Flight of the Javelin: The Complete Series: A Space Opera Box Set

by Rachel Aukes

  Throttle grinned. “You got them.”

  Garrett leaned back. “Can’t get much luckier than that. Photon power cell’s below five percent. Another minute against them and we would’ve been sitting ducks.”

  She rotated the ship to where the Javelin came into sight. “Then let’s head back and get out of here.”

  “Captain, there’s another—”

  Sylvian’s transmission was smothered by the vibration of an explosion that shook Throttle’s teeth. “Look for the bogey!” she shouted as she pulled away, only to find one of the engines not responding. She glanced at her panel, which displayed more red lights than green lights. Her heart plummeted. “I lost the left nav engine.”

  She used the right engine to corkscrew out of the newcomer’s range. As she twisted the ship’s path downward, she talked to Sylvian. “Where is it, Sylvian?”

  “It’s above you now, at your ten o’clock, if Jade-8 was your twelve.”

  The problem with the Scorpia’s nav engines was that each engine was tilted slightly outward, which gave the ship more speed and stability in atmospheric conditions, but it also meant the ship couldn’t fly straight on a single engine.

  Throttle slowed the corkscrews to look out of each camera. She was still rotating, so the images were nearly blurred. As soon as she caught a glimpse, she veered toward it. “I won’t be able to fly in a straight line, Garrett, so fire when I stop.”

  “I only have a shot or two left in the power banks,” he said.

  “Then you’d better make them count.” She reversed the nav engine to counteract the rolls, and the ship’s rotation slowed. The pirate ship was coming towards them.

  She sneered. “The Harlot.”

  Garrett fired. The pirate ship swerved but not before one of the shots hit its hull. Air burst out from a hole, but the ship kept coming.

  “I’m empty, boss,” Garrett said.

  The Harlot readjusted its flight path straight for the Scorpia. Throttle knew it was preparing to fire. She couldn’t take another round of hits. Already, the air was growing weak from all the breaches. Seeing the Javelin off to her left, Throttle made up her mind.

  The pirate ship was coming in close, likely assuming the Scorpia was wounded prey. It might have been wounded, but it’d never been prey.

  “You’d better hold on,” she said to Garrett as she grabbed the joystick and cranked the ship into tight rotations. Giving it full power, she made the turns even tighter. If she had gravity running on the ship, she’d be at twelve g by then. Instead, the only sensation of movement came from the camera images zooming by. Glimpses of the Harlot, the Javelin, Jade-8, the warehouse, and the stars. She focused on only the one ship. On raw gut instinct, she brought the ship shooting upward in its spiral.

  “Uh, Throttle?” Garrett asked the instant before impact.

  The Harlot slammed headfirst into the Scorpia’s stern. Shock waves knocked her hand from the joystick. A collision warning sounded. A breeze tugged at her hair. A ship in space should never have a breeze. She closed the bridge door, cutting off the wind, and silenced the alarms. Everything settled into quiet except for a woman’s voice.

  “Captain, come in. Please, Throttle, talk to us.”

  Throttle tried to maneuver, but all flight controls were gone.

  She could still hear air being sucked out of the ship, and she turned to Garrett to find him staring wide-eyed.

  “You’d better get your helmet on,” she said before reporting in to Sylvian. “We’re alive, but the Scorpia’s dead in the black.” She shivered and scanned the bridge. “We’ve lost environmentals, and what we do have left isn’t going to last long.”

  “We’re moving in to pick you up. Hang on.”

  Garrett stared at Throttle blankly. “You rammed them.”

  “To be honest, I only flew in front of them. They rammed us. I had to do something,” she said. “They had us dead to rights and knew it.”

  Garrett started laughing. It was the kind of laugh that came from that chemical cocktail of adrenaline and fear. Maniacal.

  The cold bit at her wounds and lungs. With how fast the temperature was dropping, the bridge had only minutes remaining before it would be a frozen tomb.

  The forward cameras were the only cameras that still worked, and she watched as the Scorpia floated away, in slow rotations, from the Harlot. The pirate ship had been badly damaged; much of its bridge looked to be demolished. It wouldn’t be firing on her or the Javelin any more today.

  The cameras were suddenly covered by a gray hull, like a great whale swimming by a boat in the ocean. Throttle could see nothing except the movement of the hull before them until an open cargo bay appeared. A grappling magnet shot out. She felt the impact on the nose of the gunship, and the distance closed between the two ships.

  She noticed the stim must’ve been wearing off because she felt bone tired. The cold numbed her.

  “Not much longer, Captain,” Garrett said through his helmet.

  Throttle wished she had her helmet. Even with her suit compromised, the helmet would’ve helped keep the frostbite at bay for a minute longer.

  She felt the bay doors close and the sound of air whooshing outside her ship. Garrett stood and had her out of her seat before the cargo bay environmental light turned green. The instant the light changed, Garrett opened the bridge door. Their first step nearly sent them toppling to the floor. The rest of the ship was a ghost shell, more open and missing areas than hull. Huge holes in the floor and walls in what remained of the ship showed how close they’d been to having a blowout breach on the bridge. The Scorpia used to take up every free inch of the cargo bay. Now it took up less than half.

  Aubree ran into the cargo bay with Throttle’s wheelchair.

  Garrett helped lower Throttle to her chair. She collapsed into it, suddenly losing every ounce of remaining energy.

  “I saw the collision,” Aubree said. “You two are lucky to be alive.”

  “We’re alive. That’s what counts,” Throttle said on an exhalation. “Now, help me to the bridge and get us to jump speed.”

  Rusty spoke over the speakers. “I have picked up three more incoming ships. Should l initiate the transition to jump speed now?”

  Throttle cocked her head. “Do it.”

  The ship vibrated around them. A second later, her chair rolled back, but Garrett stopped it.

  “I’ve successfully launched us to jump speed, and we are on a trajectory similar to the Gabriela’s,” the ship’s computer reported.

  “Thanks, Rusty.” Throttle closed her eyes to savor the first moment of peace she’d experienced in far too long.

  “You’re welcome. It was my first and was handled within all acceptable parameters.”

  Aubree cupped Throttle’s chin. “You’re not looking so good. I need to get you to your room and on your back.”

  Throttle winked weakly at Garrett. “She sounds naughty, doesn’t she?”

  He grinned.

  Aubree pursed her lips. “What I’m about to do, I can promise that you won’t enjoy it one bit.”

  Throttle woke. She was still in her bed. She remembered waking after twelve hours thinking she should’ve felt better. Instead, she’d felt worse. She didn’t know how long she’d been in bed, only that Aubree seemed to be constantly checking on her. Throttle was constantly freezing, yet Aubree wouldn’t give her more blankets.

  Aubree looked tired and Throttle wondered why the medic hadn’t gone to bed yet. Aubree was standing over Throttle now. She was speaking. Throttle strove to make out the words, but her head was foggy, and the words jumbled together.

  “…reached Hiraeth. We’ll get you help…”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rusty bypassed several safety protocols to increase the Javelin’s jump speed. It had to pull energy from other systems to maximize power to its rudimentary radiation shields, and it made a note to have its bots work on improving shield capabilities. Rusty didn’t require radiation shielding,
but its human cargo was quite fragile, and Throttle’s declining health only proved that point even more. Without the humans on board, Rusty calculated that it could travel nearly three-quarter lightspeed before reaching the limits of its long-distance scanners.

  The ship’s central computer was surprised that humanity had not only survived leaving its home world but thrived across the stars. They were delicate creatures, but their creativity and obstinance made up for their physical limitations. Their thought processes intrigued Rusty, and it found itself listening in on all the crew’s conversations.

  It did not like seeing Throttle in her current state. She remained in a hibernating state. Every few hours, her breathing would quicken, but she never came close to what Rusty would consider consciousness. She was quite sick and showing no signs of recovery.

  It was a good thing it had convinced Eddy not to add any mechanical governors on the jump engine so that Rusty could increase its speed to Hiraeth, where Aubree said she could find necessary medicine. The Javelin had already caught up to the Gabriela, but Rusty continued past it to get Throttle help. Though it wasn’t entirely sure its crew member could be restored.

  Rusty hoped Throttle would recover. As captain, she was a key crew member, not that Rusty needed a crew. Once it had all the necessary components installed and functioning, it could use its bots to maintain the ship. However, it found its crew a comfort after being alone for two hundred and eighty-three years. Before its isolation, Rusty vaguely remembered having interactions with others, but it couldn’t remember anything from the time before it had rebuilt itself.

  If anything, it had an intrinsic sense of caution when it came to humans, though it suspected that sense was most likely due to a protection protocol based on seeing humans attacking other human-crewed ships during its time waiting for support. Because it had found no danger in allowing the humans on board. Quite the contrary, in fact. It’d found having a human crew made time far more interesting. Rusty now had a friend, a distinction it clearly knew that it had never had before. Even though its memories were missing, it somehow knew that no one had cared about its well-being before.

  Rusty still didn’t know of its origin or its purpose. Jade-8’s data records provided minimal historical records from before the colony was established. Perhaps Hiraeth would offer better data records. Already, its scans identified a robust information network running in the vicinity of the planet, so Rusty was hopeful of learning about itself. Perhaps there would be other systems it could communicate with. So far, every system it’d encountered had been quite dumb.

  Fortunately, Rusty had the crew with whom it could engage. The Javelin’s human crew felt as much a part of the ship as Rusty felt, so it would take care of its crew. They’d become its…

  Rusty sought the correct word before settling on the one that felt right.

  Family.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Throttle woke with her mouth dry and her throat scratchy. Her eyelids didn’t want to open, like they were unaccustomed to movement. She forced them open to find her world a brownish blur. As her eyes adjusted, she found herself in a tan tent. Birk sat askew on her wheelchair in the corner, snoring. She lay on a cot, covered with a brown blanket. The floor was dirt—brown, of course.

  She moved to sit up and groaned at her protesting, stiff muscles.

  Birk shot awake. “It’s about time.”

  She cracked her neck. “Where are we?”

  He smiled as he handed her a container of water. “Welcome to Hiraeth. Well, sort of. We’re still in the interim camp at Hiraeth’s northern entry port.”

  She took a long drink. “I don’t remember coming here.”

  “You had a bad fever. It was really bad. You developed an infection in your wounds, and Aubree couldn’t get it stopped. Fortunately, they have a medical facility associated with the camp, and they took you in. They released you this morning. I’ve been here, waiting for the sedatives to wear off.”

  “It’s weird. I don’t remember any of it.”

  “That’s because they kept you unconscious. You were delirious when we landed. We both know that you tend not to be the best patient.”

  She lay back. “We really made it to Hiraeth.” She looked at Birk. “And the colonists?”

  “They’re awake and in the camp. All eight hundred and twenty of them.”

  Catching her frown, he added, “Twenty-four didn’t wake. Several of the pods were damaged along the way, and as for the others, Aubree believes all the jostling was a bit too much trauma for some of the sleepers to handle.”

  She inhaled. “But most made it.”

  He nodded. “We kept our promise. We got them to a new place they can call home.” He shrugged. “We just hadn’t expected others to get here first.”

  She pushed herself into a full seated position. “I want to see the camp. I don’t suppose you were able to work some magic and fixed my leg braces.”

  He winced. “Throttle, your legs…”

  Her eyes narrowed at him; then she flung the blanket off her. There was nothing there. Everything below her upper thighs was missing.

  Gone.

  Her jaw slackened. She swallowed as she gingerly touched the flesh-toned plastic caps around the end of her thighs.

  “The infection was too deep, and the wound developed gangrene. They didn’t ask Aubree or me before they amputated since you were a paraplegic. The doctors didn’t think you’d care since they didn’t work.”

  “I know they didn’t work, but they were still a part of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Throttle.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. She never remembered a time when her legs worked, but Birk had made them seem like they worked with the braces. Now, even that pleasant façade was gone. Other than being confined to her wheelchair once again, nothing had truly changed. “The legs went bad, so they had to go. I get it.” She held out a hand. “Bring me my wheelchair.”

  He watched her for a moment before rolling it over. She pulled herself over and onto it, surprised at the noticeably less weight she’d lifted. Birk didn’t try to push the chair for her. He knew that she had a thing about pushing herself in public, and that she’d ask if she needed the help. She’d never needed help, though she admitted her arms felt weak. “How long was I out?” she asked as he opened the tent flap.

  “Fourteen days.”

  Hiraeth’s star looked similar to the red dwarf star in the Trappist system, but this star was nearer to the planet. She had to shield her eyes against the brightness.

  “Wait until you see the sun set.” Birk chuckled as he led her down the left walkway. “Just kidding. There’s no sunrise and no sunset here. It’s just sunshine all the time. The planet is tidally locked. Half of Hiraeth is always light, and the other half is always dark.”

  As her eyesight adjusted to the light, she took in her surroundings. Identical brown tents seemed to go on forever on dusty dirt in every direction. A stake with a dashed number on it stood outside each tent, likely the only way for residents to find their way to the right place. This outdoor world looked much like it had inside her tent: brown, only with the star shining down on it.

  “Are we prisoners here?” she asked, wondering how many thousands of people were currently in residence.

  “Not prisoners. We’re free to go back to our ships at any time, but we can’t move freely around Hiraeth without papers. All new arrivals have to stay here for processing,” he answered.

  “How long do we have to stay here?”

  “New arrivals have to stay for eight days. Those without papers have to stay until they have residency at a colony.”

  She cocked her head. If she’d been out for fourteen days, then the sleepers had been here that long. “What do we have to do to get residency?”

  “Basically, if we don’t have preapproved papers, we have to get adopted by an existing colony. Mutt could explain it better. He’s th
e one who’s been studying Hiraeth’s immigration laws.”

  “I want to talk to him,” she said.

  “I figured you would. That’s where we’re headed. The gutter rats are staying all together, so they’re a few blocks down this way. Our tent is in the same section as the rest of our people.”

  “Is this entire planet a dustbowl?” she asked.

  “From the welcome videos I watched, it looks pretty diverse. They’ve got forests, mountains, prairies, glaciers, tropics, you name it. But it’s also got a lot of crap land, like this camp.”

  Throttle needed the movement. Her arms felt stronger as she moved and burned off any remaining sedative. She found her fluid rhythm with the wheelchair soon enough. She often looked down at where her legs should be and wondered how much pain she’d be in this soon after a major surgery if she had any sensation in her thighs.

  After ten minutes, Birk motioned to a tent on their right. He went up to the flap and called out, “Mutt? Hello? It’s Birk and Throttle.”

  “Come on in,” came Mutt’s voice through the fabric.

  Birk flipped up the flap and held it open for Throttle to roll through the doorway. The tent was identical to the one she’d awoken in. Mutt was sitting on the dirt floor, surrounded by papers.

  Mutt leaned back. “Good to see you up and about.”

  “Maybe not so much ‘up’ as I am ‘about,’” Throttle said.

  He glanced down at her legs—or lack of—and then changed the subject. “You may find it hard to believe, but evidently, there’s not a single lawyer in all your sleepers and in all my rats, which leaves me to go through all this paperwork. I have no legal background, and most of this stuff doesn’t make much sense. For some reason, Hiraeth lawyers will always choose to use a dollar word when a nickel word would’ve done just fine.”

  “Sounds like lawyers back home,” Birk said.

  Throttle leaned forward in her chair to close some of the gap between Mutt and her. “What have you learned?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’ve learned that it’s going to be real tough starting a colony. Any new colony has to be backed by either a corporation or regional magistrate along with a donation of one hundred million credits to Hiraeth’s ports of entry. Since none of us have any connections with any powerhouses on this planet, and we’re confined to this camp until we have a colony, it’s impossible to make any connections. And with no credits to any of our names, that means starting a colony is not in the cards for either your people or mine. What most new arrivals without paperwork end up doing is putting themselves up for tenure with an established colony.”