6


X-37 whispered hints and reminders in my ears, just like old times. It was like he thought he was actually being helpful. I studied the captain of the Bold Freedom and wondered if I should trust the man despite how much I liked him. He seemed almost too happy to be in charge of a ship full of people about to die.
“With Jelly’s help, I’ve done an analysis of the anomalies in the sector,” X-37 said. “The debris is obviously from a battle, but there are other things that don’t fit.”
“Tell it to me straight, X,” I said.
“It seems there is a civilization among the wreckage,” X-37 replied.
“What?” Before my limited artificial intelligence responded, I addressed Captain Slipdriver. “Tell me about the people living in the wreckage of the ships.”
The captain crossed his arms and leaned back in his ragged-looking chair. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask about them. They’re scavengers, been here for who knows how long. We ran into several varieties, the worst of which remind me of the gangs of Dreadmax or the cannibals below the decks of that place. The cannibal scavengers aren’t as dangerous because they don’t normally have the skills to pilot the shuttles. Of the ones who fly between ships, most of them behave pretty much as you would expect. I want to say they’re helpful and altruistic, but it’s a barter system. When we have something they want, I make sure they bring us something we want.”
“Interesting. Will they interfere with the refueling?” The idea of being raided by space pirates wasn’t exciting. Any of the ships, from the Nightmare to the Jellybird to the Lady Faith would be good prizes for people stranded here.
“I can’t make any promises. There are many classes of scavengers, but they all follow a similar type of law. Probably nothing codified and most likely based on the survival of the fittest. That any of them have survived this long is amazing,” Captain Max Slipdriver said. “There should be two planets capable of sustaining life in the system, but they seem to have been ravaged by wars.”
I reviewed what I had learned, looking to my bridge crew, small as it was, to see if they had questions.
“How did you get stuck in the path of the comet?” Elise asked. The expression on Novasdaughter’s face suggested she had been about to ask a similar question.
The captain of the Bold Freedom exhaled for a long moment. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, clearly worried about the question he’d been asking himself for a long time.
“We planned on following a rumor to a place with a civilization beyond the control of the Union. This system seemed to be full of resources and we couldn’t pass it up. When we found the wreckage, we thought we had struck gold. We can always use salvaged material. We’re experts at it. The comet was a known quantity. We got tied up on a complicated salvage operation and there were some accidents. Things just went downhill from there until we lost too much fuel. We can maneuver and navigate in system, but the main engines of this thing are very inefficient. Even if we can get free of the path of the comet and its wake, I’m not sure how far we can go without understanding where all these slip tunnels this far beyond Union space will lead us.”
“We might be able to help you with that,” I said. “Let’s get your ship refueled and on your way before we talk more.”
I waited several seconds until I understood that my communication with Captain Slipdriver had concluded. A new silence filled the bridge. Elise and Novasdaughter held my gaze, keeping to their own thoughts. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected Novasdaughter might be rubbing off on Elise. The teenager was slowly learning the habit of thinking before she spoke—amazing but true.
Locke appeared contemplative as he studied a close-up view of the wreckage via one of the workstations on the bridge. Horvath edged closer and stood behind him, arms crossed, also studying the ruined ships.
“What caused this, Locke?” I asked.
He frowned, his gaze still on the images on his holo display. “Some ship designs are familiar. Over the last few centuries, we sent out expeditions from Wallach to explore new systems. We’ve always known we couldn’t stay on Wallach forever. Some of our explorers must have met their fate here.”
I switched my attention to Horvath. The man was obviously exhausted and heartsick—and grew slightly wide-eyed when he realized I was including him in this conversation. “I don’t know anything about star travel. I’m just a soldier.”
“Fair enough,” I said, then moved closer to Elise and Novasdaughter. “Thoughts?”
Elise went first, she was the youngest member of our crew but didn’t take crap from anyone and had serious skills. Apparently, everyone understood her value to our team and her place in our informal hierarchy.
“While you were screwing around talking to Max Slipdriver—what a dumb name, by the way—I’ve been reviewing our sensor readings. There is a lot of movement in the debris field if you know what to look for.”
“And you know what to look for?” I asked.
Novasdaughter interrupted. “I showed her which anomalies are relevant and which are more benign. There are lots of different mysteries in the galaxy, but I can tell when a ship is moving intentionally, even if it’s trying to pretend like it is another piece of debris.”
“The two of you are talking about the scavengers Slipdriver mentioned,” I stated.
They both nodded, then Elise continued. “I pointed X-37 toward what we are working on and he said he should have a detailed analysis completed soon. He also relayed the raw data to Jelly and the Lady Faith. For some reason, ship-to-ship communications in the system are difficult.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
This time, Locke answered, seeming energized by a sudden realization. “It may be why this place was so dangerous for our exploration fleets. I’d like to know if this disruption of communications is something natural to the system or an artifact of some ancient technology. There was definitely a battle here, or several battles, but I can’t tell if our ships turned on each other or there was an outside threat—maybe the Alon space navy. They’ve always been treacherous. An ambush is just their style.”
I wanted to punch him. Nothing was more frustrating than discovering ancient technology. Even when I had been working for the Union, the discovery of an ancient civilization caused more problems than it ever solved.
“Can you get more information on the non-Wallach ships?” I asked all of them.
Locke was engaged in the question now, working on the computer as intently as Elise and Novasdaughter had been for the last several hours. “When you call them ships, that’s a bit of a misnomer. Most of what we have is wreckage. If we retrieved a few debris samples, it would be easier to unravel the mystery of their origin,” Locke said.
“Yeah, great. That would mean more spacewalks.” Elise’s posture went rigid. “No thanks.”
No one on the bridge disagreed with her. Going into the void wearing nothing but an extravehicular activity suit had never been good to us. It made me think of Novasdaughter and her fellow fighter pilots who flew ships that were little more than a cockpit, wings, engines, and a few weapons. Her statement about getting abandoned in the void in one of the micro-fighters horrified me, and I was fearless. It seemed like something that could drive even a Reaper crazy.
“Let’s get the fuel transferred to the Bold Freedom and learn as much as we can about the scavengers and this debris field,” I said.
“There are distinct debris fields, “ X-37 said. “Where would you like to start?”
“You’re killing me, X,” I muttered.
“Unlikely,” X-37 responded. “Unless you are speaking in strained colloquialisms and weak metaphors again.”
“Just analyze all the debris fields and tell me their secrets,” I responded.
“Now you’re killing me, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.
“You like it,” I said.
“I am programmed to serve you,” X-37 explained. “Since I have no capacity for true emotion, your assertion is irrelevant and inaccurate.”
Elise leaned closer to Novasdaughter. “They can go on like this for hours.”
“Great,” Novasdaughter replied, eyeing me critically as she replied to Elise. “I’ll try to ignore him… them… whatever.”
* * *
“X, can you partition their work from another hail to the Bold Freedom? I don’t want Slipdriver watching over our shoulders as we work.”
“Of course, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.
A small beep filled my ear.
“You are now connected,” X-37 advised.
Captain Slipdriver came on the holo, looking tired and less personable than he had during our first encounter. Apparently, he had been turning on the charm to make a good first impression.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Cain?”
“I just wanted to let you know that we are en route with fuel. Is there anything else you need? Food? Medical supplies?” These were test questions. I wanted to know how they were acquiring these things without access to Deadlands or Union spaceports. They hadn’t been to Wallach yet, so there had to be another source of life-sustaining essentials.
“All of those things would be appreciated. You know our history, and that we didn’t start off with everything we needed, including a workable ship,” Slipdriver said. “But fuel is our main problem right now. The scavengers can’t process raw materials and have very little of their own fuel, even for their short-range shuttles. Some are restricted to solar power, cheap but hardly effective.”
I stared hard at Slipdriver. “I want you to tell me more about the scavengers. Are they a threat to my ships or my crew?”
“I can’t see how they would threaten ships like yours,” Slipdriver said. “They trade with us when they can, bringing us food that I assume they grow in a greenhouse. The water they bring tastes metallic, but it keeps us alive. They’re rough around the edges but no more dangerous than anyone else I’ve bartered with since getting dumped onto that hellhole the Union called Dreadmax.”
“Do you have any of these scavengers on your ship?” I asked. “I’d like to interrogate them, learn what I can about the system and what happened here.”
He shook his head. “We don’t have any of them on the ship. The only way to do that would be to capture one of them, and that would be more work than it’s worth. None of my people are fond of locking people in cells. You understand why. The scavengers are both free-spirited and disciplined—like they know their lives and the lives of their families are on the line every day. All of my efforts to learn what happened here have ended in frustration.”
I hesitated, pretending to consider his words, but I was actually waiting for X-37 to chime in with his ever-present analysis.
“We will need to talk to one of the scavengers,” X-37 said to me privately. “For now, we should keep things simple. Rescue the Bold Freedom and then leave the system as soon as we can. The resources available here are not worth the danger of remaining long.”
“I agree, X,” I said.
Max Slipdriver, not the character out of semi-fictional tales of daring pirate raids and blockade running, but a man burdened with saving thousands of refugees, raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking to your limited artificial intelligence? I admit I’ve always been skeptical that Reapers were real, and even more skeptical that you were one of them.”
“Says the man named after an action holo hero,” I replied.
“I told you my real name is Max Slandonsky. I’m screwed either way. One name is impossible to spell, and the other is a joke.” The Bold Freedom’s captain shook his head. “I’m not trying to make this personal. You have to admit, the probability that a Reaper saved us from total destruction and has come back to do it again seems a bit fantastical.”
“Could anyone other than a Reaper have gone to the core of Dreadmax and brought back your slip drive regulator? Some stories about the Reaper Corps are sensational, but only because we’re about a hundred times more dangerous than the holo dramas make us out to be,” I said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Slipdriver said, seeming cautious but not overly worried. “I never was much for fiction in any case. Give me a good flight manual or a biography any day.”
“You would like my chief engineer,” I said. “We’re headed your way with fuel and what resources we have to offer.”
“We will alert you of any dangers we detect,” Captain Slipdriver-Slandonsky promised. “Time is of the essence. The comet is getting close enough to interfere with our systems.”