The Great Space (Scrapyard Ship Book 6) Page 6

  Stalls’ arm jerked. Jason’s heart stopped in his chest as he watched his daughter fall to the deck. He continued to watch in suspended horror only to realize she wasn’t bleeding. She reached for her neck as if feeling for blood.

  “Move away from him, Boomer! Hurry! Do it now.”

  Boomer crab-walked backward away from Stalls and then got to her feet.

  Stalls held up his pistol, first pointing at Jason and then at Boomer. Boomer slowly moved over to Jason. He reached an arm around her and pushed her behind him. He’d taken the SuitPac device from his belt and, as discreetly as possible, placed it into her palm.

  Stalls continued to point his weapon at Boomer. “The little bitch stays right there. I get what was promised before she goes free.”

  Capt. Jason Reynolds:

  Boomer, put that thing on your belt. Then squeeze the two small tabs.

  Crew Mollie Reynolds:

  What is it?

  Capt. Jason Reynolds:

  Put it on your belt and squeeze the tabs inward at the same time.

  Before Jason had completed the NanoText, her SuitPac’s segments were already expanding outward to cover her body. Boomer took a step to the side, showing her newly outfitted self to Stalls. His expression seemed perplexed.

  “By the way, Stalls, I lied,” Jason said, “those ten ships you demanded … they’re not coming. Nan … she’s still twenty-five light-years away. Oh, and one more piece of news: Within the next few minutes your three ships will be boarded by my teams. You’ve pretty much lost everything.”

  Jason knew the easiest thing for Stalls to do would be to fire a plasma bolt into his forehead and be done with it. With his SuitPac already in use, Jason wasn’t sure what his next move should be. He counted on Stalls wanting the kind of revenge that came with him using his fists first … and now, by the crazed, enraged look Jason saw in his eyes, that’s exactly what was coming.

  Like a charging bull, Stalls sprang forward. A yell of frustration emanated from deep within his core. “I’m going to rip your head off!”

  Jason took in the pirate’s contorted face and, in a flash, remembered all the pain the man had caused. How many fellow crewmembers had lost their lives at his hands? For God’s sake, he’d actually killed Nan. Jason recalled the grief Boomer had undergone, as she stood broken-hearted at her mother’s funeral. And now … what torturous things had Stalls done to Petty Officer Miller? Was she even still alive?

  Jason darted forward, coming in low, and met Stalls’ advance head-on. As the two collided, Stalls was ready for him and swung the butt of the plasma pistol down on the crown of Jason’s head. Pain blazed as Jason fought to stay conscious. When the second blow hit him precisely in the same spot as the first, his knees began to buckle …

  Chapter 10

  Jason’s nanites were already working overtime repairing what he figured must be a fractured skull. He’d underestimated Stalls’ first move. Fortunately, by the time the crazed pirate was bringing the butt of his pistol down for a third strike, a strike that would undoubtedly lead to Jason’s early demise, Jason still had enough wits to bring his left arm up to block the blow. Still unsteady on his feet, Jason staggered backward. But what surprised Jason next was Boomer. She went at Stalls like a crazed animal. She charged forward, first punching, then kicking at him. The battle suit’s micro-servos enhanced every blow and she was hurting him. By the time Stalls managed to bring up his plasma pistol, he was down on one knee. He fired directly into her visor and didn’t let up. Boomer staggered backward as Stalls regained his feet and pursued her.

  Jason watched, knowing the advanced battle suit she had on was nearly impervious to anything Stalls might try to do to her. And though Boomer would dislike the sensation that came from being blasted in her suit’s visor, repeatedly thrown backward, she was safe from actual harm. In the meantime, Jason was getting some needed seconds to recover from the strikes he’d taken to his head.

  Jason figured Stalls’ plasma pistol’s power pack should be just about spent. He’d fired hundreds of pulses at Boomer, with no effect. She was now standing, both hands on hips, defiantly looking up at Stalls with an expression Jason recognized as one he’d often made himself.

  Finally, Stalls’ pistol fired its last pulse and died. Angrily, he threw it at Boomer and rushed toward her. Jason was there to stop him, hitting him hard in the jaw with an uppercut.

  “I’ve got this, Boomer,” Jason said, getting in between the two. Stalls took an unsteady step backward, and then another, until his back was against the bulkhead. He lashed out with the knife clutched in his other hand. The blade sliced through the air, missing Jason’s ear by a fraction of an inch. Stalls used that same momentum to spin away from the bulkhead. Jason followed him as he ran down the corridor, toward the intersection, where Jason’s multi-gun lay against the bulkhead around the next bend. Both men were now running full out. Jason, seeing Stalls near the turn, stretched out his arms and dove toward Stalls’ legs. He was sure he had him, but felt the smooth fabric of the pirate’s dress slacks slip through his fingers. It was only by pure chance the back of Stalls’ heel lifted at the right instant for Jason to make a grab for it. The heel, too, slipped through his fingers but it was enough to stumble the fleeing pirate. Both men went sprawling to the deck in a tangle of arms and legs. As Jason got to his knees, Stalls delivered a kick to Jason’s solar plexus that doubled him over, making him gasp for air. Jason saw movement from the corner of his eye—a quick reflection of light gleamed off Stalls’ blade. Now, both on their knees, Jason intuitively blocked out with his left arm, striking Stalls’ knife hand at the wrist. The knife flew from his grasp and skittered across the deck.

  Momentarily hesitating, the men stared at each other, and Jason glimpsed a flash of fear in Stalls’ eyes—perhaps a realization he was about to die. Jason jabbed hard with his left fist, nearly flattening the cartilage in Stalls’ nose. As blood spurted high in a wide arc, Jason followed through, using all his strength, with a haymaker powering into Stalls’ left cheek. As Stalls went flying downward on the deck, Jason got to his feet and retrieved the knife. He first held it in his open palm, before grabbing the handle so tightly in his fist his knuckles turned white. It was now time. Stalls’ wrath of killing would finally come to an end. Jason felt no remorse for him. He’d killed men for less. The only difference here was the satisfaction he’d get from doing so. He turned to look down at Stalls sprawled awkwardly below him. He was coming around, trying to heave himself onto an elbow.

  Jason took three steps and lowered himself down on one knee, pushing the bloodied pirate back down with his left hand. Slowly, Jason brought the knife up over his head, stared down at Stalls’ chest, picturing his beating heart, inhaled and—

  “Dad, stop!”

  But Jason was already driving the knife down with everything he had, using all his strength, until the blade was driven down to its hilt. Silence. Nearly a minute passed before Jason let go of the knife and raised to face his daughter. She stood at the end of the corridor with her eyes locked on Stalls’ inert body. It was then that she spied the knife’s handle protruding out from an open grate in the deck, no more than an inch from his head.

  Stalls’ eyes were leveled on Jason, the condescending smile back on his lips. “I would have killed you,” he rasped. “Someday I will.”

  Jason brought two fingers up to his ear and hailed Billy.

  “Go for Billy.”

  “Billy, it’s a Go … time to take all three ships. Move fast … we need to be on our way within the next few minutes. Also, I need a security team here, at my coordinates.”

  “You let the dog live—didn’t you?”

  Jason didn’t answer.

  * * *

  There was no resistance from the Craing crew. Billy’s teams moved, making synchronized phase-shift incursions. Security teams of ten men each were now stationed on all three ships, and two additional armed combatants were placed on each ship’s bridge.

  A
s Boomer led the way back to where she’d last seen Petty Officer Miller, Jason continued to take care of critical mission strategy and other ship business. He realized he’d need to assign new commanders to all three ships. He hailed his brother, whom he’d noticed had become somewhat listless, directionless, since the destruction of his first large ship command, Her Majesty.

  “Go for Brian.”

  “Brian, I was wondering if you could do me … the Alliance another favor?”

  “Are you serious? I think I’m all out of favors this week, Jason.”

  “That’s fine. You don’t work for me; it’s up to you.”

  “What were you going to ask, just out of curiosity?”

  “I’ve got three Craing cruisers that we’ll be bringing into the Alliance. One of them, a heavy cruiser, is in excellent shape … but we’ll get one of the fighter pilots to take command of her—”

  “You offering me a ship? One of those big cruisers?”

  “I don’t want to force you into anything.”

  “No, I want it!”

  Jason cut the connection and noticed Boomer had neared a hatch. The locking mechanism appeared to be blown out, as if someone had used a plasma weapon on it from inside. Boomer, still wearing Jason’s battle suit, swung the hatch open and entered a large, brightly lit, compartment.

  “This is the kitchen galley. It’s really gross in here, Dad.”

  That’s an understatement, Jason thought to himself. Bodies of God knew what species were stacked against bulkheads, like cords of wood. Metal tables, the kind you’d expect to see in a morgue used for autopsies, were strewn with cadavers as well. Jason held back his gag reflex as the overpowering smell of decomposing flesh filled his nostrils.

  “She’s over there!” Boomer said, running toward the back of the galley.

  Jason followed but wasn’t at first sure what he was looking at. Then he realized it was Miller. She was lying on the deck, balled up in a fetal position. Jason ran, reaching her in four long strides.

  Miller’s clothes were ripped and splattered with blood. She was facing the bulkhead, her hair covering her face.

  “Let me in here, Boomer. Stand back.” Jason carefully brushed Miller’s hair away but stopped when he saw the damage. Black and blue bruises covered most of her face. Her lips were split and blood trickled from both corners of her mouth. Her chest, equally bruised, was exposed. Jason could see she was alive, her lungs filling with air in slow deep breaths. He pulled her torn spacer’s jumpsuit together and saw Miller bring a hand up to hold the torn fabric in place. Her eyelids, two swollen slits, opened and watched him.

  “Where’s Stalls?” she whispered.

  “He’s been dealt with. You’re safe. You’re going to be fine.”

  Jason straightened up and hailed Dira.

  “Jason! Are you all right? How’s Boomer?”

  He had to smile; she’d never quite conformed to following proper military communication protocol. “Boomer’s fine. Petty Officer Miller is injured and requires your attention. She’s pretty badly beat up. I’m not sure if I should move her—”

  “No. Don’t move her until I can assess her condition. I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 11

  With Captain Stalls locked securely within The Lilly’s brig, Petty Officer Miller spending needed time recuperating within a MediPod, and the three Craing cruisers outfitted with minimal security and officer crews, Jason was ready to move the lot back to Earth to defend against the quickly approaching Vanguard fleet of dreadnaughts. His only remaining task was to check in with Ricket for an update on the Minian’s condition.

  “Captain, much of the hull reconstruction has been completed. The ship’s repair drones, co-mingling with the ship’s own outer hull, self-repairing nanites, have accomplished the rebuilding. Your first priority directive to have weapons systems and shields up and running is now complete. Granger, Bristol and I are spending most of our time getting the Minian’s drive and navigation systems fully operational. I believe we are close to completing that task also.”

  “Ricket, that’s amazing. I’m not sure how you’ve accomplished so much in such a short amount of time, but I’m thrilled. As I’m sure the admiral will be, too. What’s your best-guess timeframe for being ready for space travel?”

  “Minimum … five days … max, maybe seven,” Ricket responded.

  “Seven! That’s about six days longer than I’d hoped to hear. We’ll keep the Determined by you. The second you have nav and propulsion systems up and running, I want to know. There’s a good chance the Minian will be the deciding factor defending Earth, as well as all other planetary systems throughout the sector.”

  “I understand, Captain. But I wouldn’t underestimate the capabilities of The Lilly herself. Over the past year, much of the same technological advances you find on the Minian have been integrated into The Lilly. I would suggest you take Bristol with you. He’s aware of the technology and can think on his feet, if required.”

  “He’s also impossible to work with. But I see your point. We’re leaving this area of space now and will wormhole close to you, before moving on to Earth. Have him ready to phase-shift on board.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  * * *

  The Lilly emerged from the mouth of the interchange wormhole thirty thousand miles out from Earth’s upper orbit. Ships were everywhere. Already at battle stations, Jason waited for Orion’s tactical assessment of the situation.

  “This is what’s left of the Allied fleet, Captain: four hundred and thirty-two warships … some in Earth’s upper orbit, others positioned farther out in space.”

  “And the Vanguard fleet, Gunny?” Jason asked, looking from the ever-picturesque sight of Earth to the numerous close by warships, now occupying local space. Visioning Earth again never got old.

  “They appear to be stationary, approximately six million miles out, Cap.”

  “Captain, incoming hail from the Catchfire,” Seaman Gordon on comms interjected. “The admiral’s on board and they’re en route to converge on the moon at stipulated coordinates.”

  “Thank you, Seaman. Helm, change course to the newly-supplied lunar coordinates.”

  Jason saw Seaman Gordon shaking his head. “What is it, Seaman?”

  “Now that we can pick up Craing communications, and I can actually understand what’s being said …” Gordon stopped mid-sentence, as if he were listening to something on his comms. “Captain, I think they know.”

  “Know that we’re here?”

  “No, well, yes. They know The Lilly’s here. Apparently there are several small Craing corvettes in local space whose sole purpose is to spy on our comings and goings. But they also know about our ruse … getting their fleet to return back to the Craing worlds.” Gordon, with two fingers up to his right ear, was quietly listening again. “Yes, sir, they definitely know. Not only is that same fleet, which they call Fleet 9, en route back here, several other fleets are also returning: Fleet 173, and Fleet 25—that’s close to five thousand warships total.”

  “Damn!” Jason exclaimed under his breath. He knew it was inevitable but had hoped for more time. “Gunny, can you pick out the two corvettes Seaman Gordon is referring to?”

  “I’ll do it,” Bristol said, entering the bridge with a sour expression on his face. “I’m betting she’s clueless on how to use the new probability matrix tech, anyway.”

  Orion swung around, looking ready to tell Bristol where he could stick it, but caught herself when she saw Jason’s raised palm. She got the message … don’t, it’s just not worth it.

  Bristol found an open station and immediately went to work, taking a seat between Gordon and Orion. He suddenly rolled his chair sideways until he was practically on top of Seaman Gordon. “You might want to watch what I’m doing here, Gordon. I’ll even go extra slow for you.” Bristol rapidly entered information at his console, pointed to something on the small holo-display, and then tapped at the keys some more. “See? Don’t forget t
o show this to your twin. I definitely have no intention of getting this close to either of you again.” Bristol turned toward Jason and pointed to a newly added segment on the overhead display. “There’s your hidden corvettes. Stealthy little ships … wouldn’t even show up under standard sensor readings.”

  Jason saw two faint icons—just outside, and on opposite sides, of Earth’s higher orbit. “Gunny, can you get a lock on those two ships?”

  “No problem, Cap.”

  “Do it.”

  Jason watched the display as two newly added missile icons came into view and quickly made their way across open space. First one, and then the other icon several seconds later converged on the two Craing vessels.

  “Both Craing corvettes destroyed, Captain.”

  Ensign McBride said, “Captain, we’ll be at the lunar coordinates within five minutes.”

  “Very well, Ensign,” Jason answered.

  Bristol rose and stood beside the command chair. “Captain, I request permission to see my brother.”

  “Captain Stalls is in serious trouble.”

  Bristol shrugged one shoulder. “Hey, I realize he’s a maniac. But he’s still my brother. I should see him … even if it’s for the last time.”

  Jason brought his full attention over to Bristol and assessed the skinny, irreverent young man standing next to him. “I can’t let you see or talk to him unsupervised.”

  “How about if Dira escorts me?”

  Jason reluctantly nodded. “Only if and when her schedule allows. There will be no physical contact. Five minutes, no longer.”

  Bristol looked as if he was about to object, then set his mouth into a thin straight line. He left the bridge without saying another word. Jason knew he was giving Bristol far too much slack—not only for his shitty attitude, but also the lack of respect he showed both him and the other officers on the bridge.