Volatile Cargo - Original Sci-fi, A short story of some length Options

[Colonel Mustard]

This is (yet another, I know) a new project I'm starting to keep my writing hand in while I go about editing my novel into something fit to submit to an agent (for those who missed it, I completed a novel! Hurrah!). I'm writing partly because I want to write something while I edit, and also because I quite enjoy the novel's characters and want to write some more of them. So what this is is a prequel of sorts about Captain Julia Marthan and the crew of her ship, the Marco, detailing a week(ish) in their lives and one of the jobs they've run; I won't be touching on any of the major content of the novel, though they share the same characters and universe.

I'll be posting up brief chapters as rapidly as I can, so sit back and please enjoy.


Volatile Cargo

Chapter 1

As always, Blight was misty. White water vapour choked the world, floating moisture shrouding its single, damp colony of the hopelessly optimistic name of ‘Prospect’, a viscous airborne mucous of chill, low cloud loitering on the jetty of its dock. It got everywhere, soaking into clothes, caressing the skin with clammy tendrils, perspiration dripping into the eye even though the temperature left one with no inclination towards sweating.

“I hate this place,” Julia muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She flicked worthless jewels of moisture off the dark blue naval jacket she wore. The damp was making the already battered brocade on the smuggler’s coat look even worse for wear, and had soaked into the tricorn her she wore as well, a severe undermining of her attempt to look swashbuckling; as it was she merely looked wrung out. “Of all the worlds I’ve ever visited, it has to be the worst, no contest.”

“What about Zwarget, captain?” Yun asked. Unlike Julia, he seemed not to be bothered by the mist or the damp, his stance easy and relaxed with the long duster he wore seemed to keep out the worst of the weather. A hand rested on one of the revolvers on the gunbelt he wore, and the barrel of a carbine poked out from over his shoulder. From experience, Julia knew that there would be a pair of sawn-off shotguns at his up, covered by the coat, a knife at his boot and probably a holdout pistol or two tucked in some concealed pocket of the mercenary’s jacket.

“Nah, Zwarget just tried to kill us,” Julia said. “This place is depressing, thought.”

“So you prefer a homicidal planet to a dreary one?”

“Yeah. Homicidal’s more interesting, if nothing else.”

Yun just shook his head and scanned what they could see of the jetty for any approaching company. Behind them, the starship they came in on hovered, the Marco tethered to the large wooden pier with its cargo bay door resting on the flat surface. The large glass dome of the vessel’s prow and bridge was misted and slick with damp, as was the rest of the ship’s brass-coloured hull, the swallowtail sweep of its wings dripping with water as if the vessel itself were discomfited and sweating. The large zeppelin balloon that kept it suspended in midair sent the ropes connecting it to the ship creaking as a faint breeze blew into it and nudged it a few inches along.

“You’d have no idea that there’s a whole bloody colony at the end of that pier, not with all this mist,” Julia remarked.

“I don’t like it,” Yun said. “Makes things too quiet, too easy to hide in. Could be anybody out there watching us and we’d have no idea.”

“So you’re feeling edgy,” Julia nodded. “Nothing new there.”

“There is no need for alarm,” a third voice rumbled, this one coming from the fifteen foot, four-armed colossus of steel and brass that had stood behind the pair without speaking. “My sensors detect no untoward activity in the area around us.”

“In mist this thick, I wouldn’t like to rely on just sensors, Dravvit Klomar,” Yun replied. “Besides, they’re not infallible.”

“Pah, you doubt too easily, Mr Yun,” the immense Machtoro said. “Besides, captain, I can see someone coming on heat vision; two humans and khusi.”

A few moments later, four people emerged from the mist. Three of them were human; two bulky men lugging a crate between them, one tall, graceful and pale-skinned woman. The last was a khusi, carrying almost as many guns as Yun had, though it had enough arms to use them all at once, and its mandibles twitches as the multifaceted domes of its eyes looked them over. By the lack of egg-sacs clinging to its abdomen, Julia guessed the alien was still in the male phase of his life.

“So much for your sensors,” Yun muttered.

“Julia!” the woman at their front exclaimed in delight, stepping forward and grabbing her in an embrace. She placed a kiss on each of the captain’s cheeks. “How are you, my darling? And Mr Yun and your Machtoro are with you as well, how wonderful.”

Dravvit Klomar scraped the metal hoof of his foot along the jetty in displeasure at being called Julia’s, but Madam Sangue ignored the gesture. Yun merely nodded a greeting to her, knowing that any talking would be best left to his captain.

“I’m well,” Julia nodded. “Wondering how you put up with this world.”

“Oh, a number of reasons,” the new arrival replied. “It’s near some favourable Inverse currents, the League doesn’t hold any authority here and there’s a great deal of degenerates and curs here for me to employ. That and the lack of sunlight certainly helps.”

“Eh, suit yourself,” Julia said. “So, what did you want to see me about, Madam Sangue?”

“A delivery I want you to make,” she replied, gesturing to the crate. “I need you to bring this to a gentleman by the name of Mr Aloysius Cranmer in New Olympus. I don’t want it going through customs, and I don’t want the crate to be opened, tampered with or have its contents damaged.”

“A delivery to Mars, eh? Sounds simple enough,” Julia said as Madam Sangue’s two human lackeys advanced and placed the crate down on the damp planks of the dock. There was a whirring and thumping as Dravvit Klomar stepped forwards and picked it up with the lower pair of his hands, the huge machine lifting the load with ease. “Dravvit Klomar, get that aboard, stow it somewhere where it won’t be found easily.”

“It should be easy,” Madam Sangue replied. “But this is important, Julia, and I don’t want you failing this, not with the amount of money running on this job. After all, if you do...” she looped an amicable arm around the smuggler’s shoulders. “I’ll cut your throat and drain you dry, and that would be a terrible shame.”

“No pressure then,” Julia said. “I’m going to need more details than a name in New Olympus, though.”

“Of course, of course,” Madam Sangue nodded, handing Julia an envelope. “Everything you should need is in here. Read it carefully, Julia.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” the Marco’s captain replied. “One last question; what’s this job worth to me and my crew.”

“Provided all goes well, three thousand Sovereigns,” Madam Sangue said.

“Three thousand?!”

“I take it that that will be suitable motivation?”

“Gods, yes.”

“Wonderful. Remember, Julia,” Madam Sangue smiled, and her smile was a smile of frightening needles. “Don’t let me down. Everyone would be very upset if that happened, you most of all.”

“Trust me, I know,” Julia said.

“Just making sure, my darling, just making sure,” Madam Sangue said. “Now, there are three thousand Sovereigns waiting on that delivery, and perhaps a bonus if you make it quick, so why don’t you head off on your way, hmm?”

She kissed Julia on the cheeks once more.

“Best of luck, Julia, and do try your hardest to make sure you’re successful,” she said. “I’d hate it so very much if I had to kill you.”

“Not half as much as I would, trust me,” Julia said.

Madam Sangue laughed at this.

“I’m sure of that, darling,” she replied. “Now off you go.”

As Julia boarded her ship, Yun lingering a moment to untether the Marco from its dock, Madam Sangue left, accompanied by her henchmen into the mists and back to the colony that formed the capital of her galaxy-spanning criminal empire. The ship’s cargo door whirred shut, and its engines flared as it began to rise upwards and out of Blight’s atmosphere.

The Marco was on its way to Mars.

[Colonel Mustard]

Thanks, Grits! Didn't think that Gorom was going to be so popular.


And the next part is here. Sorry that it took a while, got caught up in doing some more redrafting on the main story and forgot about this for a wee while.


Chapter 3

“Julia. Oh, Julia.”

Wrapped in the covers of her cabin’s bed, Julia groaned as she felt a familiar, calloused hand shake her shoulder and curled tighter into the sheets in protest. The hand shook again, and she groaned in angry protest, waving her own to try and ward it off.

“Come on love,” Farko protested.

Julia rolled over and cracked an eye open. Farko was sitting next to her, and she took a few moments to admire the way the light gleamed off his dark skin and broad, work-muscled shoulders.

“Morning,” she finally said. “You’re looking gorgeous today.”

“That’s always nice to hear, but flattery isn’t going to get you a lie-in,” Farko smiled.

“Worth a try.”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Julia pushed herself up and grabbed some clothes from the small trunk-draw underneath the bed she and Farko shared. Once the typical hard-wearing shirt and trousers of her work were on, she pulled on the heavy spacer boots she usually wore, the ones with the electromagnets in the soles and seals for a voidsuit, and donned her jacket. On her way to the bridge, she stopped in the galley to grab herself a cup of coffee from the pot that Yun had brewed, stuff that was thick as engine oil and strong enough to strip the skin off the inside of her cheeks but guaranteed to wake her up.

“Morning, Patterns,” she said as she entered the bridge, the pyal already in his seat. “You alright? Yeah, I’m fine. Tired, but you know what I’m like in the morning.”

Taking her seat, she racheted the lever by the chair down. The seat swung forward into the dome on the Marco’s prow, control systems raising or lowering to meet her. Placing her mug in the cup holder she had had installed, she glanced over at Patterns.

“How are we doing for Reversion?”

A moment later she knew that the Marco would be in position for a safe transition into Matterspace in just a few minutes. Mars would not be a long flight from there, and with luck the ship would be able to land, make its delivery and pick up its generous fee without any problems. Taking a sip of her coffee, she flicked on the intercom.

“Gorom, you there?”

“Here, captain. What can we do for you?”

“Just checking to see if the Inversion drive is all ready to go.”

“It’s warmed up and can get us through to Matterspace whenever you give the order.”

“Wonderful,” Julia said. “Get ready, we’re not far away.”

Julia was aiming for a quiet spot near the Sol system’s asteroid belt, where the Planetary league tended not to send out so many patrols; as the heart of the League’s territory, the place was well-guarded, but an individual ship could slip through, especially a ex-military stealth vessel like the Marco.

Knowledge entered her mind from Patterns that they were in the right position for Inversion, and Julia grinned as she flicked over to Gorom once more.

“We’re in position,” she said. “Punch us through, Gorom.”

A slit of darkness opened up in front of the Marco’s prow, the ship pushing forwards. As if it were pushing a pane of flexible glass, the space before the vessel contorted and stretched, the Inverse tugging around it. Finally, the membrane broke, the black star-speckled void of Matterspace washing around the dome at its fore as the Inversion drive finished slicing a hole in reality. The sweeping curve of the ship passed into empty vacuum, trailed by azure streamers Inverse-stuff before the Drive cut out and the hole sliced closed with guillotine finality.

“Gorom, how are the sublights doing?”

“Ready to go, captain,” Gorom’s voice crackled back over the intercom.

“Then we’re off,” Julia said, opening up the throttle.

The engines on the rear of the Marco roared, spitting forth indigo plasma as the thrusters powered up, teardrops of heat coalescing from the metallic cylinders. The energy they were exuding would be enough to utterly obliterate anything that was caught in them, could evaporate steel or rock, and the thrust they provided gave the Marco a turn of speed that was hard for most spacecraft to match.

Which was why Julia was very surprised when the ship began only inch forwards as if it were dragging a moon.

“Gorom, what’s going on?”

“Checking now,” Gorom said, one of the handlimbs holding the intercom as they scuttled towards a readout panel on the side of the Marco’s plasma drives. “Sublight engines are at full burn, there’s no power problems there.” An eye-organism glanced toward the Gravitic Generator, and the q’relli flashed purple in alarm. “Captain, someone has us in a gravity lock!”

Julia’s eyes widened, and she swivelled the intercom button to a general announcement with a flick of her thumb.

“All hands, buckle in for evasive manoeuvres!” she yelled down the microphone. “Farko, I need you on the bridge right now.” The dial was flicked back to the engineering deck. “Gorom, I want every joule you can spare going into breaking that gravity lock. Channel all non-essential power to the gravitics, whatever it takes to get us out of here!”

She snapped the lid on top of her much shut and the loose elastic band that was tied to the cupholder was freed and used to strap it down; last thing she wanted was scalding hot liquid floating about. Clipping a harness across her, she felt a peculiar lightness as the ship’s artificial gravity was lifted, the lights dimming moments later as Gorom channelled everything towards the gravitics.

“Hold’s broken, hold’s broken!” Gorom’s voice crackled over the intercom.

Engines already straining at full burn, the Marco shot forwards like a greyhound from its stall. The sheer pressure of the acceleration forced Julia back in her seat, but she pushed the controls forwards, the ship twisting downwards in a curving arc. A contrail of blue fire followed it like the tail of a metallic firework.

The door swung open and Farko entered, boots clanking quietly as the activated magnets in their soles held him to the deck. He shut it and switched the magnets off, grabbing the headrest of his seat and pulling himself into it with gymnast agility, strapping himself down.

“I need a position of whoever it is who tried to grab us,” Julia said as the Marco curved around a calcious colossus of an asteroid, a megalithic giant of pocked stone and jagged ridges. Farko turned to his console immediately, the instruments on it chattering and humming as he ran a scan.

“Got a ship at two-ten, two-twenty,” Farko replied as he checked the relative vertical and horizontal angle readouts. “Tailing us, but looks like they’re not as quick as we are.”

“Gorom,” Julia barked down the microphone, angling the Marco so its course would put another meteorite between themselves and their mystery attacker. “Get the glamour drives online, throw them off.”

“Can’t captain, they’re still trying for a gravity hold,” Gorom replied. “I’m bleeding the auxiliaries for power and as it is we’re barely keeping them from snaring us. I’m giving her all she’s got!”

“Well then,” Julia muttered. “Looks like we’ll just have to ru-”

A pillar of blue fire scored across her vision, a beam of energy that crossed in front of the Marco and slammed into their intended cover, sending semi-liquid chunks of stone spiralling out into the void. Acting more on instinct than anything else, Julia wrenched the controls back, curving her ship away from the attacker as she cursed furiously. She blinked, gobbets of afterimage crawling across her vision.

“What in the hellplanes was that?” Farko called.

“Plasma lance,” Julia replied. “That was just a warning shot, but these people aren’t messing about.”

“Message coming through,” Farko said. “They’re saying they want us to stop running and land.”

Julia glanced at the semi-molten wreckage of the asteroid that the shot had just hit. Something like that would shear the Marco in half, and her ship had neither the shields nor the armour to resist such a hit.

“Captain?” Farko asked. “Julia?”

Her gaze jumped once more to the striken meteorite, the chunks of calcite viscosity that drifted into emptiness.

The ship shuddered gently, as if in fright, as Julia powered down the engines and lowered the throttle. She sighed.

“Tell them we surrender.”