Backyard Starship: Origins 2 Read online

  BACKYARD STARSHIP: ORIGINS 2

  2 SHORT STORIES FROM THE BACKYARD STARSHIP SERIES

  J.N. CHANEY

  TERRY MAGGERT

  Copyrighted Material

  Backyard Starship: Origins 2 Copyright © 2022 by Variant Publications

  Book design and layout copyright © 2022 by JN Chaney

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing.

  1st Edition

  CONTENTS

  Don’t Miss Out

  Career Moves

  Red Agent

  Join the Conversation

  Connect with J.N. Chaney

  Connect with Terry Maggert

  About the Authors

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  CAREER MOVES

  “You’re here for reassignment, right?”

  I froze, then turned to face the speaker, though it wasn’t necessary. I was logged into the system, and words came to me at the utter limit of physics. But still, I froze.

  “Reassignment?” I asked, going so far as to enunciate every sound. It wasn’t necessary, but it felt right, especially given the cascade of decisions and emotional freefall I was fighting to control. I was a professional, and falling apart like a jilted youth wasn’t in my makeup.

  “Did you get slow out there? Yes, reassignment. It’s what happens when—hold a moment.” The speaker switched channels with that particular hum of eternity that an empty comm brings, and then they were back. “Change in plans. You’re to report to a ship coming in hot from a place called Enceladus. Are you familiar with it?”

  “A Saturnian moon. Where?” I asked, not feeling overly chatty. That was new for me, but then my existence had just changed. Forever. “And who?”

  “Tryta-6, the storage bay. You’ll probably want to have a sonic cleaning after you leave it. My record shows no one’s touched it in a long while. Odd that they would choose it to—

  “Who?”

  “Oh, that. I was ordered to tell you where and when. Nineteen minutes, by the way. As to who, well…”

  I lowered my gaze in disgust. Even our allies were part of the big game. The dance. The endless hustle and grind of want and desire and satisfaction, and I needed to know because nineteen minutes was an eternity, especially given my status. And my loss.

  “Open up,” I said.

  “Prepped to receive.”

  I searched, considered, and settled on something valuable but not too rare. I wasn’t about to be shaken down by a glorified guest register with an attitude problem. I surrounded the item, packaged it, and sent it streaming away, life to energy and back again in a femtosecond or three, depending on how you counted.

  “Ah,” the receiver said. “You didn’t have to—”

  “But I did. And now you can live with it too.” I paused for a second. “Who?”

  A meter away, the replacement desk AI named Candler said nothing, just hummed like it did when processing something. A memory, in this case, as it usually was. I’d made good on Candler’s demand, and in a way, called the unspoken bluff. To merely ask for such a thing on this day was bad form.

  And Candler knew it.

  So it was confirmed. I’d chosen wisely.

  “How soon before—you know what, disregard. I don’t want to know,” Candler said with a huff.

  “Six hours, thirty-one minutes, and nine seconds before he died. He was a husk, and now you can remember him like that, instead of the way we ought to, as the paragon of virtue with a wild side. The only Peacemaker to turn down a Master’s badge twice; maybe three times, if you believe Groshenko. How does it feel to own that, Candler? To see Mark as a shadow, hovering at the edge of his body death?”

  Candler said nothing.

  “Gimme the name, you prick.”

  “Justice Doumavil Yektun of the Six Stars League. She’s coming alone, and she has something for you that’s eyes only. It’s just business, you know. You didn’t have to pick a payment that was so—"

  “Yes, I did. You asked for it, and you know it. This is bad form on the day of Change. We don’t do this to each other, not if you want to be on my good side,” I said, and the threat wasn’t veiled at all. I had no need to hide my intentions if Candler pulled this shit with anyone else who was in mourning.

  Candler’s channel opened as if they were about to retort, but it closed just as quickly, discretion being the better part of valor and all. “Let’s get the last bit over with then. Per your contract and vow, you are released from duty associated with Mark Tudor, Peacemaker, as he is no longer living. The Guild recognizes the interim status of Promethium Encased Combat Unit, Rough Use Number 0259, as free and clear until further legal notice is given from Anvil Dark authority. Do you have any requests?”

  “Yeah, Candler, you blowhard. Call me Perry. Everyone else does.”

  “Perry?”

  “Ambassador Yektun, I presume?” I asked, receiving a courteous if brief nod from the well-dressed Mimic who chose to look humanoid, female, and awkward, a series of decisions that left me wondering as to her motivation. Her suit was deep gray, with a single embroidered symbol—the Six Stars—and nothing else, so unadorned as to be nap-inducing if I were the kind of life-form that could be impacted by narcolepsy.

  I may be an AI, but I do have some sense of fashion. I’m not a barbarian.

  “You assume correctly,” she said, leaning forward to tap my wingfeather with two of the six fingers on her left hand. That seemed different. Her hair, if that’s what it was, came just to her shoulders, moving as a single, black entity, and she’d chosen a binocular style of vision with paired, matching eyes of near perfect roundness.

  In short, she looked surprised. All the time.

  “Is this a secure area for you? I took the liberty of a quick scan. I found nothing to note, although there is a small package of illicit narcotics hidden behind that power receptable, just there,” I mentioned.

  “My olfactory system detects it as well. Discon, if I make my mark, though not the standard version. It’s a modded composition best suited to the Yonnox biology.” Like a questing animal, she lifted her nasal area and inhaled deeply, then gave a knowing grin on her bland face. “I detect a heavy ratio of synoquil. The recipient will experience, ah… extreme digestive issues for a period of one standard day. Or more.”

  I dropped my beak in a laugh. “I think it best not to get in the way of commerce then, Ambassador.”

  She titled her head, uttering a short laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting their pursuit of internal purity, be it mental or… otherwise.”

  She was quick-witted, and she also enjoyed banter. So I waited as she explained the empty bay in detail, her eyes finally coming back to me with a visible flicker. “I have something to show you, and I would like your opinion.”

  “I am prepared to help. I am unattached at the moment.”

  “I am aware. Which is why I am here,” she parried.

  I stayed very still. If this Mimic had anything to do with Mark’s passing, she would not leave the bay alive. Of that, I was certain, no matter what my matrices were commanding in that persistent throb of compliance and unity with my sapient partners.

  Yektun saw all of that in a flash, and more importantly, she believed my commitment to Mark Tudor.

  “Have you been assigned a new partner?” Yektun asked without any fanfare.

  “Right to it then. Good. No, I haven’t.”

  “Do you want one?”

  “Maybe. It’s what I’m designed for. My purpose is bigger than shuffling the decades of memory I coded while working with Mark, if that’s what you’re asking,” I answered.

  Yektun gave a small nod, but it was to one side, and I knew that her social gestures were different than humanoids. And many other races, for that matter. When she spoke, it was in a calm, reasoned tone.

  Like a teacher might use.

  I chose not to take offense, given my age and experience.

  “The League was working with Peacemaker Tudor on a matter of no importance to anyone outside a single moon in our protectorate, and even there, on Kaspinet, the matter is largely unknown. You have the case file marked Posthumous?” Yektun asked.

  “I do. It’s a bit thin. A class eight loaded with flammable material for a festival of some sort—I’ll be truthful here, even we couldn’t really understand the nature of the ceremony, but Mark thought it had something to do with renewal, and the stars, and maybe motherhood?”

  “Close enough. The Night of Sparks and Wind. It’s nice, actually, in an apocalyptic sort of way. The Kaspinet have successfully woven four cultures together over the centuries, and what they created is a holiday that almost everyone likes.”

  “I can’t help but
notice the term almost is in your description,” I remarked.

  “You notice that which is important. Almost everyone likes an evening of fire and drink and food and music. But almost isn’t all, and there were a group of—”

  “Purists who said the holiday was a bastardization of what life was all about, and that celebrating it meant certain doom for their culture, and—”

  “Ahh, I see you know the Antracites,” Yektun said with a sage nod.

  “I know their kind. They’re in every culture. And I do mean every.”

  “Tedious, aren’t they? Gatekeepers are all so… uniform. However, as I was describing, the Antracites hijacked the supply craft, spaced the crew, and set the drive on a random course. The ship made landfall some years ago in a spectacular explosion that caused a minor local fire, then settled into a muddy river bottom. To my knowledge, it’s still there, but the interesting part of the ship—that the Kaspinets want back—has just come onto the market as an illegal item for sale,” Yektun said.

  “Where?”

  “The item?”

  “No, the landfall,” I answered. I had no idea where and wanted to know.

  “Ohio. Earth. More specifically, the Cuyahoga River, in your local year of 1969. Caused a bit of excitement, as I’m reliably informed that bodies of water rarely burn, even briefly.”

  “Ohio. Figures.”

  “There is some symbolism with this local political designation?” Yektun asked.

  “Only from the standpoint of my former partner, Mark, who was a born and bred Iowan. Now that I think about it, there are a lot of humans with strong feelings about Ohio. And Cleveland.”

  “Ahh, Cleveland. I’ve heard of such a place. I understand there are factories and a cultural expression called Hair Bands?” Yektun asked.

  “They peaked in the 1980s but never really died. The music, not the factories. They died in the 1970s. What item is now suddenly up for bid, and more importantly, who wants it?” I asked.

  “Don’t you want to know the pay?”

  “I figured you’ll get to it when you’re ready. I have no use of bonds, although Mark’s ship has been stripped, more or less, due to debts.”

  Yektun leaned forward, her eyes somehow becoming even more rounded. Even for me, it was a bit much, and I liked Earth—and Wut’zur—Anime. “Sixty-five thousand bonds, payable immediately to you, and half of that to your next partner, regardless of their species or affiliation.”

  “Before I agree to anything, a question?”

  “Of course.” Yektun waited.

  I waved a wing at her. “How did… this… happen?”

  “You mean how did I come to take an interest in the Combat AI of Mark Tudor?” Yektun asked.

  “No. How did you come to care about Mark Tudor?”

  A silence hung, then dissipated when she made her face smile in what was a reasonably cheerful shift.

  “Oh, that’s easy. Mark Tudor saved my life.”

  Even I, with near-perfect synaptic linkage, paused.

  “He saved you from being non-existent, I assume? Because, and I mean this with only respect, you are a Mimic?”

  “I am, and we are notoriously hard to kill. But an explosive decompression in a boiling ocean of acid and heavy metals will kill even someone as adaptive as me, Perry. Mark stopped that from happening—not because it was profitable, but because it was moral,” Yektun said, then watched me with great care. “I miss him as well.”

  “I apologize. I’m not used to him not… being here. He was relentlessly honorable, in the best of ways. I’ve found it to be a rare thing.”

  “As have I. Mark thought in stages, or leaps. He was always ahead of everyone else when it came to cases, and not in a cynical fashion. That’s why he saw the potential for harm in that river bottom near Cleveland. He understood potential violence versus kinetic crime. Will you help us?” Yektun asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Then allow me to offer you something else as well,” Yektun said. “Prepare to receive a memory, if you would. This isn’t related to the case, but you’ll understand.”

  “I… all right. Send.”

  The memory downloaded instantly, and I began the scene. Video, superb quality, duration on nineteen seconds—

  “Oh. Oh,” I managed.

  Yektun smiled again, and this time it was wicked. “Any condign retribution you choose will meet with our approval, and you may use this information as you see fit. In any way, Perry. In any way.”

  I dipped my beak as the possibilities unfolded within my awareness. She’d given me something that could change two lives—and countless others—if I chose to use it. But for now, I had to uphold my end of the deal.

  “What was pulled out of the river mud?” I asked.

  Yektun reached into a small carryall, then held out her hand. In it, a small tube of amber liquid waved, thick and lazy. “This is Ignite-RF. A common, if potent flammable material that dances on the edge of military applications. It’s imported from orbital manufactories for obvious reasons, as barely any dangerous items are made on planets anymore. It’s used in the holiday celebration on Kaspinet, and there are roughly thirty thousand of these in the crashed ship. Ignite-RF degrades over time. About four percent a decade.”

  I examined the tube, then flicked my sight back to Yektun, who moved her hand into the carryall again and searched with care.

  “Then there’s little danger, and those tubes are glorified party poppers by this point in time. Which means that, in your hand, you have the real reason you want my assistance, because the ship was military, and the manifest reveals something nasty that shouldn’t be on Earth,” I said.

  She withdrew her hand, smiling. The tube she held out was identical, with one small difference. On the ceramic cap was an embossed symbol in a digitized script that I’d never seen in a physical sense.

  I had, however, seen the language in a museum.

  “Is that Proto-Bolunvir?” I asked.

  “It is.”

  “So they were smuggling?”

  “Indeed they were,” Yektun answered, revealing nothing.

  The Bolunvir were enthusiastic scofflaws, so that tube could be filled with anything. Based on the serious nature of Yektun’s visit, I took a guess based on my data and previous cases.

  “They were hiding, ah, I guess the translation would be UnZip?” I’d never hoped to be wrong more in my existence, but Yektun merely nodded. “They’re filth. They’re reprobates. I detest all ninety of their little teeth. They—”

  “Yes, they are. Mark found the manifest while scouring a Bolunvir data slate that referenced an old crime in the Earth system, courtesy of a Peacemaker.”

  “Anyone I know?” I knew them all, so the question was a formality.

  “B Gerti.”

  “What was she doing in Earth orbit?” I asked.

  Yektun laughed at that. “I’m afraid that’s too much for one sitting, or standing as the case may be. Agent Gerti is… productive, let’s say. Mark found a coded reference to UnZip, as you so elegantly put it, and there are six more of these vials resting in the river mud.”

  “Six? That’s enough to kill millions.”

  “Or billions. But yes, if the Unzip replicates, as it usually does in warm water environments, then it will mutate and leave Mark’s homeworld a stinking, toxic soup of dead life, destroyed right down the organelles. There’s a reason we chased the Bolunvir to the edge of known space. They’re one of few people stupid enough to risk an extinction level event in the name of profit,” Yektun said. “In a way, I’m stunned they let something this valuable out of their sight. You know their dedication to profit is—well, it goes beyond religion for them. It’s a drive.”

  “I’ll handle them with care. Should I destroy them in space, or what do you propose?”

  “We’ll give you transport and pick you up in a dual-purpose class 7. Your ride leaves in one minute, by the way.”