'112' Book Excerpts

[Angmor]

Well, here we are again, with the newly revised version of Elvorn's and my book, complete with new title. By the way, it's no longer in HTML format, otherwise thoughts would be italicized, and also certain words for emphasis. I may go back and put those in later. Without further ado, I bring you sample chapters of our book, '112':

No matter how many times he had safely reentered the atmosphere, Charles Grant could never feel entirely comfortable when the hull temperature readout climbed up near the red line. The saying among cargo-shuttle pilots was that any silent landing was a good landing. It referred to the klaxons that would activate if the shuttle was overheating, but Grant decided that they evidently had a different description of silence than the majority of humanity, because the bass rumble of the reentry burn assaulting the underside of the hull was enough to set his teeth to rattling.Pulling his eyes away from the temperature gauge, he glanced briefly at the other occupants of the shuttle’s bridge. In the pilot’s chair to his left, the diminutive figure of Captain Elizabeth Hugin deftly adjusted a few dials on the large control bank in front of her, her posture completely at ease as she made the myriad of minor course corrections that would keep the shuttle from burning up during reentry. She might have been described as pretty, but the captain’s appearance was all business. Mousy-brown hair brushed the shoulders of the leather jacket she wore over drab, extra-small fatigues, neatly framing her sharp-featured face and green eyes. Despite the mind-numbing volume of the turbines and the rapidly rising temperature gauge, that face did not betray the slightest hint of worry. Beth had been a commercial pilot for over a decade, Grant knew, and the gut-wrenching deceleration burn experienced during a planetary landing was nothing new to her.To Grant’s right, one of the passenger seats was filled by the last member of the shuttle’s crew: the contract procurement officer, Ramirez. In a previous life, Ramirez had been a gang-member on Apollo, and it showed, from his severe buzz-cut to his black jacket and combat boots. He and Beth shared an attitude of what Grant could only describe as “readiness,” but while the captain was relaxed and easygoing, Ramirez was a coiled spring. Old habits died hard, and the procurement officer was never without a knife or two and he often spent hours in the shuttle’s modest weight-room, punishing its disheveled punching bag. At the moment, however, he seemed to be enjoying the view out the viewscreen as the ship plummeted through the clouds.
Tightening the already snug safety harness over his bulky, six-and-a-half foot frame, the shuttle’s security officer admitted to himself that it bothered him when he was only separated from the incinerating three-thousand degree temperatures outside the shuttle by a pane of super-reinforced polycarbonate.
Suddenly, the viewscreen’s head-up display flickered and a calm female voice came over Grant’s headset. “Captain, we are now clearing the danger zone and hull temperature should begin to return to normal. I am engaging the atmospheric turbines to bring us to a horizontal flight path.”
“Thank you, Tavia,” Beth replied. “Full power on all turbines until we get down to thicker air.”
“You got it. Be aware that I still have no sensor readings on number three turbine. That includes coolant, so there is a very small chance of catastrophic failure.”
“How small?”
“I’d estimate about point-five percent.”
“We’ll risk it. Whatever’s causing the problem with your readings shouldn’t affect coolant levels.”
Grant grunted wearily. “You have such a nice way of saying it may or may not randomly blow up, Tavia.” Dealing with computers was not one of his specialties.
“Thank you, Charlie.” If a computer could sound smug, then Tavia was exuding self-satisfaction. “As the ship’s AI, it is my job to inform you of any inherent risks involved in the running of this shuttle, meaning things that would turn your frail human bodies into disconnected particles of vapor.” Ramirez snickered. “Also, the port authority is on line one and waiting to talk you down.”
“That’s fine, Tavia,” Beth interjected. “Put them through, I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
The HUD flickered again and the communications light on her control panel lit up. A scratchy voice flooded through the cockpit. “Shuttle Beta-Tango-Niner-Niner, this is Hephaestus Port Authority. You are cleared for landing at dock seven-four-alpha. Repeat, cleared for dock seven-four-alpha, over.”
“Copy that Hephaestus PA, be advised that we’re getting some blank readings on one of our atmos engines, over.”
“Understood. I have emergency rescue crews on speed-dial. Don’t leave any smears on my landing pad, over.”
“I think they must transfer all of the port authority workers with professional attitudes to maintenance,” Ramirez said, grimacing.
“Don’t worry, if we do lose control, we’ll ram the tower.” Grant joked.
Rolling her eyes, Beth reached out and took the control yoke, easing it slightly back and forth. Agonizingly slowly, the ship rolled to port, seemed to hang suspended for a moment at thirty degrees, then, even more slowly, rolled back to a level deck. “Charlie,” she said, looking down at the artificial horizon in front of her, “lock in coordinates for spaceport dock 74-A, will you?”
“You’ve got it, Captain,” Grant said, entering the required target information.
The shuttle creaked alarmingly as the superheated metal hull began contracting in the cool air of Hephaestus’ atmosphere. Fortunately, the rapid expansions and contractions of a planetary landing had been planned for by the heavy engineering company responsible for making this particular type of shuttle, and the pliable metal of the outer hull could handle the strain of thousands of reentries. The shuttle was an older model; fifteen standard years had passed since it had rolled off the production line, but it was a surprisingly durable craft, with one of the densest pressure hulls on a ship available to civilians. After one look at the outside of the ship, anyone could see that this was a good thing, as the shuttle’s hull was scored with gouges and burns from collisions with floating debris. Its drab grey paint was chipped and peeling, with much of the slightly-iridescent armor underneath showing through.
Under the steady hand of Captain Hugin, the battered ship slowly leaned to starboard and came about, heading for the guidance beacon that the Hephaestus PA had just locked onto their radar. “Alright, can you and Ramirez head back and make sure we’re ready for unloading?” Beth yelled over the roar of the turbines, “I want everything ready when we collect our fee so that we don’t have a misunderstanding like last time.”
“On it, Beth.” Grant pressed the release on his safety harness and bounded to his feet, followed closely by Ramirez. He was never happy just sitting around. Which, of course, Beth knows, he thought to himself. She could have Tavia do it just as easily. He grinned.
Pulling off his headset, he grabbed the handrail on the left side of the bridge and jogged back to the hatch leading to the crew’s cafeteria. The cafeteria-cum-recreation room was sparsely decorated, bearing only a few token booths bolted against the walls. No one could remember the last time Beth had picked up passengers, so more accommodations than the crew required simply took up extra space. Grant glanced briefly at the booths, then turned to his right and opened a trapdoor in the floor.
After Ramirez had gone through, Grant grabbed the head of the ladder and slid effortlessly through the hatch coaming. His heavy leather boots thudded dully on the floor as he landed at the bottom of the ladder, turning to look down the corridor leading aft to Cargo Bay Two. On either side of the corridor, three identical doors led to crew cabins. The ones on the left were unused, the ones on the right belonged to Beth, in the farthest forward, Grant in the middle, and the ship’s stand-offish contract procurement officer on the end.
“I think you can handle making sure none of our cargo fell out of the hatch by yourself,” Ramirez said, opening the door to his cabin. “I am going to work on a project of mine.”
“Okay, just make sure you’re topside when our client drops by,” Grant replied, peering around Ramirez at the cabin. It seemed like every time he was able to sneak a glimpse in the room, a mess of electronic parts was actively engaged in covering every surface between the door coaming and the far wall. Ramirez’s hobby, if it could be called that, was building gadgets ranging from audio bugs to night-vision goggles out of old parts, but Grant held a secret belief that he was trying to make an army of tiny robots out of the old datapads and radios that he kept tearing apart.
“I will be there,” Ramirez assured him shortly, slamming the door with a marked lack of ceremony in Grant’s face. The security officer grunted, shrugged his shoulders and turned to the door to Cargo Bay Two.
And then the shuttle fell out from under him.
With a yell of surprise, Grant dropped back to the deck, landing awkwardly in a heap. Cursing, he carefully pushed himself to his feet, testing his weight on his left, which had taken most of his weight when he fell. Not a sprain, he decided, just bruised.
Hobbling to the ladder, he climbed up as quickly as he could, favoring his injured ankle. As he reached the top, the ship bounced again, almost throwing him back down the hatch. Grant pulled himself quickly onto the deck and staggered back through the cafeteria and onto the bridge, trying desperately to keep his balance as the ship jinked up and down.
Dropping heavily into the co-pilot’s chair, he fumbled with his harness. “What’s going on, Beth?” he yelled, grabbing the headset and jamming it down over his ears. Immediately a wave of chatter washed over him, trying to drown out the turbines.
“We’ve got a bug in engine three,” Beth’s eyes never left the viewscreen. “It’s not in sync with the other turbines and isn’t reducing power, so the shuttle’s slewing all over the place. Tavia’s working on isolating the cause of the problem, but she says that the system is still locking her out. Might take a few minutes.”
“I think joking about ramming the tower might not have been the best idea,” Grant said, scanning the airspeed and altitude data displayed on the HUD. “Have we got a few minutes?”
“Dock seven-four-alpha is only a few dozen klicks ahead. At this speed, we’re going to leave quite a dent in the traffic control tower. I’m trying to bring our speed down, but number three turbine is making that a real problem. Reduce power to turbines one and two to twenty percent.”
“Twenty percent, aye.” He eased the levers back another notch, waiting for the ship to slow. “She’s not responding. Cut the power?”
“We’re already taking a chance of one and two flatlining as is, hit the emergency brakes and cut all power to three and four!” Beth shouted, her knuckles white as she gripped the yoke, trying to keep the shuttle on a straight course.
Grant pulled a red handle under the console, and the shuttle’s speed dropped dramatically, allowing Beth to pull the nose up and slow down even more. Reaching across the panel in front of him, Grant pressed two buttons on Beth’s console, waiting for the sensors to indicate that the power levels of turbines three and four were dropping. Five seconds passed. Ten, fifteen, still nothing happened. Grant swore, pressing the release on his harness and swinging out of his seat. “Shutoffs aren’t responding! The system bug that’s making three go haywire must be affecting those as well. I’m heading down to engineering to turn it off manually!”
Beth jerked her head in what Grant thought was an affirmative, the tendons in her neck standing out clearly as she wrestled with the yoke. Diving for a handhold as the shuttle dipped again, he started making his way back toward the ladder he had gone down earlier, fighting to keep his footing on the wildly bucking deck. When he reached the hatch leading to the crew’s quarters, he sat down on the edge of the coaming and carefully eased himself down, making sure not to jar his injured ankle when the shuttle jumped. At the foot of the ladder, he turned left instead of continuing aft to the cabins and climbed down a second set of rungs built into the metal bulkhead. Immediately the antiseptic smell of the engineering spaces hit him. In old, combustion-engine powered craft that used grease in large quantities to lubricate the moving parts, the need for sterile conditions didn’t exist, but when too much accumulated detritus could foul a ship’s life support system, it paid to keep the bowels of a spacegoing craft clean.
“Alright Tavia,” Grant shouted into his headset, “What am I looking for?”
“There’s no need to shout, Charles; I’m filtering out the turbine noise from your headset’s audio pickup. Head aft and look for two red breaker switches on the black box next to the reactor. They’re easy to spot, so even you should be able to find them.”
“Got it,” Grant said, ignoring the insult and weaving his way through the banks of computer processors and navigational equipment until he stood facing the featureless grey block that supplied the shuttle with ninety percent of its power. “Black box. The one on the wall?”
“That’s right.” Grant thought he detected a hint of worry in the AI’s voice. “Now pull the breaker marked ‘EGN 3-4,’ and hurry up, we don’t have all day.”
Grant grabbed the handle of the breaker, more out of reflex than intent, as the ship pitched violently to port. Regaining his balance, he gripped the breaker and pulled down. Nothing happened. Taking a closer look, he realized that the hinges connecting the breaker to the black control panel were corroded and, without a doubt, had been so for a long time. Bracing his feet and squaring his shoulders, Grant gripped the breaker with both hands, pulling until the muscles in his forearms shook with the effort.
“Bloody son of a rusty, broken down—” he hurled a stream of invective at the immobile breaker switch before realizing, a second too late, that he was still connected to the Port Authority. Switching off his headset’s microphone, he looked around desperately for something that would help him maneuver the breaker into the off position.
“Tool locker!” Tavia’s voice cut into his audio channel. “Other side of the reactor. Come on, shift it, we’ve got another eight and a half klicks until we leave our mark on Hephaestus’ spaceport!”
Not bothering to reply, Grant dashed around the reactor block, instantly spotting the bright yellow “in case of emergency” box bolted to the inner hull. Knocking a few of the tools out of the case in his hurry, he fumbled to free a heavy-duty crowbar from its clips. The few moments it took to release it felt like an eternity that the shuttle didn’t have at that moment. Stumbling heavily against the reactor as the shuttle dropped another meter, the security officer jammed the crowbar bit in between the breaker and the face of the console, planting his feet and straining against the metal.
Come on, you bloody chunk of metal. I’m not going to die because of rust…
With a sharp crack, the breaker gave, flipping down to the ‘off’ position and sending Grant staggering against the bulkhead. As suddenly as they had begun, the tremors that had racked the shuttle stopped, and a few seconds later the roar of turbines one and two increased in volume and returned to a steadier cyclic rate.
Breathing heavily, Grant slid down the bulkhead and sat with his head on his arms, ignoring the trickle of blood coming from his hand where the crowbar had caught it in his fall.
“Tavia,” he said shakily, pulling the headset mic down to his mouth, “can you put me through to Beth?” Tavia huffed impatiently— Grant had no idea where she had picked that up— and a second later a welter of voices came through his headset. Before he could say anything, the voices were cut off as the channel was overridden.
“Shuttle Beta-Tango-Niner-Niner, this is Hephaestus Port Authority. Your airspeed is too high. Reduce your power, repeat, reduce power. Is this that faulty turbine you were talking about?” It was the PA officer they had talked to before.
Grant glanced at the breaker and stood up, walking slowly toward the ladder on the now steady deck. “Yeah, Hephaestus, that’s the one. We’ve got it under control now. You might still want to have those rescue blokes on standby though.”
“Copy that, Bee-Tee-Niner-Niner, we’ll roll out the welcome mat, over.”
A minute later, Grant slumped wearily down in his harness and stared out the front viewscreen at the flashing blue lights of the emergency rescue vehicles parked near shuttle dock seven-four-alpha. Beth was still hunched over the controls, her fingers flying over a dizzying array of switches and buttons as she deftly brought the lumbering shuttle to a standstill over the docking zone. Meticulously, she pulled the thrust control back, notch by notch, until, with the barest of bumps, the shuttle was no longer airborne.
Running her hand through her shoulder-length brown hair, Beth stared absently out the viewscreen as fire control crews scurried around the landing pad. Suddenly, she laughed, leaning back in her chair and grinning when Grant quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I wonder how Ramirez handled all his little tech pieces flying around like chaff?”
Grant chuckled as he envisioned the unsociable procurement officer having a heart attack as his carefully disassembled radio pieces were scattered around his room. Conquest of the galaxy: postponed, he thought to himself with a smile.

[Angmor]

The sight of the shuttle resting solidly on the pad was always a welcome sight for Beth, but now it seemed even more inviting than normal. Of course, it wouldn’t look that way to any outsider. She had called ahead shortly after leaving the taxi and Ramirez had shut the cargo ramp, locked down all other hatches, and in general made like a fortress with no one home. Beth could picture him lurking in the cargo-spaces, his MOSS-3 Tactical Shotgun waiting to teach any intruders the error of their ways. Probably unnecessary, she knew, but as the somewhat overused adage stated, better safe than sorry.
Besides, Ramirez seemed to enjoy it.
“We’re secure, as far as I can tell,” Grant said. “Nothing’s changed since we left.” After making their way carefully through the port, they had concealed themselves behind a stack of empty shipping containers at the edge of the pad, giving them a chance to survey the situation before making a move.
“I think so too,” Beth ducked back behind the container to glance at her friend. “Shall we risk it?”
“Sure,” Grant said with a broad grin, reaching into his jacket to place his hand on the grip of his Maxwell-50. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“If you’re quite finished with your tough-guy act,” Phillips hissed. “Could we please get on with this? The shuttle is right there.” As they had come closer to the spaceport, his nervousness had abated somewhat, his professorial disposition reasserting itself as his confidence grew.
Oh boy, Beth thought. Here we go...
Grant, suddenly serious, rounded slowly on Phillips. “You’ve obviously never read much about soldiering, Doc,” he said, his voice flat, ready to be honed into an edge. “If you had, you would know that thirty-percent of all casualties in a military evacuation happen in the last thirty seconds. Considering that there are three of us and about forty seconds left in this particular operation, a little caution is warranted, don’t you think?”
Phillips tried to hold the glare, he really did. But in the end, he looked away first. “Yes, well... I understand. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Consider yourself let known,” Beth broke in. While she agreed whole-heartedly with Grant, she was ready to get this whole journey over with. “Grant, take point. Phillips, right behind him. I’ll take the rear.”
“You got it, boss,” Grant said, drawing himself up. “On my mark. Three, two, one… go.” With that, he pivoted around the containers, advancing across the pavement with the grounded, flowing movements of a fighter, making no attempt to disguise the hand on his weapon. Despite his words, Phillips seemed perfectly content to watch rather than follow. Beth rolled her eyes, shoving him soundly from behind the stack. Finally, she turned around and followed, advancing with her back to her companions, all the time watching for threats lurking in the cluttered terrain of the docking port.
With her free hand, the one that was not grasping the rubberized grip of her LK-2 in its holster, she keyed her earpiece to preset 1. “Hey Ramirez, we’re back. Mind opening the back door? Spare key wasn’t under the flowerpot…”
Ramirez’ voice immediately flowed back over the link, as if he had been waiting for hours. Which he probably had. “Those damn kids. A sure thing, Captain, just give me a second. Did you bring me anything from town?”
“Of course. We grabbed a cup of coffee for you, but we had to leave in a bit of a hurry.”
The end of the exchange was a very simple code that they had all worked out beforehand. For crewmates returning in circumstances that were the slightest bit suspicious, the one manning the shuttle would challenge them with “Did you bring me anything?” If the respondent was under duress, they would reply that they had not had time to pick up anything. “Coffee” was the all-clear sign.
Although she did not turn her head to look, Beth heard the distinctive hydraulic whine of the shuttle’s bulky cargo ramp descending to the pavement behind her. She didn’t look as the ground under her heels suddenly became an incline of textured metal, rather than flat concrete.
It was only after she had scaled the ramp and stepped onto the deck of the cargo bay and someone hit the control for retracting the door that she finally allowed herself to look away, blinking in the dim light as the ramp shut with a clunk. After a moment, she was able to make out the shapes of her companions, plus Ramirez standing to one side, watching the proceedings with the compact length of his shotgun resting on his shoulder, his sharp features just as unflappable as ever.
“So,” he said, with the barest hint of a smile, “I send you out to meet a casual client, and by the time you come back, it is a war zone. I really cannot leave you alone, can I?” His dark eyes shifted to Phillips, taking on an even more guarded expression than normal. “And who is this?”
“Ah yes, introductions!” Grant jumped in, leaving off securing the door to clap Phillips heartily on the back. “Phillips, meet Ramirez, procurement officer for our little operation. You’ll probably recognize his accent from your call. Ramirez, Phillips. Your casual client.”
As he turned to face Beth, a crease formed in Ramirez’s forehead, which was his facial equivalent of abject bewilderment. “Would you care to fill me in on what happened out there, Captain? It seems that I missed out on something.”
Phillips, who up until then had been casting nervous glances over his shoulder, chose that moment to speak up. “Um, wouldn’t it perhaps be better to relate that story a bit later? Like perhaps after we take off? As I said, I need to get to Earth as quickly as possible…”
At their client’s words, several forgotten realities rushed back on Beth’s mind, chief among them being the reason why they couldn’t actually take off just yet.
Right. System problems, waiting for the engineer…
Just then, her earpiece chirped, followed by the voice of Tavia. “Hey Beth, there’s a call for you. I think it’s our engineer. He sounds boring.”
There’s some good timing for once.
“Ah, yes, right...” she answered, trying to bring her scattered thoughts back under rigid control. “Patch him through.” There was another chirp as the line was transferred, followed by an apprehensive male voice.
“Er… Captain Hugin?” With the context, she recognized the caller immediately.
“Yes, Evan. You are right outside the ramp, aren’t you?”
“Yes ma’am. I’ve been waiting at the port entrance for about half an hour, actually, but it looked like no one was here.”
Beth winced, running a hand through her hair. “Um, yeah… Sorry, things kind of got a little crazy around here since we last talked.”
“I see. So do you still need an engineer? If not, that could be a little awkward. My previous employers just terminated my position and wouldn’t exactly be eager to put me up until I can find more work.”
“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” she backpedalled swiftly. “We still need you, more than ever. In fact, we need you to get right to work. We have to be ready for takeoff ASAP.”
“Ah, good! I came just in time, then.”
“You sure did! Just a second.” Turning, she gestured for Ramirez to open the ramp. His frown deepened slightly, but he complied, keying the control.
It would be nice to have gotten Phillips squared away first. Just once, it would be nice to be able to deal with things like this one at a time, Beth thought to herself, watching the ramp make its ponderous descent. Everything always happens all at once or not at all. Still, she decided, it would be good to finally meet their new engineer in person, instead of just a voice over the comm. After all the craziness of the past hours, she would enjoy a conversation with a well-rounded, rational human being...
That thought was brought to an instant, shattering halt as the ramp finally finished falling, revealing what stood on the other side.
What stood at the base of the ramp might very well have been well-rounded and rational, but it was most definitely not a human being.
Beth blinked, unable to keep herself from staring. The figure was wearing a very standard set of warm-weather fatigues, complete with cutoff cargo pants, a sleeveless shirt, and a modest-sized duffel-bag slung over his shoulder. It was there however that the normalcy ended.
Beth’s mind went into overdrive as she tried to process what she was seeing, taking in everything in a split second. The best way she could describe the creature was a dog—no, a wolf, she corrected herself, remembering wildlife videos from her childhood—walking on its hind legs; but instead of front paws, its arms were proportioned more like a human’s, with five-fingered hands and opposable thumbs. The head, however, was pure wolf, complete with a thick, elongated muzzle, moist black nose, and a pair of upright, strangely articulate ears. Perhaps the most striking thing about it was that it was covered from head to foot in a coat of thick, grey fur, with lighter patches on the muzzle and throat. She actually watched it flutter before her eyes, dancing in the light breeze. After a moment, she also noticed that its strangely proportioned legs, instead of ending with a familiar pair of shoes, terminated in a set of large, splayed-out canine paws.
Beth had no doubt that, for the first time, she was looking at a Fletcher’s Wolf.
For its part, the wolf-thing did not seem particularly troubled by the surprised reactions of the others. After glancing quickly over every face, it started its way up the ramp with the effortlessly graceful gait of a predator. It marched purposefully up to her, stopped, and amiably extended a fur-covered hand.
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Captain Hugin,” it said, its sunny tone totally undeterred by the stares of those around him. “I’m Evan.”
In general, spaceports were very noisy places, filled as they were with the sounds of turbine engines, trundling load-lifters, and shouting spacers. But, at that moment, the silence that shrouded the open cargo bay was complete and total.
It has to be a mistake, Beth thought. If the ad had mentioned a barker, Ramirez would have told me. And yet, there was no mistake. This Fletcher’s Wolf had the same voice and mannerisms as the voice on the comm. Like it or not, this was the engineer they had asked for.
Luckily for the moment, her grasp of manners outweighed her surprise. She took the proffered hand and shook it warmly, the fur on the back of his palms soft under her fingertips. It felt warm and smooth, not unlike an expensive synthetic-fiber carpet. It was, she thought, a thoroughly odd sensation for a handshake. “I’m glad to meet you, Evan,” she said, putting on a smile. “Welcome aboard. I have to admit, you’re not exactly what we were expecting.”
She wasn’t quite sure how Evan’s lupine face rendered a frown, but some pattern-recognizing part of her brain told her that was what he was doing. “I guess Marco’s ad didn’t say that I was actually a Fletcher’s Wolf, then. I’m sorry about that. I understand our appearance can be a little unsettling at first.”
“Well...” Beth struggled, “Yeah, I guess it is a little. I can’t say as I’ve heard of you guys much except for the big news hype—which was what, five, six years ago?” And even that wasn’t much, she realized. Mostly just headlines on her newsfeed when she jumped on the ‘net to look up something or other.
Evan didn’t seem very surprised, merely shrugging his shoulders. “Makes sense. It received a lot of coverage when the project was in the research stages, but after that died down ABI moved on to commercialization, but on a limited scale. There are only a few hundred of us on the market at the moment, so the marketing is pretty low-key.” He paused. “Is the advertisement’s omission a problem?”
Yes, Beth thought. Absolutely yes, that is a problem. We can’t have you here. I can’t have you here. Because I can’t resist my own stupid urges to take every casualty and stray I run across under my wing.
The silence was just beginning to become uncomfortable when Grant’s characteristic save-the-day impulse took the option away.
“Absolutely not!” he boomed, stepping forward to shake Evan’s hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Charlie Grant, security officer. The dour-faced fellow over there is Ramirez, he handles getting our contracts. And that’s Dr. Trent Phillips, client and passenger. I’ve got to say, I’m sure happy that you’re here, Evan. The Memory is a great ship, but she’s in a bad way. An engineer’s touch is just what our shuttle needs.”
Although Grant’s chatter seemed designed to make Evan feel comfortable, something about his expression told Beth that it had the opposite effect. “Er... Thank you, Mr. Grant. I’ll do my best,” he said, offering a tentative smile.
Once again before she could say anything, Phillips stepped forward, his expression clearly indicating an immanent blast of annoyance. “Yes, well, this is all very interesting. It’s wonderful to meet you, Evan. I’ve been following Dr. Fletcher’s project for some time, and it is interesting to see that she’s come so far. Now could we please get ready to take off?”
Oops... Beth almost winced. In all of the excitement, she had completely forgotten the ship’s decidedly grounded status.
“Yes, well, that’s a bit of a problem with that,” she said, taking a step forward. “You see, the ship is suffering from a system bug that just about turned us into a charred streak on the landing pad a few hours ago. Taking off would be a bit tricky at this time.”
Phillips rounded on her. “What? The agreement was that we take off immediately! Have you been lying to me, Captain?”
Beth stood her ground. “Quite frankly Dr. Phillips, I forgot. The ship is still perfectly spaceworthy; there is just a small glitch in the interface that stops us taking off.”
“Perhaps there is a small glitch in my judgment,” Phillips retorted. “If you can’t honor our agreement, I think I should take my money elsewhere...”
“Actually sir,” Evan spoke in, unexpectedly coming to her rescue. “I think that’s exactly the problem I’ve been contracted to fix. My specialty is systems, and if the problem is with the wiring, which is what it sounds like, I should have it fixed within the hour.”
Not if it was up to me. You wouldn’t be staying for the hour, much less the trip, if I had a choice. She felt frustration as the decision slipped out of her hands. If she wanted Phillips’ money, then she needed an engineer to get them flying. And she did want the money. She was under no illusions. Business was going well now, but the universe was unpredictable. Fifty-thousand credits would be just the cushion against bad times that she needed, putting some distance between her crew and unemployment if something happened to her or the shuttle. She either had to make the best decision for her crew, or for herself; and in that light, it was simple. She sighed inwardly.
“That’s right,” she agreed, addressing Phillips. “We made sure to hire the best. And even if you don’t want to wait an hour, it will take a good deal longer than that to find another charter, even if you go with public transport.”
For several seconds, Phillips’ jaw muscles worked angrily, glancing between Beth’s carefully blank face and Evan’s deferential alertness. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I have no choice. One hour.”
“Good,” Beth said, hiding her own unhappiness with the situation. “Charlie, would you get Evan started? I figure you’re best acquainted with the problem.”
Grant nodded, grinning. “Sure thing, Captain,” he said, turning to beckon to Evan. “Follow me, lad.”
Evan nodded, and then a thought seemed to occur to him as he turned back to Beth. “I almost forgot,” he said, reaching into a pocket on his fatigues and drawing out an official-looking envelope. He offered it to her, his eyes never leaving her face. Amber eyes. “These are the terms of ownership. It’s all squared away, but you’ll want to keep those with your secured documents.”
“Thank you,” was all she could think of to say. Ownership. This was just what she needed. Why do all the complications hit at once?
Grant patted Evan on the shoulder, gently steering him toward the forward sections. “That’s usually my strategy, too. Pass all the paperwork to the captain. So Evan, have you ever been able to take apart an actual starship before?”
The wolf returned the smile, gliding along behind the security officer. Beth noted belatedly that, in addition to everything else, their new engineer also possessed a bushy, white-tipped tail. “No sir. I’ve been on ships a few times, but I’ve never served on one before.”
Grant’s laugh echoed in the expanse of the cargo bay. “Well, you’ll love it. Just wait ‘til I show you my personal technique of crowbar maintenance. And by the way, call me Charlie…”
Beth watched them go for a moment, then turned to Ramirez. She noticed for the first time that there was something wrong with him. There was a tightness around his eyes, and his features had fallen into an even more expressionless mask than usual. She knew him well enough to know that something about the exchange had truly rattled him. And she got the distinct impression that he was royally pissed off, although she could only guess at whom.
“Ramirez?” she said, getting his attention. “Can you escort Doctor Phillips to one of the spare cabins? Make sure he’s as comfortable as possible.”
Ramirez nodded dumbly, motioning to Phillips. They proceeded aft without a word, leaving Beth alone in the newly silent bay, wondering what had happened.
After a moment, she looked down at the envelope still in her hands. Terms of ownership. Just as if she had purchased a new hydraulic pump, or a replacement viewport. Except a pump or a viewport didn’t deliver themselves, and they didn’t inform her, with a tentative smile, that she now owned their lives.
Absently, she opened the envelope and thumbed through its contents, skimming through the legal jargon. It was about what she would have expected: phrases like product subject number and rated human-safe were scattered throughout the page-and-a-half dedicated to voiding any responsibility belonging to Arkady Biotech Industries. Typical document of sale.
“Well,” Tavia cut in through Beth’s earpiece, “that was absolutely fascinating. I take back about what I said about him being boring.”
Beth nodded, glad of the distraction as she refolded the bill and placed it in the breast pocket of her jacket. She would deal with that particular problem later. “Yeah, whatever he is, it’s definitely not boring.” Walking to the other side of the bay, she tapped the control that would raise the ramp, an action that had been totally forgotten in the minutes past. “What do you think of him?”
“I think he’ll make a fine addition to the crew.” Tavia answered immediately. “He seems technically competent and, as far as I can tell, he meets human social requirements. He’ll do fine.”
Beth nodded to herself. And that’s what I’m afraid of. He’ll do fine, and you know what will happen after that. For several seconds she stood there, wrestling with herself. Finally, her pragmatism won. She squared her shoulders.
No. We can’t get involved. I can’t get involved. He’ll fix the ship, and then I’ll…sell him to someone else just as soon as we get to earth. Evan will not be a member of this crew.
“...Captain? Are you alright? Your facial patterns indicate the presence of deep thoughts.”
She shook herself from her reverie. “Sorry Tavia. I’m just deciding the course of our future, that’s all.”
“I see. And what will that be?”
Beth summoned a half-smile. “Up. Start the preflight checks, and hope that this wolf’s as good as he says he is.”

[Angmor]

Beth wasn’t angry. She was long past angry. She could no longer even be described with “livid” or “furious.” She had reached a height of anger so focused and so intense that she was sure the dictionary did not even have an entry for it. It was a cold, slow burning anger that seemed to tighten around her throat and constrict her heart.  Eventually, she gave up trying to identify it. Now it was time to put it to work for her. It was hard though. It was so hard to curb her rage when all she could think about was Evan’s terrified face as they led him away, his eyes pleading to her for help, and her own impotence in the face of the men with guns. And that fellow with the sunglasses... Oh, they would meet again, she was sure. And things would be slightly different. His words kept on ringing in her ears: …then put him down.
Put him down. Like a damned animal.
No. Not on her watch. Not after she promised him. Oh, those thugs with their semi-autos were an effective deterrent in the short term, but ABI obviously didn’t know her. She wouldn’t cave that easily, not to something as petty and banal as a corporation. The note in her pocket told her to come to the headquarters, and so that’s what she would do. She would go there, she would find someone in charge, and she would make them let Evan go. If they refused to see reason, she would appeal to the higher power of the Coalition. And if they would not help...
Well, then I have leverage... she thought, tucking Phillip’s sample case under her arm.
Even amid her anger and resolve though, one question still nagged at her.
Why didn’t he tell me? When the ABI security men had shown up, it had been a complete surprise to all present, except him. The Sunglassed One didn’t even have to say anything before Evan was practically cowering, as if he had known it might happen all along. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure.
So why didn’t he tell me?
She had thought that they had a relationship, that she had built some trust between them. Apparently not as much as she’d thought.
Oh, Evan. We could have done something, if you’d just said.
She supposed she might have been angry at him for that, but she found that she really didn’t blame him. Ever since meeting him, she had received several revelations as to the reality of his existence, each one more horrible than the last. After relying on himself for so long, what else could he be expected to do? But now, no amount of self-reliance could get him out of this. But Beth was determined that it wouldn’t have to.
Trying to distract herself from the desire to strangle something, she glanced out grimy and hand-printed window of the cab. Not long after leaving the spaceport, the rain had begun falling steadily, slithering against the sleek architecture of modern London and hissing against the windows of the dense traffic. Ah, Earth, complete with its predictable regional weather patterns. You could go pretty much anywhere in the galaxy, and just about everyone still knew that London was rainy. No one, however, really remembered how it had come to house the central building for the Coalition of Populated Worlds, the governing body of just about everything. When the Coalition was first formed a few decades ago, the vagaries of international politics had forced them to move the headquarters several times, ranging from Sydney to Berlin. Finally, it had settled on London, and for some reason that no one remembered, it had never moved again. Quite a few bio-engineering companies were also based here, including, it seemed, ABI. The cab driver had known instantly what she was talking about when she had given him the name, making her wonder just how large the company actually was.
It doesn’t matter. They can own half the planet for all care. They are not going to stop me.
Just then, the cab turned off the elevated roadway and onto a short exit ramp. A large ad-screen flashed on the other side of Beth’s window, depicting a lively animation extolling the attractions of Windside Business Park.
“You’ll be able to see it in a moment, Ma’am,” the cabbie said suddenly, speaking for the first time since leaving the port. That had been Beth’s clue that she wasn’t handling her feelings very well. Cab drivers were never that quiet. “And... there it is. Corporate headquarters of Ol’ Benjy. Arkady Biotech Industries.”
There were several buildings in line with the young man’s pointing finger, but she figured she knew which one it was. Standing out starkly from the generic high-rises surrounding it stood a thick cylinder of a skyscraper. What set it aside from its counterparts was its unusual outer design, made up of a complicated lattice of brushed steel that glittered darkly, even amidst the rain. Although she could see the pattern was regular, it was so thickly woven that it was difficult for the eye to follow any one part to its conclusion. The overall effect reminded Beth of the inner workings of a jet engine. The whole facade seemed designed to speak of power and influence. Seeing for the first time just how enormous her adversary really was, Beth couldn’t help her spirits sinking, just a little.
Just then, her view was cut off by another building as the cab pulled off the main thoroughfare and into a smaller side street.
       “Relax, lady,” The driver said, preempting her question. “I know a shortcut.”
       “That’s awfully nice of you,” Beth couldn’t help but remark, settling back in her seat. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to take advantage of newcomers by taking the long way around?”
       “Only on the weekends. Besides, I have a quick stop to make…”
       Stop?
       Distracted as she was, it took her a moment to finally notice that the cab was slowing to a halt at the curb. Beth frowned. “A quick stop? What are you—”
       Just then, the doors on either side of the cab flew open, admitting a pair of hulking men wearing long raincoats, who wedged themselves into the back seat and corralling her neatly in the middle. Before the word ambush even registered in her mind, Beth’s hand was flying for her LK-2—
It got about halfway there before a third man slid into the passenger seat in front of her, and she was met with the muzzle end of another handgun pointed straight at her forehead. The man behind the gun smiled. “Go ahead and pull it out, ma’am. Just slowly; between your thumb and forefinger.” Beth complied, raging at herself. A simple, well-planned, highly effective trap. And here she was, without backup. Had she learned nothing on Hephaestus? Finally, she had her gun out of its holster, dangling harmlessly in her hand. “Well done. Now hand it to the gentlemen on your left, if you would be so kind. And then your datapad, again slowly.”
As she did as she was told, the men around her all relaxed somewhat. The cab pulled away, taking her towards... wherever they were now going.
“So…” she asked, more calmly than she felt. “What happens now?”
“Now you shut up and wait,” said Front Seat, propping his gun-arm on the seatback, and tapping the cabbie on the shoulder with his other hand. “Drive.” Not the slightest bit perturbed by the appearance of armed men, the driver did as he was told, neatly merging back into the light traffic.
Calming herself, Beth took stock of her position. Flanked on either side, and in a moving vehicle, there would be no chance for escape even without the gun pointed at her. And from the square-jawed expressions of the men around her, she rather doubted they were in the mood for talk. Still, it was worth a try. What else could she do?
“It’s obvious this is more than a carjacking. What do you want?”
Front Seat’s eyes didn’t move from her even as he ignored the question.
“Jon, check her. Is it here?”
The man on her right stirred, reaching down produce Phillips’ case from the floor. “This looks like it. Open it?”
“Open it.”
It was the same people as had come after the case the first time, Beth realized. Having failed the blunt-force angle, they were trying a more subtle approach. And it worked. They were going to take the virus, and there was nothing she could do about it. Still, she consoled herself with the thought that the case wouldn’t open. Even after setting Ramirez on it, they hadn’t been able to get so much as a click out of it…
As she watched, “Jon” produced a device that looked somewhat like a chunky datapad and pointed it at the clasp of the case. For several seconds there was a rapid electronic chirping sound, and the clasp sprang happily open. As the lid was lifted, the case gave a slight humming sound, reminding Beth of a refrigerator.
“Well, it definitely looks like it,” the man commented, perusing the collection of vials and tubes. “But how do we know they didn’t make a copy?”
“They didn’t make a copy,” Front Seat replied confidently. “We checked the records. Phillips had this thing custom made. No others quite like it in the galaxy. With the time they took to get here, they wouldn’t have had time to stop off anywhere for another. No, we have what he’s looking for.”
“He who?” Beth broke in, unable to keep silent. “What is this all about? One of my crew almost died for this, and one man already has, so I think I have a right to know.”
Front Seat shrugged. “What do I look like, a civil rights analyst? We could easily drive this cab somewhere out of the way and put a hollow-point in your brain. But he who says no. Just be content with your life, even if it’s at the price of ignorance.” He gestured sideways with the gun. “I believe this is your stop. Have a nice day.”
For the fist time, Beth noticed that the cab had indeed stopped. One more second, and she saw exactly where. “ABI? Really?”
“Why not? That’s where you wanted to go, wasn’t it? We’ll even cover the fare.”
The man on Beth’s left open the door slipped out, holding the door like a perfect gentlemen, even offering back her gun and datapad. She would have suspected a trick, except for the dozens of people going about their business not fifty feet away. Unfortunately, that meant that she could not simply snatch her gun and turn the tables on the thieves, either. Grinding her teeth, Beth stepped into the rain and took her belongings, jamming them into her jacket pocket. “Slick move, gentlemen. But we’ll see how far your smooth talk gets you when the Blues haul your sorry backsides in to the brig.”
“Ah, yes. The police.” Front Seat smiled condescendingly. “I’m afraid that sending our good friends at the LPD on a wild goose chase after a private cab with no plates or transponder won’t do you much good. However, you’re certainly welcome to try.” With that, the cab pulled away and faded into the curtain of rain, taking the case, Phillips’ message, and Beth’s only hope for Coalition help along with it.
She watched them go, scowling; angry at the world, and herself. Why hadn’t she made a copy of the message? Why hadn’t she taken Grant with her? Ramirez could easily handle following Evan on his own. What had she been thinking? And then of course there was the sheer simplicity in how she had been suckered. The men had merely cornered her and taken what they wanted. Clean, no fuss, no frills. No chance of tracing the cab or the men, just like on Hephaestus. Beth almost had to admire them, and that made it even worse.
Finally, she calmed herself, watching her long breath turn to vapor in the chill air. Well, who cared about the bloody case? Who cared about Phillips and his mad science, or corporate games? That was someone else’s problem now. All she cared about was her crew, and that meant saving Evan. To hell with everything else.
Setting her eyes on the door, she did her best to set aside her doubts and concentrate on the mission, planning it like a military operation. After all, she had faced enemies before. This was not so different from an engagement. Of course, I have no advanced recon in this area. Or wingman. Or radar. Flying blind, then. She shook her head. Well, then you do what you did then. ‘Engage and adapt as necessary.’ Drawing herself to full height and putting on her best pilot’s swagger, she advanced purposefully up the stairs and stepped through the door out of the rain.