Ghost Jumper (Interstellar Getaway Pilot Book 2), page 7
I shook my head. “Trust me, bud. We’re better off without her. She’s trouble. Syndicate trouble.”
He snorted and stamped his paw on the deck. I ignored him and pressed the controls on the wall. The ramp hummed and rose. The harsh sliver of light from outside grew smaller, fainter. And then, with a loud clank, it sealed shut. Baxter uttered one last annoyed grunt, then he slunk away to the bridge. The corridor lights flickered and sparked then went dark.
I pounded the wall with my fist. The lights came back on. Then I followed Baxter.
It was time to leave this dump.
Thirty minutes later, I was strapped into my flight chair, going over the prelaunch checklist with Baxter. The deck vibrated as the engine rumbled to life. I ignored Baxter as he barked off diagnostic readings. My eyes tilted down to the image wedged into my control panel. As I shifted my head, the image of Laura seemed to follow me with her eyes. It wasn’t a hologram, just a trick of the light. She was frowning in the picture, but her eyes crinkled in the corners as if she was struggling not to laugh. I remembered the look well. Usually it meant I had screwed up somehow, and she was gonna chew me out for a bit before forgiving me.
I could almost hear her voice echoing in the back of my mind.
There’s right and there’s wrong, Trev. Even a g-shock-addled cockpit monkey like you should be able to tell the difference.
Baxter barked again, louder. He was waiting for my signal to launch.
“Yeah, buddy,” I replied. “All systems go.”
I reached out and flipped the image around so the blank side faced me.
Last time I’d believed in things like right and wrong, I’d strapped myself into a star fighter cockpit and flew off to war. I’d made it back, mostly.
She hadn’t.
That’s where right and wrong got you.
The deck shuddered as Baxter increased power to the main engines.
I glanced out the window as I grabbed the throttle. “Sooner we get off this frozen rock, the better.”
The engines roared louder as I kicked the throttle up to maximum. The wings locked into position, and I felt a jolt as the Shadow Hawk lifted off the landing platform. But before we made it two meters into the air, the sound of grinding metal echoed through the ship. The wings creaked and wobbled. The engines sputtered, coughing like a Turbo addict on a two-week dry spell.
“Bax, something's wrong!” I shouted. “We’re losing thrust!”
An alarm wailed in the cockpit. Baxter looked at his diagnostic panel and gave a confused whine. Thick black smoke billowed through the cockpit. I unbuckled my flight harness and leapt from my seat as flames erupted in the patch bay behind me.
Before I could grab the fire suppressor, I felt the deck drop beneath my feet. I flew back against the wall and hit the deck as the ship came crashing down onto the platform. The landing gears' hydraulics groaned, compressing beneath the weight of the hull.
Gradually, the Hawk settled back into its landing position, and the alarm died down. The control panel flickered and went dim. Baxter disengaged from his seat and hopped over to me. He sat down, tilted his head, and gave me an inquisitive grunt.
I sat up, rubbing my head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
I glanced at the dark control panel and sighed. A single red light flashed.
The engine manifold relay. The component I’d meant to replace.
I stood up and stumbled, still dizzy. Baxter’s whine sounded concerned.
“Yeah, I know, I said I would replace it. I figured we could get a couple more jumps before—”
The synth dog growled, cutting me off. I waved my hand, hoping he’d stop making noise until the pain in my head died down. Besides, I got the gist of it. We needed to replace the part before we took off. And we didn’t have a spare on board.
“Okay, I get it. Time to pay Sal a visit. Maybe she’s got a secondhand part we can get for cheap.”
I looked out the cockpit windows. The lights of a lev-train rushed by as it carried passengers deep into the subterranean port.
I sighed. Guess I wasn’t done with this rock after all.
Or maybe it wasn’t done with me.
CHAPTER TEN
Aherd of pedestrians filled the Tulas streets. The neon glow of passenger ships darted overhead as they flew through the massive caverns. Ground vehicles honked and beeped as they struggled to navigate through the foot traffic.
High above the streets, jagged stalactites reached down from the shadows like gnarled claws. Nestled among the craggy rocks, endless tracks of stellar emitter cells flooded the caverns with artificial sunlight on a twelve-hour cycle. But despite their soft glow, the sprawling underground city was still dim and cold. The dank chill cut through my leather duster like a knife.
I shouldered my pack and kept my head down as a pair of Dranth officers walked by. They were laughing and slapping each other’s backs as they scanned the street with those unblinking yellow eyes of theirs. Dranth looked more or less human, but they had evolved from aquatic lizards, or so I’d been told. Their skin tones ranged from pale green to dark blue, and their eyes had a shimmering yellow quality. The membrane beneath their corneas gathered light, letting them see better in the dark. Also, they had extremely dense bones, hyperreactive muscle fibers, and neck gills that acted as a natural biofiltration system.
It was easy to see why they looked down on humans. They were simply stronger, faster, and tougher than we were. Not to mention the fact that they hadn’t reduced their home world to an uninhabitable toxic wasteland. So there was that.
One of the officers didn’t look where he was walking. Probably mesmerized by the glowing brothel holograms in the distance. His shoulder slammed into me. He spun around, but I kept moving, avoiding eye contact. The last thing I was looking for was more trouble. And it was not as if a Dranth needed much of an excuse to pick a fight with a human.
Before they got a good look at me, I ducked down an alley carved through the rock. It was a tight fit, and my pack scraped against the sides as I shimmied through. Lengths of pipe and corrugated tubes ran through the rock walls, distributing power and heat throughout the complex. Steam belched from a ventilation grille, and I winced as the scalding vapor burned my arm.
I emerged into another cavern. The crowd was sparse here, just a few hunched figures with weathered faces and hard stares. Most of the hovering signs were broken. Glowing holograms flickered and derezzed above the buildings, indecipherable blurs of color and light.
I kept my hand close to my pistol. A couple human spacers gave me the eye as I walked past. Maybe they belonged to the Menagerie. Maybe they were just looking for an easy mark. But either way, when I brushed aside my jacket and revealed the gun strapped to my thigh, they lost interest. There were easier marks than me in the streets of Tulas. And let’s face it: I didn’t exactly look rich.
A battered hover truck screamed down the tunnel, floating a few meters off the ground. It left a trail of dust and rock particles in the air behind it. I wrapped my keffiyeh scarf around my neck, covering my mouth and nose. Then I darted across the street and knocked on a dented metal door.
A crimson beam scanned my face, then a woman’s voice crackled through a tiny speaker grille in the door. “Trev Corvus? That you?”
“In the flesh.”
I peered into the scanner and gave my most charming smile.
“Get your scrawny butt in here, azukra!” She sounded happy to see me. Azukra was one of the few Dranth terms of affection. It was what they called their pets.
The door rumbled up like the portcullis of some ancient castle. I ducked and entered the dim shop. It wasn’t much to look at. Just a dark room with stone walls and a few dusty shelves covered with old scrap. Scorched armor plating, fried power relays, massive spools of frayed dusty cables… nothing anyone would actually want.
A metal counter ran along the far end of the shop, and several holodisplays floated above its worn, pitted surface. The glowing words on the screens identified the place as Sal’s Salvage Shack: High Quality—Low Prices. I might have quibbled with that first part, but the second half of the sentence was true. At least, it was true if you were on Sal’s good side. If she didn’t like you, you’d be lucky to leave with all your organs, let alone any credits left in your account. Human kidneys fetched a high price on the black market. Some species considered them a delicacy.
“Well, slap my oshi and call me Shuvuka! It really is you!” Sal emerged from a beaded curtain behind the counter. The Dranth woman stood about a foot taller than me and probably outweighed me by about fifty kilograms. Dranth flesh was denser than human, and Sal had a mean sweet tooth.
She waddled out from behind the counter, and before I could say a word, she smashed my face between her breasts with a crushing bear hug. “Trev, I can’t remember the last time you visited my corner of the galaxy! How are you keeping that old junker flying? You two-timing me? Buying parts from those Ronari caravans?”
My reply was a series of muffled grunts. I returned the embrace, gasping for breath.
Sal, short for Salvatara, wore a neon-print kimono and about a hundred beaded necklaces draped around her neck. Her skin was lime green, with blue dots around her bulging yellow eyes. Those blue scales meant she was up there in years. Way older than me, anyway.
I chuckled as she finally released me. “Come on, Sal, you know me better than that. Hell, I’ve been missing you. Your parts are so good, I never have an excuse to come back!”
She laughed at my flattery and gave me a firm pat on my shoulder. “Ah, Trev. You’ve got the gift of gab, that’s for sure. You could smooth-talk a Dranth courtesan out of her lingerie.”
“I don’t know about that. Those ladies have expensive tastes.”
Sal chuckled. I followed her as she brushed aside the curtain and entered the rear of the store. “Don’t I know it, son. That’s how my fourth husband went broke!"
We entered a musty storeroom. Sal rummaged around on the shelves, moving aside a pile of grease-covered fuel nozzles. Then she rapped three times on the wall behind the shelf. A tiny panel slid open, revealing a security terminal.
Sal tapped a series of keys on the panel. The wall rumbled aside, revealing another chamber beyond.
The front of Sal’s Salvage shack was just a front for the cops. Truth was, Sal ran one of the biggest chop shops in the quadrant. If a ship was stolen or salvaged within twenty parsecs of this place, I’d put even money that its parts showed up here.
We stepped into a vast, dark cavern. A mangled orbital shuttle sat in the center of the chamber, and a horde of short, insectile aliens scurried over its surface. The hiss of plasma torches and the scream of industrial saws filled the air. Sparks cascaded from the ship's hull as the worker insects stripped it apart piece by piece. A pile of components lay on the ground nearby.
The wall made a rumbling sound as it closed behind us, and Sal guided me to a small podium. “Well, as good as it is to see you again, I know you didn’t come here just to flirt,” she drawled. “The Shadow Hawk’s the only lady in your life. So what did you screw up this time?”
“Blew out an engine manifold relay,” I said, glancing up as a tiny hover sled streaked overhead, dropping bits of junk behind it. I stepped sideways as a ventilation grille clanged onto the floor about a meter from where I had been standing.
Sal examined the holoscreen on the podium and frowned. If she noticed the rain of metal debris falling around us, she didn’t show it. Instead, she pursed her lips and made a sputtering sound. “Let’s see here… the Hawk is a Model XB-13, but a couple cycles ago, you had to retro-fit a relay housing from a Galtak series seven, right?”
I smiled and shook my head. “When it comes to compatibility issues, I’m more of a duct-tape and plasti-bond kind of guy.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “That’s why your ship’s always falling to pieces. Those atomic engines are feistier than a Vrell hooker on a Turbo binge. Treat ’em right if you want—”
An elderly alien, a Suhkarian, hobbled up to us, panting and growling. His wolf-like snout and tufted ears gave him a predatory look, but his fur was falling out in patches, and he was missing one of his fangs. The old-timer was Jusko, Sal’s head mechanic. He'd been working the shop for as long as I could remember. But I couldn’t recall him ever looking so uneasy.
His bright eyes darted back and forth between Sal and me. “Got visitors up front,” he growled. “Can’t say I like the looks of ’em.”
Sal tilted her head and gave him a curious look. “You thinking local cops or Trans-Corp?” she asked. “I swear, what in the name of Ajen do we pay bribes for if they keep bothering me when—”
Jusko cut her off with a low growl and a shake of his head. His ears flattened against his skull. “Don’t look like cops or blue berets. They smell fancy.”
Sal narrowed her eyes. “You don’t mean…” She turned and gave me an accusing stare. “Trev, you bring Syndicate to my door?”
I almost said no, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie to her. “I… I don’t know,” I finally answered. “Some ships chased me on my last gig. Unmarked Vrell Interceptors. Fast, high powered. Expensive.”
Sal spat on the ground then tapped the screen on the podium. An image glowed in the air between us. It was a live feed from the cams in her shop. And it showed a tall, well-dressed Dranth male holding a pair of leather gloves in a clenched fist. Three Vrell in flight suits stood behind him. They weren’t even trying to hide the fact that they were hired muscle.
Sal shook her head. “This looks bad. Jusko, take him into the rows. Get some coveralls on him, keep him out of sight.”
“Sal!” I grabbed her arm.
She shook out of my grip easily and pushed me away. Like all Dranth, she was stronger than she looked. She glared down at me for a second then sighed. “What is it with you, Trev? You either got a strange aversion to living or a strange addiction to pain.” She turned and stalked toward the secret door in the wall.
“Wait!” I sputtered. “Where are you going?”
She glanced back at me over her shoulder. “I’m going to go talk to these guys. See if I can fix your mess. Before we all end up in a pain amplifier!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Behind the scavenged hulks of various starships, rows of shelves filled the depths of the chop shop. They seemed to go on for kilometers, disappearing into the shadows of the cavern. Old K’tarath-class cannons, engine thruster nozzles, crystallized reactor chamber linings… Hell, Sal probably even had some Ghost Drive parts sitting in this mess somewhere.
Jusko dragged me past a trio of human workers. They were smoking cheap synthetic-tobacco cigarettes as they huddled next to a stack of fused armor plating.
“Get back to work, you mangy scavs!” the wolf-like alien growled. “We’re not paying you to smoke that cheap-ass skuk! Half the junk in here is flammable. Flarging humans!”
“Hey,” I snapped.
Jusko glared at me and snarled, revealing his fangs. What was left of them, anyway. “What? You think bringing the Syndicate to our door makes you some kind of genius?”
I gritted my teeth, but for a change, I kept my witty comebacks to myself. The old-timer had a point.
The canine alien grabbed a pair of stained, tattered coveralls off a rack and tossed them to me. “Here, put these on!”
I held the soiled garment up to my nose and sniffed. Big mistake. My gag reflex kicked in as I struggled to stop myself from vomiting. “Jusko, what the hell was wearing this? It smells like—”
“I don’t care if smells like a Malgupian’s sweat sack! Put it on and keep your head down. Grab an ionizer or something and look busy!”
He left me in the stacks. I looked around, searching for a way out of the cavern other than the door at the other end of the chamber. But all I could see were jagged rocks and row after row of old engine parts. I grabbed a plastic bin from the shelf and started plunking scrap into it, trying to look like a worker. Peering through a gap between the shelves, I spotted Sal leading the Dranth and his thugs past the scavenged shuttle.
Up close, the guy looked even more imposing. He was tall, even for a Dranth, and a long leather trench coat draped over his athletic body. He held a pair of gloves in one hand, and shimmering metal rings adorned each of his fingers. A translucent blue holovisor masked his eyes, and his dark-green skin was patched with iridescent blue scales. Like Sal, he was on the older side for his species.
The Vrell thugs behind him were standard-issue muscle. Before the war, they had been a warrior race. Now that there was an alliance, the lucky ones worked in law enforcement. If they couldn’t score one of those jobs, they acted as hired guns for gangsters and criminals. And if they couldn’t hack that... Well, life wasn’t kind to a warrior race without a war to fight. If the Dranth hadn’t kicked their asses so badly in the last one, I was sure they'd have just started blowing some other species to hell. But the treaty they’d signed forced them to disband their military, at least for the foreseeable future.
As a species, Vrell were about as tall as the Dranth, with broader shoulders and even more muscles. Their skin was a dull brown color, and their eyes were small, beady, set far apart. Their bald heads and beaked noses reminded me of an old Earth animal I had seen in holovids. Turtles, I think they were called. But make no mistake, Vrell weren’t slow. Pick a fight with one, and they’d tear you apart plenty fast.
Sal looped her arm around the gangster’s waist, but he quickly pulled away. Jusko barked orders to a group of human workers, who quickly lined up in a row. The thugs eyed each one of them as they walked down the line.
