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]

Grits: Thanks very much! I've grown quite a soft spot for them as well, hence why I'm writing this spin-off.



And yes, I know that it's been a while. It's been thanks to end-of-semester exhaustion, an absolute killer of an essay, a few personal things and because of this hush your gums, bruv. Hush them. Hush, I say!


Chapter 4

As ships went, it was intimidating.

Two hundred metres from prow to stern, black-painted plates of thick armour adorning its flanks. The plasma lance that had fired on the Marco jutted from a turret on its back, and underneath its prow a pair of torpedo tubes could be seen. There was a sleekness to its bulk, a predatory hybrid of brutality and grace that made it frightening to behold, and as the ship drew close down she couldn’t help but feel like prey facing down a lion.

The Marco had been ordered to stay in position as it approached, drawing level with one of the small ship’s airlocks. A boarding tunnel unfolded from its flank as it slowed to a halt, gleaming ferrous in the starlight as it attached itself to the Marco’s port airlock. Faint blasts of air hissed into the vacuum in silence as a seal was formed, and on Julia’s order the airlock’s outer door opened. Right now, the crew stood the best odds of survival if they looked cooperative.

“Remember,” Julia said to Farko as they waited to receive their visitors. “Keep steady. Let’s not piss them off.”

The wheel on the airlock spun and the heavy metal door swung open. The boarders that emerged were fearsome looked, dress ragged and without uniformity. There were more than dozen of them, q’relli, khusi and humans, all of them carrying shotguns, the buckshot less likely to pierce the hull if they missed. Each one of them was scarred or tattooed or both, and bore an air that suggested an innate familiarity with violence, but it was the man at their head that caught Julia’s eye.

Unlike the others, he had no weapon to hand, and though his appearance was as ragged as the rest of the boarders he carried a definite air of authority with him. The tail of black tattoo extended from his left eye and down the side of his face, disappearing beneath his shirt, and there was a revolver at his belt along with a sword in a scabbard that had the space around it humming and twitching, as if reality was discomfited by its presence.

“Captain,” he said. “I’m glad you decided to see sense. You have no idea how much easier this makes things for me.”

“It was a pleasure,” Julia said, sarcasm dripping caustic and thick from every word.

“What a harsh tone to take,” the man replied, a condescending smile dancing across his features. “You wound me, captain.”

“Look, I can guess why you’re here, but trust me, this ship isn’t worth the trouble,” Julia said. “You can murder us and steal our cargo if you want, but all that’s going to do is come back and bite you in the arse; you’d just be taking a package from Madam Sangue, and I’m guessing that you know what she’s like. You really think you can get away from her?”

“Actually, Captain, I am well aware of the odds, and I do not particularly care for murdering you or this crew today,” the pirate replied. “In fact, I would rather you stayed alive so that you can inform Madam Sangue that Karl Hirstoff is dealing with his unfinished business.”

“Hirstoff?” Julia snorted. “Yeah, like you’re really the Corsair Count. The League had him executed centuries ago, or have you not ever been to any school?”

The man smiled, and from his gums a pair of long fangs were extended. It was a frightening sight, but Julia refused to be cowed. Right now she was more angry at this man swaggering arrogance and the fact that he dared to threaten her and her crew.

“You think being a vampire is going to make me believe you?” Julia said. “Look, get out of here before you piss off the wrong woman. You know Madam Sangue would kill you if you tried anything.”

And in the next moment, his sword was at her throat.

There had been no movement and Julia had not seen him draw, had not even seen the faint blur that would have suggest a swift motion; one moment it was sheathed, at the next its tip was pressed against her neck. Her skin crawled around its touch, aching and uncomfortable by the proximity of this strange, impossible thing, and for some vague reason she had a gently pressing memory-double of the sword being at her throat since the moment Hirstoff had opened the airlock, fighting against her recall of events just seconds ago. Despite her predicament Julia frowned at the simple, straight blade, a length of unadorned steel that had the space around it ripple and judder as reality recoiled at its presence. What was that thing?

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Hirstoff warned Farko as the First Mate stepped back and grabbed for the pistol at his belt. The false jocularity in his voice had disappeared and now it held an edge harder and sharper than meteoric diamond. “One false move and I will cut your captain’s throat, and rest assured that I can end her life far quicker than you can hope to move. And when she’s dead, my crew will gun you down, kill everyone else on board and destroy this vessel. Cooperate, and you live.”

“Do as he says,” Julia said to him. “Please, Farko, don’t be an idiot.”

A grimace of unhappiness on his features, Farko raised his empty hands. One of the pirates, a heavily scarred woman with a shaven head, pressed her shotgun against the back of his neck and grabbed his collar with her non-trigger hand. Farko gulped.

“Right, we’re being cooperative,” Julia said. “Look how cooperative we’re being.”

“Good,” Hirstoff said. “Now you are going to take me to where your package is stored and I am going to retrieve it.”

“It’s in the hold,” Julia said. “I guess I’ll lead the way.”

Held at the point of several guns and the point of a blade that felt as if it should have existed, Julia lead them to the cargo hold.

Ivris and Dravvit Klomar were waiting there, the askriit and her huge Machtoro both armed. The barrels of the machine’s rotagun were spinning gently as he turned the weapon’s crank, and they turned towards the boarders as they entered.

“Put those weapons down,” Julia ordered before either Ivris or Dravvit Klomar could do anything rash. Obediently, the two of them pointed the firearms away, but Ivris lowered her head toward Hirstoff, displaying the two ridges of heavy bone that ran parallel on the top of her skull to him, an askriit gesture of aggression.

“I didn’t know you had your own askriit,” Hirstoff said. “And one with a Machtoro, no less. I didn’t think you people ever left the boundaries of your empire.”

“My reasons for doing so are my own,” Ivris replied. “I see no reason to tell the likes of you.”

“I’m sure they are,” Hirstoff replied. “Now, where is your cargo?”

Ivris hesitated for a moment, glancing towards Julia for direction.

“Do as he says,” she instructed.

“Guuthra drux, Dravvit Klomar,” Ivris commanded her machine in askriit. She glared at Hirstoff. “Korochta kozakirt, bazthrocturu.”

“You wound me, I’m sure,” Hirstoff said as Dravvit Klomar stomped to a raised section of wall, one so high up only the huge machine could reach it. A concealed panel was slid aside by one of his huge hands, and with surprising deftness he retrieved the heavy box hidden within. He placed it on the deck.

“There it is,” he said.

“Slide it over to me,” Hirstoff said. “And then stay where you are, Machtoro.”

With a rumbling growl of discontent, Dravvit Klomar complied, taking another step back. Julia didn’t blame Hirstoff for that precaution; even if he was a vampire, Dravvit Klomar had the raw strength to rip him in half, and the buckshot the pirates were using wouldn’t even slow him down.

It was just a shame that if he did try to attack them then Julia and Farko would be dead in moments.

The uncanny pressure of Hirstoff’s blade was retracted, and several of the pirates took aim at her as their captain crouched by the crate, weapon now sheathed. He opened up the clasps and pulled up the lid, and pulled something free.

It was a huge egg, shell a pearlescent blue that shifted and moved like viscous liquid. It was faintly translucent, and within a faint shadow of a shape shifted and moved. Julia’s jaw dropped as she saw two more of them resting on either side.

“Dragon eggs?” she said. “Wilhelmina had us smuggling gods-damned dragon eggs?”

Somehow, things had just got even messier.