The Backworlds (11 page)
Absolutely not. Craze’s jaw
tightened. “It’s against the treaty ‘n an insult.”
“Most certainly. The Authorities
was kind enough to offer us compensation for our patriotism,” Lepsi said. “We
assured them it wasn’t necessary, we would defend against the enemy no matter
what, but they insisted.”
That was good news. Craze would
recover some of his lost funds, depending on how much the patrollers valued
this venture. “That was a fortunate event,” he said. “Do we know where the
Fo’wo’s went?”
“Yup,” Dactyl said, rubbing his
left bicep as if spoiling for a fight. “The patrollers at the Elstwhere docks
placed a tracker on the Fo’wo’ vessel before it went through the Lepper, thanks
to
yous
commanding officers’ quick reporting.”
That explained in more colorful
detail how the aviars had gained some leverage, and why Craze wasn’t currently in
jail. “To where?”
“Way out on the Edge,” Talos said.
“The stop is called
Mortua
. A graveyard of ships.”
Craze didn’t like the sound of
that.
Craze prepared to hibernate for the
rest of the trip through the Lepper. He was exhausted from atmospheres he
wasn’t used to, clandestine affairs, an attack of claustrophobia, and scrubbing
down the spacecraft. He’d just settled under the covers when he heard Lepsi and
Talos in the living area. It only took a few steps to reach the door separating
them.
Craze waved at the aviars to come
over. “That patroller guy around?”
“He’s keeping an eye on things up
on the bridge,” Talos said. “He’s a Backworlds Assembled Authorities lawman
with an impeccable record, always getting his fugitives. Kind of worries me.
We’ll end up in situations with a lot of bothers until we get rid of him.”
Craze leaned on the doorframe,
crossing his arms. “Not much we can do about it, except go along ‘n survive.
Hey, ‘n thanks for
gettin
’ me out of custody.”
“You crew, mate,” Talos said. “As
your captain, it was an obligation.”
Craze would accept that explanation
outwardly, but knew he and the aviars had started on an alliance deeper than
business. The things they’d done for him proved it. Unlike Bast, they deserved
his loyalty, and he vowed to show it moving forward.
He kept his voice low. “So you got
the chocolates? I saw you escape.”
Talos scratched at his sharp beak
of a nose. “We got the wrapped bars. We heard they mealworm cakes.”
“Did you check?” Craze chewed on
the inside of his cheek.
“We unwrapped one.” Talos giggled,
leaning in closer, rubbing his thumb over the pin on his lapel. “It was
chocolate.”
“Great shit!” Craze clapped his
hands. “How many did you get?”
Talos held up a cautionary hand.
“Fifty-three bars. We don’t know whether they all chocolate though.”
With what the patrollers had shown
Craze on Elstwhere, the aviarman had a reason to be wary about what they had
taken away from Mr. Slade’s Emporium.
“We should unwrap the others,” Craze
said. “Where’d you put them? I’ll help.” He took a step into the living area,
anxious to find out how badly he’d been duped by the Jix and the smugglers.
“If we open them, they exposed to
rotting,” Talos said, his lips drawing to one side in a grimace. “Then they
lose all their value.”
Lepsi held up a finger, signaling
he might have the solution. “If
Mortua
has a med bay,
there’s a surgical laser we can use to inspect under the casings ‘n foils. It
then reseals the holes.”
Talos frowned, pressing his long
body against the wall. “It’s a shipyard ‘n that’s what it’s known for. If it
has more than a med kit, I’d be surprised.”
“So we may not be able to find out
on
Mortua
.” Craze rubbed at his chin. “But someplace
out here on the Edge will have what we need.”
“Yup,” Talos said, “until then we
carry on.” He pulled at the lapel sporting the badge with his beloved motto.
Patience had never been a strength
of Craze’s. He hated the idea of waiting and probably for a big disappointment.
All of his investments had evaporated, as dried up as the mealworms. It kicked
at him, bunching his muscles into knots.
Maybe the pay from the Assembled
Authorities would make up for some of the loss. He had to ask, fingering the
tab in his pocket, hoping the aviars intended to share. “How much did you get
paid to chase after these Fo’wo’ bastards?”
Talos took out his tab. “Forty-two
thousand chips. I’ll ping you your third now. I was waiting for Dactyl to give
us some space.”
Craze glanced at his balance to
make sure it went through. Fourteen thousand chips was less than Bast had given
him, but better than nothing. “I appreciate it guys ... friends.” That’s what
Craze wanted the aviars to be. He held out his hand for Lepsi and Talos to
shake.
Lepsi shook with a big grin,
clapping Craze on the back as he did, laughing, a good-natured fellow despite
those stupid songs. “
Federoy
will be envious when I
report a pal like you. Plant your face in it, brother.”
Craze chuckled, sticking his tongue
out at
Federoy’s
image when Lepsi held it out. “You
got it better than he does. He’ll find out soon.”
Talos also shook hands. “The Edge
is a dangerous place, mate,” he said. “We can all use as many friends as we can
get.”
“Mate.” Craze grinned. Then he
explained how Verkinn could hibernate. “Wake me if
anythin
’
comes up, otherwise I say goodnight until we arrive at
Mortua
.”
He returned to his bunk, sinking
under covers that cradled him as softly and warmly as
Yerness’s
embraces once did. A pleasure he would never know again. At least not with her.
Sighing, he told the computer to wake him three hours before they arrived at
Mortua
.
His overworked body began to shut
down, his heart beat and lungs slowing, his blood flowing like ice five. His
thoughts stopped, except for the hope that the chocolate they’d stolen would
turn out to be chocolate. His last musing, “I’ll get you, Bast.”
The force of being spat out of the
Lepper System plastered Craze to the back of his seat on the bridge. He had
hibernated through the nine days it took to travel to
Mortua
,
a small, rocky orb no bigger than an insignificant moon. It orbited a cheery,
little star that shone too tiny and dim to be seen from the solar system next
door. No water or plant life showed on the surface of
Mortua
,
but
Sequi’s
scans picked up a dome surrounding the
docking facility.
Six other planets resided in the
system, trifling and fractured, little more than boulders. The passage from the
Lepper exit to
Mortua
was riddled with their
remnants. Some of the refuse among the rock and ice was mechanical—ships and
ship parts reeling in the unfiltered sunlight,
cartwheeling
and tumbling.
Talos sent a greeting to the
docking facility asking for permission to land. He didn’t get an immediate
answer, so placed the Sequi in orbit around the craggy globe, going round and
round with the debris of dead ships.
Hollowed out haulers afforded
glimpses of destroyed interiors, bygone events with flame and explosions the
crews could not have survived. Craze averted his gaze from the violence,
finding no comfort in barracks and crew seats floating by themselves. Dead
consoles twirled with seized-up engines and discarded hull plates. It didn’t
bode well for him and the aviars, or for whoever inhabited
Mortua
.
“Do you think the Fo’wo’s harmed
them? The folks on the planet?” Craze asked.
Dactyl tugged at the sleeves of his
beige shirt. The cuffs had been shorn off to accommodate his short arms. “No
... maybe. It’s hard to remember they not like us.” He plucked lint from his
hard-used pants.
“How do you mean?”
“For the most part, from what I’ve
heard ‘n seen, they find it easier to cross the line ‘n kill than we do.
Although that’s changed some since the war. Backworlders be more bloodthirsty
than they used to be. Especially out here on the Edge. Most folks have guns
that kill out here.”
“Damn shame the Fo’wo’s polluted us
like that. Do you think it’s true that the Fo’wo’s always aimed to wipe us
out?”
“I know so. My father said. He was
a veteran.” Dactyl absently rubbed his left arm.
The squat man claimed to be of the
Quatten race. Bred for worlds with high gravity, he had to make a conscious
effort to keep his strength in check. Craze found it amusing when the Quatten
bent a chair, but he didn’t dare laugh. A punch from Dactyl would hurt ten
times worse.
“Thank him for his service.” Craze
meant it, appreciating every Backworlder that had taken on the fight. Maybe
their side had officially lost, but they were still here.
Dactyl pressed his lips together until
they disappeared. “He’s dead now. Died a few years back. Complications from old
war injuries. The Fo’wo’s had no qualms about deploying biological weapons.”
His husky voice broke when speaking of his father, then heated up with anger as
he mentioned the Fo’wo’s and their dastardly armaments. He rubbed at his left
bicep.
Craze winced. He’d seen the plagues
and deformities on Siegna, which had its share of veterans. Every Backworld
did. The Quatten seemed sincere, seemed like he was out here to make the
Backworlds a better place by bringing the wanted to justice. Craze thought the
profession noble, but only if the lawman moved out of his way.
Dactyl’s dark brown eyes squinted
at
Mortua
and the data
Sequi’s
scanners displayed on the consoles. “To be polite, we give them some time to
answer. Then we land anyway,” he said to Talos. He pulled out a Backworld
Assembled Authorities representative badge. “This allows us to land without
bothers.”
The four of them ate a meal
together while waiting, dried fish flakes steeped in hot water and some hard
bread. Craze gobbled down double portions, his body needy after the long
hibernation.
Used to taking care of customers,
he’d prepared the food, then cleaned up after. His willingness to serve kept up
the charade that he was the lowest in rank on the Sequi. Well, that wasn’t so
much an act as he was in reality subordinate to the aviarmen.
“Not as low as the lawman thinks,”
Craze said to comfort himself. Right. He was a partner to Talos and Lepsi not a
mere lackey.
Down in the common living space, he
doused dishes with cleansing gel. He was wiping bowls and spoons dry when a
reply from
Mortua
came in.
The signal was weak, making the
message hard to decipher. Craze scrambled up the ladder to help, using his
better hearing to make sense of the noise. He leaned over pressing his ear
against the speaker. “He orders us to take Berth 10B.”
“Anything else?” asked Talos.
Craze listened to the repeating
missive several more times. “Nope.”
Talos waved Craze to a seat. “Get
alert, everybody. There’s some real
wackos
out here
on the Edge. There’s no telling what’ll be greeting us.”
The aviars maneuvered the Sequi
closer to the planet. The crags bloomed into mountain ranges and ravines,
jagged and foreboding. Ice glistened off their facades in a dark frost that
glittered only when starlight caught it. The Sequi drifted lower until the
peaks threatened to spear its hull. Craze gripped onto his seat as the ship
lurched without warning one way then the other in the air currents. The aviars
wrestled against the winds, struggling for tenuous minutes to nestle the vessel
into its assigned dock. The hiss of suction announced a secure seal.
The landing platforms and berths
ringed the outside of the dome, which appeared too flimsy to protect the inhabitants
from anything worse than a sneeze. The ship consoles read the air as cold and
thin, factors that would make Craze’s body want to hibernate. Despite his
dislike of the cramped quarters, he had even less desire to walk around
Mortua
.
“Maybe one of us should stay behind
‘n guard the ship,” he said.
“First Officer Lepsi will do that
once we greet the dock owner.” Talos fingered the prized pin on his lapel.
“We’ll probably need your negotiation talents, Second.”
Craze could see Talos wasn’t of a
mind to relent. Shit. Reluctantly, he followed the aviars down to the living
level and through the corridor to the hatch. Dactyl stayed close on Craze’s
heels. The door opened to reveal a stark, gray world.
The fetor of recycled air without
the introduction of anything fresh whooshed into Craze’s wide nostrils. He took
a step back, wheezing, trying to breathe only through his mouth. It didn’t
help. The air was too rank.
They walked through a short tunnel,
then into the crux of civilization on
Mortua
. The
clear dome arching overhead produced an eerie atmosphere, amplifying the bald
sunlight, raw and severe. The thinness of the protection made Craze feel
exposed and vulnerable, as if he’d be sucked off the surface to tumble with the
clusters of orbiting garbage for all eternity.
The hangar inside the dome could
easily accommodate five freighter-class ships. Most of the space, however, was
taken up by row after row of scrap and parts, and two partial vessels. Craze
tried to figure out whether the ships were being put back together or
disassembled, but couldn’t. Billboards winked around the perimeter, obnoxiously
advertising a code every two seconds in every color and font.
