Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle (3 page)

Mollie looked up for a brief second before returning her attention to the job at hand. “You’ve eaten Mom’s cooking … right?”

Jason and Boomer nodded at the same time. Nan was a terrible cook. It made sense now: Mollie, who was spending most of her time living with her mother, would either have starved, or learned how to cook. Obviously, the latter case had prevailed.

Mollie used a spatula to place pancakes onto three awaiting plates. “Boomer, can you get off your rear end and pour us some OJ?” Mollie ordered.

Boomer made a face at her and headed off toward the fridge.

“You excited to see your mother again?” Jason asked, as Mollie put a plate down in front of him.

“I am,” Boomer replied, returning with a carton of orange juice.

Mollie said, “I guess … she works a lot. I don’t see her all that much. Mostly, I’m asleep when she gets home at night. And when she is around, she’s crabby … I guess she has a hard job. Lots of people always bugging her.”

“She has a very important job—” Jason started to say.

“She’s the frigging president, Mollie!” Boomer butted in, coming back from the cupboard with three glasses.

“I know she’s the president, dip-wad … guess who’s been living with her all this time?”

“Hey, I don’t like that kind of talk from either of you,” Jason said, giving them each a stern look. He put a heaping forkful of hot, syrupy pancakes into his mouth and gave Mollie two thumbs up. “Really, really good, Mollie.”

Boomer stuck her tongue out at Mollie, displaying a mouthful of half-chewed food. About to reprimand her, Jason stopped when he heard repeated, distant, plasma fire. He stood and looked out the back window. The fence was moving—teetering back and forth.

“What the hell …” He moved to the sliding door and stepped out onto the deck. The fence was covered with climbing bodies. One after another, peovils were jumping onto the fence before sliding back down. The two droids were firing toward those making it anywhere near the top of the fence. In truth, he felt they were using a surprising level of restraint. He signaled to Teardrop with a waving hand.

Within seconds the droid was hovering in front of him. Jason gestured toward the scrapyard and what remained of a plasma turret gun—a gun destroyed months earlier by the pirate Captain Stalls. “We’re leaving soon. What can be done to repair that turret gun?”

The droid turned in the direction of the black-charred dome, with its drooping plasma weapon. “New parts would need to be manufactured. I would need access to
The Lilly
’s phase-synthesizer.”

“How long?”

“Two hours and eleven minutes, Captain Reynolds.”

“Get started now. I want this location secured against all future attacks, even if no one’s living here.”

Jason watched as the drone moved away, heading towards the old yellow school bus at the far side of the scrapyard. The surrounding fence was again being rocked back and forth. To his left, another peovil was attempting to climb over it. Jason recognized him. It was Larry Gipson—he owned the filling station just down the road.

Chapter 3

Both Mollie and Boomer had overstuffed backpacks slung over their shoulders, while Jason carried a Navy-issued duffle bag. All three were not only tan, but had sunburnt shoulders, foreheads, and noses. Jason felt a tinge of guilt as they came up the rear gangway and entered into the back airlock chamber of
The Lilly.
The hatchways were open—letting fresh air replace weeks of stagnant, recycled air. He heard the ship’s AI make the announcement, “Captain Reynolds has boarded
The Lilly
.”

“Good morning, Captain Reynolds.”

Jason stopped in his tracks, seeing Petty Officer Miller waiting just outside the airlock. The girls ran forward and wrapped their arms around her waist. This alone would have been a miracle two months earlier as neither girl had warmed to her much in the past. A conditional requirement imposed by Nan, the glorified baby-sitter officer had sacrificed much to protect the girls—especially Boomer. Jason’s mind flashed back to Captain Stalls and the torment he’d brought into all their lives. He briefly wondered if the psychotic pirate was still locked up within the brig on board.

“I didn’t expect to see you again … especially anywhere near
The Lilly
,” Jason said, with a sideways glance.

She extricated herself from the girls’ arms and readjusted her spacer’s jumpsuit. “I had no plans to return to this mad-house, sir. But over time, I became restless. Restless ... and feeling rather guilty. I realized what I did here
was
important. That the now acting president’s daughters needed me. That you needed me to be here.”

“Whoa … slow down, Petty Officer … let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Jason said with a wry grin. He kept moving, heading for the closest DeckPort. He spoke over his shoulder, “You taking control of the little monsters?”

“Yes, sir … I’ve got them.”

* * *

After a quick stop at his quarters to drop off his duffle and change clothes, Jason headed into the bridge.

The ship’s AI announced, “Captain on the bridge,” as he entered the command center of
The Lilly
. The XO, Lieutenant Commander Perkins, stood up from the command chair and smiled at him. “Welcome aboard, sir. I take it your leave was restful?”

“Thank you, XO. It was fine. Where are we at with things?”

More of the bridge crew began filing in and Jason saw Perkins’ eyes flash over to Orion as she took her seat at the tactical station.

“We’ve just returned from the line … what we now call the outer perimeter of the solar system, where we’ve set up—”

“I know what the line is, XO … I haven’t been that removed from what’s going on. The line is where we’ve set up defenses against the three Craing fleets: Fleet 9, Fleet 173, and Fleet 25—comprised of at least five thousand warships—which have basically been in a holding pattern in space for approximately sixty days.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Still no communications from them? Still not responding to our hails?”

Perkins shook his head. “No, sir. But they don’t seem to be accepting their incoming hails from command back in Craing space either. That could be important.”

Jason chewed on his lower lip and thought about that for a moment. “That is interesting. What else?”

“Well, before that, we were in Allied space. The admiral was with us.”

“How we doing, bringing the Alliance back together?”

“Mixed. A few of our old allies are considering rejoining the Alliance … others, though, are adamant they are better off on their own. In light of the destruction caused by the Vanguard fleet … the fact that neither
The Lilly
nor the
Minian
were there to assist them … they just don’t see the point.”

Jason didn’t have an argument for that. He raised his eyebrows for him to continue. Again, the XO glanced over to Orion. “We, um … made a stop-off at Jhardon.” Perkins made a sympathetic expression and Jason understood what his problem was.

“Yes, you dropped Dira off on her home planet.” Jason turned toward Orion and then back to Perkins. “I’m not a child. You don’t need to pussyfoot around the subject. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Ensign McBride turned from his station toward the command chair. “Welcome back, Captain, what destination coordinates should I be configuring, sir?”

“I have a meeting with both the acting president and Admiral Reynolds in Washington, in two hours.” That reminded Jason, he needed to check in with Teardrop on his progress with the plasma turret. “Give it another thirty minutes before we head out. I’m having some last minute work done above ground.”

“Aye, Cap.”

Jason retrieved his virtual notepad and started to review all the messages marked urgent. There were several from Ricket. Jason had been keeping up with him on his and Gaddy’s mission to Terplin. Their covert mission had required them to take the
Streamline
back through HAB 12 to Halimar, and then onto the north pole of Terplin. Once there, they were to meet with the revolutionary command. Jason scrolled down to the last message. Apparently, Ricket and Gaddy had met several times with Zay-Lee. Jason had been introduced to the young revolutionary on Halimar and had provided him with some weapons and SuitPacs; they’d obviously made a world of difference for the small band of revolutionaries. Jason noted that Ricket, now traveling under his alias of Nelmon Lim, and Gaddy were optimistic that the new, fledgling, independent government wanted to establish diplomatic ties to both Earth and what was left of the Alliance. This news alone was staggering, considering the events over the past few years. Of course, there was still the problem of the vast Craing force still stationed in space. So far, the now-alienated fleet, what was considered the Imperial Craing military in space, was leaving the Craing worlds alone, not hampering the new, quickening spread of independence—freedom from the old regime … and the ways of the Emperor.

Jason’s eyes scanned further down and caught on the name Ot-Mul. He read the line again:

It is now confirmed—Acting-emperor Ot-Mul survived the attack on Chrimguard. He, along with four battle droids, has escaped. He is now firmly in command of all Craing forces in space.

“Damn it!” Jason spat under his breath. That was one piece of information he hadn’t been aware of. He looked up to see Gunny watching him.

“Ot-Mul?” she asked.

“Yeah … it’s like he has nine lives.” He scrolled down to see if there were any more messages from Ricket and found none. “Anything else new from Ricket?”

Gunny shook her head. “Last confirmation we had they were heading back to Halimar on board a small shuttle … that was two weeks ago.”

“We’ve been able to contact the AI on board the
Streamline
… they never made it back.”

“What are our options? Can we communicate directly with Zay-Lee?” Jason asked, concern in his voice.

“Communications have been spotty, at best. He did confirm the two had indeed been loaded onto a shuttle and sent on their way. He, too, is worried. I guess Zay-Lee and Gaddy became close … she was talking about returning to the Craing worlds permanently, to be with him.”

Jason sank back in the command chair and thought about the situation.
What have you gotten yourself into, Ricket?
He didn’t want to overly speculate on what may have happened. The truth was, Jason had few friends in life … real friends. Billy and Ricket came to mind. First Dira, and now Ricket too, lost? The heaviness in Jason’s heart must have shown on his face.

“Well, if it isn’t our long lost leader.”

Jason looked up to see Billy’s smiling, concerned face. He returned the smile, stood up, and shook Billy’s outstretched hand.

“Tan … relaxed, probably drank Mai-Tais poolside … you sure you want to be back here?” Billy asked.

“All good things come to an end … plus the peovils, what my kids call the zombies, were getting a bit too close for comfort.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back. It’s time we get out there and kick some more Craing ass.”

“That’s the plan … but we have some other business to take care of first.” Jason’s mind then flashed back to Ricket.
What have you gotten yourself into, Ricket?

Chapter 4

The sheer size of the vessel, if that’s what you could even call it, was on a scale that rivaled a small planet—certainly a planetary moon.
Dreathlo
r prison barge was well over one thousand years old. One of their first bounties of war, some two hundred years earlier, the
Dreathlor
’s immense value and potential had quickly been obvious to the Craing. First of all, it was impregnable. With an outer hull hundreds of feet thick, and made from some kind of iron-carbon composite, the prison barge had never been breached. Not even close. The sight of the barge alone instilled fear and dread in all those coming anywhere near it. Dark, rusted, and always moving slowly in space, the prison barge was more than what it functioned as: It was a clear message—no, more like a warning. Go up against the Craing Empire,
or what was the Craing Empire,
and you’ll find yourself confined in here—a fate often worse than death.

Superintendent Gettling was not Craing. He was human. A slender man of average height, with a tightly, impeccably trimmed beard, he was fastidious: a quality that was in direct opposition to the chaotic, and all too unpredictable environs around him.
Dreathlor
prison barge was his domain, his purpose in life. And where most beings would find such a dark existence intolerable—exiled, as it were, among the misery and depravity—he relished it. There was a place in the universe for
Dreathlor
. There was a place in the universe for people like him. He would probably never leave the ship. He had no desire for conventional relationships, or to live among his own kind. Here, among the distant moans and screams of the exiled—and routinely tortured—was home.

Deep within the maze of tight, intersecting corridors at the prison’s mid-starboard section, Gettling sat at his desk and reviewed the interstellar correspondence one more time. It was short and concise, something he liked about the Craing—always to the point, no wasted sentiment or formalities:

To: Superintendent Miles Gettling

Directive 1: Continue to interrogate prisoners Gaddy Lom, and her friend, Nelmon Lim. It is essential that more information be harvested from both of these dissident traitors.

Directive 2: You will alter course to the new heading provided. Expedite disposal of all non-essential prisoners before reaching the intended destination—Corpus-Lang, within the Orion star system. Make haste. No stops or deviations from provided route.

Immediate commencement of these orders is a directive of Admiral Ot-Mul.

Gettling smiled. He’d been traversing this same quadrant in space for nearly four years now. Time to mix things up. He inputted the spatial coordinates into the terminal on his desk and waited for the methodical, slow-thinking AI to respond.