Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (3 page)

T
he day had taken a very
surreal turn. It had started out so nice and sunny too. Then it got hot and naked. But as it turned violent and impossible, Emma realized she had to be dreaming.

Parachuting bounty hunters shooting at her and a guy who lived in a trailer sitting atop what he claimed was a spaceship? Nope. She must have fallen and hit her head. Maybe she’d fainted due to dehydration or something and now hallucinated. Anything was more plausible.

“You have a tunnel under your trailer.” She couldn’t help giggling, an edge of hysteria clinging to it as more gunfire riddled the walls.

“It’s an access tube so we can get on my ship.”

“You have a ship underground? Don’t those work better at sea?” More likely he hid a bomb shelter, but right now, with people intent on killing them, she didn’t really care.

“I keep my ship underground to keep it off your planet’s radar.” Exasperation colored his tone. “Can we discuss this later?” He swung his legs into the hole and levered his body into it. “This trailer isn’t going to protect us for much longer.”

No it wouldn’t, but she had only his word that the hole in the ground went anywhere.

Down he dropped, popping out of sight.

For a moment, she stayed crouched on the floor, wondering if she should follow him down the rabbit hole. More and more bullets peppered the siding, giving it a Swiss cheese appearance. While a part of her truly believed this was only a dream, she couldn’t help a spurt of fear.
What if it’s not?

And even if this was an elaborate dream, how would following him hurt?

Boom
!

The whole trailer shook and rattled as something sheared off the top of it. Actually, it was more like three quarters. If she’d not landed flat on her face, it might have pulverized her too. Blue sky hazed with smoke greeted her when she dared to raise her head for a peek.

“Oh my God.” Real or not, she couldn’t stick around. She stuck her feet into the trap door and then screamed as something grabbed them and yanked her in.

Her ass hit the side of the tunnel, and given its angle, she slid. She also screamed, “Ahhhhhhh!”

She didn’t fall far or too long, and as landings went, hers was pretty nice given Mr. Batshit-Crazy caught her and held her against his body. His still half-naked body.

Her turn to mutter, “How you doing?” in her best husky tone. To no avail.

What kind of dream had a half-naked hunk setting her away from him? To add insult to injury, hot debris came whipping out of the slide and hit her.

“Ow!” She slapped at a burning ember on her arm, the painful sting a little too real for comfort.

“I’d move away from there,” he stated. “Find a spot and strap yourself in. Things might get kind of wild.”

“Strap myself in? Where? Where are we going?” Exactly how did he plan to get this underground chamber to move?

“We are leaving Earth, wench.”

With those ominous words, which should have sounded ridiculous, he moved out of the circular room with its metal walls held together with rivets, what appeared to be duct tape, and, in one place, a dried hunk of purple gunk.

Although out of sight, Emma heard him as he barked orders. “Annabelle, seal the hatch.”

What feeble light that made it down from above disappeared as the hole closed. She could hear the whine of something mechanical as Mr. Abaddon continued to yell out commands. “Power up the primary core.”

“
The primary core is still in maintenance mode. Shall I power the second?”
The female voice permeated the air. Was someone else in here with them? In all the times she’d delivered to his trailer, Emma had never spotted another soul.

You also never spotted the fact he hid a bomb shelter under his trailer.

Probably because she was too busy admiring his straight white teeth and most excellent physique. She was such a slut for a hot body. And look where it got her— underground with no way out.

The floor shuddered, and something rumbled, much like an engine would. She peeked down and noted the grid-iron floor. It occurred to her to wonder about his claim. What if this wasn’t a bomb shelter? What if he wasn’t completely crazy?

Still, a spaceship? She peeked around, really looking this time. Nothing really screamed alien. As a matter of fact, the area reminded her of a submarine or even a naval ship. Until something purple and fuzzy squeezed through a hole in the floor. It blinked three eyes at her. She blinked back. It puffed up and hissed. Since it was no bigger than a desert spider, she raised her foot and said, “I’ll squish you.”

It deflated and scurried back under. But it had accomplished its job.
I think I saw my first alien.

Dear God.
If she had, then that meant he wasn’t lying.
I’m on a spaceship about to take off.

Holy crap.

I’m on a spaceship about to take off!
She needed to get off this thing, like now, but the question was, how? The tube they’d used to enter was sealed. Surely there was another exit.

She popped her head out the only door and was faced with a long hallway. It kind of reminded her of the narrow corridors seen in movies for submarines, all metal, hatches, and pipes running in all directions. What she didn’t see was the crazy guy, although she did hear his voice echoing back from far ahead.

“How the fuck is the primary not fixed yet? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. Power the second core and prepare the launch sequence, but skip the pre-flight check. We don’t have time for that. We need to get out of here and fast.”

“What of the cargo planetside? Do you still wish to retrieve it?”

Was the stupid woman seriously worried about coconut oil? People were shooting at them.

They want us dead!

It was enough to make her knees wobble, and she sat down hard on the floor. The low hum of the metal grate under her ass increased enough that her teeth rattled.

Boom
. The distant thundering sound let her know whoever came after Mr. Abaddon—who was possibly not so batshit crazy but definitely still not dating-material—was still intent on his demise, which, in turn, meant her demise. If this truly was a spaceship, as he claimed, then what the hell was he waiting for to get them out of there?

Getting to her feet, she ignored the little voice that said,
He told us to get strapped in.
Since she didn’t see any seatbelts and she refused to cower on the floor, she followed the hall to a T-junction. A peek left showed stairs going down. To her right, another hall with several doors, all closed.

The metal walls didn’t have any handy-dandy signage. Just more pipes and valves running in all directions.

Really underwhelming as her first experience with a spaceship went. Maybe that purple fluffball wasn’t an ET but some insect she’d never seen before. It was pretty farfetched to automatically believe this was a UFO, no matter what he claimed. Things buried underground couldn’t fly. Even she knew that.

The whole structure shuddered and groaned. She threw out her hands to balance herself, and yet she still tipped, her staggering steps taking her toward the nearby staircase. She managed to grab a hold of the rails, but another shudder and tilt sent her swinging out over the steps. Since gravity insisted she go down, she hugged the wall and skipped down the stairs as fast as she could, the metal thump of her feet, still clad in the ridiculous steel-toe boots, louder than the increasing engine noise.

At the bottom, she found herself in a small room with a hatch-like door. It had a window. Peeking through the window, she noted a vast space, filled with pallets. Her pallets, the same ones she’d delivered these past few months. She also spotted daylight streaming down, along with a fine sift of sand.

The crazy bastard had opened some kind of overhead doors, and a long-armed crane mechanism tipped with pinchers lowered the cargo she’d delivered not even fifteen minutes ago.

Emma didn’t care though about the fact that Mr. Abaddon seemed determined to not leave his coconut oil shipment behind. She saw daylight. Dusty motes of sun meant an exit. The dilemma was how to reach it.

She couldn’t even try unless she managed to get into the room. A shove against the door didn’t make it budge. Nor did she spy a handle of any kind or a convenient knob.

She took a moment to truly look at the door, which, much like the portal on a ship—the kind made for oceans—sported a wheel in the center of it. She grabbed a hold of the wheel, and although a part of her expected it to fight her and remain locked, it spun easily, and she heard the hiss of air as the seals on it loosened.

When she could turn it no more, she put her shoulder to the door and shoved at it. She almost fell into the room as the door swung open, almost dragging her with it. Lifting her foot over the ledge that formed the frame, she stepped into the cavernous room. It resembled a warehouse with the many stacked pallets, strapped into place with thick metallic threaded rope tethered to fat metal rings in the floor.

The cargo itself didn’t interest her. She knew most of it by sight and knew nothing there would help her escape. None of the strapped pallets stood high enough either for her to use and reach that open hole.

Whir.

The mechanical sound had her peering upwards, and she noted the arm of the crane rising from the pallet it deposited, heading back for another load.

There’s my ride.
Emma ran across the room, weaving through the stacked cargo, still with no plan on how she could actually shimmy the crane thing but determined to try.

Luckily, the doors overhead remained open, and even better, she could no longer hear the noise of guns firing. Then again, the rumble all around her didn’t make it easy to tell.

Time ticked, and the crane had hooked the second pallet and was on its way down again. She needed to get on it before it returned for the third and last pallet.

While she usually felt anything related to jogging was for the sadistic, this one time she made an exception as she ran and scrambled atop the pallet nearest the crane. Her feet slipped as she tried to use the pincher to give herself leverage to reach the upper part of the crane’s arm. Her muscles protested the exertion, but she ignored them. They also liked to stage protests every time she thought about signing up to go to the gym.

It took some work reaching the top of the crane. It wasn’t pretty. She huffed and puffed, her cheeks flushed, her body coated in a sheen of sweat. She couldn’t stop a small yell of fright as the crane jerked and started moving upward.

Feeling herself slip, Emma clenched her thighs tighter around the beam of metal and hugged it too.

The crane didn’t seem bothered by her weight—unlike her last boyfriend. He’d totally deserved that call to the IRS. That would teach him to tell her to not order any meat when they went to dinner. He claimed it was to help her weight problem, but she knew it was because he was cheap.

Although, right about now, she kind of wished she were a few pounds lighter because staying on the crane wasn’t easy, but she persevered. She could see freedom just out of reach, and as even more incentive, a hard landing awaited if she fell off.

Gulp.

Up, up the crane inched, slower than her trembling muscles liked. The gap to freedom lurked out of reach. Too far to jump.

A shadow interrupted the sunlight, and she raised her gaze to see a head encased in a visored helmet peeking into the shrinking gap.

“Help me!” she cried out, reaching for the person. Sure, he was probably one of the bounty hunters shooting at Mr. Crazy Pants, but crazy dude wasn’t here right now. Just her. Surely they wouldn’t hurt an innocent. She batted her lashes as she pled. “Can you please help me get out of here? I’m not with that guy. I was just delivering a package.”

The request fell on deaf ears. Into the hole poked a gun, aimed at her!

For a moment, she forgot where she was. Panic engulfed her and she reacted, throwing herself away from the line of fire. Of course, away meant off the crane she perched on, which meant falling. Down, down, down.
Crunch
.

F
rom where he
sat in the command center of his ship, Rafe’s fingers flew across the console in front of him. Despite the fact that his onboard AI would have done automated checks, mistakes could happen. Programming could go corrupt. It was always wise to give things a second glance, even a rapid one.

So far things looked good. Lots of clear lights, indicating normal status. A pulsing blue one let him know the second engine core still powered up. It would take some time before it had charged his onboard engines enough to move his vessel from its grave under the surface. In the meantime, he double-checked that everything else was ready to go and strapped down. Especially his cargo, and that included the cargo just delivered that day.

Sure, some would call his decision to snare it insane. But he had to think only of his cousin’s mockery if they found out he’d tucked tail and run without it to cement his determination to bring it with him.

He’d spent too much money—most of it won through gambling—and too much time—time that kept him away from drinking and gambling—to leave it behind. The effort he expended now would pay for itself a thousand times over.

I am going to make a fortune with this haul.

While Rafe didn’t personally oversee the loading of the goods, he did, however, let his fingers tap the commands. He’d done it enough times by now that they knew the sequence. While he didn’t believe in carrying a large crew, worker bots, such as his automated crane, were invaluable. They also didn’t talk back, mutiny, or drink the last drop of booze.

While he took care of his captain duties, Annabelle, the AI he had installed before his sojourn to Earth, kept him updated with the status of the ship. “The engines are at seventy-five percent; the power core is down to forty-three. The air intakes have been retracted from the surface. The debris flaps are all secured. All outer doors are sealed in preparation for departure except for the upper cargo bay doors. The cargo is still being brought on board and—” With an unusual abruptness, Annabelle stopped talking.

“Annabelle?” he queried aloud. Given his AI system could usually multitask, he wondered at the silence.

Whoop. Whoop.

The strident siren, installed by the previous owner to warn of pirate embarkations—which, he might add from experience, didn’t work too well given he now commanded said ship—went off.

Annabelle returned with a message. “An intruder has been detected within the cargo bay.”

Was that where his delivery lady had gone? “If you’re talking about the woman, she’s with me.”

“I am not referencing the female you acquired on the surface, but the entity that has breached the bay doors with a firearm.”

Fuck me
. Such an evocative Earth expression he’d adopted during his time here. He’d forgotten about the thugs on the ground. It seemed they’d not backed off, despite reducing his trailer to a pile of junk.

The bounty must be higher than usual.
The hunters usually didn’t like to risk life and limb.

What exactly had happened in his cargo bay? And did he need to worry about it?

A flick of a switch and the left hand of the big view screen switched to the camera in the cargo bay, a not completely full storage area, but enough to turn a very tidy profit.

When Rafe had initially settled on Earth to acquire some goods—and do a bit of rest and research—he’d hoped to have at least a few more months before being forced to move on.
There were still a few stones I wished to turn over. A few more things on my list for the market.

However, as a born traveler, Rafe knew when it was time to move on. Circumstances often tended to dictate his actions. People shooting at him was a good indicator he’d overstayed his welcome.

At first, perusing the screen, he didn’t spot the intruder. What he did see was a leg, finished in a familiar black boot, hanging off the edge of a pallet.

I thought I told that wench to get strapped in
. Obviously, she’d not listened and now was in a spot of trouble, given he’d spotted his visitor. The hunter had hopped from the open bay door to the boom arm and currently shimmied down its length. A helmet with a dark visor hid the hunter’s appearance, but Rafe could just imagine it given the squat and thick body. He’d wager under the form-fitting gloves and tactical suit was a warty green body with a penchant for eating its targets.

A crew of Krolz, a brilliant group to send to Earth, a protected planet, where the motto for all non-resident beings was Leave No Trace. The Krolz never left a thing behind. They always ate any clues of their presence or brought it with them, including their poop. Which was less gross than it sounded.

Everyone wanted Krolz poop. Their excrement was in high demand because, with a method scientists had yet to decipher, their digestive system caused them to eject a colorful paste that was considered invaluable in the construction of skins over the hulls of spacecraft.

His own ship was covered in shit, and considered all the tougher for it.

But, while having Krolz excrement was good, having one on board was bad. He could not allow the hunter to stay on board, not unchained at any rate.

Unbuckling his harness, he rose from his seat. “Annabelle, you’re in charge of the launch while I take care of the intruder. Get us out of here, but make sure you swing us out through Saturn. I want to collect some of that dust for testing. And then a straight shot out of here to the closest wormhole.”

“As the captain commands.” Did his AI’s respectful tone hold a hint of sarcasm? Surely not. He’d had her persona designed to be strictly compatible with his. During their maiden voyage to Earth, he’d not noticed any issues.

Perhaps it’s simply the stress of the situation getting to me.

“What are the captain’s wishes in regards to the other vessel in the sky?”

“You mean they haven’t vacated the airspace after their fireworks?” Surprising given their antics would have drawn attention from the human military. “Perform evasive maneuvers. If I can, I’d rather not piss off the Grykko”—who headed the bounty hunter guild—“any more than necessary.” As it was, they would grumble at the loss they’d incurred when their thugs didn’t catch him.

Meanwhile, his reputation would grow. Still, though, this level of attack was unheard of and less than subtle. Perhaps once he got this shipment sold, he could bribe his way out of any outstanding warrants and buy himself a spot of time before he pissed off a new set of folk. “And can you try to avoid taking any more fire? I’d like to avoid any more damage.”

“The captain is wise.”

Definite sarcasm there, but Rafe didn’t have time to deal with it. The intruder on screen was shimmying to the bottom of the crane.

He didn’t have much time. Before sprinting out of the command center, Rafe grabbed the holster he kept on a hook. He buckled it around his hips as he ran, not needing his hands to open a door to the hall. As a matter of fact, the archway into the bridge still sported the twisted hinges he’d blown to pieces when he stole the ship from its last owner.

Not stolen. Acquired.
It wasn’t Rafe’s fault the fellow didn’t know how to hold on to it and thought he could cheat Rafe at cards. The fact that Rafe cheated too didn’t matter. He hated to lose.

The echo of his boots as he stomped along the grated hallway bounced and added weight to the sound. Some might look askance at the checkered flooring full of holes, but to them he said it was a cargo ship and, as such, required practical over pretty. Grate floors not only provided better access to ship components for repair, it also made clean up easy, as he could just get the grease monkeys—literal ones with magenta fur and prehensile tails—at the space stations to sluice it clean.

He just hoped he wouldn’t have to get them to cleanse his cargo bay of blood. Blood might ruin some of his precious stash. A stash that now included a human.

I didn’t have a choice.
To leave her behind would have led to almost certain death. The hunters weren’t usually gentle with their questioning methods.

Besides, a companion would be nice for the ride—and by ride, he did mean naked atop him. A man could be friendly with his hand only so many times before he craved something a little more.

He bolted down the stairs two at a time, not worried about the noise he was making, not with the building rumble of the engine hiding most of it. And he could almost guarantee the alien intruder expected company.
I wouldn’t want to disappoint.

At the bottom of the stairs, he made quick work of the wheel on the door, spinning it rapidly. There was only the slightest hiss as the seals unlocked and he pushed the door in. It no sooner swung wide when a bolt of searing heat sizzled past his head. The fucker must have spotted him and shot.

Shot me on my own ship.
The nerve. He could have damaged something.

Rafe ducked and rolled into the room, hiding immediately behind some cargo. The words across the boxes in large marker stated Saffron.

Please don’t shoot it.
The stuff would fetch a killing on the open galactic market.

Back flat to the boxes, Rafe drew his weapon and tucked it against his chest. One breath. Two.

Fast as he could, he peered around the corner, extended his gun, and fired. The heavy-duty projectile dart loaded with a sleeping serum—because prisoners fetched more money than bodies—missed the alien and sank into the pallet behind.

He’d missed, but now his unwanted guest returned his greeting and fired, shooting wildly at Rafe. Luckily, the hunter’s aim proved piss-poor, especially in this heavy gravity. The blast was completely off. It gave Rafe a chance to line up a better shot now that he knew exactly where the fellow was.

This time, Rafe poked his head over the top of the cargo. He aimed his gun carefully and fired a couple of quick shots.
Pft.
Pft
.
Pft
.

The darts zinged off, following three trajectories meant to take in evasion by his target. He needed only one to hit and score. One pinged off the helmet of the hunter. Another whizzed past, but the third got the alien in the hand, the sharp tip penetrating the glove.

The sedative took hold, and the Krolz wavered on his feet, but that wasn’t what killed it.

His buddy peeking through the hole above did with his wild shots. Most missed, but one hit the hunter in the back. The Krolz dropped to the ground, his gun clattering uselessly from his fingers as he leaked disgusting fluids all over Rafe’s floor, enough that he’d have to get the hose out later.

As for the partner who shot him, before Rafe could fire at him, the ship rumbled and shook. A body came plummeting, head first, into the floor.

Crunch
.

Great. More cleanup. Later though.

Right now, escape remained Rafe’s first priority, and that began with closing the hatch. None too soon, too, because he could see via the opening the other ship hovering overhead. Given those surface transport cruisers could hold a dozen bodies, more for short distances, he could be looking at new troops wanting to cause havoc with his departure.

And all of this commotion is going to draw attention.
He had to admit a touch of surprise at the vehemence of the attack. In the past, the bounty hunters usually waited for him to clear protected planets before making a move.
They also usually give me a chance to bribe them.

“Annabelle. Close cargo bay doors and ensure they are sealed for departure while I secure the goods.”

Annabelle didn’t reply, but the mechanism controlling the two doors kicked in to play. The heavily plated metal doors slid into place with a clang. More clicks as the locks engaged and then a hiss as the room pressurized.

With all the exits sealed, his ship was ready for takeoff. His passenger, on the other hand, was anything but.

While a part of him realized he should go back to the command center and take control of the ship, Rafe couldn’t exactly leave her lying on the crushed boxes.
She’ll ruin the cargo.

That was the excuse he used to placate his conscience.

Tucking his gun back into its holster, he stepped quickly. Before he’d approached more than a few paces, she stirred and groaned. With the sound of more crushing cardboard and crinkling plastic wrap, she rolled onto her hands and knees, pushing herself up into a position that would have proven a lot more interesting naked.

“Nice view,” he commented as he came around the side of the pallet. “But would you mind not crushing the merchandise?”

“Grrrr.” At least it sounded like a growl to him.

“Did you say something?”

She faced his direction, most of her face hidden by the hair hanging over it, so all he could see was the glare in her one visible eye. “I said, why did you close the doors? I wanted to get out.”

“Whatever happened to thanking a guy for saving your life?” he retorted.

“My life would not be in danger if you weren’t a wanted criminal.”

“Criminal is a state of mind and also depends on which laws you’re following. In my culture, what I do is considered honorable work.”

“And what is your culture?” she asked. “Murderers? Thieves?”

“Why the violent suggestions? What makes you think I’m not wanted for more subtle acts like fraud or tax evasion.”

“You have taxes in space?”

“More than you can imagine. Although my people are very good at discovering loopholes that minimize tax. It’s considered a point of pride for some.”

“You keep saying my people,” she noted as she grasped the hand he offered.

“We are the Rhomanii.”

“And what are the roman-eyes?” she asked, butchering the name.

“The closest Earth comparison would be Gypsies. Although we prefer the term travelers and tinkerers.”

“You might travel, but you don’t look like the type to tinker,” she noted as she leaped off the pallet, still holding his hand.

“And what do I look like?” he asked.

“A drunken wastrel.”

“Then my cover was a success.” He’d not wanted the inhabitants of Earth to think he was anything more than just a guy who liked to play games of chance and drink.