man’s life is not worth allowing an injustice like this attack to go unanswered.”

  “Myself and the rest of the Core Fleet are still ten hours from Surface space. We can’t just throw a man’s life away, especially not a man willing to go to such lengths to protect his fellow citizens. He’s a hero, sir, and the only positive outcome we’ve seen from this situation. The people love him. If the pirates are offering to leave without killing anyone else, I propose we at least consider the option. They’ve got the upper hand here—Starhawk circling the city with warships, two carriers in low planetary orbit above, and if we hit them with the orbital guns the wreckage will likely do more damage to the city. Meanwhile the station has exhausted nearly all of its drones and long-range ammunition, correct? This is grim news, Admiral.”

  “That filth won’t set foot on this station,” Perry said with a snarl.

  “No, I don’t expect so. But this ordeal will crush the people’s faith in its leaders if we don’t put a stop to the bloodshed. As you said, the Core Fleet’s excursion became a horrible mistake—let’s not compound that with further blunders. Any attempt to destroy the pirates at this point will only serve Starhawk because it will bring more death, more emotional scarring on the people. Spare them. Spare our people the horror.”

  The Admiral’s brow softened as the Governor’s words took root.

  ***

  “Boss, they just parked a shuttle out front,” Gruce said. “Is that it? We good?”

  “All yours,” Starhawk said. “Just don’t let ‘em pop you on the way out.”

  Two-Gut’s heart skipped a beat before hammering with excitement. They would live after all! Gruce shoved Hargrove in front of him and forced him out of the room to the hallway. “Pluck, let’s go. Shuttle’s outside.”

  “Coming, dearest.”

  Pluck met up with Gruce as he and his hostage made their way to the hotel’s front entrance. The boxy cobalt shuttle rested on the pavement just outside the doors. Gruce and Pluck took cover at each side of the door with Hargrove standing in the open, each pirate with a laser rifle trained on him.

  “Boss,” Gruce said. “You sure this isn’t a trap?”

  “Nope,” came Starhawk’s nonchalant reply. “That is entirely possible.”

  The old pirate grimaced. It was all up to chance. Served him well enough so far. Gruce exchanged glances with Pluck and shrug
ged. “Time to go.”

  He opened the door and shuffled forward into the sunlight behind Hargrove, the barrel of his rifle snug against the back of the man’s head.

  Chapter 26: Needs

  Optima’s capitol city Understone sprawled across miles of caverns, hollowed out over the years to excavate the valuable resources within and create living space for new residents on the planetoid. A domed crater at the city’s surface level housed those who could afford the rent—others, like Fix, found cheaper space below.

  The stocky mechanic slouched over his dwindling cup of lotus wine, tracing in his mind the route home from the bar. His single-room dwelling, little more than a pressurized cell, was one of hundreds that branched off a section of an old ice tunnel. Another one or off to bed, the familiar debate. His fingers found coin in his pocket. Fix downed the dregs and rose for another cup.

  As he stood a gravelly voice from a corner table called out to him. “Hey, Fix! Didn’t see you there. You heard the news from up top? Snub told me he passed the message along to all you scrappers.”

  An involuntary wince flashed across Fix’s face. He removed it before he turned to join the table. “Tjarko. Didn’t see you either. Yeah, Snub told me. Ten thousand coin—pretty good for one job.”

  “Great!” shouted Tjarko, raising his cup. “Looks like we got another recruit!”

  A cheer went up from his crewmates and Fix swallowed as he shook his head.

  “Sorry, Tjarko,” he said. “I’m staying put this time. Family orders.”

  The five men lowered their cups in unison.

  Tjarko glared. “You heard what Snub said. This is straight from Boss Hawk. You gone out with our crew before. We already got twenty grubs, two more ships. We need every pair of hands we can get, Fix—especially mechanics. Could be a long float going after Anson.”

  “Whoa, Tjarko. You gotta see where we’re coming from here. Anson don’t jack around and Starhawk, man—”

  “What about Boss Starhawk?” Tjarko demanded, the question a challenge.