《The Last Flight of the Passive Swindler》


 Chapter 1: Gypsy Rose

    Chapter 1: Gypsy Rose


    Tired but capable, the old freighter cruised through hyperspace at several hundred times the speed of light, bypassing Einstein''s theorem. An insistent tone from the communications console roused the ship''s sole occupant from a fitful slumber. He mopped the sweat from his face and scratched at the grizzled stubble gracing his chin. He stumbled from his berth, directly behind the command deck, to the communications console, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.


    ¡°Alpha, Charlie, Charlie, seven ¡­ two! Distress call! Mayday! Reactor breach imminent! Request immediate aid from all vessels within reception range¡­ an¡¯t vent plasma. Reactor temperature critical!¡± the voice called frantically over the channel, the transmission broken by static and distortion.


    Shize, he thought as he struggled with the headset, wires tangling. His pounding head didn¡¯t make it easier. He pressed buttons on the communications console.


    ¡°This is delta, delta, two, one, four, to vessel in distress. Please transmit coordinates and status. How copy, over?¡± he replied to the frantic distress caller, his gravelly voice sounding calmer than he was.


    ¡°¡­. two, one, four, positional data transmitted! We are dead and adrift! ¡­. power! Main reactor core is damaged! Purge procedures are not responding! Request immediate evac, six souls,¡± the panicked voice replied.


    ¡°Please say vessel class and configuration. Inputting positional data into my navcomp, awaiting a solution for FTL,¡± he answered, punching buttons and twisting dials.


    ¡°We are the heavy freighter, Gypsy Rose. Cargo¡­. dicinal supplies and equipment bound for the ¡­lonies in the Callumn system.¡± The transmission was barely audible due to interference.


    ¡°Gypsy Rose, this is the Passive Swindler, enroute to your position. ETA: four minutes," he said, moving to the navigation console. Sitting in the captain''s chair, he wrapped the restraint webbing around his chest. Course corrections were possible in hyperspace but not recommended. Proper protocol dictated a ship should drop out of hyperspace and calculate a new jump to ensure accuracy. He was confident in his ship''s capabilities.


    ¡°Gypsy Rose, what¡¯s the weather like?¡± he asked, his fist hovering over the large red button on his left. His query was spacer talk, inquiring about hostile actors.


    ¡°The weather is pretty damn hot right now, Swindler ...ternal sensors are down, but we think there were two birds. ¡­umped cargo and they broke off. Say again, two birds, from what I saw, are modified pleasure craft. Proceed with caution! Awaiting your arrival in the ¡­lock! Out!¡± The man left the comm open. Riordan could hear bursts of static, likely from panels shorting out. Voices were audible in the background, and then silence as they moved off the bridge of the disabled freighter.


    Riordan punched buttons on the panel to his right, powering up the automated defenses. Armed with half a dozen civilian-grade plasma cannons, the maximum allowed for defensive purposes, the Swindler could deal with average threats. He set them to auto-track, lock, and fire on any vessels in range with energized weapons. Automation was expensive, but for a ship that normally needed a crew of four, it was necessary.


    Riordan hammered the large red button with his fist, bracing for turbulence as his ship corrected her course at faster-than-light speeds. The thick glass viewport in front of him went crazy with swirls of light and spasmodic flashing. The ship lurched with gut-wrenching suddenness as the gravity emitters cut out, diverting power to the twin FTL drives and inertial dampeners. Liquor bottles clinked together in his small berth behind the command deck. With a groan and a familiar knocking, the ship steadied, and the mess outside the viewport solidified into the normal rainbow streaks of hyperspace. His ship careened toward the stricken Gypsy Rose.


    Riordan checked the weapons status. All six plasma cannons showed green. He would have liked to have more, but galactic law only allowed so much firepower on civilian vessels. Riordan, however, had an ace up his sleeve. Kinetic weapons were several hundred years obsolete but perfectly legal to mount on your ship. Riordan installed a 30-mm multi-barreled MK-III Hybrid-Rail cannon behind the forward airlock door in the bow of his ship. It was capable of firing 300 steel-jacketed tungsten core projectiles per minute¡ªthat''s five rounds per second, each weighing 3 kg.


    Modern shielding only protected against energy weapons such as plasma cannons, lasers, and particle beams. Tremendous amounts of energy were needed to deflect kinetic weapons. Once they fell into antiquity, most ships had only counter-energy weapon shields and basic deflectors to handle small debris. Riordan tied the fire control for the cannon to the manual control panel by his right hand. A targeting HUD flickered into life on the forward viewport. Sixty seconds until the Passive Swindler dropped out of hyperspace. The forward airlock door opened, the lights in the airlock staying off to keep from alerting anyone in visual range. The ship suddenly felt like she was upside down and spinning. Riordan shook off the feeling; it was just the drop out of hyperspace.


    With a flash and a groan of stressed metal, the streaks became points of light. They slid across the viewports as the Passive Swindler reoriented herself toward the stricken vessel. Alarms blared, and rapidly flashing red lights filled the command deck. Radiation warning, Riordan thought as he checked the sensors. The levels were high, but they should be out of the area before they become dangerous. Sensors showed two small ships near the Gypsy¡¯s jettisoned cargo containers. Heavy cargo vessels were typically built to mount cargo containers directly on the hull or on a long trailer arm extending from the ship''s rear. This allowed for efficient loading and unloading of bulk containers. The smaller vessels were over 100 kilometers away, out of weapons range, but Riordan could hear the hum of servos through the hull as the plasma cannons oriented themselves in the direction of the threat. If they didn¡¯t come closer and interfere with rescue operations or fire upon the Swindler, galactic law forbade taking offensive action.


    Riordan scanned his boards; the aft airlock showed green, ready to receive boarders. Weapons, life support, and shields were all good, or as good as they would get. Riordan switched to manual control. He flipped the Swindler to face away from the Gypsy, preparing to mate airlocks. The alarms became more frantic, and red lights started to pulse erratically on the engineering console on his left. Sensors showed the Swindler had entered the radioactive plume of plasma coolant leaking from the larger ship''s core. Debris pinged off the hull as the ships drew closer.


    ¡°This is the Passive Swindler. I am in position to mate with your airlock. 15 seconds," Riordan said, unsure if they had communications capability in their airlock. Beeping alerted him that the ships were within 20 meters of docking. The small view screen to the left of the viewport flickered to life, showing a grid and the Gypsy''s airlock. He made small corrections, making sure everything would mate. He allowed the Swindler to slowly drift rearward, locking onto the disabled vessel with a clang. The airlock board turned red and then orange, showing that someone was cycling the airlock.


    A whooping alarm screamed out in the command deck. Riordan glanced left, checking sensors, as his auto-cannons began to fire. One of the ships was approaching the Swindler with weapons charged. The Swindler shuddered as blue-white plasma fire scintillated off her shields. Pirates! I guess they don¡¯t want sensor logs recording their activities, Riordan thought. Shields were down to 70% but holding. The pirate vessel passed over the mated ships, its strafing run finished.


    ¡°Y¡¯all need to hurry the frek up down there! We''ve got company!¡± Riordan yelled over the intercom, knowing the personnel in the Gypsy¡¯s airlock would hear it since they were mated. The airlock control panel started to flash red and buzz.


    ¡°Filius moecha putida!¡± Riordan cursed aloud. The outer door was jammed. If the ships detached before it was sealed, everyone not in an EVA or emergency evacuation suit would die when the airlock lost pressure. His eyes darted to the sensors. The second pirate ship was heading in their direction as the first ship reached the end of its arc and oriented for a second strafing run. The Swindler could take a pounding, but her shields wouldn¡¯t hold out for long with two ships hammering at her. Detach and save his own ass, or go aft to override the inner airlock door and manually let the boarders onto his ship? Seconds counted. He only had sixty of them before the first of the ships was within firing range.


    Riordan tied the hybrid-rail cannon to the auto-defense fire controls. Being inside an airlock, the cannon only had a few degrees of movement. Normally, the cannon is aimed by moving the ship, but he couldn¡¯t move the ship until the airlock was cleared and sealed. Frek! He might still get lucky. He set a timer for airlock separation and an emergency FTL jump for 120 seconds. If he couldn¡¯t get the inner door open in that amount of time, it wasn¡¯t going to happen.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    He unclasped the restraint webbing and headed aft. He slid down the ladder at the rear of the command deck, next to the head. Two flights down to the cargo deck, his bare feet hit the grating with a painful slam. He sprinted across the mostly empty, cavernous main cargo hold. He hit the ladder below the airlock and started to climb upward to the platform. The freight elevator was too slow and was already waiting outside the airlock doors.


    He made it to the airlock with 60 seconds on the clock. Unlike more modern ships, there was no porthole on the inner airlock door. Acquired from a locker on the way aft, Riordan pulled an emergency respirator over his face. Once he opened the inner door, the ship could start to lose its atmosphere. He ripped the service panel off the door, exposing the manual override. He started to frantically spin the wheel. Under normal conditions, the inner door would not open unless the outer door was sealed, and vice versa. Riordan could feel the vibration of the cannons firing through the deck plates. The ship shuddered hard as she took half a dozen impacts. His hands slipped off the wheel, and his knuckles lost skin on the edge of the service panel recess.


    The airlock control panel suddenly squawked, all indicators showing red. The airlock lost pressure! Riordan frantically spun the wheel the opposite way, securing the inner door against the vacuum of space as precious atmosphere screamed through the narrow gap he had opened. There was nothing he could do now but hope whoever was in the airlock took the time to suit up and secure themselves.


    Riordan reentered the command deck as the ship lurched forward on her maneuvering jets, breaking the seal with the Gypsy''s airlock. Riordan strapped himself into the captain''s chair. 15 seconds until the emergency FTL jump. Riordan reached out and turned off the weapons system. The FTL needed every joule of energy the ship could produce. He glanced at the cannon targeting HUD, shocked to see one of the pirate vessels approaching dead ahead. Almost as an afterthought, he pressed the firing stud, sending a dozen rounds at the ship. The first of the rounds blasted right through the vessel as the sickening vertigo of FTL gripped his stomach. He knew the rest of the rounds would impact in a pattern less than a foot away from each other. The damage would be catastrophic at such a close range. Riordan felt the ship flip and twist as she entered hyperspace.


    After 30 seconds, the Swindler dropped out of hyperspace, then rapidly jumped back in. Sensors can only follow the trajectory of a ship they can observe in the act of jumping. A ship can be followed through hyperspace, but jumping right after dropping out leaves no trail that can be followed. Back-to-back jumps are a necessary security protocol that most pilots are too cautious to employ due to the risks involved. The Passive Swindler dropped back into normal space, only a few hundred kilometers from the Gypsy Rose''s last position. There was nothing left but a cloud of highly radioactive debris. Sensors told the story. The core breached seconds after the Swindler''s emergency jump. Riordan scanned the sensor spectrum, finding only the damaged pirate vessel. Sensors showed a temporal dissonance, showing the remaining vessel had entered subspace. Newer ships use subspace FTL drives, unlike the Swindler''s antiquated hyperdrive, which uses dual artificial singularities. He guided the Swindler into a slow flyby to check for survivors.


    The pirate vessel drifted in a maelstrom of debris. Riordan completed a full sensor sweep. The hull breach was catastrophic; every bulkhead was pierced. Even if the occupants were wearing EVA suits, the superheated slag created by the heavy 30 mm slugs would have ripped them to shreds. Riordan made sure that the sensor logs were recording correctly. The standard procedure was to report to the nearest law enforcement element. After recording the carnage, Riordan set the autopilot to rendezvous with the jettisoned cargo containers.


    He toggled the intercom to the airlock. ¡°I¡¯m coming down to check on you; hold tight,¡± he said. He kept the intercom open, hoping to hear a response. Nothing. Shize, he thought. Fearing what he would find, he hurried to the aft airlock, grabbing the medical kit from the tiny medical bay on his way aft. Riordan arrived at the airlock door and checked the panel. The outer door was still exposed to space. He removed the panel on the right side of the airlock door and spun the manual controls for the outer door. The door closed a little more than halfway before it stopped. Something was blocking it. Damn! He spun the wheel back a few turns, then forward again. It closed a little more. Half a dozen more tries had the same result. Finally, the door wouldn¡¯t close any further; it was still not sealed. If anyone was without a suit, they were beyond recovery. He was hoping it was only debris blocking the door. Riordan scrubbed his hand through his sweat-slick hair. Fighting pirates with a hangover sucked big time. Going EVA to remove whatever was blocking the airlock was going to suck even more.


    Riordan crouched in the cramped forward airlock. It was a tight squeeze past the multi-barreled cannon to the exterior hatch. Many years ago, this was the chute used to load ordinance into the hold of the ship when she was a bomber. The Swindler was originally manufactured as a fast assault bomber when the Greater Galactic Cluster was in a state of civil war. The irony of her current owner being a direct descendant of the insurrectionists the ship was produced to fight was not lost on him.


    Riordan toggled the control to purge the forward airlock. The atmosphere pumped out into the interior of the ship. The panel bulb blinked green. He activated the control, and the small outer hatch slid open. Riordan contorted his bulky EVA suit to squeeze past the cannon and exited the ship. The ship¡¯s gravity generators were designed to energize the interior of the craft, not the exterior. Riordan set his sticky boots to medium and started to slowly walk the hull back toward the rear airlock. Tools swayed from his belt. His breath hissed loudly in his ears. He inspected the ship for damage as he went, finding nothing more than scorch marks. Good, he thought. He rounded the top of the ship¡¯s FTL drive, being careful to avoid the cooling vents. He peered down toward the airlock door and saw the obstruction, a pair of legs.


    ¡°Shize!" he said to no one. He carefully lowered himself to make the transition to walking on the ship''s rear and went to the airlock door. He used the key tethered to his left glove to open the heavily armored external override panel. The airlock door slid open soundlessly. Riordan shoved the legs inside as best he could and followed. There were three bodies. Two men and a woman, none with EVA suits. They were wearing standard jumpsuits of professional spacers. Riordan cycled the outer door closed and re-pressurized the airlock. What in the hell? he thought. The airlock was drenched with sprays of blood and bits of tissue. He rolled the man that was blocking the airlock door over. He had a huge crater in his chest surrounded by burned tissue caused by a plasma bolt from close range. He checked the other man and found his torso riddled with bullet holes. The woman was missing most of her face, which explained all the blood. Riordan inspected the airlock and found half a dozen small dents; bullet strikes.


    Cursing, Riordan tripped over a large storage container on his way to open the inner airlock door. Damn helmets, he thought, can¡¯t see shize. The inner door opened, and he stepped out of the airlock. He closed the door behind him and cracked the seal on his helmet. Three people were killed in his airlock. There were two shooters, one with a plasma rifle, expensive tech restricted to the military and criminals, and one with a rifle. He imagined the scene in his head. They were chasing the crew to the airlock or waiting to ambush them, which means they were boarded. The killers shot them and almost made it into the airlock. He remembered the storage case. Did they bring the storage case, why? To keep it safe? Spacers are supposed to abandon all gear when evacuating. Carrying anything can slow you down and cost you your life, as it did in this instance. If they had been a few seconds faster, he would have three survivors to look after instead of corpses to clean up. If the killers had succeeded and reached the airlock, he would have had at least two armed pirates on his ship.


    Riordan finished wrapping EVA tape around the last plastic sheet wrapped body. He dragged the body across the cargo floor and stowed it with the other two in the refrigerated locker he used to transport frozen goods. He hadn¡¯t decided what he wanted to do yet. He could transmit his logs and report to the nearest spaceport and spend days answering questions. Alternatively, he could space the corpses, incinerate them with the Swindler¡¯s plasma cannons, scrub his logs, and forget this ever happened.


    As he hosed the blood from the walls of the airlock into the floor drain, Riordan couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something wasn¡¯t right. Finishing that grisly task, he dragged the case to a pallet and strapped it down. It was heavy. It looked like a standard transport case made from gray carbon fiber with two latches and an electronic lock keypad. There could be anything from ration bars to the Grand Chancellor¡¯s cigar stash in there. He gave the ratchet strap another click and walked back to the airlock to inspect his cleaning job.


    Stowing the EVA suit back in its locker near the command deck, he returned to his cramped quarters. He showered and dressed in his standard brown canvas pants, black t-shirt, and deck boots. He could have chosen any of the six passenger suites for his quarters, but he preferred the proximity of the crew quarters to the command deck, just in case. A ten-section response time versus a 60-section response time can make all the difference when you fly alone. Pausing as he left the small chamber, he dug his holstered pistol from a drawer and buckled it around his waist. Like the Swindler, it too was a relic from another time. It was made entirely from steel aside from its wooden grip panels and held eight 11.43 mm hollow-point slug cartridges. Two pouches holding spare magazines balanced the weight of the pistol on the other side of the belt.


    He took his seat in the captain¡¯s chair and stared out the viewports at the stars floating by for a moment. He grabbed the control stick and manually turned the Swindler toward the jettisoned containers. He slowly piloted the Swindler along the trail of containers. Most were standard shipping containers, 1.5 meters by 1.5 meters by 3 meters. Some broke open or were opened by the pirates. He scanned the contents. The containers were now legal salvage. There were over 100 containers in the area; he could load 8 an hour through the airlock. Riordan made several passes, marking the containers with the most valuable contents.

 Chapter 2: Salvaged Cargo Pays Off

    Chapter 2: Salvaged Cargo Pays Off


    Several hours later, the Passive Swindler was heading toward Trindal Station orbiting Besitera, the nearest spaceport. He reviewed his freshly edited sensor logs. He used only the best illegal software so the changes would be undetectable outside of an expensive and lengthy forensic analysis. The distress call was there, but the logs now showed nothing but a debris field when he dropped out of hyperspace. He watched as the pirate vessel swooped to intercept him, and he was forced to defend himself. The logs showed the scans of the jettisoned cargo and his retrieval efforts. He replaced his long-range quantum phase communications core with a burnt-out part he had in storage to explain his not sending his logs ahead of him. If asked, he would say it was damaged when the Swindler was attacked.


    Satisfied his logs would hold up under scrutiny, he made his way back to the cargo hold and the mysterious container three people died to protect. He worked his way through the fifty or so containers he retrieved to the pallet he stowed the container on. He unbuckled the tie-downs and pulled it out to the middle of the floor. He walked around it looking for anything out of the ordinary. On the back, he found the serial number, 11275 LCTL. Yup, this was the container he was hired to steal from the station after the Gypsy Rose had off loaded it at the Callumn spaceport. It had two locks and a keypad. He worked them over with a pry bar, and they gave easily. Wary, he removed his handheld scanner from its belt pouch. After several seconds, the results showed on his screen. Shielded! He could see the case, hinges, locks, but the rest was nothing. It registered as empty space. Cautiously, he opened the lid. His eyes danced over the bright glossy metal of the inner container.


    In the middle of the top are a line of numbers 0-9 and a small display. Whatever is in this container is valuable. Hell, the case itself is valuable, he thought. He could easily get 1500 credits for a shielded case this size. Smugglers often used them for contraband. Hidden inside a large shipping container full of cargo, it would look like empty space. They were also used to protect sensitive electronics like communications parts, computer cores, etc. It was large enough to conceal anything from a dozen plasma rifles to 100 kg of Morph-A. He inspected the top of the inner container more carefully. He could see no seams or hinges. The metal felt cool but warmer than it should be in the cargo hold. He carefully extracted the metallic inner container and transferred it to an identical gray carbon fiber shipping container from his supply of empties. He planned to space the original container before his final jump to Besitera. After carefully stowing the new container at the bottom of a pallet of other empty containers, he made his way back to the command deck.


    Once the Swindler was within range of the station, he called the attack into Traffic Routing and Control. Law enforcement met him at the docking arm. He explained his version of events to the detectives and turned over the altered sensor logs. While he was being deposed, a search team was dispatched to his ship, and an insurance representative started inventorying the salvaged cargo containers. He notified the clients he was transporting cargo for about the change in circumstances delaying their deliveries.. Several chose to have their cargo loaded onto other ships, and he reluctantly refunded a part of the shipping charges. He transferred the cargo to the central shipping hub where other couriers would pick them up later. The insurance agent and the search team were still in the cargo hold when he returned to the ship.


    ¡°Hello, my name is Cedric Waldo, I¡¯m with All Galaxy Farmer¡¯s Insurance, we carried the policy on the Gypsy Rose,¡± the insurance agent said, holding out his hand as Riordan entered the cargo bay.


    ¡°Atticus Riordan, I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± Riordan said, shaking his hand firmly.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay, you salvaged most of the expensive cargo,¡± the insurance agent said, pushing his anachronistic spectacles up the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°I meant the loss of your crew,¡± Riordan said flatly, releasing his hand.


    ¡°Oh, yes, of course. Thank you. I have completed my inventory and assessed salvage value to the recovered items, but something is missing. Did you happen to see a container marked," the insurance agent checked his holo-com, "11275 LCTL? It doesn''t appear to be listed amongst the cargo you recovered."


    Riordan played it cool. ¡°Some of the containers were opened by the pirates, and I couldn¡¯t take the time to retrieve every container, even if I had the room.¡±


    ¡°That''s unfortunate. That container held a cutting-edge piece of medical technology. It''s very complicated. The salvage value on that item alone is 35,000 credits," the insurance agent said.


    ¡°Damn! I wish I¡¯d found it! What number have you come up with for a total?¡± Riordan asked, changing the subject.


    ¡°At All Galaxy, we know you are within your rights as the salvaging party to retain possession of the salvaged items and resell them as you see fit, to recoup your time, fuel, and other incidental losses due to the instigating event. However, we are offering you remuneration in exchange for all the salvaged items listed on the manifest.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Riordan scoffed at the number projected onto his retinas by the holocon on the agent''s wrist.  Of course, not every item he recovered was listed on the manifest. He had stocked up his galley with food and the medical bay with medicines and supplies. Several crates of parts he could adapt for use on the Swindler were re-crated in his own shipping containers, and the old containers with serial numbers were spaced. This was a semi-acceptable practice, after all, the cargo was his by law until he signed it over.


    "So, you''re telling me I retrieved, loaded, and transported fifty plus large containers all the way out here, for that? I could make more on freight charges for the same amount of cargo. I could get four times what you''re offering, right here on the station, in the Bazaar," Riordan lied.


    "Yes, Mr. Riordan, but that takes time and effort, and as a citizen of the Occupied Territories, you are required to pay taxes on whatever income you make, which would be about half. The law requires that All Galaxy offer to pay you for the salvaged cargo, not that we offer what you think it''s worth. This offer also serves as an expression of gratitude for trying to render aid to a policyholder, which means it is exempt from such taxes. You keep all of it. We at All Galaxy understand your plight and are prepared to offer 20% more, but that is our final offer," the insurance agent said, familiar with the ins and outs of salvage negotiations.


    Riordan appeared to consider the offer for a moment. "I do have to get the rest of my cargo to its destinations. Taking a few days to liquidate salvaged cargo would cost me. I guess we have a deal," he said.


    The search team was now at the freezer compartment at the back of the cargo hold, struggling with the door. The leader called out to Riordan. "Sir, I need you to open this door."


    "That''s just my deep freezer," Riordan replied, heading in their direction. Where I stored the bodies, he finished in his head.


    "Open it, Sir, or we will," the team leader replied, hefting a crowbar.


    "Okay, no need for that. Nothing in there but a few hundred pounds of premium Appalachian Steaks bound for Uriel and 80 cases of Undoran shrimp," Riordan said entering the code into the keypad. The door hissed open, and frosty vapor wafted out. Riordan stepped back as the team entered, scanners in their hands. One of them slipped on the ice buildup on the floor and went down ungracefully, knocking a case of shrimp to the deck.


    "Careful with that!" Riordan exclaimed, as fist sized frozen shrimp burst from the split container.


    The other team members helped their colleague to his feet and finished inspecting the freezer. "You need to defrost your deep freeze, Sir," the team leader told him as he exited the compartment.


    Once they finished, Riordan escorted the insurance agent and search team off his ship. Riordan went to the terminal on the sinistral side wall of the cargo area. He checked the balance in his credit account and whistled. Now that he was flush with credits, he placed orders for air, fuels, water, CO2 scrubbers, and other various supplies he was short on.


    The porters arrived less than an hour later to remove the salvaged items, but Riordan was already at the gaming lounge.


    ***


    After two days of sitting in port, Riordan was ready to get underway. He was up a few hundred credits from the Pragga pits in the gaming lounge and his mood was better. He conducted preflight checks and made sure all cargo and gear were properly secured and stowed. "Tower, this is delta, delta, two, one, four, requesting an immediate departure vector," he called over the com.


    "Delta, delta, two, one, four, proceed. Departure vector transmitted. Please wait until leaving the system to engage FTL," the tower controller responded.


    "Roger, tower. Departure vector received, two, one, four, out," Riordan transmitted back. As he busied himself with going over the ship''s systems an amber light on his sensor panel lit up with a soft tone. The ship was being scanned. Craned his neck to peer out the overhead viewports. Barely visible to dextral was a large starship. He activated his sensors and picked up the ship''s transponder; a Federal Corvette, the Hugo Norris, named after a minor Federated Republic of Systems (FRS) commander in the later part of the United Confederation of Independent Systems (UCIS) rebellion. He watched it for several minutes as it scanned every ship entering or leaving the area. How odd, he thought, they weren''t here two days ago when I entered the system. Though odd, Its presence wasn¡¯t unusual; warships were common in the Occupied Territories, the former UCIS. Riordan programmed the Swindler''s autopilot to take the ship past the last planet in the system at 1/10 c. No need to arouse suspicion or attention by burning out of the system as if he had something to hide. Leaving the command deck, he headed upward to the rec room.


    ***


    The bridge of the Hugo Norris was dimly lit with passive blue lighting. The captain of the vessel, Mareion Shepherd, watched the progress of the small interstellar freighter on the main holographic display with hard eyes. Leather creaked as she adjusted her position in the captain¡¯s chair. Her lip unconsciously curled into a snarl. The Passive Swindler disappeared from the screen just past the last planet in the system.


    "Midshipman, was the device installed correctly?" she asked, unconsciously adjusting the collar of her black flight suit.


    "Yes, Ma¡¯am. It was installed during the cargo inventory ," the young woman at the intelligence console behind her replied.


    "Bring up the tracking display, let''s find out where the bastard''s going. Helm, follow that ship," she said, settling back into her chair. A dark smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she twirled her shoulder-length blond hair around a finger. ¡°Cats and mice, and everything nice.¡±

 Chapter 3: Whats in the box?

    Chapter 3: What¡¯s in the box?


    The Swindler rocketed through hyperspace, making minute course adjustments to avoid navigational hazards. Riordan reclined on the couch on the rec deck, a half-empty bottle of cheap whisky, dangled from his hand. The far wall of the rec room was flat and painted stark white. A small 2-D projector mounted to the ceiling shined images on the screen. It was an old war movie about the last battle of the Insurrection and the fall of the UCIS. The last scene in the movie was playing, the battle between the UCIS Stardancer and the FRS Indomitable. The Stardancer was out of ammunition, assault shuttles, and ordinance, and civilian ships were still trying to flee the area.


    The FRS were known for their lack of distinction between evacuating civilian vessels and military craft during a battle. To buy the civilians the time they needed to evacuate, Captain Jameson flooded the interior of his ship with deuterium fuel and induced a polarity variance between the sinistral and dextral hyperspace pulse capacitor coil assemblies. Just as the Stardancer impacted the Indomitable, it jumped to hyperspace. Everything within several thousand meters of both vessels disappeared in a burst of Hawking radiation and bright white light.


    Riordan carefully capped the bottle of amber fluid and set it on the floor. He toggled the control on the arm of the couch, and the projector shut off. Riordan felt a change in the ship and the world flipped upside down for a moment. Feeling extra paranoid, Riordan programmed a few extra jumps into the Swindler¡¯s course to ensure his security. He had three bodies in the shielded cargo area concealed beneath the floor of the deep freezer, and a mysterious container concealed in his hold. He hid them there and then sprayed water a few inches deep on the floor, mixing in some debris to make it look like it hadn¡¯t been defrosted in a long time. He was alarmed when the insurance agent had inquired about the container, but he¡¯d been playing this game long enough to keep his poker face up. Shielded containers were either used to protect specialized equipment or something illicit. Nothing else was asked for by serial number. If it wasn¡¯t in his cargo bay, it was drifting in space, or taken by the pirates. It was entirely plausible that a medical device was inside the container, but then again, it could just as easily be something else.


    ***


    "What is the difficulty, leftenant?" Captain Shepherd asked sharply from her chair overlooking the bridge. Her piercing blue eyes glinted like cometary ice chips.


    "Ma''am, the ship keeps dropping out of hyperspace and then back in a few seconds later," the young female leftenant replied. "It''s confusing our sensors'' ability to locate our tracking device."


    "Do you think he knows about the tracker?" Shepherd asked.


    "I think he would have deactivated it, had he found it. His dossier says he used to be a military transport pilot until ten years ago, pre court-martial separation. Nothing in his file indicates any clandestine service or intelligence training," the leftenant replied.


    "Where does his flight plan say he is going, leftenant?" Shepherd asked.


    "He has deliveries to make in the Victoria system tomorrow and the Callumn system a few days after," the leftenant responded.


    Captain Shepherd stared thoughtfully at the viewer as the tracking marker disappeared from the screen once again. She stood and paced the length of the bridge before looking over the leftenant''s shoulder at the detailed tracking display.


    "Crafty bastard. I''m sick of this game of ''chase the weasel.'' Set course for the Callumn system. Get me a report detailing all known associates of Atticus Riordan, highest priority. I''ll be in my quarters," Shepherd said, heading for the ladder to the lower decks.


    The young leftenant looked over at the midshipman staffing the helm, "What''s a weasel?"


    ***


    Riordan stood over the mysterious case, staring down at the number pad and the small display screen. He had removed the case from the shipping container. It sat on the deck, mocking him with its mute reticence. He looked towards the deep freezer. Other than the party that hired him to steal it, the only people that would have known the access code are frozen solid. He glanced at the tools scattered around the case. The crowbar didn''t work; the seam where the lid met the box was machined too finely. The brute force code-cracker wouldn''t interface with the electronics in the lid to run through possible combinations to open the case. The reciprocating saw went through three blades before he gave up. He ruled out the plasma torch as it might damage the contents, whatever they are.


    He wracked his brain trying to think what else he had that might open the case. ¡®I could use the hydraulic press, squish it from the corners and try to pop the lid that way,¡¯ he thought, ¡®but the case was built for strength.¡¯ He only had one choice now, his buddy Jaisen Folyn, the only person he knew that could get into this case. There was one problem, Jaisen married a doctor and went legitimate five years ago after their last job. He now worked as a high-end locksmith and security specialist on Vesta Station in the Callumn system. Since he had deliveries there, it was convenient.


    ***


    "¡­So, there we were, standing in the middle of the cargo bay, wearing nothing but our safety harnesses and a smile! You should have seen the inspector''s faces!" Riordan said with a hearty laugh.


    "He''s exaggerating, Hun," Jaisen assured his wife.


    "Oh, I doubt that. I know you," Glori said to her husband with a laugh. The trio was sitting at a table in one of the nicer eateries at the orbital station that services Callumn Prime. Dinner came and went. They were finishing up with drinks before they called it a night.


    "It''s always nice to meet a colleague of Jaisen''s, but if you will excuse me, I need to utilize the facilities before we leave," Glori, resplendent in a black gown that set her dark brown skin aglow, stood and headed toward the back of the establishment.


    "Leave? Already?" Jaisen asked.


    "I have an early shift," she replied over her shoulder.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Jaisen watched her hips sway as she walked away. He turned to Riordan, his face suddenly stony. "Why are you here, Atticus?" Jaisen hissed at him.


    "What makes you think I''m here for something? I was in the system and stopped by. Can''t I look up an old friend?" Riordan scoffed.


    "What makes me¡­?" Jaisen started counting on his fingers, "Trinity, Haven, Victoria; almost got shot that time! Galorndan; spent a week in lock-up! The time in the Leshan asteroid belt; should I go on?"


    Riordan leaned back in the luxuriously padded booth and raised his almost empty glass to a nearby server. "I responded to a distress call a few days ago. It was a cargo ship ferrying medical supplies to Besitera. Pirate attack. I tried to help," Riordan shrugged and polished off the last of his drink.


    "And?" Jaisen inquired.


    "I salvaged what I could," Riordan said.


    "You mean you kept some. What of the crew?" Jaisen asked, looking around. Riordan responded with a negative shake of his head.


    "Atticus, I''m married. I have a good job now. I don''t do that stuff anymore. You shouldn''t have come," Jaisen finished as his wife approached.


    "Shouldn''t have what, Jaisen?" she asked sweetly.


    "Shouldn''t have stayed up so late, I have an early departure window tomorrow," Riordan answered for him, "It was nice to finally meet you, Glori."


    ***


    Riordan let the door request go unanswered three times before he opened the outer airlock door. Jaisen was dressed in an old army coat and a watch cap. He was carrying a well-used duffel bag.


    "Could you look any more suspicious? You look like a crook from an old holo-vid," Riordan said with a laugh.


    "Yeah?" Jaisen replied, eyeing Riordan up and down, "You look like some roguish smuggler from an old 2-D sci-fi flick. Permission to come aboard?"


    Riordan stepped back and waved Jaisen aboard with a flourish of his hand. Riordan secured the airlock door with a length of heavy chain. Just in case. Jaisen cracked open the door to the freezer and looked around.


    "How is the shielded storage I installed for you working out?"


    "Great! That''s where I hide the bodies," Riordan said, glancing in that direction.


    "Sure. What do you need me to open? That is why you came to me," Jaisen said.


    Riordan led him over to the case concealed under a tarp behind some pallets. Jaisen whistled as Riordan removed the gray carbon fiber lid concealing the shiny surface.


    "This is some top-of-the-line tech, Atticus," Jaisen said, "You salvaged this from a cargo ship ferrying medical supplies?"


    "Not exactly. It was brought onto my ship and left in the airlock when I was trying to rescue survivors," Riordan replied.


    "How come you weren''t able to rescue any?" Jaisen asked as he removed equipment from his duffel bag.


    "Deus vult," Riordan says, shaking his head, "They didn''t get the airlock sealed in time," he left out the part about murder.


    ¡°That¡¯s rough, man. I¡¯m sorry,¡± Jaisen said. He spent a few minutes examining the container from every angle. He ran some scans. The model of scanner he used was far more sophisticated than anything Riordan had seen.


    ¡°Where did you get that, isn¡¯t that restricted tech?¡± Riordan asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a perk of the job. I landed a government contract about a year ago. I have a license for this and a few other toys that would have landed me in lockup when we ran together,¡± Jaisen replied.


    ¡°Do you think you can get it open?¡± Riordan asked.


    ¡°Can''t say yet. I can tell you this though; it has an advanced power cell capable of powering this unit for years. It''s mechanically locked and magnetically sealed. The only way to get this thing open is through the keypad electronics. That''s the next step. I''m going to try and brute force the pass-code. Did you touch the keypad at all?" Jaisen asked.


    ¡°I know better than that,¡± Riordan replied smartly.


    Jaisen lightly dusted the keypad with a white powder.


    ¡°What I am doing now is trying to see what numbers have been pressed the most,¡± Jaisen said. He picked up a small light unit and shined it on the keypad. The dust glowed green in the invisible light. He lightly blew the dust away. Nothing.


    ¡°They must have wiped it. It would have made things easier if we knew what numbers they were pushing,¡± Jaisen said. He carefully placed electrodes on the surface of the container. He plugged the half dozen leads into his testing unit. The display lit up.


    ¡°This explains why your unit wouldn¡¯t interface with the electronics. It¡¯s encrypted; all of it, everything.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Riordan asked.


    ¡°What it means, buddy, is that whatever is in there, has a high value to someone. Only that someone can access the contents. Without the proper code, no one gets in. Hell, it might even have a tracker built into it. Let me run a check," Jaisen said, pulling out another device. He fiddled with it for a few moments holding it in different directions. He moved it near the case, and then away.


    ¡°Atticus, you might have a problem. Are you running anything, transmitters, telemetry, anything like that?¡± Jaisen asked, the concern clear in his voice.


    ¡°No, the only thing that should be running is my network connection to the station. Why?¡± Riordan replied.


    ***


    Captain Mareion Shepherd stared at the view screen on the bridge of her warship. Shepherd positioned her ship at the far extreme of their sensor range from the station to avoid detection. They¡¯d been waiting for Riordan''s ship for two days. The bastard was flush with credits and took some time in the Victoria system enjoying himself. Shepherd was confident that Riordan wouldn¡¯t be able to open the case, if he had it. There are only a few in this sector of the cluster that could. One of those men was on Vesta station. Riordan had filed this flight plan before the staged pirate attack. So, while it was unlikely that he had planned to take the case here, it was always better to err on the side of caution.


    "Prepare the Team. Use the shuttle we confiscated smuggling contraband in the Ionian system. Kill Riordan, retrieve the case, detain the locksmith, and continue with your secondary mission," Shepherd said to the steely-eyed man standing next to her chair.


    ¡°What about collateral damage, Sir?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    ***


    Jaisen led Riordan to the ladder at the back of the cargo hold, the instrument held out before him.


    "It¡¯s coming from up there," Jaisen said. "Has anyone been on the Swindler since you acquired the case?"


    "Yeah, the insurance agent, a federal police search team, and the guys that collected the salvaged goods," Riordan replied.


    Jaisen scanned as they ascended the ladder, his forehead furrowed in thought. He narrowed the bandwidth the closer they got to the emission. He scanned the small command deck with negative results. Riordan tried to ask something, but Jaisen covered his mouth and pointed to Riordan¡¯s ears. It could also be a listening device. Riordan nodded his understanding. Riordan¡¯s small quarters behind the command deck checked out, and they moved up to the recreation deck. The signal was stronger. There, against the galley wall, sat the Food Preparer in all its brushed stainless-steel splendor.


    Jaisen pulled a panel remover from his pocket and stepped toward the device. Riordan grabbed his wrist, mouthing NO! Jaisen shrugged him off and pointed to the display on his device. A few moments later, Jaisen soundlessly removed the front panel and set it on the outdated burnt orange carpet. He produced a small flashlight and shined it around in the guts of the Food Preparer. After a few moments, he motioned for Riordan to look for himself. There, nestled up against the bottom of the production area plate, a black module the size of his fist was held in place with EVA tape. Wires ran from the module and were spliced into the power harness.

 Chapter 4: Vestal station

    ¡°Bring me a spare battery for your hover loader. I have an idea," Jaisen breathed into Riordan''s ear. Ten minutes later the module was sitting on one of the small tables bolted to the floor around the periphery of the rec room.


    ¡°So, it¡¯s not ¡®listening¡¯?¡± Riordan asked.


    ¡°Nope, it¡¯s just a telemetry tracker. It reports your position in real time. I think they are on to you. Whatever is in that case, they want it,¡± Jaisen gently lifted the device and wrapped a last piece of EVA tape to secure the battery to the module. He gently placed it in his duffel bag with his tools.


    ¡°What are you going to do with it?¡± Riordan asked.


    ¡°I told you I have an idea. It might buy you some time. My advice to you is to ditch the case somewhere public where it¡¯ll be found and get the hell out of this sector. You don¡¯t need this level of heat.¡±


    ***


    Jaisen calmly walked down the gangway. He was dressed in his work uniform, a bright green polo shirt, and technician''s pants. He carried his green duffel bag. He paused at a closed bulkhead and waved his security badge. The door hissed open. He made his way down the long port way and stopped at the last airlock. He pressed the visitor button. A few moments later a large man in a suit opened the airlock door.


    ¡°Jaisen Folyn, locksmith and safe master. I have an appointment for a locking mechanism replacement on an MK23 safe," he said to the imposing man. He held the duffel bag open for a cursory search. The man looked, seeing nothing but tools and parts.


    ¡°One moment,¡± the man said. He spoke briefly into his holocon. He nodded and escorted Jaisen onto the ship. Jaisen took one last look down the gangway to make sure it was clear before he stepped onto the ship. ¡®The shize Riordan gets me into,¡¯ he thought as the airlock closed behind him.


    ***


    ¡°Sir, the ship has departed the station!¡± The young leftenant called out to the captain.


    ¡°What? Did he file an amended flight plan?¡± Captain Shepherd asked, leaning forward in her seat. She watched the tracking marker move rapidly toward the edge of the system.


    ¡°Negative, Sir. Should we recall the strike team?¡± the leftenant asked.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°No, notify the team leader that Riordan has departed the station and to continue with the mission. They won¡¯t find the case, but they can still get the locksmith. Something must have spooked him. We¡¯ll go after Riordan when the team completes their mission. Helm, maintain our current position.¡±


    ***


    The anonymous shuttle edged closer to the docking arm. The airlocks mated with a clang as the metallic air of the station filled the small craft. The men readied their weapons. They left their military-issued equipment and gear back on the Hugo. They dressed in a motley assortment of second-hand clothing, nothing out of the norm for the poorer spectrum of citizens in the Occupied Territories. The team leader brought up the map of the station on his holocon. The images projected directly onto his retina showed the exact location of their target. He sent the map to the other men''s devices.


    ¡°We got a FRAGO, the Swindler departed the station an hour ago. Proceed with the capture of Jaisen Folyn. Once the target is acquired, place the charges at the pre-selected locations and transition to phase two. Slowly make your way back here to this ship. Once we are away, we blow the charges on the orbital engines. Clear?¡± the team leader asked. He received a chorus of positive responses.


    He looked over his team. These men were the best of the best, hand-picked for their willingness to follow orders and their predilection for murder. Sadly, he lost several in the attack on the Gypsy Rose. I won¡¯t lose anyone today, he vowed.


    ***


    Shortly after Jaisen left, Riordan sent an encrypted message to another contact at the station. A response came back almost at once; time and place. With a few hours to kill, a little shopping was in order. Grabbing an empty sea bag, he headed out to the station''s bazaar. Somebody had murdered three people fleeing a crippled ship and installed a tracker on his. To say his paranoia meter was pegged would have been an understatement. He needed insurance, and not the kind ''Farmers'' could sell him.


    He worked his way through the stalls crowding the bazaar. Originally a shuttle hangar, the station had expanded over the decades. To facilitate increased traffic, they installed a docking arm, and the auxiliary hangar deck was repurposed. He wandered, buying items he needed, and some items he didn''t, to blend in.


    When the meeting time approached, he ducked down a maintenance corridor. He doubled back a few times to make sure he wasn''t being followed. He almost ran into a small group of ''spacers. They supported one of their fellows who''d had too good of a time. They looked lost, constantly referring to a holocon and conferring amongst themselves. Thankfully, they chose a direction that led them away from where he concealed himself in the shadows behind some duct work.


    A few minutes later, he found himself waiting anxiously in a maintenance space, mostly occupied by environmental control machinery and waste reclamation vats. It was dark, humid, and loud¡ªthe perfect place for a clandestine meeting. He caught a furtive movement and watched as a figure emerged from the darkness. The form was slim, wearing a well-worn hooded jacket and baggy pants remade from an oversize brown flight suit. The person appeared to be wearing a pack. They stopped a few meters away and pushed their hood back.


    "Shize," Riordan exclaimed in surprise.

 Chapter 5: Black market On Vestal Station

    Chapter 5: Black market On Vestal Station


    ¡°Sarah,¡± a young man called out, waving, as Sarah exited the side corridor and entered the bazaar. She waved back as she passed a booth selling obviously counterfeit goods. She passed another selling grilled meat of an uncertain origin on a plastic skewer. Everything sold here was second rate, used, or repaired. First raters, Citizens of the Greater Galactic Cluster, would never deign to patronize such a low deck on the station; it just wasn¡¯t safe. They all stayed UP and shopped at the retail stores or the carefully curated thrift boutiques. The operators of the thrift boutiques came down to the bazaar to replace their stock.


    Sarah rounded a corner and stopped. A woman wearing a generic tan flight suit was flirting with a young man manning a repair kiosk. Sarah watched as he examined a late model holocon using an eyepiece. The pretty blonde woman filled out her flight suit nicely, and she should since it was tailored to accentuate her assets. With a hair flip, giggle, and hand touch combo the woman sashayed away from the bemused young man. The youth placed the holocon to be repaired into a padded reusable envelope and entered a few more details into a tablet before stowing it in a drawer under the counter.


    The young man was Keve Vercillo. He and his father, who was a maintenance supervisor for the station, ran the small repair and resale operation to generate extra income. His father was getting older and wanted his son to learn a different trade on a nice planet somewhere, under a real sky. With enough credits they could buy a small plot of land on an agricultural planet in the Occupied Territories and start a business repairing farm equipment.


    Sarah sympathized. She, too, was a station rat, stuck because they had enough credits to get there, but never enough to leave. Whenever they got close, something would always hold them back. She¡¯d only been planet side a few times, once on Prime when she was really little and once a few years ago on the last trip her and her father had taken after a particularly profitable period. While Keve¡¯s enterprise was above board, mostly, Sarah¡¯s was strictly black market.


    Her father left military service as a fleet pilot when his health failed. Disqualified from piloting he worked admin jobs for a year or two before his separation from the service was finalized. Her mother, never very attentive, just left one day. She was so young she barely remembers her. One day things were just different. She remembers waking up in the middle of the night a few times to find her father quietly sobbing in his bed.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, sprinkleberry, daddy¡¯s just sad. Go back to sleep,¡± he¡¯d say as he tucked her into bed next to him.


    He tried to find work, but there wasn¡¯t much legitimate work for a medically disqualified pilot with almost no other skills. Out of desperation, he started taking shadier one-off piloting gigs smuggling Gods only knew. He spent the time wisely making contacts and networking. His health eventually prevented him from even illegitimate piloting work and he switched to black market trading and facilitation. Besides piloting anything with an engine and a control surface, his only other life skill was charm, and he used it well.


    This translated nicely to the illegal goods trade allowing him to build a small nest egg.


    He wanted to get Sarah planet-side, somewhere safe, before he had to retire. He never said die, he always said retire. Even when his skin grew gray and hung on his bones and the circles under his eyes ever darker, he always said retire. The last few months before his retirement he was mostly bed-bound. Hospitals were for first raters, Citizens, with private insurance not Subjects with government sponsored healthcare and too little credits. Her hand unconsciously rose to rub at the tattoo burned into the skin of her left temple, marking her as a Subject or Sub.


    He didn¡¯t intend to languish in some communal clinic with dozens of other sick people just to extend his suffering by a few weeks. He wanted to save the credits and he spent the time training her in the art of the deal and making sure his contacts knew who she was. He retired about a year ago, after she turned fifteen years old.


    No one knew, officially. There was a small ceremony attended by his closest contacts in the shallow underworld of the station. A smuggling pilot that a previous arrangement had been made with took his body, and Sarah, out beyond the edge of the system and consigned it to space, as per his wishes. Sarah was pulled from her revere by a squabble of station rats rushing past her in some imaginary game that required their full attention and volume.


    ¡°So, was that your girlfriend?¡± She asked, propping herself up on one elbow on the kiosk.


    ¡°Who? That lady? Naw, my girlfriend is much cuter than her.¡± Keve responded, planting a kiss on her forehead.


    ¡°She seemed really¡­¡±


    ¡°Flirty?¡± Keve offered.


    ¡°Dumb.¡± Sarah finished, batting her eyelashes at him.


    ¡°Well, she did just drop off her holocon for a reset because she messed with too many settings.¡± They both laughed. They were interrupted by her holocon going off.


    ¡°Work,¡± she said, reading the message projected onto her retinas. ¡°Someone needs something. When do you get off?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m about to take my meal break, but then I¡¯m on for a few more hours. Want to have lunch with me?¡± Keve asked.


    Sarah momentarily looked away from the virtual data screen only she could see, ¡°Always,¡±. She typed a response in the air on an unseen keypad with a time and place and hit send.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ***


    A few hours later, she found herself walking through dark damp corridors in the inner bowels of the station¡¯s maintenance areas. She was always nervous meeting clients. Would she be busted this time? Would she be robbed, murdered, kidnapped and sold? She maneuvered between ducts and piping. The pack on her back shifted as she moved. High credit items, but the notes her father left on this client were extensive. He trusted this person and dealt with the a lot, but not so much recently. The items requested were a bit unusual though, for this client.


    She slowed as she approached the rendezvous point. Her client was expecting her to come from a different direction. She silently observed the man for a few moments from her concealed position, a trick her father taught her. He was old, over 30, with a receding hairline and 20 extra pounds. He dressed like most other deep spacers in flight suit pants, utility belt, and padded vest covered in pockets. His temple tattoo marked him as a Sub. His features were slightly familiar, like she had met him before, but it must have been a long time ago because she couldn''t place where she knew him from. Satisfied, she circled back around and approached him from the shadows. As she stepped into the light she pushed her hood back revealing her face.


    "Sarah?" he asked, incredulous. "Where''s your dad?"


    "He¡¯s taking care of another client. He sent me with a few items he thought you''d be interested in," the young woman replied tersely.


    Painful memories rose to the surface. Sarah¡¯s father, Tarold, had once been Riordan¡¯s best friend. Sarah''s mother was once Riordan''s fianc¨¦. An unfortunate series of events led to her marrying Tarold instead. Riordan cracked his neck, pushing the memories aside. He was there to conduct business, not relive past regrets. Anger flared at the thought of Tar sending a 15-year-old girl into the bowels of the station to sell contraband weapons to an associate known to conduct criminal enterprises. He forced himself to push that aside, too. Riordan pulled a scanner from his belt pouch. "No offense," he said, "Security first."


    "Sure, better safe than sorry," she replied, raising her arms and turning a slow circle. The scanner beeped, showing she was free of trackers and surveillance devices.


    "Your Dad put you to work often?" he asked, stuffing the scanner back into its belt pouch. He carefully kept his tone neutral.


    "I''m not here to discuss my personal life or work habits, mister. You want to check out the goods, or not?"


    Riordan waved his hands in an expansive gesture. "By all means, let''s see what you got." ¡®Why are all children such insufferable brats,¡¯ he thought to himself.


    She shouldered her pack to the ground and rummaged through it. "Here," she said, pulling out a weapon. "You should be familiar with this one. It''s a modified¡ª"


    "Alpha-two-niner. Carbine version of the alpha-two-eight, the last cartridge rifle in standard use with the FRS infantry," he interrupted. "10 mm caseless, forty-round magazine, six hundred rounds per minute," he said with a condescending smile.


    "Here''s the combo battle sight," she said, holding it out. "It increases the accuracy out to 200 meters."


    He locked the sight to the top of the weapon with practiced ease. He shouldered it, peering through the sight at various things. He worked the firing mechanism a few times and peered inside the chamber. "I''ll take it," he said, collapsing the butt-stock and stowing it in his duffel.


    "Great," she replied without enthusiasm. "This is a mike-five-nine plasma rifle," she said, pulling a larger sleek weapon from the pack. "This latest version has been redesigned. Integrated thermal-assisted targeting sight," she pointed to the top of the weapon, "Forty-watt max phased charge chamber with millisecond refresh. It takes two standard charge packs, and the stock folds." She handed it to him.


    He turned it over in his hands. It felt light and plastic-y, like a toy. He activated the power stud and was greeted with a high-pitched whine and an error message. ''Charge Packs Depleted.'' He turned it off and stuffed it into the duffel bag with its obsolete cousin.


    "That one will get you serious time," she said.


    "I¡¯m here to buy illegal weapons from a teenager, not discuss my professional life," he said, securing the duffel bag.


    "As if, now pay up. Ten thousand credits," she said, holding out her hand.


    "What?" he scoffed, "That''s robbery!"


    "Then hand ¡®em back. My Dad said he never haggled with you, and neither will I."


    "We never haggled because he always gave me the best price," Riordan replied hotly through gritted teeth.


    Sarah stood her ground, boldly making eye contact and holding out her hand. He needed these weapons. All he had was a slug pistol and a tired old ship.


    "Fine!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "10k, large chips." He dug a small cloth bag from one of his vest pockets and tossed it to her.


    She peeked inside the bag and counted ten 1k chips, denominations glowing softly. Exhausted credit chips didn''t glow. She smiled for the first time as she tucked the credits into an inner jacket pocket. The deck plates below their feet rumbled and vibrated, nearly knocking them off their feet, their mag-boots automatically activating.


    "What the hell was that?" Riordan asked, glancing around.


    "Whatever it was, isn''t good," Sarah replied. There was a distant boom, and their ears popped from over-pressure. "Was that an explosion?" she asked, already turning to leave.


    He grabbed her arm pulling her back. "We need to get to my ship!"


    She pulled free, anger coloring her face. "Let go of me! I have to find... my dad!" Alarms blared. The station was losing its atmosphere.


    "Shize, alright," he said, seeing the fear in her eyes. "Where are you going?"


    "Why do you..." she tried to ask.


    "Just tell me! In case I need to find you! Your dad is my oldest friend!"


    "Level 14, section C, cell 3," she replied, pulling away.


    "Ok, go! Meet me in the docking area as soon as you can," he warned, pointing a finger.


    Sarah dug in her pack and tossed him a pouch of rifle magazines. "You might need these, no charge!"


    He watched as she darted around a pillar and down a side passage. Another explosion rocked the station, and he felt the gravity fluctuate. ''That was close,'' he thought, leaving the maintenance tunnels and heading toward the bazaar. He stopped, scenting smoke in the air, to send a quick voice to text-only message to Jaisen on his holocon.


    TROUBLE! BOTH OF YOU MEET ME AT MY SHIP, ASAP!


    The bazaar was deserted except for the few brave souls who dared to waste precious evacuation time by looting the abandoned stalls. Cries of distress and the staccato rattle of slug rifles propelled him forward. Exiting the far side of the bazaar, he heard the high-pitched whine of plasma weapons. ''What the frek is going on!?'' He thought. He pulled the slug rifle out of the duffel, seated a magazine, and slung it across his chest. He slung the empty plasma rifle across his back, tossing the now-empty duffel bag aside. Riordan jogged to the end of the gangway, slug rifle held at the low ready position. He paused, listening.


    Judging the way clear, he sprinted to the next junction. The following several corridors were filled with confused and sleepy station residents. Most of them were too panicked to notice his weapons and if they did, he just muttered something about security. The closer he got to the center of the station, the worse the sounds of battle grew. A thin haze of smoke burned his throat and made his eyes water. People were running hither and yon, panicking. He spotted a small group of men at the end of a passage firing a mix of weapons. At first, Riordan thought they were station security, but they were firing on unarmed civilians. His blood ran cold.

 Chapter 6: Leaving Vesta Station

    ¡®We¡¯re under attack!¡¯ he thought. Up to this point, he still had hope there was some sort of accident. He charged a round into his rifle¡¯s chamber. ¡®I needed charge packs,¡¯ he thought, taking cover behind a bulkhead. He aimed at the attacker firing a plasma rifle and fired. The man spun and went down screaming. Slugs and plasma bolts ricocheted wildly off the walls as they returned fire. When the firing stopped, he darted across the corridor, spraying the end of the corridor with slugs, but the men weren¡¯t there. He carefully maneuvered to their former location.


    He found a few spent magazines and several charge packs. Eagerly, he tried the charge packs, and the two best brought the plasma rifle up to 30%, enough for a few dozen shots. He noticed black goo soaking into the worn carpet. Hydraulic body armor used a similar fluid for slug and fragment protection. Shots rang out further down the hall. The attackers were moving to the docking arm, the same direction he was heading. It was also the same direction that Sarah was heading. Thinking fast, he climbed the nearest ladder up three levels to deck 14.


    His breath tore raggedly in his lungs. He wasn¡¯t in the best shape of his life, but climbing three decks worth of ladders shouldn¡¯t have left him this winded. The air was thinner in this section. He searched four emergency lockers before finding a functional respirator. He fastened it around his face, hearing the low hiss of air. His breathing eased at once. Level 14 was a basic residence level, divided into small cells, not unlike hotel rooms. Graffiti graced the walls, and only every third illumination panel worked. It was eerily deserted. ¡®Poor people always have better survival instincts,¡¯ he mused. The dingy carpet tiles muffled his footfalls as he jogged, scanning for direction signs.


    At an intersection, the signage indicated C section, cells 1 to 15 were off to the right. He turned down the corridor just in time to see Sarah exiting her cell. Her pack was stuffed to the brim, emergency respirator strapped to her face.


    ¡°Sarah!¡± he called out.


    Sarah spun reflexively, startled ¡°Takk fyrir!¡±


    Relief flooded through him as he quickly visually inspected her for injuries. The alarms changed tone. A series of low thumps sounded through the bulkheads. Lifeboats were being launched. Only the upper levels where the more affluent station dwellers lived had access to lifeboats. The station crew and everyone else had to head to the docking arm and pray there were enough ships berthed to take them.


    ¡°Lifeboats? Holy frek! What¡¯s happening?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s an attack,¡± he said, pulling her down the passageway. ¡°Shooters. They¡¯ve headed toward the docking arm.¡±


    She pulled him up short. ¡°Shooters? Like with guns?¡±


    He held his rifle up, ¡°Guns. Probably pirates or a raiding party.¡± They continued toward their destination.


    ¡°Why would anyone attack us? We¡¯re a transfer station, we have almost nothing,¡± she protested.


    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss that later when we¡¯re safely on my ship redlining the engines on our way out of the system. Let¡¯s go!¡± he said, pulling her down the hall. He took point, making sure intersections were clear as they passed. The corridors were now ominously devoid of people. They stopped at a service level leading down to lower decks where the docking arm mated to the station¡¯s superstructure.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go first. The shooters were headed this way,¡± he said, hopping onto the ladder. Riordan reached the bottom and scanned the smoky darkness with his thermal sight. Illumination on this level was out.


    ¡°Clear!¡± He called up to Sarah.


    They repeated this several more times until they reached deck 4, the same level as the docking arm.


    ¡°In case we get separated,¡± he said, holding out a key-card, ¡°Plug this into the Navcomp. It¡¯s encoded to start the engines and prep the ship for flight. Once you hit the big red button on the pilot¡¯s console, it¡¯ll take you to the nearest inhabited system. It¡¯s all automated. Tar knows how to pilot; he¡¯ll take care of the rest. Where is he?¡± He¡¯d noticed she¡¯d been checking her outdated holocon constantly.


    She tucked the card into the pocket of her jacket. ¡°I messaged him to meet us at your ship, he¡¯s probably already there,¡± she said, avoiding eye contact.


    Nodding, he headed out. Sarah followed, her face pensive. Gravity fluctuated several times before they reached the promenade. Sarah was never more thankful for mag boots being mandatory on stations. The number of people they met increased. The promenade was a designated safe area. Anyone unable to access the escape boats on the higher levels would head here. The promenade had only four entrances, each secured with large internal airlocks. This allowed it to be isolated from the rest of the station in case of an emergency such as a fire or a hull breach.


    A large crowd of people was excitedly milling about outside the airlock leading to the promenade. Most were dressed in night clothes and had various injuries. Shouts of alarm went up at the sight of their weapons. The crowd surged away from them. Sarah scanned the crowd for Keve¡¯s face in vain. ¡®Where was he?¡¯ she thought anxiously.


    Thinking fast, Riordan started shouting. ¡°Calm down, station security! Make way!¡± he shouldered his way into the crowd. ¡°Form lines, one over there,¡± he pointed to the left, ¡°and one over here,¡± he pointed to the right. ¡°Move it, let¡¯s go!¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The pair pushed their way to the airlock control panels.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you cycling the airlock? Every second counts!¡± he asked a man in a flight suit with serious burns along his left arm, staffing the console.


    ¡°Oh frek, security! Thank God! Guys with guns, that¡¯s why!¡± he replied shakily.


    Riordan pressed his face to the port on the outer airlock door. ¡°I don¡¯t see anyone now,¡± all he saw were bodies lying on the floor and people huddling behind what cover they could find.


    ¡°They went down the docking arm,¡± the man said.


    ¡°How long ago?¡± Riordan asked. ¡°Hey, how long ago?¡±


    ¡°About three minutes!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re gone! They left! Cycle the airlock!¡± Riordan commanded. ¡°Sarah, clear the door. We¡¯re going to cycle the airlock and secure the promenade so we can all evacuate! Back the frek up! Clear the door!¡±


    The crowd pulled back to form lines. The airlock door hissed closed. The pressure equalized, popping their ears. Riordan crouched near the left side and indicated for Sarah to do the same on the right side. ¡°Did your dad ever teach you to shoot?¡± he asked.


    ¡°A long time ago,¡± she replied. ¡°Once.¡±


    He slid his slug pistol across the airlock floor to her. ¡°Good enough. Safety is off and you have eight rounds. Make them count.¡±


    The outer door hissed open. Riordan bolted out first, taking cover behind an upturned table. He checked for life signs on the man on the floor but found nothing. He scanned the promenade, but aside from sobbing and low cries of pain, he couldn¡¯t detect a threat.


    ¡°Is it safe?¡± Sarah called from the airlock.


    Riordan stood. ¡°It¡¯s clear! Start cycling people in!¡±


    Riordan and Sarah stood guard as people rushed from the first cycling of the airlock. They tended to the wounded and helped others to their feet. Beside him Sarah seemed to be searching the crowd for someone.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the real security forces?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Most likely dead if they aren¡¯t here,¡± he replied. ¡°Let¡¯s get the ship ready to take on passengers.¡±


    As Sarah fought her way through the crowd to the docking arm, Riordan tried to control the chaos. She climbed the turnstiles, the only thing keeping the crowd from swarming into the docking arm. The control booth was on the other side, the operators and guards lying dead on the decking. Two of the dead looked like shooters. She disappeared down the docking arm. Sarah returned a few minutes later.


    ¡°The ship is open, and I stuck the card in the Navcomp thing, what now?¡± Sarah said through the bars of the operator¡¯s booth.


    Riordan felt the station listing. The groans of over-stressed metal echoed ominously. He couldn¡¯t be sure, but that loud noise a few seconds ago was either another explosion or a section of the station venting into space.


    ¡°We evacuate. Women and children first. Open the cargo gate when I say.¡± he said, indicating the large gate that separated the two turnstiles.


    Riordan stood in front of the gate, having successfully formed the women and children into one line, and men in another. He yelled to Sarah, and she opened the gate. At Riordan¡¯s urging, the women and children rushed forward into the docking arm. A man wearing technician¡¯s fatigues ran at Riordan, trying to get past him. Riordan stepped to the side and felled the man with a strike from the butt-stock of his weapon. The man dropped to the floor in a heap.


    ¡°I said women and children first! The next man that tries to get past me gets blasted!¡± he yelled, shouldering his slug rifle. Riordan noticed the airlock hadn¡¯t cycled again.


    ¡°Sarah, why did the airlock stop?¡± Sarah scanned the control panel in confusion. ¡°I¡¯m showing no atmosphere behind all four airlocks. They¡¯re on safety lock-down,¡± she replied, a look of horror painting her face. ¡®So many people,¡¯ she thought.


    A man ran up to Riordan, hands over his head. ¡°Don¡¯t shoot! Don¡¯t shoot!¡±


    It was the man from the airlock. Riordan kept his weapon trained on the man.


    ¡°Get back, goddamnit!"


    ¡°I¡¯m Kevin Jarvis, captain of the ¡®Deuces Wild.¡¯ I need to get to my ship!¡±


    Riordan glanced back along the docking arm corridor at the stream of refugees. There was more than the Swindler could handle by herself.


    ¡°Are you willing to take survivors?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Women and children first!¡± he replied as Riordan let him pass.


    ¡°That¡¯s bullshit!¡± another man shouted, storming toward Riordan.


    RATATATATAT! Riordan fired the slug rifle over their heads. The crowd momentarily fell back but surged forward again. Riordan emptied the slug rifle¡¯s magazine as he fell back. He was careful to pull his aim high, but they kept coming. He screamed for Sarah to close the cargo gate and slipped through just in time. The crowd was now a mob, mindless in its collective fury to survive at any cost. As the pair fought their way down the long docking arm, he recognized a face.


    ¡°Gloriana! Over here!¡±


    She glanced up, arms around a limping young woman. She passed her off to someone else and re-positioned the large medical bag slung from her shoulder.


    ¡°Atticus, what¡¯s going on?¡± she asked, giving him a quick grateful embrace.


    ¡°No time to talk, come with us,¡± he said, pulling her along.


    They pushed their way into the Swindler¡¯s airlock. Gloriana immediately started organizing triage for the injured. The station shuddered, and their ears popped. The emergency hatch at the end of the docking arm closed with an audible clang. Riordan shuddered in horror as the faces on the other side of the porthole contorted in soundless agony before falling away.


    ¡°We gotta go!¡± he yelled, shoving people into the swindler¡¯s airlock. The much smaller crowd was suddenly a crush. Panicked, he tried to close the outer airlock door, but it was blocked by all the people. He anxiously waited for the last of the nearby survivors to stumble into the airlock before sealing the doors. Almost immediately muffled banging could be heard. He stepped back and sealed the inner airlock door.


    The mingled scents of acrid smoke and coppery blood hung heavily in the air. His breath heaved in his lungs, and his mouth flooded with saliva. He splattered the deck plates with vomit. He stood up straight, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± a middle-aged woman with sweat-slick hair asked incredulously. She was cradling one of the last-minute children, its eyes blank and catatonic with shock, but alive.


    ¡°What I had to,¡± he said, ejecting the spent magazine from the slug rifle before letting it clatter to the deck.

 Chapter 7: The Fall of Vesta Station

    Chapter 7: The Fall of Vesta Station


    Riordan settled into his captain''s chair, not bothering to strap in. There wasn¡¯t time. The station''s orbit was decaying. The view-ports glowed dull red from the friction of the atmosphere. The Swindler could handle it; she was rated for atmospheric flight. The station, however, wouldn¡¯t last much longer. He grabbed the headset and toggled the PA system.


    ¡°Attention, attention, attention! Secure yourselves as best you can. The station has lost orbit and is dragging us into the atmosphere. This is going to be rough.¡± Riordan checked engine status; everything was green, or at least yellow, across the board. ¡°Deuces Wild, this is the Passive Swindler, what¡¯s your status, over,¡± Riordan said over the com.


    ¡°Passive Swindler, Deuces Wild. I can¡¯t get the docking clamps to disengage. I think the station might have lost power,¡± Kevin said, barely concealing the panic in his voice.


    Riordan toggled several controls and heard the muted thunks of the mooring clamps disengaging. The Swindler drifted away from the crippled station. ¡°Deuces, the Swindler is away. Keep trying. I¡¯ll come around to help,¡± Riordan said.


    ¡°Roger, Swindler.¡± Riordan heard clicking. ¡°Negative on disengagement!¡±


    Riordan fed power to the Swindler''s engines. The ship shuddered and rocked from turbulence. Debris banged off her hull. Riordan heard cries of alarm from his passengers. He spun the Swindler around and accelerated, passing over the station¡¯s docking arm. He examined the docking clamps attached to the Deuces Wild as he struggled to match the ever-increasing tumble of the station.


    The entire area was illuminated by a sickly red glow as parts of the station overheated. Sensor scans revealed damage to the internal systems preventing the clamps from releasing on the Deuce¡¯s side of the docking arm. The ambient glow increased to orange. It was getting harder to maintain control of their position. Riordan watched as the station began to visibly shudder as small sections of the outer hull vaporized.


    ¡®¡°Deuces, punch your engines to max throttle on my mark. I have an idea,¡± Riordan called over the com channel.


    ¡°Roger, Swindler. I got my hand on the throttle. Say when!¡±


    Struggling against the turbulence, Riordan brought the Swindler into position just above and dextral of the smaller craft. The Swindler''s forward airlock opened. Riordan took manual control of the 30mm cannon. He carefully nudged the controls until the cross-hairs on the view-port lined up with the base of the starboard docking clamp. Alarms began to sound. Hull temperature was nearing critical.


    ¡°Deuces, I¡¯m going to fire my weapons at the base of the dextral docking clamp. Stand by,¡± Riordan pressed the firing stud. At that same moment, a large piece of debris slammed into the sinistral side of the Swindler. The already struggling ship reeled from the impact. The rounds impacted the docking arm itself, tearing large holes through the hull. The docking arm catastrophically decompressed, sending bodies tumbling into space before being consumed by the plasmic corona of super-heated re-entry gasses.


    ¡°Goddamn it! Deuces, I missed. Hold steady.¡±


    ¡°Swindler, we¡¯re starting to get nervous!¡±


    Riordan lined the Swindler up for another shot. A glance at the systems board showed the sinistral-side plasma cannon was offline. Attitude control felt sluggish on that side, too. Sweat trickled down his cheek. The cross-hairs lined up, and Riordan fired a dozen rounds into the base of the dextral docking clamp.


    ¡°PUNCH IT, DEUCES!¡± Riordan yelled over the com channel.


    The dual engine exhaust ports at the rear of the smaller ship glowed bright blue and then white. The dextral docking clamp started to tear away from the structure. Allowing the Swindler to drift higher above the stricken ship, Riordan fired a dozen rounds at the sinistral docking clamp. With a freakish suddenness, both clamps parted from the docking arm, and the smaller craft shot away from the stricken station.


    ¡°Swindler, we¡¯re clear! We¡¯re clear! Woooo!¡±


    Riordan heard cheering in the background of the transmission. Riordan spun the Swindler around and buried her throttles to the stops. Riordan flipped to the rear-view on the small view screen to his right. He watched as the station grew smaller, engulfed in an eerie yellow glow, now edging toward white. A tail formed as the atmosphere thickened. Someone once said ¡®Death was beautiful¡¯. This was both beautiful and horrific. He watched while the Swindler strove to reach a safe distance. The view screen abruptly cut to white as the optical sensors overloaded. ''There goes the main reactor,'' he thought.


    ¡°Deuces Wild, Passive Swindler, get on the emergency frequency and see if you can raise anyone from the surface. The station crew probably put out a distress call, but let¡¯s make sure,¡± Riordan said over the com channel.


    ¡°Roger, Swindler, already on it,¡± the captain of the Deuces replied.


    ***


    Captain Mareion Shepherd dispassionately watched through the main view-port. She listened to the com traffic coming from the crippled station and watched as explosions ripped holes in the outer hull.


    ¡°Captain, the strike team is almost back. They are reporting mission success, minimal casualties.¡±


    ¡°Tell team leader Nadzacovich I¡¯ll meet him in the interrogation chamber when he arrives with the prisoner,¡± Shepherd said.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, Nadzacovich is listed as a casualty.¡±


    Shepherd sighed. ¡°I¡¯m going to the Officer¡¯s Mess for a steak and a glass of wine. Let me know when the prisoner is in the interrogation chamber.¡±


    ***


    The two ships waited in high polar orbit over the agricultural planet, Besitera, for the red and white painted Orbital Guard Emergency Rescue and Evacuation ships to arrive and take custody of the evacuees. Riordan was overwhelmed. The sheer tragedy of what happened lay heavy on him. After nearly an hour, there were still nothing more than vague reports on the planet-wide networks, and nothing on the Quantum Phase Networks, the Q-Net. An official government spokesperson hinted that the station''s destruction was an act of terror by unnamed separatists.


    Riordan found Sarah among the refugees and set her to work distributing food and water from the ship¡¯s stores. Several of the women had basic first-aid knowledge. Riordan declared the center of the cargo hold for the wounded only. Many of the refugees were seriously wounded, either by gunfire or burns from the explosions. Sarah brought the women with children up to the rec room and put a cartoon vid on the projector. There were more children than mothers. Riordan vividly remembered one man fighting his way to the front of the crowd and handing Riordan his little boy before turning to help keep others with less courage from breaking through and flooding the corridor to the ship berthing. It didn¡¯t make much difference, but at least he tried.


    There were several teenage boys included with the refugees. Riordan took them to the command deck and sat one of them at the coms console and another at the engineering console to watch the waste and life support systems. The last young man had a large bandage wrapped around his head. Riordan handed him a tablet and tasked him with creating a manifest of all the passengers.


    Once a semblance of control was established, Riordan went to the cargo bay to help with the wounded. Glori was tending to a woman with severe burns. Her shoulder and back were covered with blisters weeping fluids, soaking what remained of her nightshirt.


    ¡°I need more bandages,¡± she said to the woman helping her.


    "Jaisen?" Riordan asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She roughly shrugged it off. ¡°He went to work on a ship last night. I haven¡¯t seen him since.¡±


    He let the silence fill the gap. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Captain!¡± The young man tasked with monitoring life support called from the catwalk above the cargo floor.


    ¡°Yeah! What is it?¡± Riordan called back, thankful for the distraction from the loss of his friend.


    ¡°Life support just went red, sir!¡±


    ¡°Shize!¡± he said, sprinting for the ladder.


    On the command deck, he fiddled with some controls on the life support board. Numbers flashed on the small screen.


    "Traden, how many survivors do we have on board?"


    ¡°307, sir.¡± The young man said, looking at the tablet.


    The maximum rated capacity of the Swindler when she was a passenger liner was 30 passengers and five crew, and that was a long time ago. Riordan rebuilt the life support system, streamlining it and customizing the efficiency for less than 16 passengers. Life support would last for months with just himself as the crew. The readout said they had less than 2 hours of life support left.


    ¡°Any word from the surface on when the rescue ships are coming?¡± He asked the young man staffing the comm board.


    "They said it''s going to be several hours yet until the debris field clears enough to risk a rendezvous." The teen paused. "There are rumors on the planet side message boards that the Confederation has taken responsibility for the attack." The teen nervously finished.


    ¡°That¡¯s ludicrous! The UCIS was crushed a century ago, and the systems have been occupied by Federal forces ever since.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what the boards are saying, sir.¡±


    Much of the reason Riordan left the Fleet was the way Subjects of the Occupied Territories were allowed to serve in the Fleet but were subject to restrictions in duty stations, specialties, and rank advancement. Former UCIS systems weren¡¯t even officially recognized as more than territorial possessions of the Feds. Their citizens were considered second-class Subjects toiling under the yoke of oppressive reparation sanctions for their role in the civil war.


    Riordan crammed himself into the cramped sinistral-side corner of the command deck, tapping at the cobbled-together touchscreen that controlled the life support and waste management functions. The issue appeared to be the CO2 scrubbers. They were way past replacement limits, and with the extra CO2 being produced by the survivors, they were failing fast. He paused for a second, trying to remember where he stowed the spare CO2 scrubbers. O2, oxygen, levels were getting low, but the CO2 scrubbers were the immediate concern. Surely, the rescue ships would be here in time. Riordan grunted as he pulled open a small locker under the control display, retrieving a breathing apparatus.


    "Listen up, boys! Some bad shize just happened¡­ but it happened to all of us. We just need to keep our shize together for a few more hours. Once we get you on the rescue ships, you can freak out, cry yourself to sleep, whatever you need to do. Right now, I need a crew of stone-faced space dogs. Are you that crew?"


    He sent one of the boys on a mission to a passenger suite he used for storage to find the CO2 scrubbers. When the young man returned he instructed the young man how to replace the filters in the scrubber assemblies, which were all the same type, much newer, and more efficient than the original design of the ship.


    ¡°And there,¡± Riordan said, snapping the cover back into place. ¡°It¡¯s that easy,¡± he finished, handing the small duffel of replacements to the teen.


    ¡°Down there, to the left, and in the back?¡± the teen asked uncertainty.


    ¡°Aft sinistral section, just follow the map I uploaded to your tablet. You have seven more to change. Come get me if you need help.¡±


    Riordan headed toward the rec room, emergency breather still in hand. He planned to retrieve at least half a dozen in case life support failed, the plan being to isolate everyone in the cargo hold and concentrate life support there. The breathers would allow him and a few others to move around the ship, affecting repairs or changing filters.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± he said, as Sarah nearly barreled into him. Her arms were full of various bundles and cartons.


    ¡°You know your medical bay is horribly antiquated?¡± she replied to his quizzical glance at her parcels.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to upgrade that.¡±


    ¡°At least you have plenty of supplies, right?" she answered, trying to slip past him. She was hoping he wouldn¡¯t notice her puffy eyes and red cheeks.


    ¡°Sarah,¡± he started, gently putting his hand on her shoulder to stop her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your father¡­ there just wasn¡¯t time to find him¡­ He was a good man and deserved better.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s shoulders slumped, and she looked away.


    ¡°Tar died over a cycle ago. Cancer.¡±


    ¡°Cancer? That¡¯s easily treated¡­¡±


    ¡°If you have credits,¡± she retorted, pulling away and starting down the hallway.


    Riordan dropped his hand as he watched her retreat to the ladder leading below decks. He said nothing because what could he say that would change anything anyway? ¡®Sarah, what a complicating factor,¡¯ he thought as he entered the rec room. ¡®A problem for another time,¡¯ he thought as he rummaged around in the under counter lockers retrieving more breather units.


    Glori graciously accepted the medical supplies from Sarah. She seemed a good bit calmer and more put together than most of the other survivors. Glori sifted through the bundles and surprisingly found several ampules of morph and morph-a.


    ¡°Sarah, where did you get these? The medical station had almost nothing!¡±


    ¡°The captain has a pretty large selection of ¡®Medicine¡¯ hidden on the recreation deck,¡± she replied, making air quotes.


    ¡°Still, these are restricted items.¡±


    ¡°Well, our Captain makes his own rules apparently.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, breaking the rules can be a good thing,¡± Glori said, administering a dose of the pain medication to the severely burned woman she was attending to. ¡°Sometimes,¡± she finished solemnly. They spoke little as Glori moved from patient to patient, aided by Sarah. She had more than a passing knowledge of first aid and even more involved procedures. She didn''t wait to be asked. As soon as Sarah boarded, she started helping Glori triage the wounded by severity, moving the most seriously wounded to the former passenger cabins. The less seriously injured were relegated to areas on the cargo floor and told to be patient.


    ¡®What a mess¡¯, Glori thought. They had babies without mothers, mothers without babies, children, and teens, all shell-shocked and suffering. Their lives changed forever in the short span of a few minutes, including her own. Jaisen! Her stomach knotted just thinking of him. He wasn''t on the Swindler, and she hasn''t been able to check with the Captain of the Deuces Wild. If he wasn''t on the only two ships that were at the station, then the only alternative was¡­


    The most severely injured woman passed a few minutes after the Swindler reached a safe distance. With prompt advanced care, Glori thought everyone else might survive. However, a little boy would certainly lose an eye. Her current patient settled down as the morph took hold. Glori used her medical scanner to add the current patient to her growing triage database. The entries consisted of hasty full-body scans and genetic profiles. Glori set up cross-referencing to match the unaccompanied children, some of whom were non-verbal, to possible relatives. As a habit, she scanned Sarah just to make sure she was in good health.


    Notifications popped up on her device as she finished her current scan. Another pair of matches had been found. She brought up the results, and her jaw dropped. Sarah has a parent on the ship!


    The replaced CO2 scrubbers held out as the rescue ships arrived to collect survivors. Riordan had added to the dwindling O2 supply by cutting the mouth valves off the breather canisters and directly venting the O2, increasing the percentage of available oxygen in the air to reduce the strain on the already overtaxed life support system. It likely didn¡¯t do much but it made him feel better about the situation.


    Riordan leaned heavily on the catwalk railing above the cargo bay, marveling at the mess left behind. Bloody bandages, food wrappers, and the occasional personal item littered every surface. The ship was eerily quiet now. Only the steady hum of ship systems kept the silence from being complete. He heard someone approaching and wearily turned to face them. It could only be one person, Glori, who decided to stay on with him rather than board a rescue ship. What he saw on her face surprised him; hope and excitement. It was a nice change from the grim determination of the past few hours. He noticed her medical scanner. She held it out to him wordlessly, one hand covering her mouth as a tear rolled down her cheek.


    ¡°What is it?¡± He asked, concerned. He reviewed the data.


    ¡°You put a medical tracker in your husband?¡±


    ¡°Yes. He never had the time for a check-up, and it lets me keep track of his health, diet, etc."


    ¡°This means Jaisen wasn¡¯t on the station? Where was he?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but that shows he left the station shortly before the first explosion. The last ping on his tracker was on the docking arm. Maybe he got a pickup job at another station or planet?¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t he have left you a message or something?¡± Riordan asked, handing her back the scanner.


    ¡°Maybe he did, but I didn¡¯t get it. A ship did leave the station about the same time he did, but the records are lost with the station. They weren¡¯t uploaded to the Q-Net in time. I was woken from a dead sleep by the first explosion. I barely had time to dress and grab my emergency kit.¡± She barely choked back emotion. ¡°He¡¯s alive, Atticus!¡±


    He returned her frantic hug, genuinely excited at the news. She pulled back, her face sobering.


    ¡°There¡¯s something else.¡± She tapped the screen of the scanner and handed it back to him.


    Curious, he looks at the screen. ¡°Hijo de Puta! Please tell me you haven¡¯t told her!¡±


    ¡°No, I came straight to you about it. She doesn¡¯t know? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°She can¡¯t know, it¡¯s complicated. None of it¡¯s her fault and now isn¡¯t the time, is it?¡±

 Chapter 8: Power and Pain

    Jaisen could hear nothing but his own panicked breathing through the rough cloth of the hood covering his head. His wrists were bound to the arms of a cold metal chair. He had been stripped and shivered in the cold room. He didn''t know how long he had been there, or how long it had been since he was kidnapped from Vesta station, but it had been long enough that he had felt desperately thirsty and had soiled himself a few times. He''d liked to believe he didn''t know what this was about, but he did. He knew exactly what this was about.


    Something in the air changed; maybe there was an undercurrent of scent on the air that wasn''t coming from his urine, or the greasy terror sweat that slicked his body. There it was, perfume, and expensive.


    ¡°Hello!¡± he bellowed. The hood was ripped from his head. His eyes stung and teared under the assault of intense white light blasting.


    ¡°Hello," a well modulated female responded.


    ¡°What the frek is going on? Where am I?" he demanded, struggling futilely against his bonds. He heard the rustle of fabric and could vaguely make out a dark figure moving in front of him.


    ¡°You know exactly ¡®wha¡¯s goin¡¯ on¡¯,¡± the voice purred, imitating his outer territory''s accent perfectly. ¡°You conspired with a wanted fugitive to commit insurance fraud, impede a federal investigation, and willfully removing a tracking device and concealing it on another ship. Should I go on?¡±


    Jaisen went still. Sweat trickled down his dark skin as the muscles in his jawline twitched. He strained to see, but the intensity of the light was too much.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been arrested before. You¡¯re probably wondering why this experience is a little different.¡±


    Jaisen shifted in his bonds. ¡°You¡¯re going to interrogate me.¡±


    ¡°Not just cute, but smart, too,¡± the woman sounded like she was smiling.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Someone was wrapping a cuff around his left ankle. Jaisen''s eyes were adjusting, and he could barely make out that the figure was wearing a military, versus law enforcement, uniform. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The figure cocked her head to the left for a moment, brushing her dirty blonde hair behind her ear. ¡°I¡¯m Captain Mareion Shepherd. I¡¯m going to ask you some simple questions about Atticus Riordan. You will give me simple answers. Do you understand?¡± There was a gleeful coldness in the woman¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Yes, perfectly. I¡¯ll tell you anything you want to know about that bastard!¡±


    ¡°Excellent! Very Good, Jaisen. But just to make sure¡­" Captain Shepherd produced a small black device resembling some sort of remote control from her pocket. "...I have your full attention," Shepherd''s thumb lovingly caressed the button before pushing it.


    Current coursed through Jaisen''s body. He went rigid, jaws clamped, eyes bulging in their sockets. Jaisen''s world was a supernova of white light and pain. Shepherd held the button down for five sections, then ten sections, before finally releasing it. Jaisen slumped forward, heaving breath into his lungs. His entire body quivered and spasmed in the aftermath.


    "Oh, frek!¡± He hoarsely whispered repeatedly.


    ¡°Oh, frek is right,¡± Shepherd calmly replied and pressed the button again.


    He lost count of how many times she pressed the button. Sometimes they came rapid fire with a short duration and other times it went on so long he was certain he would die. He was shocked back to consciousness by a hard stream of ice cold water from a hose. A guard was hosing the terror sweat and excrement into a floor drain. He didn¡¯t think to drink as the spray battered his face. The guard cut off the flow and dropped the nozzle to the floor.


    "Why?" Jaisen panted, head hanging in defeat. He shivered as the ice cold water streamed from his body in rivulets.


    "Why haven''t I asked you any questions yet?" Shepherd asked, pacing around her victim, highly polished boots clicking hollowly on the floor tiles. "You''ll just lie. You all do," she said, tapping the tell tale tattoo burned into his left temple. "You can''t help it, it''s your inferior fragger genes. You lie, cheat, steal, rape, and murder without cause or compunction."


    Jaisen swallowed convulsively, fighting the dryness in his throat. ¡®I won''t ask for water, I won''t give her the satisfaction,¡¯ he thought. "We can''t... all be born... lucky," he panted.


    "I make my own luck," she replied. She stopped pacing and looked thoughtful. "It''s getting late. We''ll end this for now. Get him out of here."

 Chapter 9: Revelations and Accusations

    Sarah appeared from a side passage, arms crossed over her chest. She approached them but kept a distance from Riordan, staring defiantly at him. ¡°I already know.¡±


    ¡°I should have put you on that ship,¡± Riordan admonished.


    ¡°How did you even¡­ why did you?¡± She asked Glori as she took a seat at the small table.


    ¡°As standard procedure, I scan all my patients and record their genetic profile. I set up a cross-reference. These results came back matching you¡­ to him.¡±


    Riordan sighed. He didn¡¯t bother looking at the screen.


    ¡°Is that why you asked to stay?¡± he asked Sarah. ¡°They would have found you a safe place to live. You would have gotten a proper education. There are dozens of programs to help disaster survivors. I have some pretty good contacts. You¡¯d have a chance at a decent life.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a decent life? I would have ended up at a residency school till 18, trained for an occupation the ''State'' thought I would be good at. What happens then, I live the rest of my life in poverty, a good little ¡®Subject¡¯ dutifully toiling for the enrichment of my ¡®betters¡¯,¡± she asked, tapping the tattoo burned into her left temple. ¡°We all know as soon as I got out, if I didn¡¯t run away first, I''d be right back to doing what I do best, wheeling and dealing on the fringes of polite society. Why waste time?" She replied with a shrug.


    ¡°I suppose an explanation is in order?¡± he asked, setting an unlabeled bottle of amber fluid and three small heavy glasses on the rec room table. He ignored the sharp glance Glori shot at him. He took a seat and poured a few fingers of liquid into each glass before placing one in front of each of the ladies.


    ¡°That would be a start,¡± Sarah said, sipped the contents of her glass with an appreciative grimace. Glori frowned, ever the doctor.


    "Oh, chill out, G. It''s just one drink. Don''t you think she deserves it after the day she had? Anyway," he said continuing the story. "Tar, Tarold, your father, was my best friend and biggest rival. We met in the academy and would go back and forth for ''First Stick,'' the highest GPA. We parted ways when we graduated but we would occasionally see each other on layovers between runs. Tar let me know there was a fleet pilot position available, so I put in for a transfer and arrived at my new duty station about 6 months before I ran into your mom.


    "That was my last year in the fleet. She was a coms tech. I was late for a training flight and ran into her, literally, outside the commissary and knocked her groceries out of her hands." He downed the Scotch and poured another. "It was worth it!"


    Sarah sipped from her glass.


    "We exchanged information and went on our first date a few days later. Your mom was a wonderful person. She had this smile... I''d forget how to talk, it was so bright." He glanced off into the corner of the room for a moment. Clearing his throat, he continued.


    "Your mother was near the end of her tour and would transfer to her new assignment in the hinterlands of the Occupied Territories, near her home system. She was excited to be going home, but also didn''t want to break off our relationship. We compromised. We''d get married so we could stay together, and I would actively look for a position near her home system and request a transfer."


    Riordan let out a shuddering sigh and downed his third scotch. She sipped lightly at hers. He leaned toward her. "We loved each other very. Your mom was my everything. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We planned on starting a family. I¡¯d serve out the rest of my 20, retire, maybe start a short-haul transport business. The Galactic Dream! We never got the chance.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Fate has a way of... of frelling you right in the stra?njica when your at your happiest, ya know?" He leaned back in his chair, lost in thought for a few moments.


    Sarah glanced at Glori, then at Riordan. "You''re drunk."


    "Hardly," he peered into his glass, swirling the amber fluid. "We were stationed at a large base on a very nice planet, Daphion. Tar needed me to sub in for him on my day off. Your mother was displeased. We would have to reschedule our vacation, but hey, flight hours looked good on evaluations, so I took it. She didn''t come to see me off like she usually did. Looking back now, she was pregnant with you, so that might have explained why she was cranky.¡±


    ¡°They told me¡­ this is nothing like what they told me, at all.¡± Sarah said angrily.


    "There was an incident. It¡¯s still highly classified, but in defense of your mom and Tar, they were told I was dead. They didn¡¯t know until five years later, and by then they were married and you were a little kid.¡±


    ¡°How is that possible? What incident? Why didn¡¯t they just¡­¡± Sarah was at a loss to finish. Her thoughts were racing. ¡°...tell me?¡±


    ¡°Your parents didn¡¯t want to confuse you. Your mom went through it after the incident. All she was told is that there was a catastrophic FTL failure. The Algernon, the ship, was able to get to a safe distance and then¡­ ceased to exist. All hands lost. There was a funeral. There were hundreds of funerals. She grieved, healed and moved on. She found a good man, a good father!


    ¡°How are you alive?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to head down to the command deck, this should be between you two,¡± Glori said, leaving her glass untouched. She glanced back at them for a moment before exiting the rec deck.


    ¡°The engine failure was more of a malfunction. While everyone assumed the ship lost, instead of smearing our atoms evenly across the face of the known universe¡­ we just¡­ lost time. Trust me, everyone was surprised when the Algernon dropped out of hyperspace on the other side of the Galactic cluster.


    ¡°We weren¡¯t unscathed. I spent a long time in the hospital recovering from serious injuries. The ship was wrecked beyond repair and a lot of people died, but a lot lived. The government played it off like it was a secret long term mission and we all returned heroes, The official story.


    Sarah took a larger sip of her drink. ¡°So when you got back, you contacted my mom, right? What did she say? How did she take it?¡±


    Silence dominated the room for a few moments.


    ¡°How would anyone take it? ¡®Hey, remember that guy you had a kid with and almost married, but he died? Well, he¡¯s alive now!¡¯ she didn¡¯t take it well at all. She refused to see me, or even communicate with me. It took a lot of effort but eventually Tar met with me. For your own good, they didn¡¯t want you to know about me. They thought it would cause psychological harm of some sort. I reluctantly agreed. They had a great life. You were safe and happy. Your mom was working a civilian job and Tar was still a pilot. He showed me pictures and vids. You were so happy, and your mom was happy, as happy as I had hoped to make her.


    ¡°I was dealing with my injuries, my own grief. Almost no time had passed for me. I woke up in a hospital and my fiance was married to another man and the child I knew nothing about was almost five years old. Who was I to force my way back into your lives? How selfish would that have been? You and your mother had moved on and found happiness. I did my best to move on, too."


    Sarah drained her whiskey and slammed the glass hard on the table. ¡°Well, that was... revealing? Enlightening?¡± she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ¡°So you just, forgot about us, moved on!¡± she said, getting to her feet.


    "I already explained, it wasn''t like that." he retorted. "We did what we thought was best, as your parents, with the situation we found ourselves in."


    "Whatever," she said, turning her back and leaving the rec room.


    Riordan entered the command deck a few minutes later. "Where''s Sarah?"


    "She went to her quarters to clean it up. She said, anyway. How did it go?" Gloria asked without looking up from her read out panels.


    "About as well as can be expected. She survived an attack, father popped back into her life, treated injured survivors, saw dead people... How are you holding up?"


    "Probably not much better, to be honest. No messages or any sign from Jaisen, but the networks are at full capacity right now, it''s chaos."

 Chapter 10: FLEE!

    Riordan followed the sounds of banging to find Sarah cleaning out one of the sinistral-side passenger suites Riordan used for general catch-all storage.


    ¡°How did you find out?¡± he asked, leaning against the hatchway.


    Sarah paused, then resumed piling spare parts and miscellaneous tools into a small crate next to her. "I found some files and old messages on a storage device when I was going through some of my mom¡¯s old things. They were between my mom and some guy, you. Love letters. Journal entries. I thought she might have been cheating or something, so I asked my dad about them." She shouldered past Riordan, setting the crate with a small pile of others just outside the hatch.


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°He explained that she was in an earlier relationship with his best friend who died in an accident. She was pregnant but didn''t find out until after. She moved on with her life and married my dad. He didn''t tell me you were still alive; I figured that out on my own."


    ¡°Then why do you assume I abandoned you? I came back, Sarah, a few weeks after we popped back into existence. Imagine my surprise to learn that I had a little girl and that my fianc¨¦e was now married to my best friend. I still loved her. It was a lot to process at once." he added a few parts from a side table to a new crate and placed it on the floor next to her. "Your mother refused to see me. She couldn''t handle it emotionally, I guess. She sent your father. We met at a bar and had a few drinks and a good long talk. Here, let me help," he said, grabbing the side handle of a heavy crate of damaged sensor elements she was struggling with. They placed it with the others.


    ¡°How¡¯d that go?¡± she asked, without making eye contact.


    ¡°Not exactly in my favor. I wanted to be part of your lives, but they never told you about me, and they were worried the situation would be confusing, even damaging. They didn¡¯t want to cause you any trauma.¡±


    ¡°Trauma? Do you know how many times I had to clean up my mother when she passed out on the floor in a puddle of her own sick?¡± she said, pulling open a wall locker to find it full of conduit loops and reels of optical cabling. ¡°Trauma!¡± she scoffed.


    ¡°I agreed with their decision," he said, bending down to retrieve a few wayward spools. "At the time. Not that I had much of a choice. With their marriage, I was left with no parental rights. I just wanted what was best for you, and that was what you had, a loving mom and dad."


    ¡°So, three mature adults thought that living a lie was best for me?¡± she said, slamming a reel of cable into the crate. ¡°Don¡¯t you think having my real father in my life was best for me? Why didn¡¯t you put me on one of the rescue ships?¡± she asked, meeting his eyes for the first time in the conversation. ¡°Why did you let me stay?¡±


    He broke eye contact, suddenly uncomfortable. ¡°You got nobody now, who¡¯s going to take care of you?¡± He closed the distance between them, placing his hands on her shoulders.


    ¡°I can take care of myself¡­,¡± she said.


    ¡°I can take care of you better,¡± he said.


    ¡°So, what? You¡¯re stepping up now?¡±


    ¡°Yes, stability, discipline, and the chance to make a future for yourself.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± she scoffed.


    ¡°Yeah, all this can be yours someday,¡± he said, gesturing widely.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± she said flatly, clearly not impressed.


    ¡°Sometimes. Anyway, meet me in the command deck in an hour. We¡¯re going to be getting underway soon, and you¡¯re gonna need some training if you want to become the greatest cargo pilot that ever lived.¡±


    The General Quarters alarm sounded throughout the ship.


    ¡°What the...¡±


    ¡°Atticus!¡± Glori yelled over the PA. ¡°A Federal destroyer, The Dunkirk, is hailing us. They¡¯re demanding we stand down and prepare to be boarded! What should I do?¡±


    A few moments later, Riordan stormed into the command deck. He checked the sensor console.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "1000 kilometers and closing. They''ll be in weapons range soon," Riordan powered up the engines and readied the ship for travel.


    ¡°Atticus, what are you doing?¡± Glori demanded. ¡°Stand down!¡±


    ¡°No way! That is a warship," he yelled, pointing at the sensor console. "Not the police, or customs. We are getting the frek out of here!"


    The com crackled to life. "Passive Swindler, this is the Deuces Wild. You need to bounce outta here! It''s all over the news nets, they think you helped attack the station. Somehow, they have holo-vids of you shooting people on the station and firing on the docking arm! They''re saying you''re part of the ''Sons of the Confederacy''!"


    ¡°See, I frekking told you!¡± Riordan pressed the com button. ¡°This is the Passive Swindler, already tracking Deuces, thanks for the heads up. Swindler out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can buy you some time. See you on the flip side, Deuces out.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Sarah asked as she entered the cramped command deck.


    ¡°Only your father''s poor decision-making skills. He''s made the conscious decision to become an inter-cluster fugitive," Glori replied from her seat at the coms station.


    Sarah turned to Riordan. ¡°What is she talking about?¡±


    ¡°We have been implicated in taking part in the destruction of the station. Can you take the engineering station, please? Keep an eye out for anything red."


    ¡°Whoa, who¡¯s we,¡± she replied in shock. ¡°I didn¡¯t do shize! Is that a warship?¡± she asked, glancing at the sensor readouts. ¡°They just powered up their weapons!¡±


    ¡°Yes, it is, and while not the largest ship in the fleet, it''s more than a match for the Swindler, so we,¡± he said, reaching to flip switches, ¡°are leaving."


    ¡°What about all that talk about stability and shize?" she asked, strapping herself into the chair in front of the engineering console.


    Riordan ignored her. "Glori, you need to keep a sharp eye on life support and whatever else is on your panel.¡±


    ¡°What choice do I have?¡± Glori mumbled as she wrapped the restraint webbing around her torso.


    ¡°Status report!" Riordan called out as he took his spot in the captain''s chair.


    ¡°Uh¡­ most indicators are amber, wait, one just turned green. Now it''s amber again." Glori responded.


    ¡°Good enough! Navigation?¡± he asked, looking at Sarah.


    Sarah fumbled with a few controls. "We are a go for FTL, the destination coordinates you entered are locked in. Engines are spooling at 100% parity."


    ¡°Glori, what¡¯s the Dunkirk¡¯s position?¡±


    ¡°800 kilometers, weapons charged and ready. Short-range sensors on the sinistral side are out. Sinistral-side attitude control is at 35%." The coms console beeped. "Oh look, they just transmitted your warrant!" Glori called out.


    ¡°Thank you. Navigation and astromech are complete," Riordan said, punching buttons and adjusting controls. "Crew, brace for burn. Sarah, watch the ion drive temps."


    ¡°Which ones are those¡­ OK¡­ got it! Ion drives? Won¡¯t that leave a trail their sensors can follow?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. We¡¯re gonna burn ions then jump to hyperspace for 15 seconds. Then we¡¯ll drop out, calculate a new heading, and re-enter. They won¡¯t be able to track us then. Engaging ion engines, now.¡±


    Everyone was pressed back into their seats as the Swindler lurched forward, turning to the right, directly into the path of the Dunkirk.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we supposed to exit an inhabited system before we enter hyperspace?¡± Sarah asked Glori.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think your father is concerned about traffic laws right now,¡± she responded.


    ¡°Battle stations!¡± Riordan called out, mashing a large button on the console above his head. The hatch to the command deck clanged shut, and muffled bangs echoed throughout the ship as hatches sealed off all major compartments. During combat, all sections were sealed in case of a hull breach. This limited the loss of life giving atmosphere. ¡°30 seconds to FTL. Glori, open a channel to Dunkirk.¡±


    Glori pressed a button and adjusted a dial, ¡°Channel open.¡±


    ¡°This is Atticus Riordan, Captain of the Passive Swindler, federal registration delta delta two one four..." Riordan was interrupted by a voice blaring from the speakers.


    ¡°This is Captain Jared Eckles of the Dunkirk. By federal authority, I order you to shut down your engines, lower your shields, and prepare to be boarded. We have a warrant for your arrest..."


    ¡°Captain Eckles," Riordan interrupted. "I am transmitting my sensor logs as well as internal security recordings. I am also uploading the same to the quantum net for public consumption."


    ¡°What are your intentions with the hostages, Captain Riordan? What are your demands?¡± Captain Eckles replied.


    ¡°Hostages? I don¡¯t have any hostages! As far as demands, review the footage and think for yourself. I had nothing to do with the attack on Vesta station except for the defense of myself and evacuees. Those that remain with me do so of their own free will.¡±


    The line to the Dunkirk remained open, and the crew of the small freighter could hear chaos and alarms. ¡°Spekhli duzkh! What are you doing?!¡±


    ¡°Range!¡± Riordan called out.


    ¡°Less than 100 kilometers and closing fast. 90 kilometers," Glori responded.


    More chaos poured over the open channel. "Evasive maneuvers, helm! Full power to shields! Ready weapons!" Captain Eckles sounded panicked.


    The Dunkirk was now large in the view port. Riordan jinked the manual controls a few degrees to starboard as the Passive Swindler jumped to hyperspace.

 Chapter 11: Breakfast

    Chapter 11: Breakfast


    Two guards in smooth black armor, faces unseen behind blast shields, freed his bonds and hauled him to his feet. They sprayed him clean with more cold high-pressure water. Cleaning done, they roughly shoved a small towel into his trembling hands and dragged him from the room. His level of concern rose when they didn''t seem to be taking precautions against him seeing anything or being seen. He could tell he was on a ship of some sort. The guards brought him to a stop in front of a hatch. The door opened to reveal a simple standard-issue crew quarter. They shoved him inside and sealed the hatch behind him. Though he knew it would be locked, he still tried.


    Not bothering with the towel, Jaisen rushed to the small computer panel above a small utilitarian desk attached to the far wall. He swiped his hand over the panel, and surprisingly, it opened up to the home screen. Thankfully, the last tenant didn''t set a password or security feature. He quickly accessed the coms screen and composed a short message to an address associated with his friend.


    To: 19.119.61.796.73.06.06


    Body: It''s me. Get her to safety. I don''t know where I am. In govt custody. On a ship. Interrogated. You owe me big time.


    Jaisen encrypted the message with his personal key and hit send. He anxiously waited for the confirmation that the message made it to the quantum net. Just when he thought the message failed, the confirmation icon flashed next to the series of numbers that represented Riordan¡¯s secure account. He quickly cleared his message and erased the recent files cache. When the guards opened the door a few minutes later, he was thirstily guzzling water from the small faucet installed over the sink next to the compact toilet. One guard stayed by the door while the other set a small box on the bed. The guard stared at Jaisen for a moment, his expression unreadable behind the tinted face plate before turning and exiting the room.


    Jaisen carefully opened the box to reveal a standard-issue jumpsuit and an R-TEM, a ready-to-eat meal. The seal on the heavy purple bag was broken. Setting aside the jumpsuit, he dumped the contents of the R-TEM on the bed. The candy treat and trading card were missing. Assholes! It seemed like he barely closed his eyes when the door to his cell opened. He startled awake.


    "Good morning! You slept well, I hope?" Mareion Shepherd asked. Jaisen got a better look at his captor. Typical Citizen female. Brown eyes, olive skin, and dark blonde hair neatly parted in the middle and pulled back into a military precise bun. She was of average height and slim in build. You had to look close to notice she was older than she first appeared.


    "This is the part where you take away the small kindness you have shown me as another way to assert your complete control and dominance of my person, right? You''ll take me back to the white room, the metal chair, and shock me a few more hundred times till I''m a drooling mess, again?"


    "Well, I was going to...," she started.


    "Wait, this is day two," he said, jumping to his feet. "This is the day where you strap me to a table and pour water over a cloth pressed against my face until I start talking or almost drown. Or is today the day that you hang me upside down in a sleep sack with a few hundred pounds of ice and beat me with pipes until I lose consciousness?"


    "As I was saying, I was going to invite you to breakfast with me in the officer''s mess. Before we progress to the next phase, of course," She offered with an almost genuine smile.


    Shepherd led Jaisen along the cramped corridors and around countless turns to the officer''s mess. The officer''s mess consisted of several round tables surrounded by chairs with an order window built into the far wall where you place your order and receive your meal. Shepherd seated them next to a large view screen showing a low-G soccer match between the reigning champions and a lower-rated team.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "How do you like your omelet? Dorian? Paradisian? Plain?" Shepherd asked, gesturing toward the order window.


    "Uh, Dorian, side of protein strips, mashed karshin roots, Kaffe black, please."


    He slowly rolled his stiff shoulders, feeling the soreness to remind himself of the tortures the previous day held. Part of him felt like he was in a poorly written holo-drama. Jaisen watched the game with slight disinterest while a trio of fresh-faced Leftenants in black uniforms with gray trim vehemently argued the merits of various players. The black uniforms indicated combat arms. ¡®I¡¯m not on a support ship,¡¯ he idly thought. Jaisen started as Shepherd set a tray of food in front of him.


    "Here you go!" she said, settling down in front of her own tray. "I have one of the finest chefs in the fleet on my ship, one of the few privileges of command. He''s not much compared to Jung Neo or Gino De ''Angelis, but he''s pretty decent," Shepherd daintily cut into her omelet, filled with sauteed shallots, cheese, and pinkish purple mushrooms.


    Jaisen chewed the end off a protein strip. "This is real bacon!" he exclaimed.


    "Officer''s mess," she said with a wave of her hand. "None of that uncultured slop they serve in the crew mess. That came from a real animal."


    Jaisen ate as his companion watched the view-screen for a few minutes.


    ¡°I hate sports. There''s no point. I mean, I understand the competitive urge, but is it really a competition if no one dies? They play for money, too much if you ask me. Can you imagine how much better they¡¯d play if their lives depended on the outcome?" Shepherd leaned to address the Leftenants. "Can we switch over to a news feed, please?" The Leftenants fell silent, executing her request.


    A male Citizen anchor with smartly parted hair and expertly applied makeup appeared, droning on about the economy in his well-trained, accent-less voice. Shepherd watched raptly for a few moments, sipping black kaffe between bites. A female anchor followed, and a breaking news banner appeared along the bottom of the screen.


    ¡°Authorities have no new leads in the destructive separatist attack on Vesta station in the Besitera system nearly forty-eight hours ago. With over four thousand dead and hundreds more injured, it''s the most devastating separatist attack since the Insurrection nearly a century ago."


    The screen cut to a three-dimensional line model of the station.


    "Here is what we know so far. At approximately 11 am Galactic standard time on the 20th, alleged members of the ''Sons of the Confederacy'' boarded the station under the guise of delivering cargo. They proceeded to infiltrate the station planting explosives in key areas. It is believed that security interrupted one of the saboteurs near a life support substation, and their explosives detonated prematurely. According to witness reports, most of the remaining separatists escaped to their ship during a running firefight with station security. At this point, distress alerts were transmitted, and law enforcement ships were dispatched from Besitera Prime. Allegedly, one of the saboteurs, tentatively identified as Atticus Riordan, was delayed in his mission of targeting the station''s orbital engines. Likely fearing discovery or maybe to gain hostages, he fought his way through security forces to the docking arm. He loaded his ship with hostages and left, but not before turning his ship''s weapons on the station to guarantee its demise. Unfortunately, during the confusion, he successfully posed as a good Samaritan by transferring most of the hostages to rescue ships, though it is believed he kept at least two. Warning, the following footage may not be suitable for younger or sensitive viewers. Please set your preferences accordingly."


    Jaisen sat with his mouth agape, fork hovering halfway between his tray and his mouth. The video clips clearly showed Riordan, wearing his usual brown cargo pants, gray pilot''s vest, and black shirt, firing a rifle at a group of armed men, labeled on screen as off-duty security. The next video clip showed Riordan herding women and children down the docking arm and into his ship. The last clip, with a byline identifying the feed from a security drone over 100 kilometers from the station, showed a ship firing at the station, the Passive Swindler.


    "What the frek?" he whispered.


    The feed cut back to the anchorwoman. "Authorities are asking for your help in locating this fugitive and his associates. More information, including a complete list of survivors, can be found on our Quantum Net feed. Now, onto Steval with sports."


    Jaisen stared at his plate. Shepherd let a few moments pass before speaking.


    ¡°Your wife¡¯s name isn¡¯t on the list. I checked. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I''d like to go back to my room, now," Jaisen stammered, a tone filling his head, muffling everything else. ¡®This is a dream, a bad dream,¡¯ he thought.

 Chapter 12: Desolation Drift

    Existence twisted nauseatingly, and for a moment, everyone on the Passive Swindler felt like they were inside out and upside down. The ship re-entered normal space and coasted silently through the darkness toward a flotilla of junk and debris.


    ¡°Scan a radius of 500 kilometers for active weapons signatures and energy sources," Riordan called out to Sarah at the navigation console. He had spent the better part of the last thirty-six hours of interstellar travel training his new crew on the basics of the Swindler''s main systems.


    ¡°OK,¡± she replied, tentatively pressing screens and adjusting controls. ¡°I mean, Roger. I''m getting hits on active power sources from a few of the more intact derelicts but nothing to indicate weapons."


    ¡°Are you sure? Let me check," Riordan said, unbuckling his harness to lean over her station. "First off, flip this up for weapons," he said, pointing to a thin strip of EVA tape with handwriting on it. "And adjust this dial until the readout here," he said, pointing to an ancient gauge, "says 500." He spent an additional few sections checking other controls on her board. "This is multi-spectral," he pointed again, "and this detects any gravimetric or tachyon activity."


    ¡°Hyper-drive signatures?¡±


    ¡°Yes, there is always an increase in tachyon concentrations a few minutes before a ship drops out of hyperspace.¡±


    ¡°What if they are using subspace zero-point engines?" Sarah inquired.


    ¡°Unfortunately, that technology is new and expensive, which is why the Swindler''s sensors aren''t equipped with those modules. That''s why we are running scans for active weapons and energy sources. The only ships we need to worry about with subspace drives are federal, and they will always have weapons at full and shields up when jumping into an unknown situation. That''s all the warning we''ll get. Set this," he reached over and typed on a number pad, "and the scan will execute every ten sections."


    Riordan moved to double-check Glori''s engineering station.


    ¡°Do you think six jumps were enough?" she asked, touching his arm.


    ¡°It better be; the engines need a break," he replied, retreating to his chair. He reached out to manipulate his cobbled-together console but stopped himself with a wry smile. "Glori, fuel and life support status?"


    ¡°Life support has recovered to 58% capacity, and fuel is at 77%.¡±


    ¡°Sarah, navigation and sensors?¡± He watched in the dim blue light of the command deck as she reviewed her console carefully before responding.


    ¡°We are a quarter light year outside of the official border of the outer territories and the FRS. The closest planetary system of Galorndan is 28 light-years distant. Sensors sweeping for weapons, energy signatures, and tachyon concentrations at ten-section intervals. Nothing significant to report, Captain," she replied, looking over and flashing him a little smile.


    He smiled back. ¡°Glori, run efficiency calculations on fuel consumption for the last 6 jumps.¡±


    ¡°Five point six percent fuel consumption per jump, on average,¡± Sarah interrupted before Glori had a chance to reply.


    ¡°Where does it say that?¡± he asked, leaning forward to peer at her console. I don¡¯t remember adding that function,¡¯ he thought.


    ¡°Does it surprise you that your illegitimate station trash daughter has had some schooling?¡± she teased.


    ¡°A little," he teased back. "I thought your math skills were confined to haggling and scalping. That''s a bit higher than it should be. The reactor must need tuning. Glori set AG to 85% to conserve fuel."


    ¡°Uh, which one is that?¡± she asked, confused.


    ¡°Center screen, touch panel, third tab¡­ no third, that''s waste management."


    Riordan maneuvered the freighter through the morass of debris in a long graceful arc to sinistral with subtle adjustments of the manual controls. Technically this would be the job of the navigator, but he hadn''t had time to train her thoroughly on manual flight operations yet. They quietly monitored their respective systems for several minutes.


    ¡°There must be several hundred ships out here,¡± Glori offered. ¡°Where are we?¡±


    ¡°Sensors report there are 312 derelict vessels in the immediate area along with several thousand partial ship sections, frames, engines, etc.," Sarah added.


    ¡°Welcome to Desolation Drift!¡± Riordan exclaimed, adjusting the ship¡¯s attitude and heading, causing a huge hulking wreck of a ship to drift into view. ¡°Location? About as far as one can get from federal authority and still be in known space. Population, us!¡±


    ¡°Never heard of it," Glori responded, checking her station readouts, then glancing out the view port.


    ¡°Not many have outside of certain circles," Riordan said, flipping controls, checking weapon status. The lights in the command deck switched from dim blue to a brighter red. "Raising defensive shields."


    ¡°What circles would those be?¡± Sarah asked, coyly.


    ¡°Oh, you know, ne''er do-wells, rapscallions, roughnecks, and the occasional smuggler," he replied, reaching over his head to manipulate controls. "Isolating command deck life support to secondary systems." The almost undetectable purr of air fans increased to detectable. "Navigation, deploy landing struts. Bring inertial dampening fields to forty-five percent."


    ¡°So, we should fit right in then as inter-cluster fugitives,¡± Sarah said. ¡°Landing struts deployed, inertial dampening fields set to forty-five percent.¡±


    ¡°I''m the inter-galacticly famous fugitive; you''re just my nameless hostages." Riordan manipulated the Swindler''s controls expertly, bringing an enormous hulk of a ship into view in the center view port. "That, ladies, is the Odyssey, one of the greatest and last ships of the colonial period. Sarah, scan for life support please, lower right console."


    "Scanning... isolated pockets of the atmosphere in aft sections, but O2 concentrations are well below breathable percentages."


    Riordan glided the ship along the length of the behemoth hull.


    "Forward sections coming into sensor range, now. Your sensors suck, by the way. Forward sections have breathable levels of O2 with negligible levels of CO2. Either the life support systems are top notch, or no one''s home. "Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Do those sections still have power?" Riordan inquired.


    "Most do," Sarah replied. "There appear to be several APU generators and power cells distributed around the habitable areas."


    "Excellent," Riordan said, bringing the Swindler to a stop with a few well-timed bursts from the forward thrusters a few meters from a section of the hull free of damage or scaffolding.


    "You haven''t explained why we''re here yet, and I''ve been patient," Glori said.


    "We''re gonna hide out here for a while; we need to figure out our next move and make repairs."


    "How long is a while?" Glori asked, irritation clear in her voice. "Jaisen is still out there, probably worried sick about me!"


    "You sent messages to his holocon, right? Then he knows you didn''t die on the station and that you''re with me. He knows I''ll keep you safe no matter what. He isn''t worrying."


    "Yeah, but the news nets are running rampant with the rumors that you destroyed the station. They keep running that footage...," she protested.


    "Jaisen and I go way back; he knows me better than that."


    The Passive Swindler settled onto the deck of the enormous hanger with a thud. Riordan flipped switches, shutting down ion engines, thruster banks, and put the reactor into standby mode. The ship settled on her landing struts with groans, hisses, and the descending whines of complex machinery coming to rest. He verbally ran his new crew through the post-flight checklist, showing them the proper controls when necessary. The ship''s navigation lights shut off, leaving the hangar deck shrouded in darkness. Riordan typed a command into the interface screen, and the outer hanger door slowly rumbled shut. Modern ships used shielding to seal hanger decks, as it was faster and, if power failed, there wasn''t an armored door preventing escape from a stricken ship.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be safe here for a while. Powered down, the Swindler¡¯s reactor will appear like any of the other derelicts. We¡¯ll make sure the CO2 scrubbers on the decks we¡¯ll be staying are running at peak efficiency to mask our presence to casual sensor sweeps.¡± Riordan rose from his chair and rummaged through the lockers that lined the port-side wall of the cramped command deck.


    ¡°How would they even know where to look for us?¡± Glori asked from her station.


    ¡°Good question," he replied, pulling out a light-duty EVA suit and helmet from the dextral-side locker. "They won''t if we''re careful. That means no coms, no Q-net, no radio, light signals, smoke signals, or hand signals."


    ¡°But how do I let Jaisen know I¡¯m OK? He probably thinks I¡¯m dead!¡± Glori protested.


    ¡°I promise you, we''ll meet up with Jaisen, but right now, we can''t risk it," he said, pulling the over-sized EVA boots over his own.


    ¡°You can''t risk it! I''m just a faceless hostage, remember?" she yelled, smacking her hands on the console. "I knew I should have gotten on a rescue ship!"


    ¡°You probably should have. The first chance I get, I''ll drop you off so as not to inconvenience you any further, Ma¡¯am," he yelled back, securing the EVA suit pants to the boots.


    ¡°Great!¡±


    ¡°Perfect!¡±


    They glared at each other for a few moments in silence.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Sarah interrupted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. ¡°This is starting to feel like a real family.¡±


    The adults stood awkwardly while their anger dissipated.


    ¡°Listen, we¡¯re going to go find him, but we need to do some things first.¡±


    Glori sighed, ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°We need to shut down all the main systems on this ship. I need to make repairs to the sinistral-side thrusters and sensors and some other stuff. A few days at most. We all need a rest, and we need time to think," he zipped the EVA suit up to his neck and cradled the helmet under his arm. "Right now, I need to re-pressurize the hanger deck and conduct a security sweep before you leave the ship, OK?" He fastened the helmet over his head. "Coms check, one, two?" His voice came over the short-range radio at Sarah''s console, and also from his helmet but greatly muffled.


    ¡°I read you loud and clear, Big Daddy," Sarah replied with a smirk.


    Riordan opened another locker and retrieved his new plasma rifle. He checked the charge packs and slung it across his chest. He added a few charge packs to the large pouches at his waist.


    Glori spun him around and started tugging on various parts of his suit, checking integrity. ¡°Why a security sweep? I thought you said we were safe here?¡± She toggled his helmet lights off and on and checked his pressure gauges. ¡°Looks good,¡± she said, patting the top of his helmet.


    ¡°It''s honestly been a few years since I¡¯ve been here, and just a few days ago, I was attacked by pirates, and then the station I was on was blown out of orbit. Call me paranoid," he replied, reaching into the weapons locker and handing Glori the slug rifle and a bandolier of magazines. "Know how to use one of these?"


    ¡°Uh, I¡¯ve watched holo-vids...¡± she replied nervously, taking the weapon from his hands.


    ¡°I can show her,¡± Sarah piped up. ¡°My Dad used to take me shooting a lot at the sim arcades. Pretty much the same thing.¡±


    Riordan issued further shutdown orders as he donned well-used body armor over his EVA suit. He stuffed an obsolete scanner in a pouch on his right. Glori fluttered between the Engineering and Navigation consoles, punching in commands and shutting down systems.


    ¡°Sarah?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah," she replied, coming out of the small head just off the command deck by the top of the ladder. He stared at her for a moment. She looked like him, but there was also a lot of her mother in her. "Keep one of the APUs online, or we won''t be able to restart the reactor, but nothing else. I''m serious about the Q-net, they can use it to track us." Unused to expressing emotion, he paused. "I, I''d like a chance at being your father, OK? I can''t do that from prison."


    ¡°Roger that, Captain,¡± she said with a mock salute.


    He reached into the locker and pulled out a small-framed pistol and belt. Her eyes widened. "A First Officer needs a weapon," he handed it to her. "Stay safe."


    Sarah strapped the pistol belt around her waist as she followed him aft to the rear airlock. She closed the inner door behind him and waited to hear the outer door open and then cycle shut. Sarah busied herself with securing hatches, dousing light panels, and shutting down various systems.


    Riordan stared into the inky blackness of the hanger bay. It was hard to imagine that at one time, this bay had been clean and well-lit, filled with shuttles, skiffs, and pallets of cargo all headed to a new planet, a new life. He activated his helmet lights and scanned around. He saw nothing but scarred deck plates and various piles of debris. He readied his plasma rifle and activated the thermal sight. He set his mag boots to medium. The gravity generators on the Odyssey were left at 1/10 G, just enough to keep things from floating around. The hearing amplifiers in the helmet amplified his footsteps, but thankfully, all he heard besides that were their echoes and the various pings and pongs of the Swindler''s cooling engines. He moved forward, a scanner held in his left hand, looking for heat, energy, and radioactive anomalies.


    Sarah entered the engine room. She keyed in the shutdown sequence on a satisfyingly clicky ancient keyboard. APUs one and three wound down. Activating her handheld light, she threw the main breakers, plunging the engine room and the cargo bay just outside it into darkness. "Glori, this is Sarah," she said into the small communicator pinned to the inside of her left cuff. "The reactor is on standby. APUs one and three are shut down. APU two is set to minimum. Main lighting breakers are deactivated. Anything else I need to do down here?"


    ¡°Sarah, this is Glori, everything on my end is shut down besides basic life support, climate control, and short-range communications. Just make sure you don''t trip the breakers for the deep freeze. Glori out."


    Without the thrum of the APUs and the main reactor, the ship was eerily quiet. Her footfalls were loud on the deck plates. She was comfortable in the dark, having grown up in the bowels and underbellies of various bases and stations. She navigated by the small amber safety lights that sporadically lined the walkways.


    Riordan navigated the various piles of debris and scrap strewn across the docking bay floor. After a few hundred meters, he stopped at a control panel next to an airlock. He checked with his scanner, confirming breathable air on the other side of the bulkhead, though the temperature was low.


    ¡°Riordan to Swindler, how is the shutdown progressing?" he asked as he fiddled with the archaic control panel.


    ¡°This is the Swindler, we¡¯re getting there. Sarah is going down to engineering to shut down the APUs. How¡¯s your progress?¡±

 Chapter 13: The Good Ol Days

    Riordan navigated the various piles of debris and scrap strewn across the docking bay floor. After a few hundred meters he stopped at a control panel next to an airlock. He checked with his scanner, confirming breathable air on the other side of the bulkhead, though the temperature was low.


    ¡°Riordan to Swindler, how is the shutdown progressing?" he asked as he fiddled with the archaic control panel.


    ¡°This is the Swindler, we¡¯re getting there. Sarah is going down to engineering to shut down the APU¡¯s. How¡¯s your progress?¡±


    Riordan cranked a dial and threw a large switch. Banks of light panels flickered fitfully to life throughout the hanger. Most of the panels were non-functional or scavenged, but the illumination was enough to navigate by. "I got the hanger lights on, working on life support."


    Riordan entered the airlock and sealed the door behind him. Riordan brought up a file on the small scanning device. He carefully entered the 128 digit passcode into the keypad. On a more modern ship, these operations could be handled remotely. Riordan chose not to install such upgrades to make an infiltration of the Odyssey more difficult. The inner door opened admitting him into the darkness beyond. The control node that governed the hanger deck was just down the hall. He scanned around with his helmet lights and checked down the length of each hallway with his thermal sight. Clear.


    ¡°Riordan to Swindler, we are going to lose contact for a few minutes, I have to travel deeper to pressurize the hangar deck. I''ll also be turning on the long-range coms."


    ¡°Swindler here, please be careful, OK?¡±


    ¡°Always. Once I¡¯m done with a security sweep, I¡¯ll come back and lead you two to our accommodations for our stay here on the Odyssey. ETA 30 Mins. Riordan out.¡±


    Riordan proceeded down the darkened hallway, stepping over piles of cables and other debris. Wires and cables randomly hung from the ceiling cross members. Though rare, some of them could be energized. The corridor seemed endless but so far, his scanner hadn''t registered anything out of the ordinary.


    ¡°Riordan to Swindler?¡± He paused, waiting for a response. ¡°Swindler?¡± ''Definitely out of coms range'', he thought. The node he was looking for was still several hundred meters ahead, another security measure. Most raiding parties trying to infiltrate a ship or hideout would expect the environmental controls to be near the hanger deck or living areas. The air was dank and still and the light from his helmet only projected a few dozen feet.


    As he remembered, the nature of the corridor debris changed from cast-off parts and cabling to actual gray plasteel and carbon fiber shipping containers, most still unopened. Most of them held various spare parts, tools, and emergency rations, however, a select few had surprises stashed, just in case. Some of them were here when he found the Odyssey, likely left by previous smuggling or salvage crew.


    The scanner in his hand vibrated strongly causing him to bring his rifle to the ready. Heat signature, 22 meters ahead. Riordan proceeded with caution, his helmet lights illuminating nothing but more debris and containers. He saw nothing where the scanner indicated. He narrowed the scope of the scanner, and it led him to a panel on the wall. A small area heater. He let out a breath he didn''t know he was holding and continued down the dark corridor.


    He made the turn he was looking for and this corridor was illuminated with the occasional LED assembly versus more modern light strips and glow panels. He could see the widened part of the corridor that housed the control node. He quickened his pace. The control panel was activated by a key which a crew member would have, but in this case, the key was glued into the slot with hull patch compound. The panel consisted of an assortment of dials, LED readouts, and panels added by earlier crews or Riordan himself.


    He turned the large brass key in its slot and the panel hummed to life, dial needles jumping and readouts flickering. He watched patiently as the system booted up, lines of code dancing across the green monochrome screen. A menu appeared on the screen. Fingers reached out and made selections, setting the gravity for ? standard and activating illumination. Life support systems were brought out of standby mode and the temperature controls were adjusted for comfort. He fiddled with a newer section of equipment, long range internal coms, setting frequency and range on the touch panel and toggled his com.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°Swindler, this is Riordan, do you read?"


    A few moments passed. He almost thought something was wrong when he received a response. There was a brief burst of static before the noise filter cut in.


    ¡°Swindler here. Read you pretty good. Are we almost set?¡± The signal wasn¡¯t as clear as he would like but it was good enough.


    ¡°Almost, what''s your status?" he replied.


    ¡°The Swindler¡¯s been tucked in and put to bed, just like you ordered.¡±


    ¡°Great. I have a few more things to do, then I''m headed back your way. Feel free to open up the cargo airlock, the hangar deck has pressure now."


    The gun on her hip felt heavy. It slapped gently against her thigh as they followed their leader to their quarters for the foreseeable future. She shrugged her shoulders, adjusting the straps of her pack. While her father was restoring life-support and gravity, she was busy at the packing. She threw in a few sets of clothing from what she was able to evacuate the station with, her hygiene kit, and a generic tablet loaded with books, music, and recent holovids and series from the Swindler''s small library. She ignored the sizable selection of adult content she found in a hidden folder. She didn¡¯t want to know. She also grabbed several packaged meals, just in case. Her father would occasionally stop to fiddle with this or to point out that. She wasn''t paying attention. Her mind was still reeling from the attack on the station and the revelations of the past few days.


    ¡°Huh?¡± she queried, aware that both adults are looking back at her.


    ¡°Are you feeling OK?" Glori asked with a compassionate expression.


    I haven¡¯t been OK since my mom left and this is just more of the same, she wanted to say. Sensing her emotions starting to get out of control she stuffs them back down. "I''m uh¡­ tired I guess," she said, instead. She added a wane smile.


    Glori smiled back and they continued down the corridor. The nature of the d¨¦cor changed from utilitarian and spartan to ornate and even nuevo-decor with wood paneling and art patterns embossed on the walls. There was even the occasional framed art print. She reached out but found the ''wood'' panels were just textured plastic. Figured.


    Every few hundred feet, a large map adorned the wall, showing where they were in relation to various amenities. Red markings X-ed out various areas that presumably no longer functioned, or existed, for various reasons. Sarah knew from their observation fly-by and her sensor scans that the aft part of the ship, which would have held the engines and main reactors, was missing. Engines were always the most valuable part of a ship and were likely removed shortly after the Odyssey was sold for scrap. She stopped with the others at the intersection of several large corridors.


    Riordan explained that passenger quarters were that way, but mostly gutted, and the food court used to be the other way and once had twenty different food options and four sit-down restaurants. The sports arenas were two decks down and served as the auxiliary hangar/cargo decks for emergency operations. The eight movie theaters and the two live performance theaters were several decks up. The thought of a yeasty food court hot-roll drizzled with crilberberry syrup and spices made her mouth water.


    A few minutes later, they were all standing in front of a pair of large gold-painted and ornately carved doors. Sarah studied the carvings for a moment before realizing they depicted several dozen people in various states and complexities of coitus. Her cheeks flushed with sudden heat, but the adults didn''t seem to notice.


    ¡°Here we are! The Supernova Casino!" Riordan announced as if the doors were voice-activated. He activated the controls and the doors slid open, revealing the casino. The largest of three casinos on the Odyssey, the Supernova Casino was specifically designed for middle-class passengers. Sarah took in the scene for a moment, glancing from dusty gaming tables to rows of empty gaming machine pedestals with wiring and optical cabling sticking up from the floor. Over half the lighting panels worked, which was an improvement from the hanger deck. Somehow, she expected more from a casino.


    ¡°This is where we are staying?¡± she asked skeptically. ¡°A Casino?¡±


    ¡°Frek yes! Impressive, isn¡¯t it? They don¡¯t make them like this anymore!¡± Riordan replied, looking around appreciatively.


    ¡°Impressive would not be the word I would use," Glori said, moving through the doorway.


    ¡°Decrepit. Derelict. Dilapidated. Ramshackle. Shabby. Seedy. Crusty. All better words,¡± Sarah added.


    ¡°Oh, come on! Use your imagination! The sights, the sounds, the flashing lights, the music, the food! Can''t you see hundreds of people having a good time, drinking, gambling, and dancing? This place was frekking epic!" Riordan put his arm around Sarah''s shoulders. ¡°So epic in fact, that when the Odyssey reached Eden, she stayed in orbit for years as a resort while the colonists built settlements, factories, mines, and farms.¡±


    ¡°The less economically gifted colonists you mean,¡± Sarah interrupted, shrugging his arm off. ¡°Expending their effort, the fruit of their labor benefiting the elite. While the poor toiled, the rich played.¡±


    ¡°Well, that''s how you paid for your passage to a new world back then," he replied.


    ¡°Sure. Bring me aboard this monument to oppression and excess, then defend the oppression of the lower classes. Stay classy, Dad."


    Ignoring his protests, she wandered out onto the casino floor. She knew what role she would have had on a ship like this. Manual labor in house keeping or if she was lucky in some eatery in the food court. Some things never change.

 Chapter 14: The Odyssey

    The small crew of the Passive Swindler spent the next hour getting themselves situated. They dragged several of the large couches to the central bar area, where a large projection view screen was installed, into a circle to be closer to each other. The view-screen was one of several used to watch and bet on sports or to keep up with some of the more complex games of chance. They filled the center of their ring with a few tables and lamps. Riordan produced blankets, pillows, and military-issue sleep sacks from a cargo container and passed them around. He also placed several portable lanterns on a table near the entrance in case someone needed to venture out into the ship.


    Her father was behind the bar, messing with a bank of flat-screens and computing modules cobbled together. He kept leaving to find something bringing back another component. Glori was reclining on a couch, snuggled in with a standard-issue gray military blanket, reading news reports on her holocon that were downloaded before the Swindler went coms silent and fled inhabited space. She had a steamy mug of kaffe on the table next to her, seemingly forgotten.


    Sarah occupied herself by exploring the huge casino floor. Many of the gaming machines had been removed, but plenty were left behind. Green felt-lined gaming tables dotted the open areas of the floor in a seemingly random pattern. Finding a shipping container of tarnished brass one credit tokens, she plugged one of the intact gaming machines back into the floor and dumped a handful of tokens into the slot. It took a few turns for her to get the basics of the game down. A few minutes later, the tokens she deposited were exhausted without a single token returned in winnings. She marveled that at one time, people were so gullible that they would keep feeding their hard-earned credits into games that rarely paid out. She preferred more honest games such as cards or dice and often played both against other youths when she could. They would often play for food or some bauble. She was careful not to win too often when someone else needed a bit of food more than she did. Credits were too precious to gamble.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Sarah said jovially.


    Riordan startled, pistol half drawn from its holster as he turned to face her. ¡°Shize, don¡¯t sneak up on me like that! What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Sorry," she responded, stifling a chuckle. "Where are the showers?" She held up her towel and toiletries bag.


    ¡°Oh, go out the main doors, take a left, and look for the door on the right marked ¡®Shower¡¯. It''s the only functional shower room left. Take a lantern,¡± He turned back to his console.


    She thanked him and grabbed a lantern on her way out. Its strong cold glow lit her way. Just when she was about to turn back, she spotted the door. The official placard read ¡®Authorized Personnel Only¡¯. ¡®Shower¡¯ was scrawled below it in grease pencil. She pressed the control stud and the hatch ground open revealing a locker room with shower stalls at the far end. There were benches between the rows of lockers. ¡®Locker rooms have stayed the same for centuries,¡¯ she mused in her head. None of the overhead light panels seemed to function. She silently thanked her father for recommending the lantern.


    She draped her towel over the end of a bench and stripped off her clothes. She stuffed her old clothes in a nearby locker and retrieved her towel, carefully folding it over her pistol belt, just in case. Grabbing her body wash, she stepped into the stall. The controls were standard if not archaic, and the water pressure was better than she expected. Soon she was standing in a maelstrom of hot water and billowing steam. She let the water pour over her. The heat was welcome. The ambient temperature on the Odyssey was chilly by any standard. She lingered long after washing herself clean, letting the multiple shower heads beat the tension and stress from her body.


    She exited the shower and toweled the water from her body. She paused to scan around her, her caution learned from the pain of others. The seedier parts of the stations they lived on offered little security for their most vulnerable populations. Girls would usually use communal showers in groups to increase safety.


    She dressed in her usual underclothes, pulling on a black shirt. She tugged on a pair of standard black fabric cargo pants, securing the Velcro at the waistline. She always ordered her pants a bit large; it was her look. She secured the fasteners on her shiny black boots and fastened her pistol belt across her hips. Shrugging on her jacket, she made sure her com was still fastened to her left sleeve. Grabbing the lantern and slinging her toiletries bag over her shoulder, she headed out.


    Instead of immediately heading back to their camp on the casino floor, Sarah decided to explore a little. She continued down the corridor away from the camp and showers. She came to another pile of shipping crates and rummaged through them. Nothing but basic medical supplies. The next group of crates held obsolete but still usable computer cores and memory modules, most still brand new in their packaging. Why was this stuff still here? She wondered. Her father could easily score a few thousand credits for them at any black market bazaar.


    She removed a scanner from her bag. The parts registered as original, not replicated. Replicated items had a signature; the molecules were identical from part to part. It was easy to tell. The recent introduction of Materiel Printer technology had been cropping up in the black markets, wreaking havoc on micro-economies. She checked the dates on the shipping labels. Same date range as the containers of military-grade gear in the casino. She was sensing an emerging pattern, but what was it? She continued her inspections as she continued down the corridor. Nothing was newer than five years ago, nothing older than about eight or nine years. She knew Riordan had been into some small-time low-level stuff, but this was extensive. Someone was stashing illegal goods on the Odyssey for four or five years and then left. Why?


    As she explored deeper, she produced her flashlight from a pocket and cast it around when the illumination got spotty. She noticed some gray cargo containers stacked in neat rows farther down the corridor. They looked newer and slightly different from the other containers scattered around the Odyssey. She approached closer, studying the markings, some sort of military unit or something. ¡®301st MI BN¡¯. She found the inventory labels, and they were all dated from about five years ago, give or take a month or so.


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    She opened the two clasps on the first container to reveal seventy-two neatly packed purple bags, Ready To Eat Meals, RTEMs, no surprise there. Curious, she unclasped the next case. It was packed with book-sized blank cardboard boxes. She pulled one from its slot and opened the end. It was heavy. She pulled on the plastic bag, and an object slid out into her hand. She stared in shock for a second. It was a brand new blast pistol, Mk V Federal Armory, 10 watts, 100 shots per charge pack. ¡®Holy Shize,¡¯ she thought! Those are worth major credits and even larger prison sentences. Each one would fetch more than she would need to live for a year if she kept her expenditures modest. There were three dozen in this case alone.


    Her pulse quickened. She opened case after case. Charge packs for the pistols, less than lethal sonic grenades, blast grenades, breaching charges, blank ID chits, ID encoders, QuickTek; a pharmaceutical-grade stimulant packaged into auto-injectors to reduce fear and increase performance during a battle, complete sets of soft body armor, helmets with built-in scanners. A veritable gold mine of illegal military goods, she was rich! It was the last few cases that held the best yet. Complete sets of EVA capable Shok Armor, glistening black from boots to faceplate.


    Her stomach shrank with fear despite knowing no one occupied the suit. It was fearsome in its appearance, and she had seen too many holo-vids where units of Shokmarines easily overwhelmed resistance fighters. They always seemed more like dispassionate automatons than people. "Go Tsao de hell!"


    Her com chirped, startling her. "Yeah," she acknowledged, bringing the com closer to her face.


    "Sarah, if you¡¯re done showering, your father has grilled up some steak and shrimp from the cargo he now owns. These bad boys are huge. Hurry before I eat ''em all," Glori offered, her voice tinny.


    "Alright, sounds good. I''m heading back now." She took one last look around before filing the problem away for later review.


    They sat in a circle on their respective couches, feasting on premium steak and shrimp. Sarah was in heaven; real beef tasted so much better than lab-grown. The texture was different in every bite, and the way her father cooked it was amazing.


    ¡°Outstanding,¡± Glori exclaimed.


    ¡°I know, right? I¡¯ve never had steak this good,¡± Sarah declared around a mouthful of meat. ¡°I could never afford it.¡±


    Riordan finished chewing. ¡°The secret is in the prep. The cut should be room temperature so it doesn¡¯t toughen on the grill, and the seasoning should be applied beforehand, so its flavor cooks into the meat.¡±


    Knives and forks clinked on plates as the party enjoyed their dinner.


    ¡°How did you find the Odyssey, anyway?¡± Sarah asked innocently.


    ¡°Oh, it''s complicated. This was a ship scrapyard,¡± he replied, gesturing to the entire area. ¡°A salvage company used to own it but went under. I found some records when I was searching for parts for the Swindler, and I eventually found it. The company was supposed to make sure the ships were properly disposed of, but they didn''t. Over the years, it became a popular dumping ground. The feds don''t care since it''s outside their jurisdiction and doesn''t present a navigation hazard."


    ¡°So, you don¡¯t own the Odyssey?¡±


    ¡°Nobody owns it, not legally, but then, laws don¡¯t apply out here. I just use her sometimes. It''s been a few years since I¡¯ve been back, but we did all this. We got life support working, and got some power.¡±


    ¡°You use her to stash stolen merchandise until you can move it?¡±


    Riordan shot Glori a concerned glance. "I''m not going to pretend to be a saint. I''ve been mostly legit for the past five years, but yes, we used to use the Odyssey to store merchandise. There is a lot of it still here. That''s one of the reasons I brought us here, to stock up. My criminal days are behind me, were behind me," he finished with a wry smile.


    ¡°So, you were a... pirate?¡±


    Riordan choked on his drink, setting the glass on the low coffee table in front of him with a thunk.


    ¡°Sarah..." Glori said under her breath.


    ¡°You think I''m a pirate?" Riordan asked in a low voice. "Pirates hunt down and attack other ships. They murder or sell the crews into slavery in the unaffiliated systems. They steal the cargo and strip the ships down to their keels. Sometimes they even sell the prettier girls to the whorehouses and brothels, the pretty little boys, too. Do you think I''m capable of something like that?"


    ¡°Well, I thought¡­,¡± she stammered.


    "Slavery? Forced prostitution? Organ harvesting? Murder?¡± He continued tensely.


    Sarah dropped her gaze. Glori¡¯s eyes alternated between the two, food forgotten. Riordan leaned forward.


    ¡°I know you think I let you down. I should have been there for you, but I wasn¡¯t. That doesn¡¯t make me a pirate, just a bad father,¡± Riordan stood, drink in one hand, tray in the other. His countenance softened. ¡°Get some sleep, it''s been a long week. We¡¯ll talk more in the morning.¡±


    The ladies nodded in assent. Glori watched him drop his tray into the bar sink and continue fiddling with the consoles. Sarah poked at her cooling steak.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡­ There¡¯s just so much stuff here...¡±


    Glori placed her tray on the small table next to her. ¡°I knew Jaisen had a past, something illegal, but he put it behind him. He was, is, a good man. People are strange like that. Jaisen admitted he was a thief, a good one, probably the best. People make bad choices, follow the wrong path, but most, if given time and opportunity, can make things right. Give your father that chance.¡±


    ¡°How do I do that? We just met."


    ¡°What does your heart say about Atticus Riordan?¡±


    ¡°It says that he put himself in harm''s way to save me and a bunch of other people he didn¡¯t even know. It says that he''s scared and brought us here because he''s working an angle. He''s getting something out of it."


    ¡°I feel the same way!¡±


    ¡°You do? So, what¡¯s his angle?¡±


    ¡°Now? You,¡± Glori smiled, turning her attention back to her steak.

 Chapter 15: First Impressions

    Shepherd placed her hand over Jaisen¡¯s. He released his grip on the bottle. ¡°Easy now, our interview isn¡¯t over yet; I can¡¯t have you getting shlocked. Besides, this spirit should be sipped with respect, savored. This isn¡¯t your outer territory¡¯s moonshine, brewed with table scraps and distilled with the waste heat from a badly tuned APU exhaust.¡±


    Jaisen glared at her with red bleary eyes for a few moments before relenting. ¡°We¡¯ve covered Eden, Aldeberan, and Leshan.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, but I know all about that stuff, it¡¯s in the files. I want to know about stuff that¡¯s not in the files,¡± she said, leaning back in her chair. She sipped daintily from the small glass she held. The contents were clear and very slightly tinted yellow. ¡°I need to know about the jobs you weren¡¯t ¡®pinched¡¯ for,¡± she finished.


    ¡®That¡¯s a long list,¡¯ Jaisen thought. ¡°Well, like weapons smuggling, drug running, contraband tech, that sort of thing?¡± Jaisen asked with a grim laugh.


    ¡°Exactly, and I need names, places, dates, all that stuff.¡±


    ¡°You want me to confess to crimes that carry the death penalty?¡± Jaisen asked, laughing a bit harder.


    Shepherd laughed with him, adjusting her uniform. ¡°I don¡¯t need to trump up charges to execute you. I could just space you right now or put a plasma bolt through your head,¡± Shepherd winked. ¡°Let¡¯s start easy. How did you and Atticus Riordan meet?"


    --A few years before the events of The Zarkazian Incident (https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/100618/the-zarkazian-incident), about a year after Riordan comes into possession of The Passive Swindler--


    Jaisen glanced left, then right, down the deserted gangway. Satisfied, he clamped the passcode phreaker over the keypad. Numbers streamed across the display. The unit beeped softly, and the outer airlock door hissed open. ¡®180 sections, in and out, baby!¡¯ He cheered to himself. He stepped onto the beat-up old freighter and tried not to inhale the reek of stale air, gym socks, and hydrocarbons too deeply. He found the network terminal on the dextral sidewall of the airlock. The next order of business was to shut down the security system and delete the internal sensor logs for the past 24 hours. He shredded the files with military-level encryption, covering his tracks. The inner airlock hatch hissed open, admitting him into the cargo bay. Lit only by a few banks of lights, he followed the readout on his handheld scanner to the right container. He quietly down stacked containers until the indicated one was before him. 120 sections. He phreaked the keypad and opened the case. His client requested ten units, MK XVII something or others.


    His gloved hands deftly plucked unit after unit and placed them in the satchel at his left hip. He placed the last unit in the satchel and resealed the container. Just as he was turning away, a voice called out.


    ¡°I don''t remember submitting a work order," a gravelly voice said from behind and above him.


    He tensed, ready to bolt when he heard a weapon being cocked, a slug-thrower. He froze. "Shize!" Jaisen hissed, raising his hands over his head. He gingerly turned around to face his captor. He gauged the man standing shirtless on the gangway overlooking the cargo deck, pistol held lazily in one hand, a liquor bottle in the other. "I don''t want any trouble," Jaisen began.


    ¡°Well, you just bought yourself a heaping helping of it,¡± the man responded, swigging from the bottle. ¡°Those units are worth about 1000 credits each, maybe more on the black market,¡± the man with the gun continued as he started down the steep corrugated steel stairs. Jaisen backed away, hands still high.


    ¡°How dare you,¡± the man began drunkenly, ¡°come onto my ship¡­ and steal from me!¡±


    ¡°Sir, I just¡­,¡± Jaisen stammered.


    ¡°I assume you disabled my security system, deleted sensor recordings for the last twelve hours? Hmm? Probably the station logs for the docking section as well?¡±


    ¡°Uh, last twenty-four actually," Jaisen responded.


    ¡°Great! No evidence you were ever here then. So, what should I do with a thief that broke into my home to steal from my clients, endangering my livelihood? Bullet to the face?" he asked, raising the slug thrower. "Or should I tie you up and space you once I leave the system? Maybe call the Gendarme? I bet you get ten years for stealing restricted tech."


    Jaisen swallowed hard. ¡°You could also forget you ever saw me. You¡¯re insured, right? Let me leave, then call the cops and file a report. Insurance will cover the loss!"


    The man appeared to consider this course of action for a moment. ¡°That covers my client¡¯s loss¡­ What about mine?¡±


    ¡°There are two dozen units, in that case, I''m only taking ten. No one will be able to determine how many I actually took," Jaisen proposed.


    ¡°Is the security system still down?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be down until you reset it.¡±


    The man stared at him with bleary eyes, face unreadable. Sections passed. The man dropped the gun to his side.


    ¡°Get the frell off my ship before I change my mind,¡± the man growled.


    Jaisen cautiously walked backward until he was inside the airlock. Only when the inner door closed did he let out the breath he was holding, and the shakes started.


    Unbelievably, just a few weeks later, in a different system, Jaisen spotted the same man sitting at a bar. A pack filled with various spare parts occupied the stool to the man''s left. ¡®How fortuitous, I happen to need a pilot with questionable morals,¡¯ Jaisen thought. Jaisen nonchalantly dropped into a stool a few seats to the man''s right. He motioned to the barkeep, an ancient short stocky man of obvious heavy gravity lineage. "Dorian ale, room temp." Jaisen glanced over at the man. He''s swirling amber fluid in a short dirty glass. The unlabeled bottle next to him was ? full. "Hey," Jaisen called out. "How''s tricks?"


    The man looked over, and his eyes widened momentarily in shock before narrowing with suspicion and, finally, recognition. ¡°Well, well, planning to rob me again?¡± he asked.


    Jaisen moved to the stool next to him. "I hacked your manifest. You''re not transporting anything that interests me."


    ¡°Then why are we jaw-jackin, friend?¡± The man asked, downing the contents of his glass.


    ¡°Because I need transportation, pal.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡± the man asked, pouring another few fingers from the bottle into his glass. ¡°Off the books, I assume?¡±


    Jaisen hesitated as two uniformed police officers stopped momentarily outside the bar''s entrance, checking a hand scanner and watching the throng of passers-by. "Anywhere but here," Jaisen replied nervously, "and I have cargo."


    The man sipped his drink. ¡°What¡¯s the cargo?¡± he asked, voice lowered.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Jaisen hissed.


    The man looked at him hard for a few sections. "Guess not. 2500 credits. Upfront," The man drained his glass again as Jaisen sputtered.


    ¡°That''s ridiculous..."


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The man capped the bottle and stuffed it into his pack. Standing, he said, ¡°Take it or leave it. Berth 33, 2 hours.¡±


    Jaisen held out his hand with a sigh, "I''ll be there. Jaisen Folyn."


    The man shook his hand firmly. ¡°Atticus Riordan, Captain of the Passive Swindler. Don¡¯t be late.¡±


    Jaisen met him at the predetermined time. They teamed up and quickly loaded the 6 cargo containers from the rented gravsled and secured them in the hold amongst the other freight.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you don¡¯t have a shielded smuggling compartment!¡± Jaisen exclaimed while following Riordan up the ladder to the command deck. "If we get boarded and scanned, we''re frelled!"


    Riordan stopped, looking pointedly at Jaisen. ¡°I¡¯m not a smuggler, so I never get boarded. It¡¯s not a good business model.¡± He hoisted himself onto the command deck with ease. Jaisen watched, slightly impressed, as the man flitted from terminal to terminal, entering commands, flipping switches, and tweaking knobs. Whines and hums began to fill the ship. ¡°Hey, what color are the readouts over there,¡± he asked, pointing.


    Jaisen checked the readouts. ¡°Uh, all yellow¡­ is that life support?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Riordan replied, changing some settings on the navigation console.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t they be green? he asked, nervously, tapping the display.


    ¡°Ideally,¡± Riordan replied, settling into the overstuffed chair in the middle of the command deck. Control consoles had been hastily installed by a less than professional hand on either side and in front. At a glance, Jaisen thought it looked like most of the major controls for the entire ship had been duplicated and routed to these consoles. ¡°The CO2 filters are overdue for a change, I¡¯m down two oxygen generators, and half the circulation fans need cleaning. Yellow is the best we¡¯re gonna get for now.¡±


    Jaisen scanned what he thought might be the navigation console, ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Appalachia,¡± Riordan pulled his restraint webbing around his chest and settled his headset into place. ¡°Then Galorndan.¡±


    ¡°Galorndan¡¯s good,¡± he said, agreeably.


    ¡°Yup, Galorndan has decent black market from what I hear. What am I transporting, anyway?¡±


    Jaisen smiled wryly in response as he sat in the engineer¡¯s chair and strapped himself in for launch. Riordan made final arrangements with Mechavilia flight control. The Passive Swindler lifted off from the surface of the lush green planet and arced into the afternoon sky, cutting between the dual suns as she shrugged off the hold of gravity.


    --Back to the current timeline--


    Shepherd¡¯s stylus hovered over the console screen. ¡°What was the cargo? You never mentioned that.¡±


    Jaisen sighed, "Half-functional plasma weapons, some blast pistols, scanners, holocons, spoofers, plinkers, phreakers, and about 3000 ampules of Morph-A."


    ¡°So, what changed Riordan¡¯s mind about smuggling?¡±


    ¡°Well, as soon as I sold my haul, I picked up another job and needed a pilot and second set of hands. We eventually became contractors specializing in fast, discreet delivery, theft, and insurance fraud. If you needed money and had something of value that we could steal, we''d steal it, and you''d get the insurance payout. Minus a small commission, of course. Sometimes we''d get to keep the stock, other times we sold it back to the original owner at a discount. The rest is history."


    ¡°Until the Zarkazian, when you graduated to piracy and murder,¡± Shepherd states with a superior smirk.


    ¡°Roger Syddel was a slaver, and what happened was mostly an accident! It certainly wasn¡¯t piracy,¡± He fell silent for a moment. ¡°And not all killing is murder.¡± He poured a few more ounces of the single malt into his glass.


    "You know that turned into a Q-Net Urban Legend? A conspiracy theory, A ghost ship story." Looking thoughtful, she asked, ¡°Did Riordan contact you when he got to Vesta station or before?¡±


    ¡°I believe when he was already on the station. We met up, had dinner, talked about old times, then he went back to his ship. I went back to my quarters with my wife.¡±


    ¡°Why did you remove the tracking device from his ship?¡± she asked, eyes going steely.


    A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Jaisen¡¯s face. ¡°Professional courtesy, I guess. I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s involved in, I just know it wasn¡¯t supposed to be there, so upon his request, I removed it.¡±


    ¡°You did more than that. I''d hazard to say you went above and beyond, striving for a hefty tip and a five-star rating. You placed the tracker on a different ship. Did it ever occur to you that it might have been there for a reason!?" Shepherd asked, her voice as sharp as her eyes.


    Jaisen didn¡¯t respond.


    ¡°We very well may have prevented the attack that killed your wife. If we hadn¡¯t been chasing a banking executive on a jaunt with his latest mistress. You¡¯re literally an accomplice to your own wife¡¯s murder.¡±


    Jaisen¡¯s composure broke slightly. He stifled a sob.


    Shepherd softened her tone. ¡°We believe he has a weapon, a very powerful one, that he plans to use to kill a lot of innocent people. Do you want that to happen?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jaisen whispered.


    ¡°Then help me,¡± Shepherd plead, sliding a tablet across the table to him. ¡°I need locations, dates. Any place you and Riordan ever visited.¡±


    She waited patiently while Jaisen tapped out locations on the tablet. She scanned over the list when he was done. ¡°Does he have the case? You can¡¯t miss it. It¡¯s very distinctive.¡±


    "What case?" Jaisen asked.


    Consternation swept across Captain Shepard''s face. "The shielded case he stole from the freighter that he attacked near Besitera. Yeah, I know what the official record says. I had undercover agents escorting that container. When he attacked, they transmitted a general distress call, but before we could respond the Passive Swindler, and the case, were gone. My people died trying to protect that container."


    Jaisen stared at her impassively. "Would you like me to make stuff up?"


    "Don''t make this a battle of wills. I''m going to get the answers I seek, one way or another. Cooperate, and you can enjoy the luxury of feeling guilty for betraying a friend. Resist and you can suffer until you''re trying to buy the mercy of a quick death with the info I seek. Either way, I''m going to win. I always do."


    Jaisen shuddered at the memory of the chair. He didn''t let his mind explore any other directions. He needed to stay in the now. He didn''t believe his friend attacked Vesta Station. He¡¯d known Atticus long enough to know he viewed himself as the hero, and heroes didn''t do things like that. Jaisen quickly reviewed the facts of his situation.


    He was kidnapped from the station in the dead of night. He ended up on an FRS vessel. It was safe to assume he was grabbed by the fleet, tortured for hours without being informed of the charges against him or having access to legal counsel, all of which were supposed to be highly illegal. With the destruction of Vesta Station minutes after his abduction, it was unlikely anyone knew he was still alive.


    Did the military destroy the station to cover his abduction, or frame Atticus? Possibly both? Why would Atticus attack the station and then stick around to evacuate survivors? The fleet knew he had the case. They knew he came to the station and asked him for help. They didn''t want the public to know anything about the case. Whatever it held must be very important to have gone through so much trouble. They must be lying about Atticus. What else are they lying about? Could Glori still be alive? His mind reeled with the possibilities. Jaisen straightened in his seat.


    ¡°I invoke my right to counsel under the Fourth Clause of the Third Edition of the Greater Galactic Cluster Articles of Federation."


    Captain Shepard¡¯s face tensed. She clicked the intercom button twice. Two enlisted guards entered the room. Their black uniforms, like those of the rest of the crew, indicated the ship he was on had a combat role rather than a support role.


    "You don''t have any rights, Mr. Folyn. You died two days ago on Vesta Station with your wife," She stood. "Take the prisoner to the interrogation room and put on a pot of kaffee, it''s going to be a long night."

 Chapter 16: Communication and Fake IDs

    Chapter 16: Communication and Fake IDs


    Riordan checked on the ladies one last time. They were both asleep on their couches, snuggled into blankets and sleeping sacks. He put the final touches on an old communicator and snuck from the casino floor. He didn''t need a lantern to see where he was going. Once he felt he was far enough away to not be overheard, he tapped a sequence of numbers into the keypad. He held it up to his ear, listening to the tones and clicks as it connected across the Galaxy through several dozen layers of encryption and redirection. Dozens of light-years away, a device admitted a small vibration. It was retrieved from a hiding spot and answered.


    "Identify yourself," a gravelly voice commanded.


    "Lady Luck, four, four, six, two," Riordan responded.


    "Status report?" the voice demanded.


    "The last job went to shit. I was following the target. I was prepared to make the grab, but the ship ran into trouble. I tried to assist, but it was too late.¡± There was silence from the other party for a few moments.


    ¡°The package?¡±


    "The crew managed to get it into my airlock before they were murdered."


    "What the hell happened at Vesta Station?" the voice asked, with impatience and fatigue flavoring its tone.


    "Our old buddy J ran a security business there. With the escorts dead, I thought he could help."


    "I remember him. Did he?"


    ¡°Not with the package, but he did find a tracking device installed on my ship, probably during maintenance."


    "The Black Hand?"


    "Who else? He hid it on another ship. Shortly after they departed, the station was attacked."


    "You have the package in your possession? Unopened?"


    "Yes, but I also have two other issues. One of them is your granddaughter." There was a longer than usual pause.


    "I wondered why you hadn''t put her on a rescue ship. What''s the other issue?"


    "J''s wife was a doctor on the station. She was among the survivors I took onto my ship. She implanted J with a medical tracker. He wasn''t on the station when it was destroyed. She got an alert during the evac that he left the station."


    "Do you think the Black Hand has him?"


    "I think so. It makes sense, right? I intercept the package. I take it to J for help, and the station is attacked after J is abducted. The attack is then blamed on Separatists to obscure the real motive."


    There was another long pause.


    "It''s been 2 days. I doubt he''s alive. Where are you?"


    "Somewhere safe."


    "Hopefully that somewhere is a place J doesn''t know about. I think it''s safe to assume they know everything he knew."


    "Uh..."


    "It''s that old derelict, isn''t it? Leave. Now. I''m doing what I can on my end. Thankfully, you dropped your logs, and that''s helping.¡±


    "Where should we go? I''ve got Fleet and the Black Hand hot on my..."


    "Somewhere J hasn''t been, ideally. No matter what, they can''t get the package. Drop it into a star if you have to. I''ll deposit 100k credits into the usual account. Drop them both off at the first place you reach and have them reach out. I''ll make sure they are safe."


    "Thank you. Understood, Lady Luck, out.¡±


    Riordan cut the connection on the device. He disassembled it and dropped the parts into various rubble piles and shipping crates on his way back to the casino floor. He settled down on the open couch, pulling the blanket over his legs. He doubted he could sleep, but he should at least try. He tucked his slug-thrower under his pillow. All the stim in the Cluster can''t replace a good night''s sleep.


    Mornings in space were defined by the clock you kept. There were no bright rays of sunshine beaming in through your window. No birds chirping merrily. There was only recycled air and an anxiety-inducing alarm. Glori groaned as she sat up, her body stiff from sleeping on furniture. Sarah occupied the couch across from her, bundled up in her blanket, her face covered. The only thing on Riordan''s couch was a crumpled blanket.


    She found him on the hangar deck, banging and cursing as he tried to fix the locking collar around the base of a thruster nozzle. The old nozzle, severely dented, rested on the deck, already blending in with the rest of the debris. She didn''t have to wait long for him to notice her, or rather the tray of food she was holding.


    ***


    Jaisen wondered if it could get worse.


    "Where is Riordan!" the demigorgon roared, flames erupting from her mouth. The heat made his skin crackle. The snakes sprouting from her head whipped back and forth, hissing angrily.


    Eyes bulging and heart hammering Jaisen tried to convince his reptilian brain that this wasn''t real. He didn''t know how long he''d been here. Where was here? Hezmana? Malus? The fear was real, the pain was real, and that ugly bitch with the snake hair was most definitely real!


    He knew where Riordan probably was. Who was Riordan? A smug sly grin filled his mind''s eye for a heartbeat and then faded.


    "Tell me and all this stops," a sweet soft voice purred into his right ear. A cold moist rag swiped across his forehead bringing sweet relief to the blistered cracked skin left by the demigorgon''s fiery breath.


    He couldn''t take anymore. He had lasted as long as he could. He didn''t care if the relief she was offering was death at this point. He just wanted it to stop.


    "There is a place. Near Galorndon in un-affiliated territory. A dumping ground," he paused, shaking with shame and fear. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Yes, go on," the voice purred. The demigorgon backed away, the snakes calming. The roaring fires seemed a bit lower and the temperature dropped.


    "They called it, uh..., we called it Desolation Drift. An old colony ship. We used it as a hide out years ago. That''s where we would meet if we. Lost each other." His head hung in shame. The rag swept across his brow once more and a bottle of cool water was pressed to his lips. He gulped eagerly.


    Captain Shepherd gestured and the doctor administered the antidote and a sedative into the port in Jaisen Folyn''s arm. There was no demigorgon, or flaming hellscape. There was only a powerful hallucinogen derived from the venom of a cute little arthropod with many legs and used in conjunction with a powerful hypnotic making the subject extremely suggestive. There was no physical danger and the entire procedure was monitored by a physician.


    She watched the tension leave her subject''s body as he fell into a deep slumber. He had lasted 12 hours. She would never say so, but she was impressed. She had only lasted 7 hours. As a master level interrogator, you''re required to know what the subject will experience. All interrogators are required to undergo interrogation resistance training which includes the various techniques they use, but instead of the interrogator, they are the subject.


    Captain Shepherd headed to the bridge to issue the orders to change their course to Galorndon.


    ***


    Riordan scraped the last of the eggs into his mouth gratefully. "Thank you!" he said around the last bite.


    "No problem. At least you didn''t make me ''order'' you to take a break and eat."


    "Listen, Chief Medical Officer is more of an honorific than an actual title." He laughed, setting his empty tray aside.


    They stared at each other for a few moments.


    "So, what''s the plan," she asked.


    "I''ve almost got this repair licked, once I get that damn collar in place. I''ve changed the Swindler''s IDENT transponder to one borrowed from a derelict out there. She''s now the Greedy Goose. The new nose art is done and I even messed with the fuel mixture a bit to change her signature. Oh," he said, reaching into the pocket of his vest. "Here, a new ID for you and one for Sarah. You are now, Vasche Broche, a psychiatrist from Paradise," he handed her an ID card. " I am Daryl Carter, cargo ship captain. This one is for Sarah, college student, and not a minor."


    "Are these necessary? Are they going to hold up?"


    "Jaisen and I know a guy, that works in a certain office. Once we hit FRS space and I send the requests, these will be good for everything but a deep scan into the records. It''s even tagged to your tattoo."


    "Great," she said tucking the IDs into her pocket. "When are we leaving and where will we be going?"


    Riordan sighed. "We need to rest here for a little while longer, let things die down a bit. We''re safe here."


    "Is Jaisen safe? Does he know I''m safe? You know what, I get it, but it''s still... so... FRUSTRATING!!" she said, fists clenched.


    "I''ll drop you both at the first FRS station we can find."


    "You think she''s going to go that easy? It is the smart thing to do, I agree."


    "You''re going to help me. I have some things in place. Credits and such. All I need you to do is get her to Family. My Mom on Prime." He holds up a hand to stop her protests. "And then I''ll do everything I can to locate Jaisen and bring him home. I swear it. But I can''t have you both here, distracting me. I need you safe and out of the way."


    "Shize," she said. "Agreed."


    Riordan watched her go, tray in hand. He felt for her, but he had a mission to consider and it was bigger than any of them.


    "Hey," Glori greeted Sarah as she rinsed the tray in the bar sink. Gloria was watching the screens as they cycled through the various sensor elements. It was a cobbled together mess.


    "Hey, thanks for breakfast. Where''s Riord... my dad?" Sarah asked, her mouth half full of food.


    "He''s in the hangar bay finishing up some repairs on the ship. She took some damage during the evacuation."


    "Yeah, dextral-side thrusters are sluggish, and the sensor array on that side is down, too," she fell silent, remembering someone who could have fixed it.


    Glori noticed the cloud pass over her face; the poor kid had gone through a lot in the past few days. "It''s hard losing friends, people you''re close to," Glori offered, hoping the girl would take the opportunity to open up.


    "Yeah, I didn''t have many friends, but I knew people... And not many were listed on the manifest," she said, losing interest in the breakfast. "I''ve lost people before."


    Glori waited a few moments, hoping she would go on, but she sat there closed off, lost in her thoughts. Glori offered her the new ID her father made for her. Taking it, she read the information. "Favella Lorch, 18, a college student from Undora. Cool," she said without enthusiasm.


    "The ship has a new identity too. Hopefully, it will hold up, and we can hide out somewhere a little more civilized," Glori replied.


    Sarah looked around the casino floor. "A real burger and some Q-net would be a nice treat. Maybe."


    "I can''t wait to be around people again. It''s lonely and creepy here," Glori replied.


    An insistent tone started sounding from the cobbled-together assortment of panels occupying the bar. They both looked over in confusion. Glori fumbled in her pocket for her communicator. "Riordan, your... computer is making noise."


    There were a few moments before he responded. "What kind of noise?"


    "An intermittent tone."


    Muffled curses transmitted over the open channel. "I just finished up. I''ll be there in a minute. Don''t touch anything. Do me a favor though and get packed up," he said.


    "Roger," she replied.


    Sarah was behind the bar, looking closely at the hodgepodge of screens and panels. "I think this is a very crude collection of sensor arrays," Sarah said, pointing to a screen, "this is a thermal readout, and that is a thermal signature."


    "A ship?" Glori asked, concerned.


    "I can''t think of what else it could be."


    They hurriedly packed their few belongings. Riordan entered the large room and went straight to the consoles. Sarah and Glori waited anxiously for a few minutes exchanging glances as Riordon poured over the readouts.


    "Well," Glori asked, and patiently. Her small pack was on her back.


    "It''s a ship. It stopped about 1,500 km out. It''s conducting intense sensor sweeps," he said.


    "Are they going to find us?" Sarah asked.


    "Eventually, they have a lot of garbage to sift through. Debris fields, derelicts, remember this is a junkyard."


    "Let''s get out of here then!" Sarah exclaimed.


    "It''s not that easy. As soon as we power up the ship, they''ll spot us. Judging by what I can gather we''re probably looking at a cruiser. They''ll be all over us before we can jump to hyperspace." he replied.


    "Jump blind," Sarah suggested.


    "And fly through a star or into a planet? I''d rather not have my atoms spread across light-years of interstellar space. No, we''ll wait."


    "Wait for what "Glori asked.


    "We wait for them to go away. They''re probably checking for pirate activity," he said.


    ¡°Don''t you think it''s a bit of a coincidence they arrived," she checked her holocon, "24 hours after we did?"


    "Maybe,¡± he said with false confidence. "They¡¯re on the edge of the Drift. If they move closer, then we worry, okay? Until then, we¡¯ll keep an eye on ''em."


    Glori threw up her hands in frustration. "This is crazy!" and she went off to be by herself. Sarah stared thoughtfully at her father. ¡°There is something you¡¯re not telling us?"


    "Why do you think that," he asked, giving her a side-eyed glance.


    ¡°You expected us to be followed. Why else set up a passive sensor array in a junkyard of worthless derelicts?"


    "Jaisen and I set this up years ago when we used to use the Odyssey as a hideout between jobs. It''s been here for years," he replied.


    "Has this happened before, a federal ship scanning your hideout?"


    "Maybe,¡± he replied.


    She gave him a disbelieving look.


    "Some other smugglers on occasion, once in a while a salvage barge. Never a federal ship," He offered.


    "What''s the plan? "She asked.


    "As I said, we wait and lay low until they complete their scans and leave. They have no reason to suspect anyone is here," he said, but he thought differently. Jaisen must have broken. He had hoped he would hold out longer or give up one of their other locations first. He mentally earmarked a few specific crates and containers he would need to load onto the Swindler in the meantime.

 Chapter 17: Danger! Danger!

    ¡°Alright, we gotta go!¡± Riordan said. He hurriedly began shutting down the makeshift console. ¡°The FRS cruiser has entered the Drift. We¡¯re still in their sensor shadow for now, but not for much longer.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what? A few minutes ago we were safe!¡± Sarah protested.


    ¡°Things change,¡± Glori said as she stuffed her few personal belongings into her small pack.


    ¡°I was really hoping to have a few more days to figure shize out, but this is a huge red flare. No FRS vessel has entered the Drift since I¡¯ve been coming here. It¡¯s free space, they don¡¯t have jurisdiction, they don¡¯t care. I can only think of one reason, in light of recent events, why they would be here conducting intensive sensor sweeps.¡± He hoped Jayson would''ve held out longer, but no one can hold out forever.


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t they? This is a smuggler¡¯s hideout, I¡¯m sure they know that even if it''s not common knowledge.¡± Sarah said, following Glori¡¯s lead.


    The light banks over the casino floor blinked off one by one as Riordan concluded the shutdown procedures.


    ¡°The last time anyone used the Drift for anything other than a junk yard was over fifty years ago. We only found it by chasing down some rare parts for the Swindler and finding the location as a notation to an old file. It¡¯s too far away, and fuel costs are too high. The border of FRS space used to be much further away making it ideal for hiding out." He swung his pack over a shoulder and stuffed a few items into his pockets. "Now, it''s pretty much just used to dump wrecks and derelicts to avoid paying disposal fees.¡± Riordan said, pulling open the ornate plasteel double doors of the casino. ¡°They can just report a vessel stolen, collect a small insurance payout, and forget about it.¡±


    The trio paused at the doors as Riordan consulted the tablet in his hand.


    Sarah, again, tried to ignore the lewd carvings, wondering at the depravity of humanity as a whole.


    ¡°They¡¯re being thorough and moving slow. We¡¯re still in the Odyssey''s shadow. If they maintain their current pace we may have just enough time to get away clean.¡± Riordan explained the plan as they made their way toward the hanger deck where the Swindler awaited. Restart the dormant APUs and bring them to full power. Bring the other essential systems online while the battery bank tops off. Once the Navcomp is online, exit the hanger using only thrusters to avoid leaving an ion trail and hide amongst the derelicts until an FTL solution is found.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Sarah interrupted. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we turn off environmentals so they don¡¯t know we were here?¡± They were passing by the console with the glued in key.


    ¡°They¡¯re searching the Drift, they know someone is here. Hopefully, they¡¯ll waste a lot of time searching this wreck. We¡¯ll be using that time to escape.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s pretty clever,¡± Glori said.


    ¡°Jaisen wrote our contingency protocols. He was the genius, I was just the muscle,¡± Riordan replied with a sad smile. remembering what a great team they made.


    They passed into the hanger bay and entered the Swindler through the rear airlock. As they entered the command deck Riordan barked orders moving swiftly around the small space flipping switches and turning dials. ¡°Just reverse the order of the shutdown procedures¡­ Get the Navcomp spun up¡­ Make sure life support is nominal¡­ Bring sensors online, passive only¡­.¡±


    They hustled to complete their tasks quickly. Sarah and Glori were hampered by their lack of familiarity and experience. Riordan ran a quick diagnostic on the repaired thruster assembly. A proper calibration would have to wait, but overall functionality had been restored. Once the sensor console was booted he transferred the control of the myriad of passive sensors hidden in the Drift to the Swindler. The FRS cruiser was drawing ever closer.


    ¡°Sarah, get down to the engine room and get the APUs spun up. We need the main reactor ready for restart, ASAP!¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t finished with the¡­¡± Sarah replied.


    ¡°It¡¯s OK, I got it. Go,¡± Glori said, bumping her lightly with her hip to move her out of the way. ¡°Life support is¡­ green¡­ amber? Green? It¡¯s good enough!¡±


    Sarah overheard Riordan asking about fuel mixture ratios as she descended the ladder from the command deck to the catwalk that surrounded the perimeter of the cargo hold. She took the sinistral side catwalk which required her to cut to the left. She jogged down to the proper hatch near the far end of the catwalk and pressed the actuator stud.


    The hatch released with a hiss and crept open with a groan before stopping half way. With an exasperated grunt she pulled it open enough for her to enter the chamber. Sarah entered commands into the console on the active APU to bring it from standby to full power. She listened as the whine rose swiftly past the threshold of her hearing and watched as the indicator slowly rose toward 100%. Satisfied the APU was powering up Sarah flipped the suitcase sized breakers on the far wall which allowed power to flow to the other APUs, the fusion reactor¡¯s containment coils, and ignition lasers. Restarting a dormant fusion reactor, especially an antiquated one, required a tremendous amount of power.


    Originally designed as a military vessel, the Passive Swindler¡¯s model was originally designed with one APU and a battery bank. Restarting the fusion reactor from an inactive state required an outside power source such as a station or a tender ship. Consequently, during active military service the reactor was rarely shut down. The ship¡¯s current configuration provided just enough power to restart the reactor, independently. That being said, the setup was less than ideal compared to modern operations. With all three APUs and the fully charged battery bank they had two, maybe three ignition sequences before they had to wait for the battery bank to recharge. If they were using the Ion engines to say, escape or avoid attack, it would take longer. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Maybe if the APUs weren¡¯t years overdue for maintenance and ran at full efficiency or if the laser ignition assemblies were replaced with more efficient particle beams¡­ Sarah always loved science and learning how things worked, something she and Keve shared, but this was like a functional museum. Even the back water stations her father, Tarold, and her lived on over the years weren¡¯t this archaic and outdated. When the first APU reached 100% output she started the other two APUs and set them to full output. She checked the status of the Bose-Einstein condensate coolant generator and the flow-rate to the reactor. Anything else could be done from the command deck. The thought of starting the reactor so close to a threat made the skin between her shoulder blades crawl like a target was painted there. A fully operational fusion reactor would shine like a beacon on the FRS Cruiser¡¯s sensors. If some of the other wrecks still had functional reactors, she would have felt better.


    Sarah pushed the hatch closed as much as she could and pressed the actuator. She heard the over-used motor groan and struggle behind her as she hurried along the catwalk toward the ladder that led to the command deck. Sarah clambered up the ladder hearing Riordan¡¯s raised voice.


    ¡°...out of time! It¡¯s automated. The Navcomp will get you there. I¡¯m going to buy you the time to jump to FTL and meet up with you later.¡±


    ¡°But Sarah and I barely know how to fly this thing without your constant help, much less land it somewhere!¡± Glori protested.


    Sarah froze in shock upon entering the command deck. Riordan stood there wearing a set of glossy black Shok Trooper armor. A huge plasma rifle was attached to a point on his back, grenades lined the left side of waist and a large plasma pistol hung on his right. The helmet with the smooth expressionless face plate hung from his left hand as he gestured with his right.


    ¡°What the frek is going on?¡± Sarah asked, palms suddenly slick with sweat. Memories of dozens of propaganda vids of black clad elite warriors brutally quelling upstarts, riots, and protests screamed through her head. ''To Preserve the Union, the cancer of rebellion must be excised in totality before it can spread.''


    Glori looked up from her console, her face wrought with fear and worry. Riordan looked angry, and maybe eager. The console nearest Riordan beeped alarmingly, breaking the silence. Riordan glanced down at the readouts and scowled. ¡°Remember how we planned to use the sensor shadow of the Odyssey to sneak away? Well, someone else had the same idea. The cruiser launched a boarding shuttle before we detected it. The shuttle stuck closely to the axis of the cruiser using its signature to mask its own until the last minute.¡±


    ¡°The cruiser was a distraction? We''ve been boarded?¡± Sarah exclaimed, realization dawning. If they had hunkered down and waited like they were originally going to do, they would have been easy pickings for a well trained boarding party. They still might be.


    Riordan tapped a few controls and entered a command.


    A nearby screen flickered to life showing a scene from an internal security camera somewhere in the bowels of the odyssey. The view showed a dozen armored ShokTroops moving in a tactical formation down a corridor. Their armor was obviously a few generations newer than the suit Riordan wore. ¡°They must have entered through a missing section. Their suits are obviously EVA capable, like this one. Jaisen and I only restored life support to a very small section of the ship, for a reason. They¡¯re moving fast and will be on us in minutes if¡­¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t slow them down to buy us time to escape.¡± Sarah finished for him, monotone.


    ¡°Exactly. Don¡¯t try to stop me, it¡¯s the only way. That cruiser has the Swindler outmatched in every way.¡± Riordan stated, steeling himself for resistance.


    ¡°Understood. What do we need to do?¡± She asked flatly. Riordan explained the new plan, quick and dirty.


    ¡°And how do you escape?¡± Sarah asked, crossing her arms defiantly. ¡°We aren¡¯t leaving you here.¡±


    ¡°You remember all those ships out there?¡± He said, gesturing widely.


    ¡°Yeah, mostly in pieces.¡±


    ¡°Well, the Swindler isn¡¯t the only flight worthy vessel I own, just the best. I have a small craft hidden in a forward maintenance hangar that will get me to my other ship and I¡¯ll meet you at your destination. I promise. Once you guys Jump away, I¡¯ll follow.¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± Sarah held up a hand in protest. ¡°Why don¡¯t we just fire up the reactor and haul ass?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in uncharted space. Our destination is even deeper. It¡¯s going to take the navcomp about fifteen minutes to calculate a jump because it has to build its own chart instead of relying on publicly available charts that are constantly updated by every other ship in the quadrant that jumps to hyperspace.¡±


    "Frek," she growled.


    Riordan donned the helmet which sealed in place with a small hiss and the click of latches.  ¡°Comms check, check, check.¡± Riordan¡¯s voice emitted from the tinny speaker built into the helmet.


    Glori tapped the comms console to her right, ¡°Comms locked in, full encryption confirmed.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Sarah protested.


    ¡°I don¡¯t either,¡± he replied, his face-plate blank and emotionless. He looked over to Glori. ¡°If something happens¡­ there is an old man on Prime. Go to the fountain outside the capital court house. Toss in a 10 credit chit at noon local time. He¡¯ll have something for you, for Sarah.¡±


    Glori nods, throat tight. Riordan stopped in the exit way of the command deck.


    ¡°Don¡¯t break my ship.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t die,¡± Sarah replied.


    Sarah sat in her biological father''s captain¡¯s chair, her hands wrapped loosely around the controls. Her feet rested lightly on the two outer pedals.


    ¡°Hanger lights and grav off, outer door opened. I¡¯m going to disable the hatch once I¡¯m through.¡± Riordan said over the encrypted comlink.


    ¡°Roger,¡± Glori replied.


    Sarah¡¯s eyes scanned the various screens and panels arrayed before her. She flexed her hands.


    Sensing Sarah¡¯s nerves, Glori said, ¡°You concentrate on flying this heap, I¡¯ll do the rest, OK?¡±


    ¡°Yup. I mean, Roger,¡± Sarah replied, pulling back slightly on the control yoke. The ship rose silently on barely visible jets of compressed gas flowing from thrust nozzles. Sarah failed to compensate for the ascent of the Swindler with counter thrusters and the vessel banged gently into the ceiling. Sarah flinched. Riordan¡¯s voice crackled over the comms.


    ¡°What the frek was that? I felt it through my boots!¡±


    ¡°The wash from the thrusters must have knocked something over, the damn hanger is filled with junk.¡± Glori replied, sparing Sarah some embarrassment.


    Sarah nodded appreciatively to Glori. ¡°Exiting the hanger. 2% reverse thrust,¡± Sarah said, switching her feet to the inner pair of pedals and applying minimal pressure. She fumbled a little with the controls. Glori reached across Sarah¡¯s console and killed the exterior navigation lights. The small view screen showing the forward view cut to infrared. Nothing but darkness was visible through the main forward view-port.


    ¡°We are clear of the hanger,¡± Sarah said. Glori echoed her words to Riordan as Sarah awkwardly oriented the Swindler to face the long rows of derelict spacecraft.


    ¡°Get clear and try to hide amongst the garbage till the navcomp provides a Jump solution. Then start the reactor and get the hell out of here.¡± Riordan replied.


    ¡°Roger, it shouldn''t be too hard to blend in,¡± Glori replied.


    Sarah applied maximum forward thrusters. If it wasn¡¯t for the instrumentation readouts she wouldn¡¯t know they were moving at all.

 Chapter 18: Boarding party hardy!

    Riordan exited the Swindler. He paused for a moment to allow himself to acclimate to the armor and to let his training kick in. He scanned his eyes around the Heads Up Display, the HUD, checking the status of air, temperature, weapons, etc. He set the visor to infrared and the dim hanger burst into brightness. At the control panel next to the hatch he deactivated lighting, gravity, and atmosphere for the hanger.


    His boots automatically activated keeping him firmly attached to the decking but he could feel an internal release as gravity no longer pulled on his organs. He exited the hanger and called in a status report to the Swindler. He opened the service panel and removed a fist sized fuse preventing anyone from opening the hatch without explosives or a cutting torch.


    He quickly located the FRS Boarding party after pairing the limited internal sensors were to his onboard computer. They were closer than he thought. Mentally referring to the map in his head, he evaluated possible intercept locations. BANG! The noise startled him. He didn¡¯t hear it with his ears, but felt it through the decking. A bang is a bang.


    ¡°What the frek was that? I felt it through my boots!¡±


    ¡°The wash from the thrusters must have knocked something over, the damn hanger is filled with junk.¡± Glori replied. He suspected Sarah didn''t compensate properly for the vertical thrust and bumped the ceiling of the hanger. ''Rookie,'' he thought with a smile.


    ***


    The FRS boarding party team leader paused, scanning ahead with his sensor enhanced vision. He gestured and two troopers moved forward to the next intersection where they took up positions securing those approaches. ¡°Sensors on full active. No surprises.¡±


    The party advanced cautiously, their HUDs displaying an overlay of the Odyssey¡¯s layout as their sensors mapped it. The troopers maintained several meters distance from each other to reduce casualties in the event of an attack, only moving one or two at a time. Move forward, secure the area, wait. Exercising extreme caution they approached the habitable areas detected by their scans.


    ¡°You know, my ancestors were passengers on this ship. They worked in the 3rd class food court at the Falafel Waffle. My great, great, great grandmother worked the counter and my great, great, great grandfather ran the kitchen. their pictures are in our public album. They left Prime to colonize the Inyo system. They both died right after they got there leaving four kids to fend for themselves. I hate falafel,¡± The medical corpsman said over the group comm. Several grumbles replied.


    ¡°Cut the chatter and focus,¡± the team lead said.


    ¡°Sorry, Sir. I¡¯m nervous. This place creeps me the frek out. Especially that mannequin in the corner." He glanced back at the now empty corner. "First mission jitters, I guess. I keep seeing things moving out of the corner of my eye. When I look, nothing''s there! Sorry.¡±


    The team lead glared at him till he finished. ¡°What mannequin? Where?¡±


    ¡°Over there,¡± the medic replied, pointing with his hand instead of his plasma rifle. ¡°Covered in plastic sheeting. Nothing there now, though! I feel like... like, this place is haunted or something! Do you believe in ghosts, Sir?¡± The medic replied, his voice rising an octave.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing there, Corpsman,¡± one of the other troopers said.


    ¡°Exactly!¡± The corpsman hissed, edging closer to the team lead for comfort.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Maintain separation, Corpsman!¡± The team lead barked. ¡°Check it out, Corporal.¡±


    The Corporal moved forward, weapon at the ready. He noticed boxes, crates, and a crumpled sheet of plastic. ¡°I don¡¯t see any mannequin, Sir.¡± He reached out and scuffed at the plastic sheeting with his right foot. ¡°Just garba-¡± The Corporal''s last transmission was interrupted by an explosion. Several troopers were knocked to the decking, minimal gravity having been restored to this section. The corpsman scrambled across the decking on his belly to provide care for the wounded. He quickly discovered the Corporal was beyond help. Shok Armor primarily protected against small arms fire, not explosives. It did what it could, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Dribbles of blood trickled outward in low gravity from a dozen places.


    ¡°I said shut up and frekking report!¡± The team lead screamed over the comms. Someone was frantically firing a plasma rifle down the corridor they came from. The corpsman checked on the other downed troopers administering orders for the application of medicines stored in every trooper¡¯s armor. X-stim reduced pain and fear, restoring troopers with minor injuries to full functionality, temporarily.


    ¡°Status report,¡± the team lead bellowed, smacking the corpsman¡¯s helmet to grab his attention.


    ¡°One KIA, Sir! FREK! The Corporal, Sir! Shize! Four wounded, minor, fully mission capable, Sir!¡± The corpsman replied, voice hitching, gasps audible.


    ¡°Compose yourself! Send me the sensor footage of that mannequin! Now!¡±


    The team lead reviewed the footage as the team recovered and organized itself. The corpsman continued to monitor the condition of the remaining team members. The Corporal¡¯s charge packs and various kit were redistributed amongst the others.


    Scanning the footage at 2X speed the team lead spotted the figure. There it was in the indicated corner hiding under a sheet of plastic! The team lead paused the feed and zoomed in. The lower leg was black and shiny, not unlike his own armored leg. ¡°That was no mannequin,¡± he said over the coms.


    ¡°It¡¯s never a mannequin!¡± one of the other troopers exclaimed.


    ¡°Regroup, we¡¯re pushing forward, and for frek¡¯s sake, don''t touch anything!¡±


    ***


    It didn¡¯t take Riordan long to pin down the exact location of the boarders. He extrapolated their most likely avenue of approach and scouted as he headed toward them. Riordan chose a widened intersection; it was the perfect place for an ambush. While he could have annihilated the boarders, the goal was delay, delay, delay. As long as the FRS believed their target was still on the Odyssey, they¡¯d keep searching. Knowing the team was one turn away he stood stock still in the furthest corner and draped a sheet of plastic over his head. He gently placed a grenade at his feet.


    The trigger was set to remote activation, then motion sensing. It took longer than he expected but one of the troopers looked directly at him and started. While the trooper looked to his compatriots to see if they reacted to what he saw, Riordan slipped away and activated the grenade¡¯s motion sensor. He was two sections away when the grenade detonated. Since this section wasn¡¯t pressurized there was no sound, but the flash and rumble through the deck plating was hard to miss. Hopefully, there were now a few less shok troops and the surprise attack disoriented the rest of them. Delay, delay, delay!


    ¡°Riordan, what was that?! Sensors are reading a possible explosion?¡± Glori called over their encrypted com channel.


    ¡°Oh, nothing. I accidentally knocked over a crate,¡± he replied nonchalantly as he positioned a battery powered heater behind a crate. He stood back and admired his handiwork. On thermal the scene could be two or three people in EVA suits hiding behind some crates and stuff. As a final selling point, he taped the grip safety of his plasma pistol down, keeping it charged, and placed it on the floor near the heater. This would be easily detected by any of the troopers. Perfect! Humming lightly to himself he headed down the corridor to the location for the next surprise.


    He was in a good mood, as he should be. Shok Trooper armor came equipped with a small suite of chemicals and medications which can be self administered or administered by medics in the event of an emergency or injury. X-stim reduced reaction time, fear, anxiety, and pain and increased alertness, endurance, and aggression. With the odds being 12 to one, he needed every advantage he could get. Hours from now he would be paying for this decision when the X-stim wore off. If he had that luxury.


    ***


    The boarding party encountered the fake ambush and decimated it, no quarter, no warnings. Riordan set a few fake booby traps to further delay their search and to lead them deeper into the mess of corridors in various states of repair. He made a bee-line for a small maintenance hangar near the bow of the structure. At the last intersection that led to the maintenance hangar he placed a very obvious grenade EVA taped to the ceiling and hid his last grenade ten meters further down much more cleverly and set it for command detonation. It wouldn''t detonate unless he gave the command. That should give him enough warning, he thought, if everything kept going according to plan. When does that ever happen?

 Chapter 19: A racing sled, you say?

    The forward element of the boarding party rounded the corridor and detected the heat signatures and charged weapon and fearing another ambush, immediately opened fire.


    ¡°Cease fire! Cease Fire!¡± The team leader yelled. The stack of crates and boxes at the end of the corridor were a mess of debris flying in all directions. it took a few moments but the firing came to a halt. Plasma scorches and glowing craters pock marked the walls and crates. Shreds of sheeting and plasteel drifted in the low g.


    The team lead crept closer, weapon ready, allowing his armor¡¯s sensors to collect data.  Satisfied that situation was resolved, he stood and strode forward. He reached down brushing aside some debris and picked up a plasma pistol.


    ¡°Taped safety, decoy weapon.¡± He said over the coms. ¡°Throw in a battery powered heater and some crates and you have a decoy ambush. What is this guy doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ it¡¯s psychological warfare, man! He¡¯s trying to freak us out!¡± The corpsman replied, gaze darting around frantically.


    Another trooper kicked over the shot up heater. ¡°A ruse? Distraction?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± the team leader replied. Something was nagging on the edge of his consciousness. He mentally reviewed the route they¡¯d been following in his head while pursuing the target. Pursuit? They were supposed to be searching for the target, but the target found them. Naturally, they refocused on pursuit, followed. They learned the hard way to proceed carefully. But, why only use a single grenade when he could have used more? Casualties and searching traps took time and slowed them down! It seemed so obvious now! Distract, redirect, delay!


    ¡°He¡¯s not trying to distract us, he¡¯s delaying us, buying time! Shize!¡± The team leader exclaimed as he slapped the controls on his left wrist activating the communications link between the boarding party and the ship.


    ¡°Strike Team Alpha to Command.¡±


    ¡°This is Command, go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Contact has been made with the target. One casualty. I believe the target is drawing us deeper into the ship as a delaying tactic. Recommend redirecting to an overwatch position in case the target tries to make a run for it.¡±


    The com remained silent for a few moments. ¡°Message received. Redirecting to overwatch of the Odyssey. Priority one is retrieving the package, secondary is to eliminate the target. Capture is acceptable if the opportunity presents itself. Out.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    The team lead severed the comlink. ¡°We¡¯re ending this now. Two at a time, move forward, secure intersection, next pair moves up, double time! Go!¡±


    ***


    Riordan entered the passcode from memory and ducked inside the hatchway. He didn¡¯t bother to secure it behind him, he wasn¡¯t going to be there when the boarding party arrived. In contrast to the main hangar where the Swindler had been parked, this hangar was mostly clean and orderly with racks of tools and cabinets and tanks of various supplies and fluids. Most of the cabinets were plastered with various decals featuring different company and product names. PSANKO INJECTORS, ANDERSON ARRESTORS, REEDLY , TUFFTAPE, FRANKLIN FINISHES. Ignoring everything else Riordan approached a large oblong object wrapped with woven plasteel tarps and secured to the decking with ratchet straps. He popped the tie downs and pulled the tarps aside to reveal a fully functional championship racing sled.


    Their first year together, he and  were hired to make a multi


    About a year into their partnership he and Jaisen were hired by a wealthy investor to make the direct competitor of his preferred racer¡¯s racing sled disappear. The pilot he sponsored had lost the Galactic Cluster championship to this pilot and sled two years in a row.


    They stole the sled and all the support equipment and pulled in a hefty fee. Neither of them had the heart to actually destroy it. The very next year, the investor¡¯s pilot was caught cheating and banned from racing for life and the reigning champion won for a third year in a row with a completely brand new sled. He promptly retired, and opened a sled racing school.


    Riordan ran his armored hand along the smooth, glossy, red body in appreciation. The typical racing sled is a very simple craft. It consisted of a rear mounted large displacement ion engine with a variable nozzle surrounded by a framework that held an APU,a fuel tank, the pilot¡¯s seat, and basic instrumentation. The tubular framework was covered by a lightweight carbon fiber and plasteel shell painted in a sponsor¡¯s color scheme and often adorned with multiple logos and decals of minor sponsors. The only safety equipment was an ejection seat for the pilot. No shields and no inertial dampening.  The pilot felt every G of acceleration. Life support was provided by an EVA suit. Sled Racing was about more than pushing the limits of the sled, it was also about the endurance and nerve of the pilot. Racing sleds are built for speed and acceleration, in mostly straight lines. If they pilot wasn''t careful and fully aware of their own limitations, they extreme g forces could render them unconscious. The thrusters were under-powered and more useful at lower speeds. Most course corrections at racing speeds were accomplished with nozzle vectoring.


    Grunting he reached inside the open cockpit and activated the main breakers. He powered up the APU and confirmed fuel levels. He disconnected the umbilical cable from the battery cart and pushed it away. It tumbled in zero gravity. The duo didn¡¯t just steal it and hide it away. How can anyone possess such a magnificent machine and not take her out a few times?


    ¡°Riordan to Swindler, are you still there?¡±


    ¡°Roger,¡± Glori replied. ¡°We¡¯re about five minutes from FTL solution.¡±


    ¡°Any status update on the cruiser?¡±


    ¡°It''s still on the other side of the Odyssey last I checked. I severed the link between the sensors and the Swindler, in case they could detect it. We are drifting among the garbage and trying to blend in."


    ¡°Smart move! I have the boarding party chasing ghosts and I am about to make my exit. I might even be able to meet up with you before you jump.¡±


    ¡°Roger,...Oh Frek!¡± The alarm was clear in Glori¡¯s voice.


    "What? What is it?" Riordan tapped the side of his helmet, as if that would help. "Swindler!?"


    Glori watched in alarm as the aggressive lines of the FRS cruiser crested the silhouette of the much larger colony ship like a shark over a whale carcass. The rhythmic sweep of their active sensors sent the sensor console of the Swindler into a frenzy.


    ¡°They¡¯re here!¡±

 Chapter 20: Theyre Here

    Chapter 20: They¡¯re here!


    ¡°We are directly over the Odyssey, Captain,¡± the midshipman at the helm informed.


    ¡°Anything on the scans?¡± the captain asked the leftenant in charge the senior console.


    ¡°There are some isolated pockets of atmosphere and indications of several power sources, likely standard APUs. Carbon dioxide levels indicate the presence of personnel in the past few hours, or the carbon monoxide scrubbers are substandard. No active fusion reactors at this time.¡±


    Marion Shepherd pondered the information for a few moments. ¡°Check for ion trails.¡±


    The leftenant manipulated the controls for a moment. ¡°The only ion trail remaining is very faint, possibly several days old. The craft may have departed along the same course to avoid detection, though.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± Captain Shepherd said, ¡°they''re still here.¡±


    The leftenant looked back at her quizzically. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°The strike team is currently in pursuit and has engaged the target at least once, with casualties. They¡¯re still here. Commander Isken, aren¡¯t we due for some weapons testing and operator training?¡±


    The first officer, Commander Isken, perked his head up from his station. ¡°We have a week before we have to re-certify, but we can move the schedule up. This would be a great location with plenty of targets, and the best part would be not having to police the debris when we¡¯re finished,¡± he said with a wry grin, getting what the Captain was hinting at. When hunting and the prey has gone to ground, sometimes the best way to flush them is to make some noise.


    "Recall the strike team."


    ***


    ¡°They''re here!¡±


    Riordan paused. ¡°The FRS vessel?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s definitely a frigate, I think. I can see at least half a dozen cannon pods and four large missile tubes on the front,¡± Glori replied over their secure com-link, which was degrading the further the Swindler drifted into the morass of derelict vessels and debris.


    ¡°I have the boarding party chasing ghosts, how close are you to an FTL solution?¡±


    ¡°It just completed. All we have to do is start the reactor, get clear of the Drift, and we can jump, but as soon as we do, they¡¯re gonna know!¡±


    Riordan hastily checked the gauges on the simple console of the racer; fuel: Check, thruster propellant: Check. With a flick of his hand he started the APU and powered on the flight controls. He would have liked to have the time for a proper pre-flight and control surfaces diagnostic but, you know, they have a frigate breathing down their necks. Tapping the control tablet built into his left wrist the outer hanger door silently opened a bit at a time. Riordan glanced at the hatch leading in to the hanger. ¡®Maybe I should¡¯ve should have shut that, just in case,¡¯ he thought. The whole situation was getting to him. The last thing anyone needed was for a brace or two of Shoktroopers to burst in plasma rifles blazing to ruin their plans.


    He checked the internal sensors for the boarding party. To his surprise they appeared to be heading away from his position. They were moving slow, possibly carrying their dead or injured members. Fleet doctrine was to leave no one behind, no matter what. That bothered Riordan for multiple reasons. If they recalled the boarding party, it meant they decided on another tactic. The outer door was now fully open. He climbed awkwardly into the racing sled¡¯s cramped cockpit and buckled himself in. He expertly aligned the small craft with the exit using only thrusters. He primed the huge ion engine. The entire auxiliary hanger glowed with a bright blue light and the sled inched forward.


    ¡°Riordan to Swindler, go ahead and start the reactor. Don¡¯t worry about detection, they¡¯ll be distracted.¡± Without waiting for a response, Riordan activated Parade Mode which injected powdered elements of various components into the ion stream resulting in a huge bright plume of exhaust. Used primarily on a victory or exhibition lap, everyone within 200KMs would see it. It was similar to the smoke plumes used on atmospheric craft during exhibition shows during holidays.


    ¡°Roger, startup sequence initiated! Gods help us.¡± Glori replied.


    With that, Riordan pushed the throttle to ten percent. The sled rocketed out of the auxiliary hanger like a missile. Riordan was crushed into the sparsely padded seat as the G forces impacted his body. His armor responded with alarms and another dose of XStim to keep him conscious. Moving only his eyes, as that was all he could move, he read the G forces on the gauge, 4 Gs. ¡®Glad I didn¡¯t go for 20 percent!¡¯ he thought through gritted mental teeth.


    ***


    Alarms sounded on the bridge of the FRS Frigate Hugo Norris as a streak of purple plasma shot from the side of the wrecked colony ship.


    ¡°Incoming! Incoming! Incoming!¡± the leftenant on the sensor console yelled.


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    ¡°Full defensive shields! Evasive maneuvers!¡± The captain yelled in response as the bridge lights cut to the stark red of emergency combat.


    ***


    ¡°Sarah, you heard him, do the honors.¡±


    ¡°Roger that,¡± Sarah responded as she triggered the controls to start the fusion reactor. The lighting dimmed and the entire ship shook as the antiquated lasers fired into the core of the reactor. Filled with raw fuel enveloped by magnetic containment fields almost as strong as a star¡¯s the reactor was deceptively small. The lasers burned for 10 seconds. No ignition. "Come on!" Sarah growled, finger still pressed on the last button of the sequence. 20 seconds, no ignition. "Come on!" Sarah began to punch the button rapidly with her finger, not that it would have helped but it made her feel better. The fusion reactor burst to life with ten seconds of power left in the batteries. "YES!"


    ¡°That¡­ sucked a bit,¡± Glori said. ¡°Let''s get clear of this debris, since there¡¯s no more point in hiding,¡± Before Sarah could do anything the sensors went crazy. Through the forward view port she could see a long sharp streak of purple plasma arcing away from the side of the Odyssey.


    ¡°Is that a frelling missile!¡±


    Glori worked the sensor console only partially understanding what she was reading. ¡°Uh, I don''t think so¡­ its¡­¡±


    ¡°How is that for a distraction, ladies!?¡± Riordan''s stressed voice came over the com, a little clearer. ¡°Now get clear and jump as soon as you can!¡±


    Glori craned her neck to look up, from the Swindler¡¯s perspective, through the upper view-port at the Frigate now nearly over them. She could see the bright flames of ionic thrusters slowly pushing the nose of the vessel away from the rapidly approaching arc of purple plasma.


    ¡°Yeah, they look distracted!¡± Glori said over the coms.


    Riordan grunted and clenched to keep blood in his brain. The sled was approaching 6Gs. He adjusted the control stick and nudged his course closer to the Frigate. He knew the bridge crew would be in a state of pandemonium. He had seconds before the forward cannon batteries were charged and firing at him. He hoped to be past the ship by that point. He cut the ion engine and coasted. The G forces disappeared immediately, but his speed remained almost the same due to inertia. He deliberately mimicked the flight profile of a ship to ship missile.


    The targeting sensors on the cannon batteries would have a hard time locking onto such a small target, especially since it was made mostly from carbon fiber reinforced plasteel. Once a ship to ship missile approached close enough to a target the ion lance cut off to prevent tracking and the missile would utilize it''s retained speed and thrusters to find and impact the target. While the crew tried to figure out what was going on he would coast past the vessel and behind it where he would start a return arc, hopefully looking like another missile.


    ***


    ¡°Counter measures to full! Fire flares!¡± The captain roared. Small thumps sounded as the ion flares deployed. They were essentially tiny ion emitters with a power source. Ship to ship missiles homed in on ion sources, the brightest point on any maneuvering ship. A direct hit, even with shields up ran a good chance of disabling an engine or two.


    ¡°The plume is gone!¡±


    ¡°Forward batteries, Fire, standard pattern!¡±


    The three forward cannon batteries fired in a pattern trying to predict where the missile would be and hopefully hitting it. ¡°No hits!¡±


    ¡°Lead three hundred meters and fire again!¡±


    ¡°Firing!¡±


    ***


    The first salvo of plasma fire streaked past the tiny racing sled hundreds of meters dextral. Riordan was spared only because of his experience in the fleet operations. He knew the batteries would try to predict his position based on his last observed trajectory. As soon as he cut the engine he used the thrusters to move him off the parabolic course the small ship would have taken.


    The second salvo was a bit more problematic as it passed just to his sinistral side close enough for the light from the bolts to cast shadows across his control panel. He was now passing along the length of the Frigate. He couldn¡¯t help but admire its sleek deadly lines and sweeping curves. He shifted the craft even closer, just outside the edge of their defensive shields by his estimation.


    ***


    After a few tense moments Captain Shepard called out for a status report.


    ¡°Uh¡­ no hits! Nothing on scans! Flares ineffective! It should have hit us! It might have malfunctioned and passed us by!¡±


    Shepard thought for a second. Where would that scum sucking pustule have acquired a ship to ship missile? Riordan was a small-time thief and smuggler. The largest piece of weaponry he smuggled, according to Folyn, was crew-served anti-personnel heavy plasma rifles and some grenades.


    ¡°Stand down to general quarters and¡­¡±


    Alarms sounded again, shrieking through the bridge.


    ¡°Incoming! Incoming! Incoming! Aft sinistral!!¡±


    Someone yelled something else but it was lost in the chaos.


    ¡°What?! Speak the frek up!!!¡±


    ¡°Sensors just got a hit on an active fusion reactor, single signature, small, but close!¡±


    ¡°A ship!?¡±


    ¡°Has to be!¡±


    ¡°Firing aft batteries! Standard pattern!¡±


    ¡°Where is the ship!?¡± Shepherd asked, leaving the defense of the ship to its fully qualified personnel for another moment or two.


    ¡°Almost directly under us and moving. Trajectory indicates its trying to get clear of the debris and wreckage.¡±


    ¡°Match speed and pursue¡­¡±


    ***


    Once he was a kilometer past the frigate Riordan used the thrusters and turned the sled. He was now traveling backwards, the blue glow of the frigate''s six engines visible. He mentally estimated how much thrust he would need to counter his inertia and shoot toward the frigate. The Swindler would need at least another 60 seconds to clear the debris field and jump. He pushed the throttle to ten percent and his speed dropped dramatically due to the counter burn.


    He held it there till then pushed it to 15 percent, then 20, keeping the Gs below 6 and his speed as high as he could tolerate. A well trained and experienced sled racer, wearing the proper compression suit, could tolerate up to 13 Gs or more during a race. Activating Parade mode, the purple plume extended far behind the small craft as he approached the frigate from behind simulating the typical kill shot.


    To his surprise a volley of cannon fire arced passed him, or rather, he passed between the bolts. His armor alarmed at the increase in temperature. The larger ship¡¯s engines flared to life and the ship began to nose downward toward where the Swindler was burning ions to get free of the drift so she could safely jump.


    ¡®I guess the jig is up,'' he thought. ¡°Swindler, push the engines to the max, they can handle it, just watch the temps!¡±


    ***


    ¡°He wants you to¡­¡±


    ¡°I heard him!¡± Sarah screeched. This was her first time piloting a goddamn star ship and she was frazzled. Sweat was pouring down her face. Her undershirt was glued to her back. Her hands were slick on the controls. She pushed the twin ion engines past the 100% mark. Their speed increased noticeably.


    ¡°Engine temps are within limits but rising! Find us the quickest route out into the open and put it on the HUD so I can follow it!¡±


    Glori complied. Sarah did her best, with her lack of experience, to follow it.