The Star Pirate's Folly (8 page)

Bill slammed the airlock shut and locked it. He knew the
girl was going to be a clinger, he could see it in her eyes. Dirtbound folks
like her all had the same romanticized ideas about space travel. He could bet
she’d been stuck in that miserable excuse for a civilized city her whole life.
She probably just wanted to escape Surface and get out there, anywhere.

Well no way was she coming with them. Simplicity was the
key. The girl was trouble; it was best that they get rid of her now. She would
be fine, all she had to do was get back home—and anyway, he had enough to deal
with. Bill loathed accommodating passengers of any sort, never mind a head of
state.

A personal escort from Overlook Station to the launching
platform? Of course, Governor. Oh, and another passenger you didn’t mention? No
trouble at all, Governor. Fuming as he stomped toward the cockpit, Bill stopped
at the door to strangle his anger and compose himself.

He didn't want to lose his temper in front of the Governor
before they'd even begun their journey. It was important to project an aura of
certainty and self-assurance around men of such stature—he didn't want Strump
questioning his competence in any way. Once he was satisfied his emotions were
in check, Bill entered the cockpit.

Strump turned from his seat in the copilot's chair and began
pointing frantically at one of the displays while babbling, “Look look look—”

A reporter from one of the global networks was in the middle
of a broadcast.

“—cause of the change in trajectory is unknown, but we do
know that based on current calculations, comet 17P/Orpheus will still pass by
Surface with thousands of miles to spare. Just want to stress that last point,
viewers, because it is a very important one: the comet Orpheus
will not
collide with Surface even though its current course will bring it a bit closer
to us. We'll just get a much better view now!”

The reporter, a dark skinned man with silver-streaked black
hair, forced a nervous laugh before continuing with his segment. An info bar
faded in at the bottom of the screen with his name and title: Chep Stanley,
lead anchor.

“For more information,” Chep continued as a thin bald man
appeared in a graphic beside him, “we've got a representative from the
observatory which discovered the change in Orpheus's path. Dr. Gunderson, what
exactly can you tell us about the change in the comet’s orbit?”

“Well, we have our theories,” Dr. Gunderson said. “But right
now we're not sure about the cause of the movement. We can tell you that it's a
very gradual change, and if it continues at its current rate the comet will not
collide with Surface. However, now that Orpheus is passing much closer it means
Surface will be moving through a portion of its tail as we orbit Lux.

“All of those dust and rock particles can wreak havoc with
satellites, including the orbital station. As many satellites as possible will
be gathered safely on the far side of the planet from the tail while we pass
through. Unfortunately, there are just too many to save them all, so keep in
mind on Surface there is falling debris predicted at the following sites—”

Bill shook his head, not comprehending. “What’s the big
deal? It won’t be here for hours and we’re leaving anyway.”

“The change in trajectory is bringing Orpheus in sooner,”
Strump said.  “Within the hour. It's got to be them. I never thought of that—oh
my stars, I never thought—”

“Who?” Bill asked, anger building with his confusion.

Strump was babbling, consumed by some private demon as he
watched the report. Bill grabbed the smaller man by his shoulders and hauled
him out of his seat. He shook the Governor roughly back and forth, and brought
their faces together. “Spit it out!”

“The pirates,” he said. “They're using the comet as cover.
It's perfect. We never saw them coming. They could hide their whole
fleet
with
that thing. Think about it. They could never get here using our gates without
us knowing. Orpheus went right past the asteroid belt on its way here. They
ride along with it, just hang on to the thing with tethers—it would explain the
change in course, everything. They could be doing it on purpose. Stars, they
could pull it right into the planet!”

“Well I won’t stick around to find out,” Bill said. “We’re
leaving.”

He released Strump and started the shuttle's ignition
sequence.

“We can't, the debris from the tail—they've stopped all ship
traffic. This is serious, Bill. When Orpheus passes by we're all going to be
stuck over here on one side of the planet,” Strump said. “The debris field
alone is bad enough, but this would be the perfect opportunity for the pirates
to strike. All gathered in one place, our defenses completely disrupted—”

“We're leaving,” repeated Bill, strapping on his harness. “Sit
down.”

***

Bee wasn't sure exactly why she did it. Some mixture of
opportunity and reflex, maybe. Slack Dog's datapad was just dangling there
loose in Silver's front left chest pocket, totally exposed. A primo pick—he
didn't even notice.

The trick was a combination of misdirection and sleight of
hand; when he stepped forward to force her out she went with a calculated
backwards step and stumbled, catching herself on the wall with her left hand,
drawing his eye—and lifting the lightweight pad out of Silver's open pocket
with her right.

But he would, of course, find out it was missing before long
and come looking for it. What did she take it for? It was that stupid gut reaction,
that steel spring inside her that waited coiled and dangerous at every moment.
It wasn't the first time her traitor instincts had gotten her in trouble, but
she'd been saved by them too often to count.

Which would it be this time? Silver was dangerous, and he'd
be even more pissed than before. She considered turning back, just giving it up
and apologizing before he came after her. She could explain she just did stupid
things sometimes when people got hostile around her. But after seeing that look
on his face—

Maybe it would be best for her to go back to Surface, bring
the pad to the police. At least that way she wouldn't have to worry about
getting disemboweled by a terrifying cyborg hand. From there she could figure
out her next move with Hargrove at the hotel. Regroup a little. Earlier in the
day she was lamenting at how boring her life had become, how routine, how…
safe.
Now all she wanted was to get back to her room and crawl into bed.

It was during this homesick reverie that Silver caught up to
her and clamped his hand into her left shoulder and spun her around. Pain and
surprise lanced through her and she tried to go limp, drop out of his grip—but
he held firm and grabbed her right arm with his other hand. Panic made her try
to wriggle free as she realized how easy it would be for him to crush her into
fleshy pulp.

“Give me the map,” he said. “You took it. Where is it?”

“Look, I’m sorry—” Bee began, and Silver released her to dig
into her pack. Her shoulder throbbed after he let go.

“In here?”

“Hey! Stop!”

Bee thrashed to break free, but Silver held on to her left
arm without much effort. The dark metal hand pinched her skin as she struggled.
Silver gave up rooting through her pack and growled with anger as he pushed her
into a corner and blocked her there with his body, trapping her. Bee’s heart
pounded, back to the wall. She was quarried, captured.

Backed into the corner with nowhere to run, Bee considered
her options as she rubbed her shoulder. She’d expected Silver’s cybernetic hand
to hurt her, but it was his real hand that did the damage. Her collarbone felt
bruised from where his thick fingers had dug into it.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Alright, alright,” She said, and slung her pack around to
her front to reach inside. The datapad was tucked into the front waistline of
her pants, but Silver hadn’t noticed. Bee licked her lips and gauged the
distance between herself and the older, more powerful man.

Her fingers found the grip on her knife and she slowly
flicked it open inside the bag, making a show of trying to find the pad. She
could hurl the bag at him as a distraction, then slash at him to keep him back
as she dove for an escape. Now or never.

“Hurry up, out with it—”

A shrieking siren blared from the station’s speakers. After
three sustained bursts, an artificial voice intoned with urgency, “Evacuate,
evacuate. All civilians and non-essential personnel are to depart the station
immediately. Ten minutes to evasive maneuvers. Evacuate, evacuate….”

The sirens and the voice alternated as the message
continued. Bee held Silver’s glare. Her hand was still clasped around her knife
in the pack. If this was what he and the Governor were running from, she didn’t
want to stick around to find out what would happen next.

“Take me with you!” she shouted.

“Just give me the damn thing,” Silver said, and took a step
toward her with his real right hand outstretched.

Bee dropped her pack and brandished the knife at Silver, who
danced back in retreat. He was faster than she would have thought his bulk
would allow.

“No! I’m not staying here,” Bee said as she waved the knife
between them, her voice high and frantic. “Take me with and it’s yours, but I’m
not staying here!”

Silver threw his arms up in the air with frustration. He
didn’t reply, just turned around and stalked down the hallway toward the
docking bay while gesturing angrily to himself. Bee picked up her pack and put
the knife away—in her pocket this time—before following after Silver. He took
long rapid strides and she struggled to keep him in sight without breaking into
a run. When they got to the airlock at dock B46, Silver whirled on her without
warning.

“That’s the last time you steal from me, girl,” he said.
“Give it to me, now.”

“Only if I’m coming with you,” Bee said.

“The map first.”

“When we’re on board,” Bee insisted.

Silver shook his head and crossed his arms. “We don’t
proceed until I’m holding that map.”

The evacuation warning continued, and the count was dwindling.
Bee growled with displeasure and withdrew Slack Dog’s pad from its hiding spot
in her waistband. Without the map she had no leverage. Silver could easily take
it from her and leave her behind. She would have to trust that he would still
allow her on board once she gave it up. Her shoulder still burned from where he
grabbed her.

“You’ll obey my orders when we get on that ship,” Silver
said. “Best get used to it now.”

Bee held the pad out for Silver.

“Leave me here and I’ll find you again someday.”

Silver took it from her and rolled his eyes. “Very
intimidating.”

The bulbous hulk of the comet 17P/Orpheus silently plunged
through space toward Lux, pulled in by the star’s massive gravity well. As it
approached the warmth of the sun, veins of ice melted and boiled within Orpheus
and on its surface. The heat intensified the closer it came to Lux, geysers
shooting chunks of ice and rock into space around the comet, creating the
familiar cloud of moisture and gas that was its tail.

For an eternity it had traveled roughly the same elongated
elliptical orbit around the sun, frozen to its core at the edge of the system
and thawed when it came back to Lux, always trailed by its pair Eurydice
thousands of miles behind.

Only this time it brought passengers.

Warships bristling with weaponry latched on to the comet
like parasitic insects, ghostly green gravity tethers extending from the noses
of the ships to the rocky surface. They rode along in its wake through the
empty void, shrouded from prying eyes by the misty halo of its tail. There were
dozens, all varying in size and shape.

Three behemoth spacecraft carriers were the largest vessels,
each capable of launching fighters and bombers. The massive ships required
multiple tethers in order to keep them steady and prevent them from crushing
smaller craft. All the ships were synchronized with each other to keep movement
to a minimum and provide a healthy buffer between each.

One vessel broke off from the rest of the fleet and carefully
crawled to the side of the comet. It was tiny compared to most of the other
ships, but in contrast to the dull steel and patchwork repairs of the others
this one looked brand new—complete with a cherry-red paint job. Behind the
ship’s main cabin were twin oversized gravity generators hooked up to an
enormous tethering node.

The side of the ship was emblazoned with a company logo:
Tuggernaut Asteroid Towing.

***

Bee strapped herself in to a seat that folded down from the
wall behind Silver's pilot's chair. The quiet boy Gim took a seat across from
her behind the other chair. Whatever happened next, her future lay with Bill
Silver, who orchestrated the shuttle's ignition sequence.

Governor Strump—Bee was sure it was him even if Silver
refused to confirm it—sat opposite Silver looking queasy. The windows on the
front of the craft were sealed shut with retractable blast proof metal, but
cameras on the hull fed a projected display of the view outside, which gave the
illusion that there was nothing between them and vacuum. Bee shivered at the
unsettling thought.

“Tower,
Wanderlust
transport
shuttle requests
departure assistance from dock B46 to launching platform,” Silver said.

“Negative, shuttle. All traffic is halted prior to evasive
maneuvers.” The disembodied male voice which replied over the speakers had a
slow, drawling sort of confidence—the kind of soothing yet commanding voice
she'd want to hear when everything else in the world was going wrong.

Bill stopped the ignition, but didn’t look surprised.

“I told you,” Strump said. “Tower won't guide you out.”

“Mmm-hm,” Bill grunted.

“So what are you doing?” Strump asked.

“We’ll have to go out manually,” Bill said with a thrill of
enthusiasm.

“Manual? We're synced up with Tower, you can't just—”

“Oh, I can't just, eh? Myra,” Silver called expectantly,
taking pleasure in the Governor’s obvious discomfort.

“Yes, Bill?” came a reply over the speakers, this time a
husky female voice.

“Give me a trajectory from here to
Wanderlust
, quick
as you can.”

“Here you go,” Myra said, and a pale blue thread plotted a
course for them onscreen.

“I’m shutting down our computer guidance in a moment, Myra.
Tower will override you if you’re in control, so we’re going manual to get around
it. Can you make sure that trajectory will stay up with you offline?”

“You should see it on your lens display now, Bill. But
staying on course is your job without me.”

“Wonderful,” Bill said.

He said it just like Hargrove used to at the Midtown, and Bee
was struck with the realization that she may never see her former mentor again.
Or anyone from Surface, for that matter. She was finally on her way.

“I’m ready. See you shortly, Myra,” Bill said. “Shut down
and power back on under manual control.”

“Don’t scratch my shuttle,” she replied.

They were plunged into darkness for half a second before the
auxiliary power kicked in and lit the tiny room up crimson. After a few
moments, the normal interior lights flickered back to life. But the former view
on the glass was absent, leaving them all staring at the grey metal blast
plates.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Strump asked.

“Just watch me.” Silver retracted the blast plates.

As they slid back, Bee craned her neck around Bill’s seat to
see the view with her own eyes. They were barreling along about two hundred
miles above Surface, held close by the planet’s gravitational pull.

The sunlit Surface rolled beneath them, all blues and greens
and swirling white clouds against the consuming starry blackness of space. Up
above the incredible view of Surface—it was enough to make her forget to
breathe—she could make out a blue-white smear in the distance that shone
brightly at its center. The comet Orpheus on approach, she guessed.

“Is this safe? Shouldn’t we be wearing suits?” the Governor
asked.

“We’re not going to crash.”

“What if something hits the window? I mean, all that
debris…”

“This ship was built to deal with a little debris. The
gravity field will protect us from anything substantial the comet spits out.
Unless it’s firing bullets at us I think we’ll be fine.”

“You know what little pieces of rock zooming along at high
speeds remind me of? Bullets.”

The view of the planet lurched as Silver gripped the ship’s
wheel and eased them free of the station’s dock. He smirked and turned his head
to look back at Bee.

“You don’t get spacesick, do you?”

She made no reply, just leaned her head against the wall,
closed her eyes, and clenched the muscles in her abdomen. Breathe in deep
through the nose, out through the mouth, she told herself. Don’t think about
where “up” is—just sit back, keep steady, and don’t puke.

***

Two fully suited pilots sat in the cabin of
Tuggernaut #7
,
one a bald-headed young man laced with glowing neon tattoos and piercings, the
other a lanky grizzle-bearded man. The Beard was monitoring the temperature
gauges while Tattoos kept his eyes on a timer than counted down in red block
numbers. Three minutes, twenty-two seconds.

“She ready to pull again, bud?” Tattoos asked.

“Nah man, still too hot,” the Beard said.

“Boss Hawk won’t like waiting, yo.”

“Too hot man, like it or not.”

“You tell him, then.”

The Beard shook his head. “Spine like a wet noodle, bud.”

“Freeze you, man. Dude ain’t level.”

“Careful who you trashin’ man. He don’t tolerate.”

The Beard flicked a switch on the console and a projected
window of the bridge on Starhawk’s flagship appeared in front of them.
Immediately upon seeing the two pilots, Starhawk, dressed in his elaborate
golden battle suit, leaped to his feet from the captain’s chair. His ink-black
hair was slicked back flat, and cutting blue eyes stood out stark against pale
skin.

“Report,” he snapped.

“Gravvy gens still cooling, Boss,” the Beard said. “Another
thirty seconds we good.”

“I need you to move that comet another two point three
degrees west,” Starhawk said. “If you can’t do that we won’t make an optimal
approach. Hell, we could miss altogether. You see how important this is?”

The Beard exchanged glances with Tattoos.

“Boss, we get too hot and she gonna blow. Rock’s too big—”

“We’ve got a schedule to keep. You get me another two point
three degrees at the end of that countdown or I send some grubs to execute you
both. Best start 'em back up, boys.”

The display went dead.

***

Silver followed the blue thread of the navigational guide
toward the orbital station’s launching platform where
Wanderlust
was
waiting for them. It felt good to steer without correction from Myra. Sure, his
wouldn’t be the most efficient flight possible, but there was nothing like
being in full control of a ship with his own two hands.

Own two hands. His prosthetic twitched involuntarily.

The station was all white metal and soft curves—a relic from
before the rebellion designed and built by the planet’s first settlers. Strump
seemed to be content to bury his nose in watching news videos on his pad while
the girl sat in the back, every once in a while peering over Silver’s shoulder
at the view.

Before they left the dock Silver had let
Wanderlust
know they were on the way back so the crew could prepare for immediate
departure. Although with the hold on traffic Silver wasn’t sure how they were
going to launch from the station.

With any luck, the Captain would have taken care of that
snag in the plan already; securing the launch was his job, and he seemed to
have connections with nearly every officer of note in every port from the Core
to the edge planets. Silver was sure the Captain was getting an earful from
Tower back on
Wanderlust
.

That was the reason he requested departure before they left
in the shuttle, broadcasting where they were headed—Tower would contact
Wanderlust
to find out what was happening, and the Captain could sort things out by going
over Tower’s head to a station officer. There was no traffic anyway, clear
lanes all the way to the launching platform just up ahead. The blue navigational
thread led to an outline of
Wanderlust
at the base of a launch pod.

As they neared the platform, two sleek fighter drones
deployed from some hidden perch and streaked toward them.

“Bill,” Strump said. “Bill, what’s that.”

“What’s what?” Bee said from the back, leaning forward for a
better view.

Gim took a glance and piped up, “Two Mark VI Interloper
class defense drones.”

Silver slowed their approach and flicked on the comms,
having left them off to prevent Tower from badgering him all the way to the platform.
Apparently he didn’t like that. “Tower,
Wanderlust
transport shuttle
approaching launching platform, please advise.”

The drones maintained course. Silence from Tower.

“They’re still coming, Bill,” Strump said. “I knew this was
a bad idea.”

“Shuttle
Wanderlust
, please continue current approach
to complete docking with host ship at Pod Fourteen,” Tower drawled, and Silver
thought he could detect a faint note of displeasure in the AI’s voice, perhaps
grudging acceptance that they had broken the rules and gotten away with it.
“Emergency drones deployed for approach assistance.”

The drones finally slowed, then spun a sharp one-eighty and
began flashing their rear emergency lights. Silver followed them in, swooping
down along the rows of gargantuan launching pods. The platform was devoid of
queued ships, but almost every pod was filled; they must have been making the
final launches before the station shifted its orbit.

Several launched as they passed by, the interior of the
massive hollow pods priming with a green glow and then pulsing brilliantly from
the base, pushing the ships forward to incredible speeds as the pod shot them
off into the void.

Pod Fourteen loomed ahead,
Wanderlust
already loaded
and ready to launch. The two drones broke off and returned to their previous
positions, leaving Silver to slowly nestle the shuttle into
Wanderlust’s
open
docking bay. Home sweet home.

***

Inside the roaring-loud confines of
Tuggernaut #7
, the
Beard watched in horror as the gravity generators' temperature dials crept into
the red. The gigantic tethering node on the back of the ship blasted a
continuous thrumming rope of mint-green energy into a stable portion of the
comet, altering its trajectory by a fraction of a degree at a time.

The countdown read one minute.

Particles of rock, ice, and dust constantly pinged off the
ship's new paint job, and
Tuggernaut's
bright red skin was scored with
tiny pockmarks and scars. The ship shuddered as one of the grav generators
hiccupped, throwing it off balance.

The Beard sprang into action, his fingers flinging desperate
commands into the ship’s computer; he vented heat from the near-molten
generators, spewing blackened cooling gel into space, and rerouted coolant from
the engines to replace it.

The green rope of energy momentarily flickered and faded,
but crackled back to life when the generator came online.
Tuggernaut
corrected
its position as though nothing had happened, and the familiar steady rumbling
of the generators resumed.

“Close one, bud,” breathed Tattoos over his suit's comms.

The Beard shrugged. “Matter of time.”

“C'mon man, we ain't dead yet. You got this.”

Another weak lift of the shoulders. As if in response, a
violent quaking began to jar them in their seats. The temperature gauges soared
to critical levels.

The reality of the situation sunk in when Tattoos saw his
more experienced partner’s helpless indifference, and he sat back heavy in his
seat.