Ghost Jumper (Interstellar Getaway Pilot Book 2), page 3
Everything about him, from the way he moved to the cheap cigarettes he smoked, screamed ex-military. But not like me, not a pilot. His sleeveless vest exposed the infantry tattoo covering his prodigious bicep. Beneath the faded design, a barcode marked his skin. All the grunts had them. Helped MEDEVAC teams identity their bodies when they got blown to pieces.
The other two humans were your typical low-level riffraff—dumb and hungry. You could almost see the glowing credit symbols in their eyes. One was named Max, and the other was Bob. They were vat pack brothers, identical clones. Only difference I could spot was one parted his purple hair on the left, the other on the right. I didn’t know which one was the original template, but it didn’t matter. They both had high-speed data recorders in their brain stems. If one of them died, their memories would transfer to the other.
Then there was the girl. Xiri.
She was different. For one thing, she was quiet. Unlike Brubaker and the vat boys, she hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes telling me what a sure thing this job was. Instead, she just looked at me with those big black eyes of hers.
Xiri wasn’t human. She was a Gray. That was what humans used to call her species, anyway. Of all the aliens in the galaxy, the Grays were the only ones humanity knew about before our exodus from Earth. Maybe that was why the Dranth held them in such low regard.
Most people thought of Grays as short, skinny aliens. Big bald heads, spindly arms, long creepy fingers. And that was all true. But those were just the males. Females were pretty close to human proportions.
Xiri caught me watching her. She blinked and turned away, flipping her shoulder-length raven-black hair away from her face. With her big, dark eyes and pert, tiny nose, I couldn’t deny there was something attractive about her. You could almost call her cute.
She wore a baggy flight mechanic’s jump suit and a blue baseball cap. She was chewing gum, and she blew a big pink bubble. It burst with a soft pop. Then she sucked the gum back into her mouth and kept chewing.
“So, like I was telling you,” Brubaker said, glaring at me with his intense blue eyes, “we’re expecting minimal resistance. My boys will take care of ground security. You don’t even have to leave your ship.” He chuckled and took a drag off his cigarette. “Unless you like to get your hands dirty.” He blew a trail of smoke up at the ceiling. The ventilator fan above us hummed as it sucked the toxic vapor into the streets outside.
“I don’t leave the ship,” I said, returning his stare. “I never leave the ship.”
Brubaker shrugged. “Fine. Some guys like to have a little fun, is all.”
“Some guys are morons," I replied.
Xiri looked at me again, this time with a faint smile on her lips. Bob and Max grumbled and sipped their coffee. One of them stared at me over the rim of a dented metal cup. I think it was Bob.
“I don't know," he said. "Guy's got a lot of attitude for someone who’s not taking any risks.”
I leaned back in the booth and let my hand slide under the table. “You want to use the Trans-Corp Network? Go right ahead. Wait in line with the rest of the suborbital traffic. Local authorities will blow you out of space long before you make it to the jump gate. And if they don’t, Trans-Corp security forces will log your jump, match back your coordinates even if you spoof a transponder. They’ll have a nice, detailed record of every access and exit point you take. And their marines have intersystem jurisdiction. You think you can stay one step ahead of them? Good luck with that.”
I started to get up, but Brubaker grabbed my arm. “Sit down. No one’s leaving.”
And just like that, the party started. A flick of my wrist sent my slycer into my hand. A split second later, I held the blade at Brubaker’s throat. I heard a low hum, and for a second, I thought it was the kinetic field surrounding the blade. But it wasn’t. Max had a bolter aimed at me, and the charge indicator was glowing at full strength.
Xiri pointed a slugger at my chest. It was one of those massive subsonic velocity pistols. The mag only held four rounds. But it would only take one to blow a hole the size of an exhaust port in my torso.
She popped another bubble, never taking her eyes off me.
I looked down at Brubaker. “Sorry. Get a little touchy when people invade my personal space.”
The ex-soldier’s pupils grew bigger by the second. The black dots seemed to swallow his pale irises. He was juiced up on something, maybe a stimulant. A vein in his neck twitched, and I could tell he wanted to throw down. But he clenched his cigarette in his teeth, blew out some smoke, then removed his hand from my arm.
“Relax,” he said. “Let’s all remember why we’re here. Joven told me you’re the best. We need the best. That means we need you. So no one’s getting scorched.” He turned his head and stared at his people. “You get me?”
Max lowered his gun. Xiri did the same. We all sat back down.
“Okay, Jumper, so tell me one thing,” Max said. He blew a lock of hair from his face. “Why we gotta go through with stealing this transponder? I thought you could just jump us out of the system.” He slammed his palm into his fist. “Bang, right into FTL, faster than light. Seven parsecs away before they even know what hit them.”
I sipped my coffee and shook my head. “Doesn’t work like that. Once I power up the Ghost Drive, it needs to build up enough antimatter in the reaction chamber to trigger the jump. Takes a few minutes. Besides, I can’t jump within a planet’s atmosphere.”
“Why the hell not?” the guy asked, eying me like I was dating his sister.
“Because if I do, the ship will explode and we’ll all die. I need preflight clearance to keep the local cops off our tail until we clear the planet. Then, and only then, we can jump.”
“Fine,” Brubaker said, cutting in. “We’ll take care of it. We get you the transponder, you get us out of the system, and we all get paid. I'll cut you in for ten percent.”
“Try again,” I snapped, setting down my cup. “You talked to Joven. So you know that’s not the deal. My fee is one hundred K. Half up front. Half on delivery.”
“What?” Bob spat up his coffee. “Are you serious?” He turned to his boss. “Screw this loser! I know five jumpers who charge half as much!”
“If one of them is Charlie Hawkins, scratch him off your list," I said. "His Ghost Drive suffered a microfissure leak. What’s left of his ship is still in orbit around Kelios Five.”
“Fine,” Brubaker said, his voice low and icy. “One hundred thousand, half up front. We good?”
A synth server unit floated by and offered to fill our cups, but Max waved it off. As it drifted away, I slid my credit chip over the table’s reader.
“One more thing. I’m sure Joven told you about my rules.” I kept my hand near the butt of my pistol as I spoke. In my experience, if a deal was going to go sideways, this was where it tended to happen. Spacer goons like these hated the word “no.” They were like two-year-olds with guns.
Brubaker raised a single eyebrow. “What rules?”
“Rule number one, I don’t work slave trade. Whatever you bring aboard, I’ll be scanning for life signs. If I find any, I’ll dump you and your cargo in the street and jet. And no narcotics, either. That’s rule number two. I don’t need that kind of heat.”
He glanced at Xiri. She popped another bubble then nodded. “It’s a coffin,” she said.
I was so surprised to hear her speak, I did a double take. Her voice was a little high-pitched but pleasant.
“Excuse me?”
She blinked her big black eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “That’s what we’re hauling. Ancient sarcophagus, filled with pre-Dranth civilization artifacts. Stuff’s worth a fortune to collectors.”
“Okay, fine.” I finished my coffee. "That leaves rule number three, the most important one. I don’t cross the Syndicate. I don’t care how big a score it is. I don’t care how much money you’re willing to pay. I don’t ever cross the Syndicate. We clear?”
The vein in Brubaker's neck quivered again. I was sure he was gonna take a swing, but he just smiled and stood up. My fingers curled around the butt of my pistol, but he kept his movements slow and his hands where I could see them. The others followed suit, falling in behind him.
“We’re clear," he said. "Talk to Joven. He’ll vouch for the job. We’re ripping off a rich art collector, an accountant. He won’t make any trouble. Probably has the stuff insured anyway. We get in, we get out. Everyone gets paid.”
I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his pale-blue stare. I relaxed my hand, let go of my gun. “I’ll be at the rendezvous site on Elysium at the designated time. Once I’m on the clock, you’ve got five minutes. When the timer runs out, I’m gone.”
“See you then, Jumper.” He turned and sauntered out of the cafe. The others followed, sneering at the synth unit as it skimmed past them, carrying platters of food.
Xiri turned to face me as they filed out the door. She blew one last bubble, sucked the gum back into her mouth, and gave me a bigger smile than before. Then she followed the group into the crowded station, letting the transparent doors slide shut behind her.
I gave them a few minutes then exited the cafe. Outside, a fine mist of smog and chemical vapors filled the air. The pollution was so thick, you could barely see the stars through the dome. A steady trickle of moisture fell from the overworked ventilation units hanging overhead. It was always raining on these stations, always gloomy and overcast.
I ignored the falling streams of water and crossed the street. A few hover cabs honked their horns as I cut through the traffic. I made my way to the opposite sidewalk and tapped my comm card as I shoved through the crowd.
“Kosik here,” a gruff voice answered.
“Joven, what the flarg, man? You said you’d be at this meeting!”
“Trev?” Joven sounded surprised to hear from me. I could hear plasma welders in the background. Sounded like he was in one of his chop shops. “Sorry, mate. Some idiot boosted a Dranth politician's pleasure synth. Had to disinfect the thing's chassis in a chem bath before I could reprogram it. Took longer than I thought.”
I ducked under the awning of a zambeki noodle stand as more moisture trickled down from above. “I don’t know these people, Joven. I almost scorched that infantry psycho.”
“Brubaker?” I sensed a change in Joven’s voice. He was laughing, but there was some hesitation there. A note of caution. “He’s okay, man. But don’t push your luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s solid, but he’s wound a little tight. One too many combat drops, you know? He’s probably been patched together by a medtek unit a dozen times. They revive you that many times, some screws come loose, ya know?”
“You’re not exactly selling me on this job.”
“Listen, Trev, this could be big. Those stuck-up Dranth got a hard-on for relics from dead civilizations. It feeds their egos.”
“And you’re sure the mark isn’t connected?”
“Syndicate? No way, bro.” Joven chuckled. “He’s a bloody accountant. He does taxes for corporate stiffs. I’ll send you all the info. Check him out for yourself.”
“I will. You can count on it.”
“Trev, you know me better than that.” He sounded hurt, but I knew it was an act. He was just worried I wouldn’t take the job. Which meant he wouldn’t get his fixer cut.
I glanced around the crowd. Sometimes Trans-Corp security agents worked undercover. They were always looking to take out guys like me to protect their investment. But all I saw were a bunch of spacers. Average joes, human and alien alike, scurrying through the smog-filled streets.
“You vouch for these guys?” I finally asked. “One hundred percent?”
“One hundred percent, Trev.”
I bit my lip, silent as I thought it over. Ahhh, who was I kidding? I needed the cash. And Joven knew it.
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’m in.”
I cut the signal then made my way to the nearest lev-train station.
One hundred percent... Something about Joven's words rang hollow to me. Maybe it was that hesitation, the caution in his voice when I mentioned Brubaker.
For a second, it almost sounded like he was afraid of the guy. And like Joven said, he was no fool.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Bark bark bark! Growl.”
Five days later, I was on site, leaning back in my flight chair on the Shadow Hawk’s bridge. A tangle of spliced wires hung from the wall behind me, and the roof above the cockpit was missing a few maintenance panels. But the damage was strictly cosmetic. I kept the engines in top shape, including her Ghost Drive. If it came down to a chase, I wasn’t worried. Not much, anyway.
Baxter hopped down from the copilot’s seat and pawed at the deck to get my attention, but my eyes stayed glued to my holodisplay. I was watching the local broadcasts but not for entertainment. I always monitored local news feeds when a job was about to go down. Sometimes, the media drones caught police transmissions before my clients did.
“Bark, bark bark!”
I reached down to pat Baxter’s head. The smooth metal dome was cool to the touch, and his optical sensors pulsed with blue light. His tail made a swishing noise as it wagged back and forth. He looked happy, but a second later, his body stiffened, and he growled again.
“I know, buddy, I know.” I tried to pat him again, but he ducked away. He didn’t trust our new clients. And considering his sensors were about a thousand times more accurate than mine, he was probably right.
He climbed back into his chair and hit a button with his paw. Support rods emerged from the seat and locked into his body, securing him in place.
I glanced at the timer on the edge of the holodisplay. Twenty seconds till go time.
Buckling my inertia harness, I started flipping switches on the control panel. Diagnostic data filled my screen, replacing some of the news feeds.
“Primary systems are go. Green across the board. How’s backup looking?”
Baxter gave me an affirmative bark.
A strange sense of calm descended over me as I gripped the control sticks in my hands. For some, space flight was a terrifying ordeal. For others, it was boring and monotonous. For me, it was a high. Better than any drug, because I never built up a tolerance. The edge never got dull. The speed, the power, the endless black horizon, and all those distant stars… For a few minutes, nothing mattered except what was right in front of me. Everything else faded away, and I felt alive. Really alive, not just going through the motions.
Baxter barked again. I glanced at the display. The numbers were red. Brubaker and his team were eating into their five-minute window.
“Powering up thrusters.” I pushed the throttle lever up a notch. Nothing happened. The engine light was dark. I slammed it with my fist, and it blinked to life. A shudder ran through the hull as energy flowed to the main engines.
Baxter whined.
I shot him a quick grin. “Relax. I’ll fix that manifold relay after this gig, I promise.”
The clock was ticking. Two minutes left to go. Nothing on the holovids. No police chatter or security alarms reported.
“Come on, Brubaker. Don’t keep me waiting,” I whispered to myself. I couldn't have cared less about ditching him, but it would piss off Joven. And for some reason, I couldn’t get that Gray girl’s smile out of my head.
Baxter grunted. The clock kept ticking. One minute, thirty seconds.
“How’s the transponder?” I asked.
My robotic dog’s eyes pulsed with light again. He was accessing data from the ship’s computer. The transponder signal data appeared on my screen. We were masquerading as a private courier ship, registered out of Tulas. The Shadow Hawk was now the Azure Dawn, cleared for launch with Trans-Corp Network access.
I cracked my knuckles, grabbed the throttle lever, and pushed it up one more notch. I heard a loud clank as the rear flaps opened up, followed by the roar of atomic fire. The ship rattled as the engines cooked.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
Ten…
I tightened my grip on the control sticks.
A burst of static crackled through the comm system. I could barely hear Brubaker’s voice, lost in a sea of white noise. Baxter cranked up the signal, and the transmission cleared.
“This… Brubaker… Heavy resistance… jamming… ZRRRK! We’re on our way. ZZZZRK…. Don’t you fucking leave… ZRRRK!”
Jamming. Who was jamming?
I checked the display again. No news. No police deployments.
I gritted my teeth. Something was wrong. All my instincts screamed at me to lift off. Dump these losers. Barrel into the upper atmosphere at full speed and then jump the hell out of this system.
Instead, I prepped the final launch sequence and kicked the ramp release pedal.
The clock ran out, and an alarm wailed through the ship. Baxter barked up a storm, telling me it was time to leave. I ignored him and tapped the transmitter.
“Brubaker, this is Corvus. Cargo ramp’s down. Get your ass on board, and then we’re out of here. I’m giving you thirty seconds. After that, you’re on your own.”
I heard more static. Then a different voice responded. “Please, we’re almost there!” It was Xiri. She sounded scared, frantic. “Don’t leave us!”
Baxter stopped barking. His neck clicked as he turned to look at me. His ears flopped down, and he whined.
I clenched my jaw and tapped the transmitter again. “I’m not leaving. Just hurry.”
A few seconds later, I saw them skid onto the landing pad. They were in an unmarked hover truck, and the air rippled like a heat mirage under the hauler’s grav jets. Even at this distance, I could see the long black scorch marks running down the side of the rear container. Sparks flew from the driver’s-side cockpit.
Someone had taken a few shots at them with a heavy energy weapon. Cops didn’t usually pack heat like that. Had to be private security or…
A chill ran down my spine. Get a grip, I thought. You’re jumping at shadows. You checked the mark’s info yourself. No known Syndicate connections.
