No Graves for Heroes Page 10

  “This thing have any anti-ship weapons?” asked Axel.

  “What do you think this is?” asked Danso. “A battleship? You think I can get you from A to B with weapons poking out of the hull?” He was shouting again. The veins in his neck bulged and his hands flailed around his head. “The bloody customs man would shoot at the first sign of weapons on a cargo ship. You are a foolish, foolish man, Nash. Do you know anything about smuggling, or space travel for that matter?”

  “It’s been a while. I’m just asking.”

  “Just keep your mouth shut and let me do my job,” said Danso.

  The main screen switched to a rear camera feed. The station was getting smaller. The Sunjammer stayed put, but several of the drones had broken away from the main swarm and were giving chase. Axel immediately deduced that if any of them made it to the Zulu Dancer, it could disable the ship from outside and they could be dead in the water, prey for the scavengers.

  “Shit,” said Danso. He wiped his forehead and started punching icons on the captain’s control panel.

  “I have an idea,” said Devon.

  “What do you know, lady?” asked Danso, without looking up.

  She stepped over to him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Can you patch into the station’s main computer?”

  “What for?” Danso sounded defeated. He was surely calculating his odds of outrunning the drones and they were shrinking by the second.

  “Just do it,” said Axel. Whatever Devon was thinking, it was at least a plan, more than Danso was doing.

  Danso nodded to a man sitting in front of him. A moment later, the man nodded back to the captain.

  “Okay,” said Danso. He sat back in his chair shaking his head. “You’re connected. Do whatever.”

  Devon stepped up to the control panel. The shipyard’s master computer panel appeared on the screen. She tapped away and a second later looked up at the main bridge monitor. As she did, one of the huge cargo-loading cranes on the top of the station began turning. A large disk extended from the tip of crane.

  “That’s the main cargo mover,” said Devon. She clicked a few more buttons. The crane swung away from the Sunjammer, before reversing direction. The cargo mover snapped backward before reversing with the crane. The metal disk slammed into the side of the Sunjammer. The ship listed to one side. The crane swung away, faster this time, and stopped abruptly. The cargo mover flew backward and came around in a wide arc, then slammed into the top of the scavenger ship and lodged in its hull. Finally, the crane pulled back, with the Sunjammer still connected. The ship crashed into the crane’s tower.

  Captain Danso sprang to his feet, an astonished look on his face. “I don’t believe it.”

  Devon turned to look at Axel. She winked at him, before turning to Danso. “That wasn’t such a chore, now, was it?”

  Danso broke out into laughter.

  “Drones on the hull, Captain,” said a crewman.

  The bridge went quiet once more.

  “Damn it, I’m gonna die for this idiot,” said Danso. “Stupid…” He trailed off into mumbling.

  “Can we scrape them off?” asked Devon.

  “With what?” asked Danso. “A space brush? Do you have one of those?” He stabbed a finger at Axel. “You two are nothing but trouble.”

  “How many are there?” asked Axel.

  “Three.”

  A visual of the hull popped up on the main screen. There were three long, flat drones over the engineering compartments, toward the aft section of the ship. They were clearly going for the dark matter reactor, the most valuable component on the ship. The problem was that if they breeched the hull, the life support system count fail, and a loss of the reactor would put them adrift with nothing but battery power. Axel doubted this would be enough to get them to the jump gate. It was possible they could repair the ship with components from the shipyard, but that could take weeks and there was still the problem of pissed off scavengers, who were probably calling their buddies right now. He had to move quickly.

  Axel reached down and picked up his space suit helmet. It had fallen to the floor in the excitement. “I’ll go take care of them. Do me a favor and stop the ship.” He turned to exit the bridge. “I don’t want to lose my grip and go flying off into space.” In the space suit cabinet, he found a gaff pole with a long hook on one end and made for the airlock.

  “Be careful, dear,” Devon shouted after him. For whatever reason, she seemed to be trying to care about him. It reminded him of those ancient television shows he watched as a kid. The ones where the man comes home from the office and the wife has been cleaning and baking pies all day in her beautiful dress.

  A few minutes later, Axel stepped out on to the exterior hull. Thankfully, there were maintenance handrails that could take him the entire length of the ship. He immediately wished he had his old jet pack. With that, he could just zoom out to those things, bash them, and get back inside. But life had a different plan for him, and he would have to do things the hard way.

  “I’m halfway there,” he said back to the bridge.

  “We see you,” said Danso. “You’ve got about fifteen yards to the first one.”

  Axel inched along, making sure to have the gaff pole with its hook ready to grab onto a handrail if he lost his grip. He could see the shipyard in the distance. The drones had stopped cutting up the ship and maneuvered to the crane. They buzzed around it, attempting to free the Sunjammer from the gantry.

  Sparks rose up in front of his face and he was confronted by the first drone. The thing was about two meters wide and only a few centimeters thick. The exterior bore scorch marks and lacerations from countless trips cutting ships into metal chunks. Clusters of indicator lights on the front blinked at him like eyes. Six legs clutched the Zulu Dancer’s hull with sharp thorns gripping the metal skin. An arm extended from the underbelly with a small plasma torch carving away an access hatch.

  Axel swung the gaff pole at the thing’s legs. He hooked the rear ones and yanked. The legs broke away and the drone hovered just above the surface of the ship. The torch flailed in all directions. Axel wound up with the pole and brought it crashing down on the smooth surface. There was a satisfying crunch as the pole cratered the top of the drone. The lights flickered and went dim. He pushed the nose of the thing and it floated toward the tail of the ship.

  “One down,” he said.

  “Roger that. The next one is just beyond the thermal cooling array. Five yards farther aft.”

  Axel had seen the cooling array when they first looked over the ship. He continued along the handrail and was immediately greeted with another cluster of blinking lights. This time he smashed the top first, killing the drone, before snapping off the legs. This one was also sent floating into the darkness.

  “Two down,” he reported back. “Where’s the third?”

  “It’s all the way at the stern, on the other side of the ship.”

  “Great,” said Axel.

  Devon’s voice came over the speaker. “I believe in you, sweetie.”

  Axel sighed and shook his head. He was going to have to talk to her about pouring it on too thick. He doubted a trophy wife was supposed to gush all over him like that. But then again, he’d never had a trophy wife, so what the hell did he know about that sort of thing. He had to admit to himself that he appreciated the sentiment.

  After a series of nearly missed grips and one frantic grab with the gaff pole, Axel made it to the very edge of the ship. There the last drone was cutting away at one of the exhaust bellows. Luckily, as Captain Danso had explained, those were mostly decorative and would not cripple the ship if they were lost. Still, the thing had to go. He climbed down to smash it.

  As he wound up, the thing darted away at the last minute. The gaff pole slammed into the bellow and sent shock waves up Axel’s arms. The bellows, it turns out, were significantly more rigid than the drones’ soft exterior. He gritted his teeth at the pain in his wrists and found the thing, wor
king on a different bellow. He climbed after it, mindful of the lack of handholds.

  This time he maneuvered behind the drone, hoping that its sensor array would not detect him. He gripped the edge of the charred bellow and swung. Again, the drone lifted away right before being hit. It buzzed over his head. As it did, its wide, flat tail smacked Axel’s arm. He lost grip on the bellow.

  His heart stopped. The ship inched away from him. He reached out with the gaff pole, but the top of the bellow had nothing to loop over.

  “Fuck!”

  He was floating in space with nothing to grab onto. He cursed himself for not taking his frog’s tongue. This was exactly the sort of thing he needed it for.

  He was about to tell Danso to back the ship up, so he could try to get ahold of something, when the drone flew toward another bellow. Axel swung the gaff pole at the drone. The hook caught on the thing’s plasma torch. He was pulled forward into the mouth of the bellow. Sparks lit up the darkness as the plasma torch cut right through the gaff hook, leaving a glowing tip.

  Axel was floating again. He grabbed the drone’s leg and pulled it close to him. He could feel the inertia of it pulling away. He lanced the melted tip of the gaff pole into the drone’s blinking sensor array. The still-burning tip pierced the lights and bore deep into the body. The drone stopped moving.

  Cold sweat filled the space suit. Axel let go of the pole and spread out all four limbs. He caught the edges of the bellow and took in a deep breath. He had almost flown off into space. No telling if the ship would be able to get close to him without accidentally killing him.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said through gasps of air.

  “What was that?” asked Danso.

  “Three down,” he reported.

  “Good. Get back in here. The scavengers are almost free.”

  “Okay, shit. Give me a minute.”

  “No, Nash.”

  Axel didn’t appreciate the captain’s newfound urgency, but he was right. With the greatest of care, he crawled out of the darkness of the bellow and back onto the exterior of the hull. Ten minutes later, he was standing on very shaky legs in the airlock.

  “I’m in, Captain. Let’s get out of here,” he said. He recognized his voice was trembling.

  He felt like throwing up, but didn’t. And after a moment of mashing his eyes shut, waiting for the stars in his vision to clear, he looked up and saw Devon’s smiling face.

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  He didn’t mind the sweetness this time. In fact, he might be able to get used to it.

  Axel threw on a fresh set of clothes as Devon watched him. She seemed to be studying the large skin graph on his chest. In the background, news feeds droned on about all the dignitaries headed to the Chinese emperor’s birthday gala.

  “I’m sure they can do something about that, now,” she said.

  “I’m sure they can too,” he replied. He rubbed his hand over it. There was no body hair, just yellowed fake flesh. “But you can’t exactly go to a hospital when you’re a war criminal. And I don’t have the money to go to an off-world clinic.”

  “You ever try to go black market med? I hear some of those are pretty good.”

  “I’m not trusting someone ‘pretty good’ to peel off the only thing holding my guts in. An infection would probably kill me.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Mr. Nash,” said Captain Danso.

  “Come on in,” said Axel.

  Danso entered with a large bottle under his arm and a trio of glasses. He looked sullen, but that was better than the naked contempt he’d shown earlier. “I wanted to thank you for saving the ship. The crew and I are grateful.” He held up his bottle and glasses. “I think you Americans used to say, ‘We cool?’”

  “Yeah, we’re cool,” said Axel. He stuck out his hand. “How much farther to Pangaea?”

  “Thirty-six hours, give or take.”

  Danso set down the bottle and glassware on the table and shook Axel’s hand vigorously. “Good. I don’t like being on bad terms with passengers.” He removed the bottle’s cork and poured two fingers in each glass.

  “You all should look into some sort of countermeasures for slicer drones,” said Axel.

  “One more thing on the list.” Danso fell into a chair and clinked glasses with Axel and Devon. “So many things to take care of. I think I just want to retire. I’m so tired of the aggravation with this life.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Devon.

  “In the old days, it was like your old American westerns—go where you want, do business with interesting people, everyone was chill in space.” He paused to sip his drink. “Then America lost its bloody mind and started a war.” He shot Axel a look.

  “It’s what we do…I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah, but now the times, they are a-changin’ with your new president, what’s his name, Gardner.”

  Axel sipped his drink. “Maybe. That’s what I hear anyway.”

  “I heard they ran off those lunatic Christian mullahs who started the war.”

  “They’re trying. But I don’t know if they’ll get rid of them all.”

  “I hope they do. Those good Christian men chased all the good Americans into the stars.”

  “Not all of them,” said Devon. She wrapped her arms around Axel and kissed him on the cheek.

  Danso stared in disbelief. “Aren’t you a squib or something? You’re not even real people.”

  “Yes,” said Devon. She looked at Axel. “That a problem, baby?”

  Axel downed his drink. “You won’t see me complaining.” He rubbed her arm.

  “Oh, come on,” said Danso. “I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble, but you’re just fake flesh and a computer. It’s not natural.” He paused. “But I’m old-school. Love is love, I guess.”

  Now we’re in love? Axel thought. Easy, cowboy. This is a mission. Be cool. He decided to ignore Danso’s comments. It was clear he felt he’d dug himself in a hole and Axel let him climb out.

  Danso looked around, clearly wanting to say something, but hesitating. Finally, he spoke up.

  “It’s none of my business…”

  “But?” said Axel.

  Here it comes. Whatever it was, it would be embarrassing or uncomfortable.

  Danso blurted out, “I heard you were on the Heinz. Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, fine. But I had an engineer on here once who was there at Luna. He saw what you did. It was the right thing. I just wanted to say that. That’s all. I don’t want to wake up any demons. I just want you to know that there are some of us who agree with you. That’s it. I’ve said my piece.”

  “Thank you,” said Axel. He opened his mouth to talk about it.

  Danso leaned forward in his chair.

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, darling,” said Devon.

  The names almost came back to him and a squall of anxiety rumbled in his chest, but Axel just let out a breath and slowly shook his head. “Another time, maybe. I’m feeling too good to be alive right now to talk about all that. Maybe later.”

  “I understand,” said Danso. “Sorry to be a bother. I can just go.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Axel. “We’ve got some work to do.” He nodded to the bottle.

  The tension eased a little, but Axel could feel that Devon was disappointed, or whatever passed for disappointment in squib behavior. He would maybe tell her, later. But right now, he wanted to revel in his victory over the slicer drones and still his mind for the mission.

  A bulbous blue and white space station filled the monitor on the bridge. Titan, Saturn’s largest moon, was encased in thick orange methane clouds, and just beyond it loomed Saturn. To Axel, the sight was both awe-inspiring and horrifying. The size of the two celestial objects humbled him and brought back memories of the Solar War.

  The space station grew in the monitor, revealing rows upon rows of windows lining the hull. As the Zulu Dancer closed in, cylindrical corridors could be seen, co
nnecting more window-lined spheres. At the top of each was a clear dome covering brilliantly-lit shades of green—vegetation. Scores of service ships, in perfect ranks, crept toward the station, docking in bays near the bottom of the main pods. Just as many ships exited the landing zones, making for the local jump gate.

  “Is that it?” asked Devon.

  Captain Danso let out a girlish giggle. “No, that’s Shire Station, where the poor folks stay.”

  “I didn’t think there were any poor people on Pangaea,” said Axel.

  “Oh, the people staying there could still buy ten of my ships with the snap of a finger. They’re poor compared to the ones who can afford to stay in the resort. There’s a few others, like this one.”

  “Are we staying there?” asked Devon.

  “No,” said Axel. “We’ve got a suite on Pangaea.”

  “Thank goodness,” said Devon.

  Axel looked at her, quizzically.

  “What?” she asked. “Nothing is too good for you, dear.”

  He sighed and turned back to the main screen. Shire Station fell away and Pangaea revealed itself, a slow twirling platter covered with a translucent forcefield the color of Earth’s blue sky. A vibrant city, flush with green patches and brilliant lights, shimmered beneath the forcefield. The whole scene reminded Axel of the face of an antique watch. A silvery rim encircled the base of the floating dome, and if Axel squinted, he could make out an armada of pleasure cruisers moored to docking arms, extending from the rim.

  He wondered how many cruisers sported concealed weapons. The ultra-wealthy never took any chances with their lavish existence. God forbid, someone should try to end them. In Axel’s freebooter days of brand assassinations, data heists, and outlaw security, he’d run across more than a few camouflaged ships with weapons lurking beneath seemingly harmless hulls. Most of those old freelance warships were gone, their captains terrified of running afoul of militarized customs patrols or national navies like the Dragon Armada patrolling the solar system. Now, those toys were left to the elites and their proxy wars.