Star Scavenger: The Complete Series Books 1-5

by G J Ogden

  Griff snatched the entire bundle from his hand, “Just stick it on her tab,” he said, nodding behind to Wash. Swinsler stammered an incoherent reply, but Griff had already walked away.

  Outside the gates of the shipyard, Griff managed to flag down a passing ground transport. He opened the door and slid across the rear seat to the other side, leaving the door open for Wash.

  “Such a gentleman,” said Wash, as she got in and closed the door. Griff didn’t acknowledge her snide remark, but he was pleased that he’d manage to aggravate her.

  “Do you know the Antiques and Curiosity Shoppe, up in Bayview?” Griff asked the driver, who nodded.

  “Are you guys antiques dealers then?” the transport driver asked, trying to be friendly. He frowned at Wash, and added, “Hey, you look familiar. Are you an actress or something?”

  Wash rolled her eyes at him, “Just shut up and drive,” she said, shutting the man down with her usual charm. The driver visibly recoiled, and started driving. To Griff, Wash asked, “A curiosity shop? These IDs need to be real, not novelty items, I do hope you realize that?”

  Griff had turned on the epaper and was busy scanning the headlines, but Wash’s dumb question prompted him to look up. “You know, while you were sitting on your scrawny ass in your big office chair, polishing your rank slides, I’ve actually been out in the real world,” he said, before looking back at the epaper. “I know what I’m doing, so why don’t you just sit tight and shut up for once?” He expected an explosion from Wash in response, but to his surprise, she actually sounded impressed.

  “Well, well, it’s about time you grew a pair,” Wash replied, turning to look out of the window. “I was beginning to wonder if you were as wet as that simpering moron, Powell.”

  Wash turned back to Griff, perhaps expecting him to rise to the bait, but Griff was scowling down at the epaper.

  “Today’s comic strips a bit too highbrow for you?” Wash asked, snootily.

  Griff slid the privacy glass shut, and made sure the microphones in the cabin were off. Then he looked up at Wash and held out the epaper to her. “The CET has issued a warrant for your arrest,” he said, as Wash snatched the epaper from his hand and scowled at it, furiously. “Looks like the higher-ups have thrown you to the wolves,” Griff added, trying hard not to sound too pleased. “The official statement from the RGF is that you acted unilaterally, and that your attempt to take control of a portal world is in breach of yada, yada, yada regulations. You get the picture.” Then he reached over and pointed to a section of the article. “There’s a photo of you too, which is likely why the cabby thinks you’re famous. Unless he just likes your ass, which I doubt…”

  Wash scowled at Griff, and hurriedly scrolled through the article, before skim-reading several others. “Your name is listed too,” she said, shooting a glance across to him.

  “Yeah, I know,” replied Griff, grumpily. All the article confirmed was that he was stuck with his asshole former commanding officer for the time being.

  The ground transport pulled up to the sidewalk, and the driver tapped on the privacy glass. Griff slid it back.

  “This is the place,” the driver said pointing to the storefront outside. “There’s a credit scanner in the back there for the fare.” Griff got out a fifty-dollar hardbuck note and thrust it through the window. The driver took it, staring at it almost in wonder. “Wow, I don’t see these much nowadays. I can’t give you any change, though, and this is worth way more than the fare cost.”

  Griff opened the door and stepped out, before leaning back inside. “Just call it a tip for having to put up with Princess pain-in-the-ass, there,” he said, looking at Wash.

  Wash also got out and joined Griff on the sidewalk. “Don’t push your luck, Inspector,” she snarled at Griff. “Just remember who you’re talking to.”

  Griff laughed, and grabbed the door handle of the Antiques and Curiosity Shoppe. “I know who I’m talking to, former-Superintendent Wash,” he hit back, adding extra emphasis on the word ‘former’. “The truth is that you’re nothing more than a wanted criminal now, just like me,” he added, pushing open the door. “So, you’d better get used to treating me with a bit more respect.”

  Griff entered the small store, not bothering to hold the door open for Wash, and walked up to the counter. Wash appeared behind him a few seconds later, wearing an expression like thunder.

  “I’ll be with you in a second,” came the haughty voice of Cortland, from somewhere in the back office. The crooked artefacts dealer then appeared and the supercilious smile instantly fell from his face. “Logan Griff…”

  Griff frowned, “We haven’t seen each other in years,” he said, instantly suspicious, “yet, you seemed to recognize me pretty easily.”

  Cortland reached underneath the counter, but Griff immediately pulled his weapon on him. “Not so fast; hands where I can see them!” he snarled, aiming the barrel at the dealer’s head.

  “Calm yourself, Mr. Griff, I am merely ensuring that we are not disturbed,” protested Cortland. “I have learned my lesson when it comes to your sort.”

  “Our sort?” snorted Griff. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “May I?” replied Cortland, indicating to the counter, and Griff nodded.

  Then the dealer hit a button, locking the door and tinting the windows black. Griff lowered his pistol, as Cortland’s hands reappeared and rested on the counter top.

  “Let’s just say, you’re not the only wanted criminals that have entered my premises recently,” Cortland continued, appearing more at ease.

  “Cutler Wendell was here?” asked Griff.

  Cortland nodded. “Yes, and he said you would likely show up too.”

  Wash immediately drew her weapon, moved away from the window and covered the door. Griff became twitchier too, holding his weapon ready and moving so that he could see through into the back-office area.

  “He’s not here, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” said Cortland, raising his voice a little to recapture their attention. “He offered to sell me an alien crystal fragment, but I declined.”

  “Why?” asked Griff, genuinely surprised that a snake like Cortland wouldn’t take advantage of Cutler’s desperate situation.

  “Is that a serious question?” asked Cortland, with an even haughtier air than Wash usually managed. “The CET and MP authorities are all searching for it. It’s just about the hottest piece of contraband in the galaxy right now, and I want nothing to do with it.”

  “Great,” moaned Griff, realizing that his idea of the crystal as an insurance policy would now be more of an albatross around his neck.

  “However, Cutler also gave me a message to relay to you,” Cortland added, enigmatically.

  Griff lowered his weapon again and moved back to the counter. “What message?”

  “May I?” asked Cortland, as he again went to slide his hand under the counter.

  “Slowly…” said Griff, watching the dealer like a hawk.

  Cortland then brought up a small datapad, which he placed on the counter top, before sliding it over in front of Griff. “He said that he will exchange the item he took from you – the crystal, I presume – for the shuttlecraft,” Cortland continued. “He then said he would consider all debts paid, and his business relationship with you to be terminated, permanently.”

  Griff huffed a laugh, “An interesting turn of phrase,” he commented.

  “The location for the rendezvous is in the pad,” Cortland continued, “You can also use this device to message him the meeting time directly. The link is secure and encrypted.”

  Griff picked up the pad and switched it on. It showed the site for the rendezvous. “The location is up in Point Reyes,” Griff said, glancing over to Wash. “Flat, and in the middle of nowhere. The perfect spot for a trade, or more likely an ambush.”

  Wash moved beside Griff and snatched the pad from his hands. Griff felt like shoving it down her throat.

  “There are
two of us, and one of him,” said Wash, studying the location. “I believe he’ll do the trade, as promised; it’s in his interest, since he cannot move the crystal any other way.”

  Griff shook his head, “But neither can we, so what use is it?” he countered. “We need a shuttle more than we need a smashed-up crystal that all the damn CET and MP military are hunting for.”

  “I have my own ship,” said Wash, before adding snobbishly, “which is considerably more refined than that wreck of a shuttle you arrived in.” Then she switched off the datapad and handed it back to Griff. “And if the CET and MP want this crystal so badly, then it gives us something to negotiate with.”

  Griff had to admit she had a point. Though he still suspected Cutler would try to double-cross them. “Fine, we’ll do it your way,” replied Griff. “But we’ll still need the fake IDs, just in case this all goes south, which I’m sure it will.”

  Cortland’s face suddenly lit up. “You are in need of Counterfeit IDs?”

  “Real ones, not novelty items,” Wash added, shooting a snarky look at Griff. Then she jabbed her finger at Cortland, “And they have to be top quality – no mistakes.”

  “Of course!” beamed Cortland, “You’ve come to the right place! If you’d like to come this way.” Then Cortland disappeared into the back-office room.

  Griff turned to Wash, and indicated for her to go first, “After you, ma’am,” he said, with a bow like a courtier.

  Wash walked up to him, so close that he could smell the tobacco on her breath. “Be careful, Griff, I’m warning you,” she said with a restrained malice, before walking around the counter and into the back room.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Orion’s upgraded, alien propulsion system had got them close to Brahms Three in unfeasibly quick time, but the final transit had taken longer than Hudson had expected. This had been down to the high volume of traffic heading through the portal in the opposite direction. People were now abandoning Brahms Three, and all the other portal worlds, in huge numbers, all desperately trying to flee from Goliath’s relentless advance. However, Hudson knew that there was no chance of escape; the great ship was merely herding its prey into a more concentrated space. Left unchecked, Goliath would eventually destroy every inhabited planet, while its seed ships would pursue and kill every human being in the galaxy.

  In some ways, Hudson envied those running away, because they were ignorant of the true scale of the threat. Hudson, however, was burdened with the raw, unfiltered reality of what was to come, if they couldn’t stop Goliath.

  “Are you sure this friend of yours will still be there?” asked Tory, as the Orion finally completed its entry into the planet’s sweaty atmosphere, and started to descend towards the scavenger town. “I’m picking up dozens of ships departing the surface, and the spaceport is almost deserted.”

  Hudson checked the navigation scanner, which confirmed what Tory had said. “I doubt she’d leave, at least not until the last second. As much as Brahms Three is a dump to most people, that bar is her home.” Then he noticed that a few ships had landed just outside the checkpoint district, and that the RGF outpost was shut down. “It looks like we’re not the only ones planning a last-minute relic hunt,” he commented. “The RGF has already bailed out, which means it will be easy to smuggle relics off site, without paying any taxes.”

  “Opportunistic hunters are the most dangerous,” cautioned Tory, as she circled the Orion around the scavenger town. “We should expect trouble.”

  Hudson nodded, peering down at the small city, which had been built almost entirely from modified shipping containers. Now that their altitude was lower, he could see people running in the streets, carrying boxes and bags. In several places there was fighting, both hand-to-hand, and with firearms.

  “This place is going to hell,” said Hudson, as Tory descended towards the Orion’s private docking stand. “Just getting to the Landing Strip without being shot at will be a challenge.”

  The Orion touched down on the surface, and Tory shut down the engines. She unclipped her harness and swiveled the chair to face Hudson. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” she asked, though she phrased the question neutrally, not intending to convey her opinion either way. “As you said, the crystal is the priority. And we don’t know how long it will be before Goliath gets here.”

  Deep down, Hudson knew that Tory was right. The smart thing to do would be to land near the RGF checkpoint perimeter, and head straight into the wreck. But if Ma was still in the town, and he left without knowing if she was okay, he’d never forgive himself.

  “Martina dragged me out of a hole when I was ready to sink deeper into it,” said Hudson, frankly. “She didn’t abandon me, and I can’t do it to her. But, you’re right about Goliath. Perhaps you should hunt for the crystal fragment in the wreck, and leave Ma to me.”

  Tory shook her head, “Whatever we do, we do it together,” she replied, with the firmness Hudson had grown accustomed to. “If she’s important to you, then she’s important to me.”

  Hudson smiled, “As a bonus, she does make great whiskey.”

  Tory got up and grabbed the 1873 Winchester that was hanging over the back of her seat. “Then let’s make sure we liberate some of that too,” she replied, before slinging the rifle over her shoulder.

  Hudson and Tory cautiously exited the Orion, as more ships took off and blasted away from the scavenger town. Weapons drawn and ready, they moved towards the main street outside the spaceport. Other than fleeing, the main occupation of those who were still in the town appeared to be looting. The well-stocked Scavenger’s Paradise relic hunter store seemed to be a popular target. The tills had all been abandoned and emptied, and the humorless armed security guards that defended the entrance had gone. Tory tapped Hudson on the shoulder and then headed towards the door.

  “I’m not sure now is the right time to go shopping,” Hudson said, as a looter ran past Tory, carrying an armful of goods.

  “If we’re going hunting then I’m going to need a few more supplies,” she replied, “and a lot more ammunition.”

  Hudson reluctantly followed her through the door, dodging more fleeing looters. Tory seemed unconcerned with the chaos unfolding inside. She strolled casually along the aisles as if simply grabbing some milk and a newspaper on a Sunday morning.

  “Do these stores even carry ammunition for your antique weapons?” asked Hudson, pressing himself against a shelf rack as a woman charged past with a trolley.

  Tory found a backpack on the floor – probably dropped by another frantic looter – and began filling it up.

  “Plenty of hunters and mercs are fans of the classics,” Tory replied, throwing some items into the bag. “And since the cartridges cost a lot more, these places tend to stock them and add a nice markup.” Then she found the section containing the boxes of .44-40 she was looking for. She flashed her eyes at Hudson, smiling more broadly than he’d ever seen her smile before.

  “Hold this open,” she said, handing Hudson the bag. She then began to dump boxes of the ammo inside, before finally taking the bag back.

  “We’re going hunting inside a wreck, not joining Custer’s Last Stand…” said Hudson, peering in at the vast quantity of ammo that Tory had thrown into the bag.

  “Custer didn’t do so well at the Little Bighorn,” replied Tory, “I don’t intend our last stand to be so ill-fated.”

  Hudson then spotted a box of ammo for his compact pistol, and added it to the bag too. Tory looked at it, and raised an eyebrow at Hudson.

  “Are you actually planning to use that, or are you still preferring to fight with harsh words?”

  “Intimidating and shooting people is your job, remember?” said Hudson, “But there’s no harm in being prepared…”

  They finished grabbing the supplies they needed for the hunt and turned back towards the exit. However, they had only made it a few paces before a trio of hunters turned a corner and blocked their aisle. Hudson was about to apologize and
politely move past, but there was something about the lead man that was familiar. He was still struggling to put a name to the face, when Tory answered the question for him.

  “Rex Kove,” said Tory, quickly slinging the bag, and placing her hand onto her six-shooter. “I thought it smelled bad in here.”

  Then Hudson remembered who the thick-set man was. Rex ‘Tombstone’ Kove was the relic hunter he’d encountered in the wreck on Brahms Three, the first time he’d met Tory. Hudson remembered it was an encounter that didn’t go so well for the burly relic hunter.

  “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me,” said Rex, a smile emphasizing the lines in his craggy face. He was dressed the same as Hudson remembered, with a vintage DPM combat vest, over the top of a tight black tank top. His arms, which were folded across his broad chest, looked even bigger than the first time he’d seen them. “Because I haven’t forgotten that you shot me with a tranq dart, and then stole everything I had!” Rex added, bitterly.

  “Stop your whining, you’re still alive, aren’t you?” replied Tory, showing no remorse. “You have Hudson to thank for that, remember?”

  Rex now looked at Hudson, and though it took a few moments, the muscular relic hunter finally recognized him. “That’s right, you were her pet clobber, weren’t you?” he said, and without giving Hudson a chance to answer, added, “I knew you two were working together.”

  “Do you want something, Rex?” Tory cut in, sounding bored. “Because the smell is really starting to sting my eyes now.”

  Rex took a few steps forward, and Hudson saw his two sons rest their hands on their pistols. “I want back what you stole from me,” said Rex, peering down at Tory, “and I’m going to get it.”

  Tory scowled and wafted a hand in front of her nose, as if Rex had just broken wind. “Haven’t you heard of showers?” she said, adding a fake cough for effect. “The deodorant is on aisle five, by the way.”

  Rex’s lined face scrunched into a confused scowl, “This place doesn’t sell deodorant.”