Backyard Starship: Origins Read online

  “What’s so important about our lonely solar system, Claudine?” Mark asked.

  She looked at Striker and then Mark, choosing her words carefully. “He took his ship for two separate patrols, he called them. Lasted about an hour. While he did that, we were assigned to search the group of asteroids we hid in.”

  “For what?” Valint pressed.

  Claudine stared at the deck, creeping disgust on her face. “Gunarik told us there was a container of bonds, stolen from a banking transfer ship and dumped here.”

  “What percentage did he offer?” Valint asked.

  “Thirty.”

  “That’s twice standard,” Striker added helpfully.

  Claudine pierced the AI with a hard stare. “You think I don’t know that now, rattletrap?”

  Striker raised four arms and patted the air in a placating manner. “I’m just helping you decide what comes next, Claudine.”

  “Indeed. He is,” Valint added. “Bunn, half power. Give us some space, we’re leaving the Class Six to its fate.”

  “Correcting now. Destination or plot?” Bunn asked.

  Valint tilted her head, a predatory gesture that made her seem far less friendly than a moment earlier. “You searched this group of asteroids and found what?”

  “Nothing, except debris from a mining bubble, shattered by an impact at least thirty standard years ago,” Claudine answered.

  “Bunn, give me a range that scheming Yonnox could cover and tag every rock in it,” Valint ordered.

  “Done. Blue outlines. We have six targets in range.”

  “Are any large enough to hide a workboat?” Valint asked, eyes flicking from rock to rock on the screen.

  “Only one. Number three, roughly nine hundred meters across,” Bunn concluded.

  “There’s our clever lad. He’ll be in the shadow, and he’s hiding,” Striker said.

  Valint gave Mark a look. “Mark, you’re not trained—or psychologically ready—for EV work in a suit, for being out there in armor with your weapon. I can’t leave you here with Claudine even if we place her in the hold, and I can’t ask you to—"

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I can what?”

  “Take me out there,” Mark said. “Can you tow me? Like a train car?”

  “I can. You understand that gravity is almost nonexistent on that rock? And that there’s a Yonnox ship with an armed, vicious killer aboard?” Valint asked.

  Mark considered her words with care, taking a moment to use his wits.

  And to use the Taste.

  “Is there something more valuable than Gunarik’s ship on that asteroid?” Mark asked.

  Valint looked at Striker, then smiled. “Told you. Smart and not scared.”

  “He’s extrapolating data well,” Striker admitted.

  “I’m glad to hear that from you, but may I have an answer? With respect, I sense I’m missing a key detail.”

  “I’m offering you a choice before we engage the enemy, Mark. I exist to dispense justice, but I am also concerned with funding my ability to do so. The Class Six ship is a nuisance and nothing more at this point. But, as to our Yonnox friend, he is money walking.”

  “I’ve got a hit on scans,” Bunn interrupted.

  “His ship?”

  “Workboat, and it’s right where you suspected. We’re close enough for an approach with battlesuits,” Bunn said.

  “I’ll take the treasure,” Mark announced.

  Valint’s lips curled, and then she began to laugh. “Too smart. Too damned smart. Fine, Mark. You will follow-on with me, armed with one of my weapons, not yours, and we will secure the Yonnox and his secrets.”

  Mark held out a hand. “Which weapon?”

  Striker placed a small rail gun pistol in Mark’s hand. “Pull the trigger and make certain you aren’t in the way. The range is comparable to your rifle. The result is not. You’ve got about nine bolts in it. Since one shot can take out a small workboat, I don’t think you’ll need them all.”

  Mark hefted the pistol and then slid it into the holster attached to his suit. “When do we leave?”

  Valint pointed to the airlock with her chin. “Now.”

  Mark swallowed, nervous, and stepped toward the lock. “I hope the stars are as beautiful as I dreamed.

  “You’ll know in ten seconds. Bunn, cue the cycle. Striker, if she revolts—"

  “Alive or dead?” Striker asked.

  Valint said nothing, and Claudine averted her eyes, body rigid with fear.

  “Understood,” Striker said.

  Valint and Mark moved into the airlock. Valint clipped Mark to her by a tether, short, thick, and braided.

  “Do you fear this Yonnox?” Mark asked.

  “No. I fear his cowardice. He’s hiding, which means he will fight, then negotiate, and then, if he fails—”

  “He will cause death because of his own moral failings. People like him do not allow themselves to be beaten. Their hatred is limitless.”

  Valint closed Mark’s visor, and his suit beeped once, the seal complete. “Not as limitless as this.”

  The airlock opened, and eternity waited.

  “My god in heaven,” Mark whispered.

  Valint waited, letting him drink it all in. They were so close to the asteroid—and its four companions, rocks from thirty to two hundred meters in diameter—that the stars were blotted out. Only the dark remained, endless, bullying, and broken beyond the shadow of Gunarik’s hiding place.

  “We’re going out now,” she said.

  “How?”

  “Hold tight. I’ll show you.”

  He grasped her, eyes staring out into the black. With a command, Valint activated her suit thruster, and, as one, they began to move away from the Stormshadow, gaining speed as the jagged rock loomed ever larger. With a sudden shift, Valint rotated them, kicked a second booster, and applied delta-v to slow their approach.

  “Are you with me?” Valint asked.

  The asteroid filled their vision, dark, scarred, and lonely. Valint extended her legs as the booster cut, and they drifted at a snail’s pace, drawn to the rock by microgravity.

  “I am,” Mark whispered.

  “Weapons ready. He’s on the other side. We’ll use the rocks and go slowly, and when we get within range, we shoot.”

  “I can’t do this. I know I said I could, but I can’t. I’m from Pony Hollow, Iowa, and I was in France, and I—

  “Mark.”

  He stared at her through the visor, dim suit lights showing the sweat streaming down his face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, yet. We haven’t done anything other than take a walk.”

  His brief snort of laughter earned a smile. “A walk.”

  “When you think about it, yes. I brought you here to blood you. To see if you could do this—all of this. Being a Peacemaker has a short learning curve. You’ve taken unthinkable steps already. You have a weapon, and we have a task. Place your hands on the rocks and pull yourself along, delicately. We’ll see the criminal soon enough.”

  Mark tried to nod and failed. The suit wasn’t conducive to such gestures. Instead, he spoke. “I’ll go slowly, but I feel like I’ll be sick.”

  “Command override to suit three. Injection, antiemetic. Immediately.”

  Something pinched Mark in the shoulder, and, seconds later, he felt his stomach begin to quiet. “Thank you. I’m ready.”

  “Use your hands and step carefully. Follow me.”

  In a few steps, Mark realized it was a kind of dance—they bounced, slid, and skipped, drawing ever closer to the jagged ridge of stone Bunn had tagged as their goal. From that point on, they would be visible to Gunarik.

  Sweat poured freely down Mark’s spine, only to be absorbed by the suit as quickly as his body could produce it. He stank of fear, the air in his suit rank but cool.

  And then they were there.

  Bunn chimed in as they reached the ridge. “You’re close.”

  Valint squinted while she leaned against a rock as old as the solar system, Jupiter behind her a muddy orange dot. “Bunn, any sign of activity?”

  “None.”

  “He’s in hiding, then,” Valint concluded, bringing her own rifle around, its squat length gleaming darkly in the gloom of their suit lights. Dust rose as they wriggled into position, each grain hanging for a surreal moment before returning to the ancient, rocky surface.

  “I conclude the same, Vallie.”

  “He’s hiding?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. He’s got his engines cold, no comms. The plan was for us to chase his ship, and then he would slip away in the workboat.”

  Mark stared over the ancient landscape. “If he’s hiding and quiet, can we get close?”

  “Likely right up on him.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Of course—wait, why?” Valint asked, gripping her rifle.

  “Is it safe to look?”

  “Yes, you can look.”

  Mark lifted himself to the edge and peered down. He saw a small ship, far closer than he imagined, draped with a stone-gray fabric. “I have a question. Where is he in that craft? It’s cleverly hidden, but I can see the outline.”

  Valint stood, assessed the small workboat, and waved Mark forward. “We can go, using great care. With a ship that small, there’s only one place he can be. There, to the left. That’s the bow, facing away from us. He’s a tall being, three legs, a stalk of sorts, rings of eyes up top. He’ll be in a suit but likely not battle armor. Yonnox aren’t just scheming, they’re cheap. They avoid combat at all costs, too.”

  To Mark, the Yonnox sounded like sheer fantasy, but then he looked around at the enormous black sky, his own suit, and Valint.

  It is most real, Mark told himself.

  They were close now, approaching twelve meters of bulbous ship occluded by Gunarik’s efforts to hide.

  “How do we get in?” Mark asked.

  Gunarik answered. The hatch opened to reveal the Yonnox holding two weapons, which he began firing with abandon. The rounds went high, but he adjusted, walking the fire down as Valint drew careful aim, fired, and tore off one of Gunarik’s three sticklike legs, now free to spin away while streaming puffs of gas. The leg—clad in his custom pressure suit—hit escape velocity and wheeled away into the blackness.

  Valint wasn’t alone in her response.

  Mark’s round hit almost simultaneously, but years of hunting in Iowa made him choose a different target, albeit one that was shaped quite differently from the deer, squirrel, or birds he’d sent to the stewpot.

  Gunarik’s head shattered, his suit torn to shreds from the rail gun bolt that struck him in one of his many eyes. The Yonnox folded to one side, legs twitching, and then settled like a feather, raising a small cloud of grit as his corpse hit solid rock.

  “Most people take the certain shot,” Valint remarked drily.

  “When hitting a squirrel is the difference between dinner or starvation, you learn to make each bullet count.”

  “I think you’ve got quite a future in the guild if you want it. Now, let’s go see why he came here,” Valint said.

  Mark pulled himself up into the ship after Valint declared it safe, and they stepped delicately past Gunarik’s inert corpse. With a glance at the Yonnox, Mark learned a lesson out there among the stars—no matter what race beings are, when they die, they all look the same—like a waste of life.

  With the skill of a pickpocket, Valint searched the ship. She found a ceramic box and a long, narrow container of cheap metal, its surface dented and scored.

  “Pick one. We split the proceeds of this ship, including the auction when we sell the boat itself. As to any reward for bringing Gunarik to trial, well . . .” She pulled her lips down to one side, then made a hissing sound. “So, pick one. These are, I’m certain, stolen things, or things he found out here among the rocks since he had information from a source. You don’t just find things out here in space. You’re led to them, for a price, and good sources are as rare as whatever is here, waiting for us. If there’s a chain of ownership, we return the item. If not, you’ve gained something, including a stack of bonds to start your career. Should you choose it.”

  Mark, a hunter all his life, chose the longer box. It looked like a gun case but narrower. “This one.”

  Valint nodded sagely and then snapped the locking mechanism open on her square container, using an alltool from her thigh compartment. The lid came open with an effort—it was old—and she froze.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” she muttered. “We’ve been looking for this.”

  “You have?” Mark asked as she lifted the object out with care. It was a metal ingot, stamped with a language beyond human understanding. It moved easily in the low gravity, but Mark sensed it was dense, if not punishingly heavy, on the surface of a planet. The metal was gray and unremarkable. She made a low sound of approval.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Bunn, can you see this?” Vailnt asked, holding her comm unit over the ingot.

  “Congratulations. You’ve got the entire output of a star system’s osmium production. About a century’s worth in your hand,” Bunn answered.

  Striker chimed in on the channel. “Can I borrow five million bonds? I’d like to add jewels to my—”

  “No, although I might add onto the ship. Actually, I will add onto the ship. Class Nine, here we come,” Valint crowed. “Your turn.”

  Mark took the alltool and used it as a wedge to pry the end panel off. Tipping the container up, a dull black handle began to slide out.

  Followed by a long knife.

  Then it kept going, and Mark knew what it was.

  “A sword? I left France to find a sword? We’ve been making them on my planet for centuries. For a thousand years, at least.”

  The blade was arm length, plain, and curved. It was housed in a metallic edge protector and was unmarked. It was a cipher. It was . . . dull.

  Then Mark looked up at Valint, who stared, mouth open through her visor.

  “I take it this is good?” he asked.

  “Put it back. No, you can keep it—you should keep it, but you’ll require training, more than I can give you. And it’s not needed here. Not now,” Valint said. Her tone was reverent, like they were in church. “It will be. This isn’t some common length of metal—no, I see your expression, and I’ll tell you quite simply that complex weapons are not always best. We board hostile ships, and we fight in close spaces. Weapons come and go in this line of work, but a sword is forever.”

  Mark’s face went from pensive to accepting. He understood.

  “Valint? What did he choose?” Striker asked.

  There was a long beat, filled only with the background hiss of starsong and wonder.

  Then Valint spoke but not to Striker.

  “Mark, I’d suggest you come with me and begin your path. You could be good at this, but with that? You could be a name. You could be known.”

  Mark held the box a bit tighter. “I think I already knew. I’m not going back to Iowa.”

  “Yes, you will. But not all the time, and not right now. First, you must come with us. To Anvil Dark. That’s where the guild lives and breathes, and you’ll learn there. Not just how to dispense justice but how to live with the burden of being a Peacemaker.” She stared at the metal scabbard, for that’s what it was. The sword—beyond any monetary price—had been hidden here at least a century earlier, the owner lost to the depths of time. The sword was now Mark’s.

  “I will,” Mark said.

  Valint touched the scabbard. “Training starts when we arrive, Peacemaker Initiate. Now, let’s secure this ship for travel.”

  “What about this?” Mark asked, pushing the box forward a bit.

  “The Moonsword? It’s one of three. One of three we know of, anyway. It’s yours.” She shook her head, smiling. “Earth. Primitive, but—"

  “Never dull. To the stars, then?”

  She gave a single nod of true approval, seeing the young man in full for the first time. “To the stars.”

  Amazon won’t always tell you about the next release. To stay updated on this series, be sure to sign up for our spam-free email list at jnchaney.com.

  Like what you just read? Be sure to grab the first book, BACKYARD STARSHIP, available on Amazon now.

  Join the conversation and get updates on new and upcoming releases in the awesomely active Facebook group, “JN Chaney’s Renegade Readers.”

  This is a hotspot where readers come together and share their lives and interests, discuss the series, and speak directly to J.N. Chaney and his co-authors.

  Join the Facebook Group

  Don’t miss out on these exclusive perks:

  Instant access to free short stories from series like The Messenger, Starcaster, and more.

  Receive email updates for new releases and other news.

  Get notified when we run special deals on books and audiobooks.

  So, what are you waiting for? Enter your email address at the link below to stay in the loop.

  Click Here

  CONNECT WITH TERRY MAGGERT

  Check out his Website

  Connect on Facebook

  Follow on Amazon

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author and has a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at www.jnchaney.com.

  He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

  Terry Maggert is left-handed, likes dragons, coffee, waffles, running, and giraffes; order unimportant. He’s also half of author Daniel Pierce, and half of the humor team at Cledus du Drizzle.

  With thirty-one titles, he has something to thrill, entertain, or make you cringe in horror. Guaranteed.