by Tom Shepherd
“Thank you,” Rosalie said.
“Where’s the smuggler docked?” Tyler asked.
“Last row, near the perimeter fence,” Dorla said. “Paco’s aboard.”
Tyler turned to J.B. “We need to put light years between ourselves and this colony before anything else goes wrong.”
“Agreed.” J.B. touched his wrist communicator. “Paco León, this is J.B. Matthews. How difficult will it be to fly the smuggler ship?”
“She practically flies herself, Boss,” Paco instantly replied. “The PH has a state-of-the-art, voice-commanded, flight and navigation computer. Tell her what to do, and you got it.”
Tyler spoke up. “Paco, why the PH?”
“Oh, yeah. You haven’t seen this beauty yet. She has two big white letters in a red circle on her tail—PH. I don’t have a clue what it means.”
“Can you warm her up for take-off?” Tyler said.
“Consider it done.”
“What about Suzie?” Rosalie said.
Dorla waved her pad again. “Paco, tell them about the boat deck!”
“Oh, yeah. This big rascal has docking spaces for two small craft.”
“Okay,” Tyler said. “We launch Suzie and dock with the smuggler ship somewhere in deep space.”
J.B. nodded. “Good plan.”
“I’ll join Paco, get the PH moving,” Tyler said.
“You should stay here to prep Suzie for FTL,” J.B. said. “I can fly the new bird.”
“No offense, Bro, but I’m the better pilot.”
“Which is why we need you flying the Sioux City,” J.B. said. “I don’t want to explain to Father why Rosalie and Esteban didn’t get away safely.”
Tyler grimaced. “Okay, but we swear a blood oath to keep Mom dark about all the bullshit here on Sedalia.”
“Agreed.” J.B. glanced at Esteban and Rosalie, who nodded vigorously.
“Where do I ride?” Mrs. León said.
Tyler frowned. “Who says you’re going with us?”
“Your word of honor, Mr. Tyler Noah Matthews, IV.” She drew herself up to full height, still a head shorter than Rosalie. “Matthews Interstellar promised Paco a ride wherever he wanted to go after he got your ship ready. Well, it’s ready, and so are we.”
Paco was still on J.B.’s open comm link. “That’s right, Boss. Work for freedom. And where I go, my honey Dorla goes.”
“I’ll pay my way,” Dorla said. “You two badly need an Executive Assistant.”
“No, we don’t,” Tyler said.
“Yes, you do. I poked around while waiting. Your flight plans and Bills of Lading are a wreck. And why does the food dispenser only do chicken? I can fix it to broil like a first-class steakhouse.”
“Artfully argued, Mrs. León,” J.B. said.
“Okay, then.” Tyler surrendered to visions of sizzling beef at FTL. “I guess you’re crewing on the outbound leg.”
“I’m praying you can work the same magic on the smuggler’s amenities,” J.B. said.
“Between Paco and me, there’s almost nothing we can’t fix or upgrade on starships. That’s how we got passage out here ten years ago.”
“I’ll have the PH warmed up and humming in fifteen minutes,” Chief León said.
J.B. cleared his link as Rosalie’s comm unit beeped alive. She tapped the armband. It was Inspector Platte, but to Tyler his voice sounded oddly stressed.
“Are all three of you Matthews listening to me?” Platte said.
After Rosalie assured him all were present and attentive, the Inspector matter-of-factly ruled their spaceworthy certificate null and void on a number of technicalities. When J.B. started to protest, Platte told him to come to police HQ with his two siblings and they might be able to work something out. Then he asked if Rosalie could hear him clearly.
“Hai, Demarcus-san,” she said.
“I want to thank you for helping me with my Japanese. Koko kara hanarete!”
Rosalie muted the transmission. “Demarcus just said, ‘Stay away from here!’ in Japanese.”
“Ask him what’s going on?” J.B. said.
Tyler caught Rosalie’s hand. “No! If he’s warning you to stay away in Japanese after ordering us down to Police Headquarters in Terran, somebody’s holding a weapon to his head.”
Rosalie’s eyes looked steady, unafraid. “What should I do?”
“Reply in Terran. Tell him, ‘Thanks, we’ll be right there.’ And close the link.” While Rosalie delivered the message, Tyler activated his link with the ship’s computer. “Suzie, what’s going down in the town?”
Standby. I am hearing chatter on multiple frequencies about a pirate fleet in orbit.” She paused, as if processing terabytes of data. “A force of approximately one thousand bandits is sweeping the city, looking for—oh, bugger it! They’re after us. I mean, you three Matthews.”
“Anything about Police HQ?” Rosalie asked.
“Reports of weapons fire. A large force has attacked the building and is traveling floor to floor, killing everybody.”
“Jesus, Suzie!” Tyler said. “When were you planning to tell us?”
“I was on standby. I’m sorry, Tyler. Searching for more information...”
“I do not understand,” Esteban said. “Safe Harbor is protected by regional agreements. Every spacefaring society—even the normally truculent Parvians—respect its neutrality.”
“Somebody doesn’t,” Rosalie said. “And they’re willing to risk war with heavily armed star nations to attack this port and kill us.”
“Or take hostages.” Tyler tapped his comm bracelet. “Paco, can you fly the smuggler solo?”
When Chief León did not answer, Tyler repeated the message.
Paco finally responded. “Sorry sir. It’s pretty busy over here.”
“Can you fly the ship solo?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get your ass off the planet. Do not slow down to ask permission. Go to the coordinates I am sending. Wait for us there.” Tyler entered an encrypted numerical code.
“Yes, sir. Powered up and launching.”
“Fly safe, Chief. We’ll bring Dorla.” Tyler closed the link.
“Suzie, what else do you know?” J.B. said.
“Receiving input from citywide net. The pirates went to the Shipyard Manager and demanded to know where our ship is docked. Zhao refused and managed to delete his locator manifests before they realized what he was doing... then—damn! They shot him repeatedly at close range.”
“They killed that sad old man?” Dorla broke down and cried. “All he wanted was to go home to China and paint watercolors.”
“Suzie, don’t stop,” Tyler said. “Platte and Yumiko?”
“Most of the computer stations at Police HQ are offline, but the rooftop office area has become a battle zone. They held Inspector Platte at knifepoint until Officer Matsuda showed up. She apparently went full ninja and threw five pirates off the building. Platte seized a weapon, and they cleared the roof. They are now in a standoff. Pirates are backing out of the structure, calling for bombardment from orbit.”
“We’ve got to help them,” Rosalie said.
J.B. shook his head. “Suzie has no weapons package.”
“Let me go.” Rosalie shook free of J.B.’s attempt at comforting her. “I can reason with them. It’s my job.”
“No fucking way,” Tyler said flatly. “Pirates don’t reason.”
Rosalie threw up her hands. “How can we abandon Demarcus and Yumiko?”
“Prima, they are probably dead.” Esteban put a hand on her shoulder. “We accomplish nothing by joining them.”
“They’re still alive,” Rosalie insisted. “Suzie would know.”
J.B. shook his head. “We can’t risk—”
“Dad put me in command.” Tyler pointed to his own chest. “It’s my call.”
J.B. squared off with his younger brother. “You’re no combat commander.”
“Neither are you. We’re going for the tw
o cops. End of discussion.”
Suzie’s danger alarm sounded—a harsh, fire-drill shriek in short, repeated bursts. “Hostile force approaching on foot.”
“How many, how long?” Tyler said.
“Too many, right now. One hundred meters down the revetment row. They are checking every ship.”
Tyler tossed his juice container in the recycle bin. “Button up, Suzie. We’re out of here.”
“I need six minutes before take-off.”
“Fuck that. We gotta go, now!”
“I love it when you talk dirty, but you’re not going anywhere for six minutes.”
“Ty, get up to the flight deck.” J.B. said. “I’ll buy you the time.”
“For God’s sake, be careful.” Tyler sprang up the steps to the Sioux City’s piloting level.
* * * *
J.B. cracked open the arms locker and yanked a pair of rifle blasters from their rack. It had been a long time since Navy Prep, but given the nature of life on colonial worlds the tactical officers had run their cadets through endless anti-riot drills. Surely, he could pull this off. “Come on, Esteban. Let’s break up a mob.”
Rosalie held out both hands. “Familia es todo.”
“Right. Family is everything, but Mother is going to kill me.” J.B. grabbed a brace of kinetic blasters for his baby sister. “Stay behind me. Esteban, take the right. I’m on the left. Full stun. Knock them down hard and fast—leaders first.”
“Stunning is too good for those desgraciados.” Rosalie dialed both high-impact hand weapons to lethal force.
Esteban winced. "What did you say?”
A Spanish-speaking Mother raised J.B., but he had heard that word only once before, and not from Bianca Matthews. Although the epithet had no exact translation in Terran, if hurled in another context—say, across a table in a frontier tavern—men drew knives.
Rosalie met Esteban’s eyes coolly. "You heard me."
J.B. changed the subject . “Suzie, I need a thirty second warning before liftoff, please.”
“Righto.”
He told Esteban and Rosalie to set their wristbands to hot mike and maintain contact at all times. Their three-member posse left the cool interior of the scout ship and moved down the ramp into the blast furnace of mid-afternoon on Sedalia-3. J.B. adjusted flight suit cooling controls, but didn’t expect much relief. Nervous sweat wasn’t much affected by temperature, anyway.
A stone pavement divided two rows of single-ship parking revetments designed for small craft. Four or five slots away from the Sioux City’s berth, teams of pirates methodically boarded ships in search of the Matthews family. Blaster fire crackled among the defenseless mini-ships. Crew members left behind for post flight diagnostics ran afoul of the intruders’ agenda and paid with their lives for diligence in their professions.
J.B. reached the street first. He waved Esteban to cover behind the revetment wall of a Parvian space ambulance in the slot across the pavement. Just like the drill. It’s just a drill.
“Rosalie, repeat what I say in several languages.”
She nodded.
J.B. marched to the middle of the sizzling pavement to wait for the marauders. Scores of men moved among the small craft parked in revetment row. A few carried heavy blasters, but the bulk of them wielded stun rods and clubs, as if their commander had issued orders to capture the heirs to Matthews Interstellar alive. A moment later a lanky fellow carrying a stun rod pointed at J.B., who blocked the street. He called for his companions.
Like a sentry at his guard post, J.B. challenged them immediately. “You are trespassing on Matthews Corporation land. Disperse and depart. You will not receive a second warning.”
Rosalie reiterated his message in quick bursts covering ten major non-human languages, adding a multi-lingual lethality to J.B.’s ultimatum: “Back off or die.”
It had the opposite effect.
A tall, angular humanoid with ocher skin yanked his blaster from a belt and barked, “Primary objectives—attack!” They surged forward.
J.B. set his weapon for a broad-beam stun and aimed at the front rank. In the corner of his eye he watched Rosalie crouch, extend her hands, and level both kinetic blasters into the oncoming rabble.
The attacking wave faltered. The onslaught stopped so abruptly the second and third ranks crashed into the leaders. J.B. stood his ground. What the hell is going on?
Across the narrow street, Esteban waved furiously and pointed toward the Sioux City’s parking space. Keeping one eye on the wavering crowd, J.B. turned slightly, just enough to see a bulky, dark figure with four muscular legs and two wicked horns stomping the street behind the Matthews family. Unmistakably a Terran bull, a brawny brute, one of the largest J.B. had even seen. He was mostly black, with faint streaks of blue and green running down the ribcage, shoulder to tail.
J.B. waved Rosalie aside, and they backed into the cover of the revetment wall. Now the bull owned the street in front of the Sioux City’s berth. It pawed the pavement and lowered its horns at the crowd.
Two pirate blasters crackled, but instead of hitting the bullseye, streaks of energy felled panicky shipmates. As if teased by a matador, the bull charged the mob like a horned cannonball. Screams rang out when the beast tore into the gang. El Toro sank his lances into thighs and abdomens, and bodies flew through hot air, limp dolls casually tossed overhead.
Desperate attackers—now the attacked—leapt into revetments, ducked behind parked shuttlecraft, and attempted to escape the terror by fleeing up the street in the opposite direction. The beast pursued the frantic crowd like a montage from the historic Running of the Bulls. Horns low to the pavement, El Toro scooped up anyone who slipped and smashed them against parked ships. The bull showed no mercy. He trampled fallen runners and impaled stragglers with his bloodstained horns. J.B. left the cover of the revetment and watched them disappear among the jumble of parked ships where the street curved toward main repair facilities.
“Where did that monster come from?”
Esteban stepped into the street. “Inside the ship.”
“Not possible.”
“Cousin, I saw him emerge from the shadows inside the Sioux City.”
J.B. shook off the mystery for the moment. “Rosalie, are you okay?”
She waved the two blasters and smiled faintly. “Glad I didn’t have to use these. I might have shot myself.”
J.B.’s wristband vibrated, and Suzie announced the ship had liftoff power. They moved into the cool interior where J.B. immediately began closing the drop-down hatchway.
“Wait!” Rosalie punched the emergency HALT button, and the ramp seized just before shutting. She leaned out the narrow open space and pointed. “It’s Lucy!”
A fluffy blue-green tabby cat bounded through the tiny slot into the ship, leaped into Rosalie’s arms, and meowed excitedly. Rosalie comforted her with coos and snuggles.
“Fine!” J.B. closed the ramp. “But the bull stays ashore.”
Rosalie looked at her hands. They were streaked with blood. “Lucy’s hurt!”
Tyler’s voice crackled over the ship’s PA system. “I’m lifting off.”
Rosalie started to protest. “What about Inspector—”
“Platte and Yumiko, right. I got this. Everybody strap in. We’re roof-bobbing at Police HQ in five minutes.”
“All secure back here,” Rosalie said.
The ship swayed with the offshore wind as Suzie rose straight up from her revetment. “J.B., standby for a hot pickup.”
Twelve
“Suzie—manual control, helicopter mode.” Tyler allowed the ship to rise until the whole town appeared in the viewscreens—sand hills to shallow sea—then rotated the nose and headed toward the jumble of buildings and alleyways of Safe Harbor. “Open the viewports, bug screens only.”
He wanted what every low-flying pilot gliding over a battle zone wanted, the ability to hear weapons fire from below. Tyler banked sharply at the outer marker of the spaceport and recover
ed to level flight.
Clean, cool, air swept in the open viewports while the Sioux City floated over sun-drenched rooftops and streets shadow-darkened by the descent of the Sedalian star. Updrafts buffeted the little craft as Tyler turned cross-wind along the shore. To starboard, ocean waves tossed silver and white. This wind-in-your-face, atmospheric flying always exhilarated him, and if he weren’t gliding weaponless toward a low-level, hot combat pickup—something he’d only executed in training—he probably would have called it a joy ride. He gave thanks for the extra training at Navy Prep, even though at the time he resented preferential treatment as the son of the CEO and the Admiral-in-Chief.
Police HQ squatted at the edge of the bay, a five-story brick building on a stone pier. Tyler wanted a straight approach from seaward, so he entered a wide right turn over the bay and swung around at the approximate level of the rooftops. Unless the pirates were treading water off shore, his flight plan deprived them of an easy target. Now the tricky part, the maneuver he prayed would not end with the Sioux City a tangled mess of metal and burnt flesh.
Tyler activated Suzie’s shield array but selected only the forward and ventral screens, keeping the tail section with its drop-down ramp unprotected but pointed out to sea.
“Hooked and ready, Bro?”
“Standing by the ramp,” J.B. reported. “Wearing a harness, cabled to the deck.”
“Okay, this is going to be quick. I’ll drop the hatch and bounce. If Platte and Yumiko don’t hop aboard, they can stay here and fight the bad guys without us.” Please, God, let this work. That’s my brother back there.
“Esteban and Rosalie will lay down suppressive fire,” J.B. said.
“Jesus, no. Keep her away from the hatch!” Tyler shouted. Putting J.B. at risk was bad enough. But his little sister? Hell, he barely trusted his jittery hands to fly this extraction solo, and certainly not with her in jeopardy.
