Backyard Starship: Origins Read online

  “Then you’re ready, at least as ready as you can be for this idiot. Trust me when I say you can do this. I could take him alone, but he might have his own AI, and two guns are better than one,” Striker said, taking up position next to Mark. With two hands, he pulled a pair of small sidearms. “Limited range. These can kill, but I’d prefer to go hand-to-hand.”

  “Mark? That BAR can punch through many of my interior layers. Choose your shots,” Bunn warned.

  With a calming breath, Mark gave a single nod. He placed the BAR against the bulkhead and tapped at a suit control. Cool air began to flow around him, up his spine and into his lungs. His heart slowed, and he began to breathe normally.

  As normally as he could getting ready to fight a being from the stars.

  Striker understood. “Right? Never gets ordinary.”

  “Contact. You got him, Vallie?” Bunn asked.

  “He’s below the ecliptic, slowing to board. Probably sees this as a once-in-a-lifetime hit,” Striker said with anger that sounded fully human.

  “Is it because of a Peacemaker? Or the relic?” Mark asked, his hands tight on the BAR.

  “Both, but the Stormshadow is another million bonds, at minimum. Add Bunn to the sauce, and that scheming Yonnox would never work again,” Striker said.

  “Thirty seconds out, all exterior lights dark. Silent now,” Bunn said in a muffled, low tone.

  “Why is he boarding? Why would a Peacemaker turn coward?” Mark asked.

  “Vanity,” Striker answered. “An arrogance as vast as the sprawl of night. Yonnox are known for being deluded by their own talent, but Gunarik stands tall even among his own people. He, alone, would think a Peacemaker of her talent would run away.” Striker made a clicking sound that Mark recognized as disgust. “It will cost him everything, and—”

  A metallic tunk rattled the hull, ending Striker’s diatribe.

  “Contact made. Entry in fifteen. They’ve got a spinner on the door,” Bunn said.

  “Spinner? A lock opener?” Mark asked.

  “The same,” Striker said. “They’re here. Let me hold onto you.” With two arms, he grabbed Mark, holding onto hardpoints with three others. The free arm pointed a slug thrower toward the airlock, near the back of the ship and partially occluded by a bulkhead.

  “Why would you—”

  “Blow it,” Striker ordered.

  Bunn triggered a catastrophic depressurization, and five seconds of howling wind followed, along with bits of jetsam. Silence fell like an axe as Mark struggled to make sense of the scene. He reached for his helmet.

  “Don’t,” Striker ordered. “The air is gone. Space is here now.”

  “Why?” Mark asked over the suit comm. His voice sounded higher than he remembered, and he winced at the unfamiliar tone.

  “This is why,” Striker said, firing his weapon twice at a claw that held onto the hatch coaming. His rounds struck true, shearing two digits off the construct. A high whine followed in the comms, followed by silence.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the air?” Mark asked, shouldering his BAR.

  Striker regarded him with a level gaze. “I wanted to see if you’re good enough. For her.”

  “For what? What the hell are you talking about? I’ve just left certain death behind, and now you’re testing me to see if I’m going to marry some woman from the stars?”

  Bunn laughed. “They’re charming at this stage. Target.”

  Striker looked away and fired again. This time, the advancing AI lost an entire claw. It drifted, leaking a pearlescent fluid in dancing bubbles.

  “Not to marry, but you can be assured that I’m going to have a lot of fun telling her that. Although, now that I think about it, she might like you. No matter. Not for a marriage, Mark. For the job. To be her Second, since she’s obviously thinking about replacing me,” Striker said. There was no judgement in his words, only a factual analysis of what he saw happening. To Mark, it was as bewildering as everything else, including the enemy AI, which chose that moment to pull itself fully into harm’s way.

  Mark didn’t hesitate to fire.

  The BAR fired with a shower of sparks and flame as ten rounds streaked across the small space and slammed home into the bulky, low AI. Each round passed through the alien construct, taking debris and fluid with it out into the open airlock and beyond. A cloud of ejecta sparkled in the ship’s exterior lighting, dancing motes that expanded in a cone before dispersing.

  The AI, with four arms and four feet, let go. One eye panel sheared away, the chest flipped open to reveal shredded chaos, and two legs began to twitch out of control in an erratic beat that signaled death, or something like it.

  Striker’s voice filled the comm channel. “I’ll cover the lock, Mark. You did well. No hesi—”

  Mark flew forward like a missile, the BAR raised to swing. He covered the short distance in a flash and greeted the next enemy that entered the airlock, a stubby weapon raised to attack.

  It wasn’t prepared for the charging soldier.

  Mark’s BAR arced down in a savage strike, metal and wood crunching against the enemy’s exposed helmet. He drew back and swung again, years of baseball paying off as the rifle connected, dead center, cracking the reflective visor of an invader who was built like a stump but otherwise humanoid.

  “Mark, you know what? Swing away,” Striker said and watched as Mark did just that, the BAR slamming twice more into the alien’s battle suit. Spidery cracks expanded on the faceplate, then the alien’s beam weapon dropped and spun lazily away toward Striker, who crowded forward to intervene with whatever was happening. He’d seen a lot of combat, but he’d never witnessed such natural enthusiasm for the rough stuff. With one hand, he secured the alien sidearm. With another, he pulled Mark back just as the BAR crashed down onto the shoulder armor of the enemy, who was either unconscious or scared witless.

  “Probably scared,” Striker said.

  Mark looked back, his eyes narrowed with rage. “What?”

  “I—nothing. I think she’s out,” Striker said.

  “I’ve got vitals, but yeah, that’s one sleepy girl,” Bunn added.

  “Girl?” Mark asked, looking down at the BAR in horror. He was on a starship, but his social habits were still firmly entrenched in the year 1918. On a farm.

  Striker looked at the woman, or girl, sinking slowly to the deck. Her arms splayed out in a pose he knew could mean either death or a complete lack of consciousness. He’d seen people knocked out, of course, especially when he boxed at the fair over in Crawford County. Mark hit hard.

  He’d never hit a human with a rifle, though. He’d shot at a few, and perhaps even hit one or two. But a female human in a spacesuit—this was all an undiscovered country.

  “Yes, a girl. Human, likely near forty Earth years old. Got a name on this one, Bunn? Oh, and close that lock. Time to zip up.”

  “Tap into her suit?” Bunn asked.

  “Got it.” Striker flipped open a wrist panel on the woman’s slick, dark armor, exposing a small rectangle of dull orange light. “It’s powered. Tapping now.” A silver wire extended from his finger and made contact with a dizzying array of silvery wires on a flat, black piece of metal.

  To Mark, it was so far beyond his comprehension that he stopped breathing hard for a moment and stared in wonder. “What is that?”

  Striker looked up. “That? Common data interface. My—excuse me, we, meaning Bunn and the ship’s system—are connected to this suit. Ah, all right, I have her. The woman you knocked out with that impressive swing is named Claudine Nevers. She’s a human, as you can see.”

  “She’s French?”

  “Belgian and Swiss, actually. Left your world for a life of crime a mere eight months ago and appears to have taken to life among the stars quite nicely,” Striker said. “Except for the part where you nearly beat her to death. Not that I disapprove.”

  “Nor do I. She’s been a bad girl. Her name is all over the guild wish list. You just made some money, young Tudor. Forty thousand bonds for her capture,” Bunn said.

  Mark looked down, adrenaline fading to disgust. “She’s a criminal? What has she done?”

  “Murder, theft, trafficking in cultural items, and my personal favorite, she sold an illegal weapon to the German army about three months ago,” Bunn said.

  “She sold things from out here? To them? To the Germans?” Mark asked, his face heating with rage.

  “It blew up in their faces, literally. She killed an entire squad of Germans and appears to have filmed it for her own personal enjoyment,” Striker said.

  “Not that I regret her doing that to the enemy, but what if it hadn’t exploded? She could have killed untold innocents,” Mark said, reaching a toe forward to nudge the woman. “Can she hear me?”

  “When she wakes up, yes. She’s alive, if rattled,” Striker said.

  “Good. I have some—”

  “Missile incoming. Let’s close up and buckle down,” Bunn said, even as the airlock began to cycle closed.

  “Where’s Valint?” Striker asked, dragging Claudine out of the lock. When the airlock completed contact, a hissing filled the air as Bunn repressurized the ship.

  “I’m here. Fascinating story I’ve heard, and it appears Mark is going to do just fine out here if this is his path. I’ve got the target in sight, but, since Gunarik isn’t there, I’m assuming he’s still out here, and that’s a problem.”

  “Scanning now, Vallie. I have positive contact on Gunarik’s craft. It’s cold and still. Any chance he’s gone?” Bunn asked.

  “Not with money to be made. That means he’s using a proxy to take us and is hiding somewhere nearby. He’s too poor to afford a missile platform, and there was no way to guarantee we’d hit him here, among these rocks,” Valint said.

  “What if there was another facility? There are a lot of alien ships in this system for it being a backwater,” Striker said.

  “I don’t see anything big enough on the returns. A lot of background chatter, but that could be old mining equipment from illegal scrapers making a fast bond on this ore. I think—disregard. I’ve got him. He’s powering up and going hot,” Valint said.

  “Hot and going where? At us?” Striker asked.

  “Not far, that’s for certain. He’s too distant for a killshot, but I can—one moment, firing,” Valint said. A brief hiss of static filled the comms as her shoulder-mounted missile went live and scorched away onscreen in a flat line of white plasma. The missile vanished behind one, then two of the whirling asteroids, the trajectory fuzzed by debris left from the Stormshadow’s initial volley.

  “I’m showing a miss,” Bunn said.

  “Hit,” Valint crowed. “Clipped an engine bell. He’ll leak his coordinates like rumors in a pub. All right, I’m coming in. I see the AI drifting away from the ship. Or what’s left of it, I should say. That rifle is a relic, but damned if it didn’t ventilate that bastard.”

  “Mr. Browning knows how to make weapons that answer an age-old question,” Mark said.

  “What question is that?” Striker asked.

  “What’s the fastest way to end a fight?”

  Striker hooted with laughter, and, even as she jetted across the dark space between asteroid and ship, Valint added her own snicker. It was a younger sound for her, Mark thought. She’d been grave, serious, and occasionally neutral. Her personality had begun to shine now that some of their threat was neutralized.

  Courtesy of Mr. Browning and good old-fashioned American aggression.

  A thump announced Valint was home as she entered the outer lock, cycled it, and then entered her ship, shrugging off the expended missile launcher with a grunt. “Ah. Our guest is still on the deck. Do we need to restrain her?”

  “Not with Mark around. He’s got a true gift for communication,” Striker said.

  Mark looked abashed but then straightened as he recalled Claudine’s criminal history. “She deserved it.”

  “So she did. Welcome to law enforcement among the stars, friend. You’ll note that no one here is criticizing your choices. Other than your method of engagement, of course. We’ll have to discuss your concept of valor before you attack an entire squad of enemy combatants.” Valint’s forehead creased, and Mark saw the hint of a smile. “You’re not going to do that, are you? Attack without warning again?”

  To Valint’s surprise, Mark leaned back against a seat, arms folded. “I don’t know. Can we agree that I would be informed of any—what was the term you used, Bunn? The air?”

  “I didn’t, but the term is catastrophic venting.”

  “That. Well, I’d like to be kept aware of such changes if I’m going to train for a position as your Second,” Mark said.

  Valint stiffened, and Claudine groaned.

  The Peacemaker cut her eyes at Striker, then knelt by the groggy woman. Without making eye contact with Mark, she spoke quickly and free of any emotion. “We’ll address that later. As for now, your confidence is unwarranted unless you can figure out why this woman is valuable to us.”

  Claudine’s eyes came open, a look of panic spreading over her wide features. She had full lips, the top one split and bleeding. “Where—oh. Merde.”

  “Merde, indeed. Not sure why the translator let that slip through, but maybe it’s just to add a little Gallic flavor to our conversation. Claudine, you’ve met my new associate, Mark Tudor. He’s an American, and it’s safe to say he’d love to push you—naked and screaming-- out of that airlock. Do I have your attention?”

  “You do,” Claudine answered with great care.

  “Superb. Your employer, the Yonnox named Gunarik? He’s heading toward the ecliptic as we speak, his ship damaged and low on fuel. I know this because I saw something out there, on that second rock—a drop tank. Was that his only stash?”

  Claudine said nothing.

  “Mark? Do you have any questions for your fellow human?”

  Mark never looked away from Claudine but instead reached out and put the barrel of the BAR against her armored leg. “Should we be following Gunarik?”

  “We should,” Valint answered.

  “And the faster this happens, the better for us?”

  “Of course.”

  Mark pulled the trigger, and the gun roared to life. The bullet slammed into Claudine’s thigh armor, twisting her around to settle, once more, in agony, on the deck. Saliva spooled from her mouth, her teeth clenched together in hatred and pain.

  “Claudine? Did you know about the Fourth Bell?” Mark asked.

  “We did.”

  “How?”

  “We had a tap in Halvix’ ship and followed him from job to job. We knew he’d hit it big sooner or later. It’s not the first time we’ve done this,” Claudine admitted.

  “His core-mate. Ahh. That clears up one little mystery,” Striker said.

  “What’s a core-mate?” Mark asked.

  Valint looked thoughtful. “Like an adopted brother but from birth. Taught in the same school and home. Quite cozy, even loving, given the right moral framework. Unfortunately, Hynok—”

  “Are there many core-mates that all sound the same? Their names?” Mark asked.

  “Sadly, yes. It’s a Day Life tradition among their people. Tedious, I know, especially for the Peacemakers who must chase them all down. It gets blurred by monotony. You were saying, Claudine?” Valint tapped her fingers with impatience as she spoke, a steady beat on her armored leg.

  “We waited until he had a big hit, and we followed him. And then you did what you do,” Claudine said. She sounded defeated. She sounded tired.

  “Happy to frustrate your plans. I admit, Gunarik is an innovator. He’s never one to just steal. He always does it with such style.”

  “Elan, I believe, is the term you’re looking for,” Mark said with a shrug. “The French aren’t much on defensive warfare, but they have superb nouns.”

  “Add that to our translations, Bunn. I like it. Now, before our criminal gets too far, let’s end this. Claudine, you don’t mind coming along for the ride?” Valint asked.

  “As if I have a choice?”

  “No, but I prefer to avoid rude behavior when possible. Bunn, full pursuit of that Yonnox. Stay in his scanner shadow for as long as we can.”

  “Drive firing in three, two—we’re off,” Bunn said. “Distance to target is nine percent of a light-second and steady. His drive is shot, and he’s on reserve or coasting as I see no additional thrust. The ship is lighter than expected, but that’s likely due to the loss of the workboat.”

  “We’re going to ram and grapple. Make sure your suit is prepped and weapons ready, Mark,” Valint said.

  “Like pirates,” Mark said. He’d always loved the idea of pirates, like most boys. Now, he was about to act like one.

  In space.

  “How much lighter?”

  The question was a surprise because it came from Claudine.

  With the keen senses of an experienced Peacemaker, Valint squared on the prisoner, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

  Claudine hesitated, examining Gunarik’s trajectory on the main display.

  “Tell me. He’s leaving you behind either way,” Valint prompted.

  Mark made a sound of disgust. “He’s a coward. It’s what a coward would do, to leave behind a fellow soldier.”

  “There were two workboats. If the second one is gone, then—” Claudine finished with a small shrug.

  Valint’s face fell into an angry sneer. “Claudine, you said you were following Halvix until he scored big?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Gunarik told you this, specifically?”

  “Again, yes. He made it clear we would circle like a predator until the payout was big enough, like the Bell,” Claudine said.

  Striker leaned down with a sighing noise, like his internal servers were expelling air. “Was Gunarik away from you for longer than, say, a few hours?”

  Valint’s eyes were bright with interest, but Mark was confused, so he watched Claudine’s face, studying her for any flicker of revelatory emotion. As he watched, something unfurled within him.

  More of The Taste snapped into place, and Mark was aware of his system—the planetary system—attracting interest, a lot of it.