Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  “Yup,” Dactyl said, rubbing his left bicep as if spoiling for a fight. “The patrollers at the Elstwhere docks placed a tracker on the Fo’wo vessel before it went through the Lepper, thanks to yous commanding officers’ quick reporting.”

  That explained in more colorful detail how the aviarmen had gained some leverage, and why Craze wasn’t currently in jail. “To where?”

  “Way out on the Edge,” Talos said. “The stop is called Mortua. A graveyard of ships.”

  Craze didn’t like the sound of that.

  Chapter 18

  Craze prepared to hibernate for the rest of the trip through the Lepper. He was exhausted from atmospheres he wasn’t used to, clandestine affairs, an attack of claustrophobia, and scrubbing down the spacecraft. He’d just settled under the covers when he heard Lepsi and Talos in the living area. It only took a few steps to reach the door separating them.

  Craze waved at the aviarmen to come over. “That patroller guy around?”

  “He’s keeping an eye on things up on the bridge,” Talos said. “He’s a Backworlds Assembled Authorities lawman with an impeccable record, always getting his fugitives. Kind of worries me. We’ll end up in situations with a lot of bothers until we get rid of him.”

  Craze leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Not much we can do about it, except go along ‘n survive. Hey, ‘n thanks for gettin’ me out of custody.”

  “You crew, mate,” Talos said. “As your captain, it was an obligation.”

  Craze would accept that explanation outwardly, but knew he and the aviarmen had started on an alliance deeper than business. The things they’d done for him proved it. Unlike Bast, they deserved his loyalty, and he vowed to show it moving forward.

  He kept his voice low. “So you got the chocolates? I saw you escape.”

  Talos scratched at his sharp beak of a nose. “We got the wrapped bars. We heard they mealworm cakes.”

  “Did you check?” Craze chewed on the inside of his cheek.

  “We unwrapped one.” Talos giggled, leaning in closer, rubbing his thumb over the pin on his lapel. “It was chocolate.”

  “Great shit!” Craze clapped his hands. “How many did you get?”

  Talos held up a cautionary hand. “Fifty-three bars. We don’t know whether they all chocolate though.”

  With what the patrollers had shown Craze on Elstwhere, the aviarman had a reason to be wary about what they had taken away from Mr. Slade’s Emporium.

  “We should unwrap the others,” Craze said. “Where’d you put them? I’ll help.” He took a step into the living area, anxious to find out how badly he’d been duped by the Jix and the smugglers.

  “If we open them, they exposed to rotting,” Talos said, his lips drawing to one side in a grimace. “Then they lose all their value.”

  Lepsi held up a finger, signaling he might have the solution. “If Mortua has a med bay, there’s a surgical laser we can use to inspect under the casings ‘n foils. It then reseals the holes.”

  Talos frowned, pressing his long body against the wall. “It’s a shipyard ‘n that’s what it’s known for. If it has more than a med kit, I’d be surprised.”

  “So we may not be able to find out on Mortua.” Craze rubbed at his chin. “But someplace out here on the Edge will have what we need.”

  “Yup,” Talos said, “until then we carry on.” He pulled at the lapel sporting the badge with his beloved motto.

  Patience had never been a strength of Craze’s. He hated the idea of waiting and probably for a big disappointment. All of his investments had evaporated, as dried up as the mealworms. It kicked at him, bunching his muscles into knots.

  Maybe the pay from the Assembled Authorities would make up for some of the loss. He had to ask, fingering the tab in his pocket, hoping the aviarmen intended to share. “How much did you get paid to chase after these Fo’wo bastards?”

  Talos took out his tab. “Forty-two thousand chips. I’ll ping you your third now. I was waiting for Dactyl to give us some space.”

  Craze glanced at his balance to make sure it went through. Fourteen thousand chips was less than Bast had given him, but better than nothing. “I appreciate it guys ... friends.” That’s what Craze wanted the aviarmen to be. He held out his hand for Lepsi and Talos to shake.

  Lepsi shook with a big grin, clapping Craze on the back as he did, laughing, a good-natured fellow despite those stupid songs. “Federoy will be envious when I report a pal like you. Plant your face in it, brother.”

  Craze chuckled, sticking his tongue out at Federoy’s image when Lepsi held it out. “You got it better than he does. He’ll find out soon.”

  Talos also shook hands. “The Edge is a dangerous place, mate,” he said. “We can all use as many friends as we can get.”

  “Mate.” Craze grinned. Then he explained how Verkinns could hibernate. “Wake me if anythin’ comes up, otherwise I say goodnight until we arrive at Mortua.”

  He returned to his bunk, sinking under covers that cradled him as softly and warmly as Yerness’s embraces once did. A pleasure he would never know again. At least not with her. Sighing, he told the computer to wake him three hours before they arrived at Mortua.

  His overworked body began to shut down, his heart beat and lungs slowing, his blood flowing like ice five. His thoughts stopped, except for the hope that the chocolate they’d stolen would turn out to be chocolate. His last musing, “I’ll get you, Bast.”

  Chapter 19

  The force of being spat out of the Lepper System plastered Craze to the back of his seat on the bridge. He had hibernated through the nine days it took to travel to Mortua, a small, rocky orb no bigger than an insignificant moon. It orbited a cheery, little star that shone too tiny and dim to be seen from the solar system next door. No water or plant life showed on the surface of Mortua, but the Sequi’s scans picked up a dome surrounding the docking facility.

  Six other planets resided in the system, trifling and fractured, little more than boulders. The passage from the Lepper exit to Mortua was riddled with their remnants. Some of the refuse among the rock and ice was mechanical—ships and ship parts reeling in the unfiltered sunlight, cartwheeling and tumbling.

  Talos sent a greeting to the docking facility asking for permission to land. He didn’t get an immediate answer, so placed the Sequi in orbit around the craggy globe, going round and round with the debris of dead ships.

  Hollowed out haulers afforded glimpses of destroyed interiors, bygone events with flame and explosions the crews could not have survived. Craze averted his gaze from the violence, finding no comfort in barracks and crew seats floating by themselves. Dead consoles twirled with seized-up engines and discarded hull plates. It didn’t bode well for him and the aviarmen, or for whoever inhabited Mortua.

  “Do you think the Fo’wo’s harmed them? The folks on the planet?” Craze asked.

  Dactyl tugged at the sleeves of his beige shirt. The cuffs had been shorn off to accommodate his short arms. “No... maybe. It’s hard to remember they not like us.” He plucked lint from his hard-used pants.

  “How do you mean?”

  “For the most part, from what I’ve heard ‘n seen, they find it easier to cross the line ‘n kill than we do. Although that’s changed some since the war. Backworlders be more bloodthirsty than they used to be. Especially out here on the Edge. Most folks have guns that kill out here.”

  “Damn shame the Fo’wo’s polluted us .Do you think it’s true the Fo’wo’s aimed to wipe us out?”

  “I know so. My father said. He was a veteran.” Dactyl absently rubbed his left arm.

  The squat man claimed to be of the Quatten race. Bred for worlds with high gravity, he had to make a conscious effort to keep his strength in check. Craze found it amusing when the Quatten bent a chair, but he didn’t dare laugh. A punch from Dactyl would hurt ten times worse.

  “Thank him for his service.” Craze meant it, appreciating every Backworlder who had taken on the fight. Maybe th
eir side had officially lost, but the Backworlds were still here.

  Dactyl pressed his lips together until they disappeared. “He’s dead now. Died a few years back. Complications from old war injuries. The Fo’wo’s had no qualms about deploying biological weapons.” His husky voice broke when speaking of his father, then heated up with anger as he mentioned the Fo’wo’s and their dastardly armaments. He rubbed at his left bicep.

  Craze winced. He’d seen the plagues and deformities on Siegna, which had its share of veterans. Every Backworld did. The Quatten seemed sincere, seemed like he was out here to make the Backworlds a better place by bringing the wanted to justice. Craze thought the profession noble, but only if the lawman moved out of his way.

  Dactyl’s dark brown eyes squinted at Mortua and the data Sequi’s scanners displayed on the consoles. “To be polite, we give them some time to answer. Then we land anyway,” he said to Talos. He pulled out a Backworld Assembled Authorities representative badge. “This allows us to land without bothers.”

  The four of them ate a meal together while waiting, dried fish flakes steeped in hot water and some hard bread. Craze gobbled down double portions, his body needy after the long hibernation.

  Used to taking care of customers, he’d prepared the food, then cleaned up after. His willingness to serve kept up the charade that he was the lowest in rank on the Sequi. Well, that wasn’t so much an act as he was in reality subordinate to the aviarmen.

  “Not as low as the lawman thinks,” Craze said to comfort himself. Right. He was a partner to Talos and Lepsi not a mere lackey.

  Down in the common living space, he doused dishes with cleansing gel. He was wiping bowls and spoons dry when a reply from Mortua came in.

  The signal was weak, making the message hard to decipher. Craze scrambled up the ladder to help, using his better hearing to make sense of the noise. He leaned over pressing his ear against the speaker. “He orders us to take Berth 10B.”

  “Anything else?” asked Talos.

  Craze listened to the repeating missive several more times. “Nope.”

  Talos waved Craze to a seat. “Get alert, everybody. There’s some real wackos out here on the Edge. There’s no telling what’ll be greeting us.”

  The aviarmen maneuvered the Sequi closer to the planet. The crags bloomed into mountain ranges and ravines, jagged and foreboding. Ice glistened off their facades in a dark frost that glittered only when starlight caught it. The Sequi drifted lower until the peaks threatened to spear its hull. Craze gripped onto his seat as the ship lurched without warning one way then the other in the air currents. The aviarmen wrestled against the winds, struggling for tenuous minutes to nestle the vessel into its assigned dock. The hiss of suction announced a secure seal.

  The landing platforms and berths ringed the outside of the dome, which appeared too flimsy to protect the inhabitants from anything worse than a sneeze. The ship consoles read the air as cold and thin, factors that would make Craze’s body want to hibernate. Despite his dislike of the cramped quarters, he had even less desire to walk around Mortua.

  “Maybe one of us should stay behind ‘n guard the ship,” he said.

  “First Officer Lepsi will do so once we greet the dock owner.” Talos fingered the prized pin on his lapel. “We’ll need your negotiation talents, Second.”

  Craze could see Talos wasn’t of a mind to relent. Shit. Reluctantly, he followed the aviarmen down to the living level and through the corridor to the hatch. Dactyl stayed close on Craze’s heels. The door opened to reveal a stark, gray world.

  The fetor of recycled air without the introduction of anything fresh whooshed into Craze’s wide nostrils. He took a step back, wheezing, trying to breathe only through his mouth. It didn’t help. The air was too rank.

  They walked through a short tunnel, then into the crux of civilization on Mortua. The clear dome arching overhead produced an eerie atmosphere, amplifying the bald sunlight, raw and severe. The thinness of the protection made Craze feel exposed and vulnerable, as if he’d be sucked off the surface to tumble with the clusters of orbiting garbage for all eternity.

  The hangar inside the dome could easily accommodate five freighter-class ships. Most of the space, however, was taken up by row after row of scrap and parts, and two partial vessels. Craze tried to figure out whether the ships were being put back together or disassembled, but couldn’t. Billboards winked around the perimeter, obnoxiously advertising a code every two seconds in every color and font.

  A Backworlder clad in splatters of paint and nothing else greeted them. He was fleshy, of average height, and had six arms. “Welcome to Mortua. Currently, I’m refurbishing an intersystem hauler not designed to go through the Lepper. Have an old transport that is meant for Lepper travel to refit next if you want to wait around for it. Living costs are two hundred chips per person per day. That includes oxygen, but not water.”

  Steep price for rotten air. The Backworlder should pay Craze to breathe the wretched stuff.

  “We’ll be keeping the ship we have,” Talos said. He smiled tightly, standing straight and not showing any uncertainty, taking on the role of captain with aplomb. He plucked the prized pin off of his lapel and pocketed it.

  Dactyl pushed Captain Talos aside. “We’ve come to buy something else. Information on yous last customer.”

  “I keep that confiden—”

  Dactyl whipped out his badge, the one claiming he was a member of the Backworld Authorities, which was made up of representatives from almost every planet. It was the Assembled Authorities who had fought the war, then negotiated the truce with the Fo’wo’s and enforced it. Now they kept the peace between the divergent Backworlds mostly by tracking down serious lawbreakers escaping planetary boundaries.

  “They traded in their battle cruiser for a very nice mercenary vessel. I’m keeping the battle cruiser.” The Mortuan gestured at an occupied docking slip opposite of the Sequi.

  Across the hangar, Craze could make out the dark Fo’wo spacecraft. Its shape reminded him of rocks jammed together. He couldn’t figure out which were the aft panels, so couldn’t find the painted over logo. Shifting his weight, he crossed his arms over his barrel of a chest, appearing intimidating until somebody needed him to do otherwise.

  “We don’t want the ship.” Dactyl’s fingers brushed over his left bicep. “We want to know where they went.”

  There was no sign of any other inhabitants other than the strange man in paint. The Backworlder’s six arms sanded rings and gears, and what appeared to be parts to an engine. “They had me clear the Lepper to Wism.”

  Dactyl pointed at the code scrolling on every billboard in the docking facility. “That yous code?”

  Four of the arms reassembled the sanded parts while the other two picked up more rusty pieces. “Yup.”

  “I’m pinging yous a thanks. Clear us for Wism, please.” Dactyl punched icons on his tab then pocketed the device inside his long brown coat.

  The Mortuan smiled friendlier. “In need of any supplies? Spare parts?”

  Talos reasserted himself, putting a hand on the lawman’s shoulder to send Dactyl to the background. “Yes. We could use an extra propellant cell—”

  Dactyl yelled over the aviarman. “We need nothing. Clear the Lepper for us. Now.”

  Talos glowered at the Quatten, but Dactyl didn’t care. He returned the foul expression. Inside the Sequi they argued over who had ultimate say on this mission. They bickered about it constantly on the way to Wism.

  Craze and Lepsi kept out of it, playing a lot of cards. That way they didn’t appear to be listening as closely as they were. Anywhere else, Craze would have found the on-going squabble annoying. In the corridor of blue, it became entertainment.

  Chapter 20

  Before they left the Lepper for their next destination, Talos and Dactyl came to an agreement. The Quatten would have authority over anything to do with apprehending the Fo’wo’s, the aviarman would have ultimate say on anything to do with the
Sequi and its crew.

  “What kind of place is Wism?” Craze asked as they exited the portal of cobalt light. He hoped the planet would have a medical facility in order to find the laser they needed to assess the stash of chocolate-mealworm bars.

  Talos stared out the view panel, following route beacons set out from the Lepper, punching in course corrections. Terms of the truce with Dactyl stated the captain would answer first. “Never been here before.” His right eye and lips twitched rapidly.

  Craze knew the tics were purely genetic manifestations and didn’t rely on those to figure out Talos’s real feelings on the matter. He checked the aviarmen’s hands, which remained steady and out of his hair, the captain’s true tell-all. If Talos wasn’t hyped-up nervous, Craze saw no need to get wound up either. He leaned back in his chair, letting his legs stretch out long. “Nothin’ to worry about, huh?”

  His concentration on steering the ship, Talos was slow to answer. “It’s just a place.”

  Dactyl clucked in disgust. “Yous can’t wander about the Edge so ignorant ‘n keep breathing. Wism is a horrible place loved by cut-throats, traitors, ‘n dastards. There’s plenty to worry about.”

  That wasn’t at all reassuring. Craze gathered his legs back under him, sitting straighter. His hair stood up. He had to pet it for three whole minutes to get it to settle down. “Shit.”

  Dactyl crossed his short arms over his wide chest. “Unlike Mortua, it has a breathable atmosphere without a dome, but barely. We’ll all be wheezing ‘n needing frequent rest. It’s a dark place, almost always in the shadow of its planet. That ringed orb over there.”

  The planet loomed lifeless and colorless with a ring that looked as if the globe had weakly expelled its last breath, a wimpy effort at generating interest. The moons around it didn’t inspire anything greater than a sneer of contempt.

  Craze didn’t want to visit any of those worlds. “Wism is a moon?”