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Piloting Fury Part 25: KDG Scifi Romance

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Good morning, my lovelies. Welcome to another  Monday morning read.

I’m off to glorious Northmoor in Devon this week for the annual writers retreat — my favourite week of the year, but Fury is ready with a brand new Monday Episode. Enjoy!

If you have just arrived and would like to start at the beginning of Piloting Fury, follow the link, and enjoy!

 

Piloting Fury

“Win the bet and Fury’s yours. Lose the bet and your ass is mine.” It seemed like a no-brainer — Rick Manning’s slightly inebriated offer. If he’d been sober, he’d have remembered indentured pilot, Diana “Mac” McAllister never lost a bet. All her life she’s dreamed of buying back her freedom and owning her own starship, and when Fury’s ne’er-do-well, irritating as hell captain all but hands Fury to her on a silver platter she figures she can’t lose. She figured wrong. That’s how the best pilot in the galaxy finds herself the indentured 1st mate of a crew that, thanks to her, has doubled in size. Too late, she finds out Fury is way more than a cargo ship. Fury is a ship with a history – a dangerous history, and one that Mac’s been a part of for a lot longer than she thinks. And Rick Manning is not above cheating at poker to get her right at the center of it all, exactly where he needs her to be.

 

Piloting Fury Part 25: Playing to Win

From low orbit, we Mol-tranned into the alley behind the Corsair and left Fury in charge of getting us back safe and sound. When we ‘tranned, Manning pulled me close like he was afraid he’d lose me. As we rematerialized, he stepped back and gave me one last head to toe, then gave me a wicked smile. “If I didn’t know what’s about to happen to the poor bastard, I damn near envy Blake spending the evening with you, and so will everyone else.” He touched my neck where the insert was. “The owner of the Corsair owes me a favor, so I got her to drop the shields that prevent Mol-tranning. Fury has a permanent lock on both of us, and you’ll be out of there in a heartbeat if anything looks even slightly suspicious.”

I nodded and turned to leave, but he pulled me back. “I’m serious, Mac. Nothing we’ve lost is worth losing you over, do you understand?”

I nodded again, already in the zone, knowing what I was about to do was something Manning couldn’t manage without me, and I really wanted to do it for the team I now felt a part of, in spite of the shackle in my forearm.

He took me by my shoulders and gave me a gentle shake, as he might have done to wake me up. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks, all right? You belong to me now, me and Fury. Trust us to take care of you, to keep you safe.”

If that wasn’t enough to make me feel warm and fuzzy clear down to my toes, the bastard took my face in his hands and kissed me. He kissed me like no one had ever kissed me. Oh it was just a quick dart in and back out again, but he left me with no doubt where I belonged. Jesus! He left me with no doubt that I actually did belong, and possibly for more than what I could contribute to Manning’s own Atlas account.

He checked the layer of Dermanew disguising my shackle and ID number one last time. Then he stepped back. “Go. Stella has a table reserved for you in the corner so you won’t draw too much attention. In fact, I paid her well to be sure it’s only Blake’s attention you draw. I’ll be lurking.” He pulled the hood of the New Vaticana monk’s robe he was wearing up over his head and gave my hand one last squeeze. “Good luck.”

Inside a woman with bright yellow hair piled high on top of her head led me to a table near the back without a word spoken. I wondered if she was Stella. I ordered a drink then pulled out the deck of cards and began a game of solitaire keeping one eye on the main entrance. Manning walked in and, at the sight of a monk, one of the Corsair’s good time girls bowed before him and brought his hand to her lips. He laid a palm on her head and offered her the iglacial symbol for the forgiveness of sins. I wondered how he’d learned to be so priestly. Adjusting his hood, he found a place at the bar, and his gaze moved slowly around the room until it settled briefly on me with a barley perceptible nod. Then he gave a casual glance toward the open door, now completely in the shadow of a mountain of a man. The yellow-haired woman greeted him with an affectionate slap on the back then guided him to a table that was so close it was almost in my lap.

While Banshee Blake was only slightly smaller than Fury’s shuttle, he was most definitely not a fat bastard – well perhaps he was a bastard, a good number of the folks who hung out in places like the Corsair were, but he wasn’t fat. He was just huge. Manning was tall, but this man towered over him by a good half-meter. The heavy brow ridge, the blazing eyes and the way he wore his hair in a top knot told me that at least one of his parents was Polyphemian. They were the giants of the known galaxy. Their size, plus the blazing eyes and luxurious hair were always a dead giveaway. No one with Polyphemian blood in the family tree could hide their ancestry. They were supposedly well endowed in all areas of their anatomy and were considered exquisite lovers. None of this information Manning had bothered to impart. I suspected his little possessive speech about me belonging to him and Fury may have been his warning not to let the guy seduce me. As if that would happen when there were credits to be won and a score to be settled. Manning, more than anyone, should know that by now.

 

 

The Ployphemian made no effort to hide his blatant ogling of me as I made an elaborate display of dealing the cards and setting them up for another game of solitaire. I pretended not to notice, pretended to be fully focused on my game as he called the waitress over. I could tell by the nod of his head he was ordering me another drink as well. I was dinking Hebridian ginger beer, but he certainly didn’t know that, and I was counting on him thinking I was drunk enough that, not only would he win, but he’d get a good fuck out of the deal as well.

“Thank you.” When the drinks came, I lifted mine in a salute. As I expected, he took that as an invitation to join me. “I was hoping for someone to play with,” I nodded to the cards but made sure he got the double entendre.

“I’d be happy to play with you, darlin’.” Gone was the flugelhorn bellow of our earlier encounter, replaced by what could only be called a bedroom voice, but that was also a Polyphemian trait. The voice they used with the opposite sex was as seductive as the voice they used with the rest of the world was annoying.

“Do you play Stygian five card?” I asked batting my lashes.

“Honey, I play whatever you want me to play.” He laid a hand on my thigh. In my implant, Manning said some rather rude things about the man’s parentage, and Blake just assumed my chuckled response was me flirting with him. I shoved the deck across to him, and said, “what shall we bet?”

By the third hand I had him empathetic, telling him the bits of truth I’d always told my marks, that I was a low paid pilot trying to make a little extra with a little gambling on the side. From that point on the details varied with the mark. This time I was working for a salvage ship, and business had been bad recently. When it was bad, I supplemented my income however I could, I told him. I left just exactly how I did that to Blake’s imagination and offered him a hint of a smile as he shifted in his seat to make his enthusiasm for helping a girl out a little more comfortable in his trousers. He was feeling generous from the deal he’d just made, he told me.

“I fucking bet he is,” Manning growled into my implant.

Blake lost magnanimously and graciously the next three hands while I proceeded to pump him for details about this great deal he’d made, and the asshole didn’t even try to hide the fact that he’d cheated Manning out of paying him. I knew that about Polyphemians as well. They were always pleased to get something for nothing, and their views on ownership were more about possession than the exchange of legal tender. With a few cleavage swelling gasps and sighs and an enthusiastic stroke of the tree trunk thigh now pressed against mine, I made my admiration for what he’d pulled off clear. Then I leaned in close and told him that the salvage ship I was on had just discovered the mother load of triaxium ore in a wrecked Aranian stingray class freighter. It had been lost ten years ago out near the Katis quasar, not far from here. But my crew had to mark it and leave it because they didn’t have the right equipment, and being an Authority sanctioned ship, they didn’t have mol-tran. So if he were willing to play for my share, I was willing to bet something worthy of such a Polyphemian deal. You could almost see the credit calculations whizzing through his mind. The obvious was that the New Hibernian whiskey was small change compared to a triax treasure trove.

By that time, I was making sure he got generous views down Fury’s exquisitely designed bodice and I was showing the first signs of having just a bit too much to drink. But while my inebriation was faked, his was not. A helpful piece of information Manning had given me was that Blake couldn’t hold his alcohol, but he loved Krinelian brandy, nonetheless. A little dealing under the table by Manning had Stella making sure the alcohol content in Blake’s brandy went up the closer I got to what I wanted. And celebrating his steal of a deal, as he was, fully expecting to take me back to his room for further celebrations, he kept the drinks coming. Now that there was a chance to sweeten the deal beyond his wildest dreams, he had even more reason to celebrate. I was very careful to lose the next two games spectacularly, gambling away all of my share of the triaxium salvage.

Piloting Fury Part 24: KDG Scifi Romance

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Good morning, my lovelies. Welcome to another  Monday morning read. Here’s this week’s episode of  Piloting Fury.  

Last  week things didn’t quite go to plan on the deal, but this week, we see the game isn’t over yet.

If you have just arrived and would like to start at the beginning of Piloting Fury, follow the link, and enjoy!

 

Piloting Fury

“Win the bet and Fury’s yours. Lose the bet and your ass is mine.” It seemed like a no-brainer — Rick Manning’s slightly inebriated offer. If he’d been sober, he’d have remembered indentured pilot, Diana “Mac” McAllister never lost a bet. All her life she’s dreamed of buying back her freedom and owning her own starship, and when Fury’s ne’er-do-well, irritating as hell captain all but hands Fury to her on a silver platter she figures she can’t lose. She figured wrong. That’s how the best pilot in the galaxy finds herself the indentured 1st mate of a crew that, thanks to her, has doubled in size. Too late, she finds out Fury is way more than a cargo ship. Fury is a ship with a history – a dangerous history, and one that Mac’s been a part of for a lot longer than she thinks. And Rick Manning is not above cheating at poker to get her right at the center of it all, exactly where he needs her to be.

 

Piloting Fury Part 24: Winning: A Crash Course

“Damn, Fury, have you been looking at Manning’s porn stash?” I asked as I turned in front of the holo-mirror to get the over-all effect of the clinging off the shoulder dress. The fabric had a prism effect as I moved in the light. It showed off my legs and hugged my curves as only bespoke clothing could.

“Richard Manning does not have a porn stash,” came a reply I could have sworn was just a wee bit huffy. “I have only complied with your request that the costume be appealing to Banshee Blake and show off your anatomy in a way that would attract one of the opposite sex.”

A deep, drawn out wolf-whistle came from the open door of my cabin, and I turned to find Manning leaning up against the wall looking me up and down. “If I were Blake, I’d sure as hell want to play with you.”

“Playing with you is what got me into trouble in the first place,” I said to his reflection in the mirror. “And I don’t believe for one minute that you don’t have a porn stash. Shameful really, getting Fury to lie for you.”

“In the first place, Fury doesn’t lie, and in the second,” he said coming into the room and walking around me for the full 360 inspection, “how can you possibly call all the fun and adventure we’ve had so far trouble? I’m wounded to the core.”

I flipped him the finger. Sometimes the ancient gestures were still the best. He only chuckled. “And another thing, Manning, knocking is the polite thing to do before entering someone else’s quarters.”

“The door was open,” he said.

He was right. It was. I’d returned to my room only planning to insert the subdural tracking device into my neck like Manning had instructed. I hadn’t expected Fury to have the dress ready so quickly. I’d slipped into it in the bathroom and came out to see the full effect in front of the holo-mirror.

“And the implant?” Manning asked, all humor gone from his voice

I looked down at the device I still held. “Haven’t quite gotten there yet.”

He stepped up close and personal and took it from me. His warm knuckles brushed my earlobe as he raked my hair aside. “I’ve discovered that if you’re right-handed, the images you project will be clearer and more stable if the implant is on the left, just next to your carotid. There’s a sweet spot,” he ran his fingertips lightly down the side of my throat, and my pulse jumped, a response to which he flashed a knowing smile. “Right there,” he pressed gently. “Less interference from the pulse, which can make the image jumpy under stress.” In a move that I could have damn near mistaken for foreplay, Manning eased the device into position and, with a slight sharp sting, inserted it. My breath caught, and so did his. The smirk that turned into a wicked smile said he knew exactly what I was feeling. The smug bastard. “There,” he purred. “Exactly there.”

For a moment, we stood eye to eye, and everything in me went warm and soft, like the afterglow I felt when I’d pilot a good ship through a rough patch, only more so. But warm and soft was not what I needed right now. I was just about to step back when Manning said, “you’ll have to wear this up so my view won’t be obscured.” He reached around me and stroked the length of my hair. I’d defiantly grown it out after I joined the Dubrovnik crew. Fallon kept me closely shorn because when I was young and underfed, as he preferred me, there were times when he used me as a boy. Though my near bald head might have aided his sick fantasies, it also meant one less thing for him to grab onto and one less way for him to hurt me.

 

 

But Manning, Jesus, Manning’s hands tangled in my hair made me want to move closer and snuggle down against his chest while he caressed and touched, while he curled tresses around his fingers and lifted them away from my neck. Fuck, I actually embarrassed myself by moaning, as he scooped the weight of it off my nape and the heat of his breath bathed my bare throat and shoulder.

“Fury,” his voice was barely more than a whisper, “can you replicate a couple of Terran combs to hold Mac’s hair up?”

“I don’t know how to put …” I lost my train of thought as he walked me backward, his body all but flush with mine. He reached around me to where two beautifully formed mother of pearl combs appeared almost instantaneously on the shelf near the mirror.

“Don’t worry, Mac. I got this.”

I found the breath to speak as he caressed and arranged my locks. “You’ve done this before?”

“No, but I’ve taken them out,” he said with a filthy grin.

“Of course, you have. I should have known.”

He must have felt the stiffening of my spine at his words. His smile softened and his gaze held. “I’m kidding, Mac. I’m as clueless as you are, but I’m sure between the three of us, we can figure it out.”

And then we were all talking at once as Manning pulled and tugged and arranged while Furry advised, and I joked about having never had anyone do my hair before. It wasn’t one of the perks of being an indentured.

“Perhaps I shall become a chef on the Riviera and Richard Manning shall open an exclusive hair salon there,” Fury said.

“And Mac here will play poker with our customers and win all their money,” Manning added.

When we were finished, both humanoid and ship made satisfied oohs and awes at the end result, just like I could easily imagine an exclusive hairdresser doing. “Now then, let’s check the connection.” Manning pulled a small black case from his pocket. Inside was the single contact lens that was his visual connection to my implant. There was also a micro device beneath the skin just below his right ear so he could hear. He blinked a couple of times as he settled the lens into place and then gave a slight nod of his head. “Say something Mac.”

I offered him my best smile and spoke in the voice I usually used with my marks. “I still say you have a porn stash.”

His lips quirked in a smile that had mischief written all over it. “Care to bet on that?”

“Not really. You’d just cheat anyway, and with you and Fury tag-teaming, what chance does a poor girl have.”

 

Piloting Fury Part 22: A KDG Scifi Romance

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Good morning, my lovelies. Welcome to another sneaky Monday morning read. Here’s this week’s episode of  Piloting Fury.  

Last  week Manning made a few things clear to Mac, but only a few. This week, Mac gets a crash course in smuggling.

If you have just arrived and would like to start at the beginning of Piloting Fury, follow the link, and enjoy!

 

Piloting Fury

“Win the bet and Fury’s yours. Lose the bet and your ass is mine.” It seemed like a no-brainer — Rick Manning’s slightly inebriated offer. If he’d been sober, he’d have remembered indentured pilot, Diana “Mac” McAllister never lost a bet. All her life she’s dreamed of buying back her freedom and owning her own starship, and when Fury’s ne’er-do-well, irritating as hell captain all but hands Fury to her on a silver platter she figures she can’t lose. She figured wrong. That’s how the best pilot in the galaxy finds herself the indentured 1st mate of a crew that, thanks to her, has doubled in size. Too late, she finds out Fury is way more than a cargo ship. Fury is a ship with a history – a dangerous history, and one that Mac’s been a part of for a lot longer than she thinks. And Rick Manning is not above cheating at poker to get her right at the center of it all, exactly where he needs her to be.

 

Piloting Fury Part 22: Smuggling – A Crash Course

We skipped the scenic route to Outer Kingston in favor of the most direct, the one that involved three rough jumps and a slingshot move around a gas giant. It was a route that no one had tried before and frankly I was surprised when Manning gave me the go ahead. He said he’d rather be there a little early, never being sure of what Banshee Blake would do. “I trust the bastard about as far as I can drop-kick his fat ass through the nearest airlock,” Manning had said. He added that Blake had to have a special captain’s chair in his ship that would accommodate his size.

We came out of hyper and all but coasted to the rendezvous point with time to spare thanks to some seriously fancy flying, if I do say so myself. I could tell by the smile on Manning’s chops that he thought so too. He chuckled and ran a hand over his stubbled chin. “I think we just took the record for fastest trip from the Remote Inner Edge to New Kingston,” he said with a chuckle. “The McAllister Sling Shot, that’s what I figure they’ll be calling it one day.”

Sadly we both knew it couldn’t be made public, since we’d just paid an illegal visit to a plague planet carrying major contraband, and all that done with a Shanghaied indentured pilot. But I still had every plan to bask in the afterglow until Blake showed up.

“Nothing to do now but sit tight and wait.” Manning disappeared and returned shortly with a bottle of New Hibernian and two glasses. “Under the circumstances, I think a toast might be in order.” He handed me a glass and lifted his. “To the McAllister Sling Shot.”

I returned the toast.

He downed his in a single go. New Hibernian was more of a gulping whiskey, even the good stuff. It would get you there fast, and almost but not quite burn your taste buds off in the process. I followed suit.

He pushed the glass aside and stretched out his hand. “Let me see your device,” he said.

I gave it over and raised a curious brow as he typed something in it.

“There!” He handed it back to me. “As far as our little run to Pandora Base, well, nothing from nothing is nothing, but you’re welcome to half of that.” Before I could say anything, he nodded down to the pad.

“That’s the code to your Atlas account. It’s empty now, but while you’ve been doing the flying, I’ve arranged everything so that, as we said, twenty percent of all profits will automatically go into your account. Numbered only, for your protection, of course. Plus the folks at Atlas don’t give a shit that you’re indentured. Once we conclude the deal with Blake, the credits will be deposited. If you continue to prove yourself, I’ll up your percentage to twenty-five and from there,” he quirked his head and winked, “well from there we’ll see.”

I stared at the open account page until it became nothing more than an abstract jumble. “Does that mean you’re giving me the opportunity to buy back my indenture?” I managed around the excited hammering of my own heart.

“That means I’m giving you the opportunity to do whatever you want, whatever you’re capable of.” He held my gaze. “Naturally I’d prefer that whatever you do, you do it here with me and Fury.” Then he offered a blinding smile. “With a pilot like you who can gamble like you do, who can think on her feet like you do, I figure you’re my ace in the hole.”

Before I could offer more than a shocked thank you, Fury said. “There is an urgent incoming transmission from Banshee Blake.”

 

 

Fury patched it through. “Authority’s on my ass,” Blake’s voice was a nasal sharply accented tenor that boomed through the com like an out of tune French horn, like we were all deaf, or soon would be if we had to listen to him long. I guessed that’s how he got the name Banshee.

“Rendezvous point’s been compromised. Sending new coordinates.”

“Fury send a text only confirmation,” Manning said without switching on his com link. “I don’t know this place,” he added studying the coordinates Blake had sent. We both watched as a 3D image came up, closed in on our destination and then magnified it.

“It is a high orbit space station, abandoned five standard years ago as unsafe and too expensive to repair,” Fury’s computer said, as we studied the details.

“This is not like Blake,” Manning said. “He prefers open space for a quick getaway. That makes it easier for him to grab the cargo and run if he gets an opportunity.”

“I don’t like it,” I said.

“I don’t either. But then I never like doing business with Blake.”

“Then why do you?” I asked.

“Well, the deals are usually sweet and the profits high if you can manage them without him scalping you alive.”

“Fingers crossed then.” I entered the coordinates and stroked Fury’s console for luck. “I could use the credits. I’m broke.”

The space station was huge, and I wondered how the hell the giant hunk of junk had remained in orbit once it was left derelict. I also wondered why it hadn’t been dismantled. It had been used for the docking port for all ships coming and going to Outer Kingston until the new, larger, more streamline one had been built on the other side of the planet. Outer Kingston was the last and most remote port of call before the long trek to the Outer Rim. It was not really a part of anything, only a single rocky planet orbiting a small yellow sun, a planet that was almost entirely water other than the few small islands that served as hideouts for smugglers and ports of call for ships in and out of the Outer Rim. There had been a few efforts to make some of the more picturesque islands into holiday destinations, but the planet was just too far from the so-called civilized center of the Consortium of Planets. That meant most of those islands had devolved into illegal casinos and brothels, surviving and thriving just beyond the edge of Authority scrutiny. Though technically it belonged to the Consortium, it was too far out for any real Authority control, and that made the place a mecca of smuggling and illegal activity. We made our way in and out of the docking bays of the derelict space station until we found the rendezvous point. It was way too claustrophobic for my liking. I couldn’t keep from wondering just what else went on in a place that had trouble written all over it.

“It’s a good place for a sting,” I said.

“Too good,” Manning grunted, just as Blake’s ship appeared from a blind spot around the curve of the station.

“Wait a minute,” I said, “the man just came out of nowhere. That’s not possible. Something’s going on. We should have been aware of his approach.”

“Manning, let’s make this quick. I’m feeling a little twitchy after the week I’ve had.”

Manning kept the mic off. He laid a hand on my shoulder. “I need you to stay on deck and stay ready, Mac. We’ll Molt-tran the whiskey and me over at the same time, but separately. You know how to do that?” He waved a hand. “Fury does. Keep a lock on me and on the whiskey, but if worse comes to worse, we cut our losses and live to fight another day. I’ll need you to get us out of here fast. You got it.” I nodded.

He opened the mic. “On my way. Meet me in the belly with your manifest.”

“Shields dropped,” came Blake’s nasal flugelhorn response.

“I don’t like this,” I said to Fury, as I keyed in the mol-tran and watched first the whiskey and then Manning dematerialize before my eyes. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I am not terribly pleased at the situation myself,” Fury commented. “Banshee Blake is to be trusted less than most of our disreputable colleagues.”

“Our colleagues?” I commented as Manning’s visual implant came online and I felt a whole lot better clapping eyeballs on him. “How much is he paying you?”

“Not nearly enough.” Fury replied, and in spite of the tense situation, I laughed. But the laugh died in my throat when Fury quickly added. “We have company, Diana Mac, three Authority jaegers converging fast off starboard.

 

Piloting Fury Part 20: A KGD Scifi Romance

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Good morning, my lovelies. Welcome to another cheeky Monday read. Here’s this week’s episode of  Piloting Fury.  

Last  week Mac got a healthy dose of the truth, and a dangerous storm. This week she rides the storm out.

If you have just arrived and would like to start at the beginning of Piloting Fury, follow the link, and enjoy!

 

Piloting Fury

“Win the bet and Fury’s yours. Lose the bet and your ass is mine.” It seemed like a no-brainer — Rick Manning’s slightly inebriated offer. If he’d been sober, he’d have remembered indentured pilot, Diana “Mac” McAllister never lost a bet. All her life she’s dreamed of buying back her freedom and owning her own starship, and when Fury’s ne’er-do-well, irritating as hell captain all but hands Fury to her on a silver platter she figures she can’t lose. She figured wrong. That’s how the best pilot in the galaxy finds herself the indentured 1st mate of a crew that, thanks to her, has doubled in size. Too late, she finds out Fury is way more than a cargo ship. Fury is a ship with a history – a dangerous history, and one that Mac’s been a part of for a lot longer than she thinks. And Rick Manning is not above cheating at poker to get her right at the center of it all, exactly where he needs her to be.

Piloting Fury Part 20: Riding the Storm Out

As it turned out, the ride was way rougher than I’d anticipated. We’d had even less warning than the Pandora Base computer had predicted. When it became clear I wouldn’t be able to fly straight out, nor was I able to jump, I had no choice but to ride out the storm, seeking with Fury’s telemetry, the levels where the winds were less fierce, and that wasn’t saying much. For the next four hours, I had little time to think about what was going on in Manning’s quarters. There were no updates from Stanislovski on his condition. I figured they were as busy trying to keep from being battered to death while Fury bucked and twisted, as I was. It took all my focus, and then some, just to keep the winds from tearing us apart. “I got you,” I spoke under my breath. “Hang on Fury, work with me, just work with me. Don’t worry. I got you.”

“Diana Mac, I am not programed to worry,” came the calm response from the ship’s computer.

“Wish I could say the same. Any suggestions?”

“Hang on, Diana Mac. I got you.” Came the response, and I gave what couldn’t have been less than a maniacal laugh.

“But you were programed with a sense of humor, I see.”

“Not a very fucking good one, as Richard Manning often reminds me.”

“Well, what the hell does Manning know anyway,” I managed before we hit an eddie that all but spun us a three-sixty, and I cursed and fought the wave feeling like Fury really was working with me, anticipating my efforts, like a lover, I thought. Not that I’d ever had one – a lover that is. Not that I’d ever had a ship of my own either. But then again, Fury wasn’t really mine.

“Diana Mac, sensors indicate a calmer airstream three thousand meters lower.”

“I’m on it! Thanks Pal,” I said.

There was a strange sound from the com that sounded almost like a chuckle. I certainly hoped it wasn’t a malfunction because I sure as hell had no time to fix the computer. “You all right?” I ask.

“Five by five … Pal.”

I smiled, gritted my teeth and fought to bring us down to the altitude Fury recommended, which, while it wasn’t spinning us about like a mad centrifuge, was bone jarring and teeth rattling at best.

“Can you set broken bones?” I managed as the ship juddered and bounced.

“My auto surgery is programmed for general orthopedic damage to humanoids. Are you broken, Diana Mac?”

“No. I’m fine,” I managed correcting hard left. Then I chuckled, “My sense of humor’s not very fucking good either.”

For the next hour, I didn’t speak, and neither did Fury, though I felt the ship working with me as clearly as I felt the movement of my own hands across the consol. It was as though the ship were anticipating my every move. I’d had moments like that onboard the Dubrovnik, moments of connection, moments when I was so in tune with the ship that it felt as though my very skin had dissolved and whatever boundary separated ship from pilot temporarily disappeared. But it was only ever momentary, and never really very personal. Lots of pilots felt that connection on those occasions when the situation demanded the most from the pilot and the ship. But the components that were always working in the equation of me piloting the Dubrovnik, the failsafe barriers and safety protocols separating ship from pilot didn’t exist with the Fury. Somehow I had more control, and that seemed to, in some strange way, give the ship more control as well. With Fury, I realized, we were always skin-to-skin.

“I recommend supplement AR 1.” Fury’s computer interrupted my ruminations.

“For what? What’s supplement AR1?” I asked, taking us up again to a higher level that was no less turbulent, but brought us closer to our goal of escaping the upper atmosphere.

“It will help you feel less tired, more energetic. It is Richard Manning’s own formula.”

“What does the AR stand for, I asked?”

“Adrenalin Rush.”

I laughed and risked taking the ship up a little higher still. “Oh that sounds delightful. But maybe later. I think we’re almost free.”

“Sensors indicate that we are, indeed almost free of the planet’s atmosphere.”

“What do you think? Shall we risk an attempt to break the bitch?”

“The odds are fifty-fifty, Diana Mac. Worth the gamble.”

I laughed and nosed us up a little more. “Has Manning been playing poker with you, because he cheated, you know?”

 

 

“Of course he cheated.” Came the reply. “I did warn him that he would lose, if he attempted such an illogical wager against you.”

“Oh?” The ship began to judder hard, and I gritted my teeth, forced the nose up another few meters and levelled off again. “So he ignored you?”

“He did not ignore me, Diana Mac. He took my advice.”

“You told him to cheat?”

For a moment there was silence as the ship bucked and shimmied, and I feared I’d have to bring us back down again. “Goddamn it! I’m sick of this shit, and I’m starving, Fury let’s get the fuck out of this mess.”

“Don’t worry, Diana Mac. I got you,” came the reply.

We took a bloody battering, but together we kept our nose up and didn’t retreat, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, we pulled free of the planet’s exosphere with a sudden burst of acceleration that had my stomach in my throat and my brain about to pop out my eyeballs. I think I might have let out some very undignified war whoop, and then we were free. The Fury settled like a seabird on calm water, and I ran a hand, suddenly none too steady, across my sweaty forehead.

“We did it,” I managed once I was sure all my innards were back in their proper place.

“Fucking A,” came the response that had me laughing out loud.

“You’ve spent too much time around Manning,” I said.

I had read that Plague One was noted for it’s horrendous planet-wide storms, and from the beginning the plague colonies had been built below ground. No one could have survived on the surface in a full blown planet-wide, and what made the storms even worse was that the only safe distance was beyond high orbit.

Once we were out of harm’s way, too exhausted to move, I just sat and looked back at the planet, ghost white against the black of deep space, it’s own sun little more than a distant yellow speck. The entire atmosphere was a mesmerizing jumble of massive hurricane swirls. Goose bumps rose along my spine and I laid a hand on the console. “We did good,” I spoke softly to Fury. “We’re still alive. We did real good.”

“Real good, indeed,” came the response.

“So,” I said gazing down at Plague One still in the throes of the storm. “You advised Manning to cheat me at poker?”

“I did. Yes.”

“Mind telling me why?”

There was a long pause, and I half expected the ship’s computer to ask me to rephrase the question. But at last Fury answered. “I needed a decent pilot.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Well you got the best now, but that’s a helluva way to get you one.”

“Indeed.”

I let my mind swirled with the clouds, as I slumped deeper into the pilot’s chair nearly falling asleep before my stomach growled. Then I undid my restraints and stumbled to the galley. I stopped at Manning’s door and lifted a hand to knock, but then thought better of it.

By the time I reached the galley and replicated a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of coffee, I was wondering if Manning was even still alive. Surely Stanislovski would have commed me if his situation had worsened. Not that I could have done anything. What if they were both dead? I mean the storm was seriously rough going. If they hadn’t been able to strap in in time, anything might have happened. I took a bite of my sandwich and scalded my mouth on the coffee.

“Fury, can you tell me Manning’s condition,” I asked. Then I shot a glance over my shoulder just in case the man was watching, as he’d been known to do.

“Richard Manning is resting comfortably,” Fury’s computer replied.

“And Ina Stanislovski?”

“Ina Stanislovski is resting comfortably. Their vital signs are normal, and Richard Manning is fully recovered from his incident.”

Relief left me feeling like my bones had turned soft. I glanced over my shoulder again. “Fury, can you tell me what Manning’s condition is?”

“I cannot,” came the response.

“Cannot or will not?”

“You must ask Richard Manning.”

“Do you know what Richard Manning suffers from?”

“Of course I do. He is my captain.”

“But you’re not authorized to tell me.”

“I am not.”

“Bloody bastard.” I didn’t bother to speak quietly. I didn’t care if he heard me. “I’m his goddamn pilot. Doesn’t he think I have a right to know if he suffers from some debilitating disease that leaves me alone and in charge at the absolute worst possible time?” Then I tried another approach. “Has he had this condition long?”

“All of his life.”

Then it hit me like an orca class freighter. “Is that why he made the bet with me? Is he no longer able to captain you alone?”

“His condition is stable, and he is quite capable of performing his duties to me. You were brought onboard for other reasons.”

“What other reasons?”

“Because I needed a pilot,” came the reply.

“You’re not very fucking good at lying either, Fury.” I shoved half my sandwich into my mouth, and chewed angrily. “Stupid me. I’m just the fucking indentured. You’re probably not authorized to tell me anything. I’m just an expendable tool.”

“We are all expendable tools, Diana Mac. I do not understand your anger.”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” Since there was nothing I could do about being kept in the dark where Manning’s condition was concerned, I pulled up the Pilot’s log and entered as much detail about the storm as I could remember, checking back over the computer records of the past four hours. The only sound in the galley was the soft hum of the life support systems.

Piloting Fury Part 19: A KDG Sci Fi Romance

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Good morning, my lovelies. Welcome to another cheeky Monday read. Here’s this week’s episode of  Piloting Fury.  

Last  week  Mac’s visit  to the first Plague Planet was nothing at all like she expected. This week, she gets a healthy dose of the truth, and a dangerous storm.

If you have just arrived and would like to start at the beginning of Piloting Fury, follow the link, and enjoy!

 

Piloting Fury

“Win the bet and Fury’s yours. Lose the bet and your ass is mine.” It seemed like a no-brainer — Rick Manning’s slightly inebriated offer. If he’d been sober, he’d have remembered indentured pilot, Diana “Mac” McAllister never lost a bet. All her life she’s dreamed of buying back her freedom and owning her own starship, and when Fury’s ne’er-do-well, irritating as hell captain all but hands Fury to her on a silver platter she figures she can’t lose. She figured wrong. That’s how the best pilot in the galaxy finds herself the indentured 1st mate of a crew that, thanks to her, has doubled in size. Too late, she finds out Fury is way more than a cargo ship. Fury is a ship with a history – a dangerous history, and one that Mac’s been a part of for a lot longer than she thinks. And Rick Manning is not above cheating at poker to get her right at the center of it all, exactly where he needs her to be.

Piloting Fury Part 19: A Burger, Fries and the Truth

“How can this be?” I asked, as a waitress in a vintage uniform served me a burger and fries and what she called a milk shake, informing me that everything I was about to ingest was either grown or synthesized on Pandora Base. No real meat, I was told, and since I had no idea what a burger and fries was supposed to taste like, I didn’t know the difference.”

“This is Professor Keen’s creation,” Manning said, looking from him to me and back, as though hoping that would placate me.

“Actually, we all worked together to create Pandora Base. It was just my design,” the man replied sipping at a cup of coffee.

“Like the SNTs?” I said.

He looked down into his cup and inhaled a deep breath. “Like the SNTs, yes.”

“And how many died in the creating of this little project?” The minute I asked it, I knew it was a stupid question.

“Thousands. I can give you exact numbers if you’d like. While we built Pandora Base, we were still working on the cure, and even when we got it right, it was difficult to synthesize without ingredients we had to have smuggled in.” He scrubbed his hand over his face as if by doing so he could erase the memory. “Everything had to be smuggled in back then. Some died just because we couldn’t get what we needed in time to save them. Those were the hardest deaths to bear. It’s only been the last ten standard years that we’ve been totally self-sufficient.”

“And the ships, the SNTs? How many millions died because of them, and you sent them out there, and you bonded my father.”

“There was nothing wrong with the ships. They were perfect!” He leaned so far over the table, I thought he would climb on top of it. The raw emotion in his voice crackled through the air like static. “Their bondings were perfect. Every contingency planned for, well-thought out, tested and retested. Every humanoid perfectly matched to his ship. It was the virus, it was the damn virus.” He dropped back into the booth and slapped the table so hard that the cutlery rattled.

“The SNTs would have brought the galaxy to the brink of peace. Another generation of ships would have revolutionized space travel with their speed only limited by the speed of human thought. That would have meant a more mobile workforce, and it would have opened up other uses for bonded technology that would have, within less than a generation, completely done away with the need for indentureds. Think about it, indentureds are the work force that keeps the conglomerates and the oligarchs in power. Fortunes have been amassed and empires built on the backs of indentured. What may have started out as a way to pay off debt has become an economic necessity.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “You’re not saying anything every citizen and every indentured doesn’t already know, Keen.”

Manning waved a hand to shush me, and Keen continued.

“At the time, there was already a motion before the Authority to begin the emancipation of indentured. Then the Perigrine incident happened, and everyone blamed the SNT ships, everyone said they weren’t stable. Within a few months several more went rogue. Diana,” he held my gaze with pleading eyes, “you and everyone on Pandora Base knows that the SNT virus was engineered to keep indentureds in line. There’s no way it would have infected a sentient ship. At least not as it was. It was engineered, never was it naturally occurring.” He looked down at my forearm. “It was engineered specifically for the shackle. But with the SNTs’ biological matrix, it could have just as easily been reengineered to infect a sentient ship. With just a little tweaking, the makeup of the virus that affects the brain in advanced stages of the infection could be magnified and manipulated so that it was the component of the virus that was injected into the sentient ships. That’s exactly what happened with the Peregrine and with the other ships. Your father discovered this — he and the Merlin. The Merlin had already been infected, but the bond was strong enough between the ship and your father that he was able to diagnose the problem and get the word to me. I made the mistake of taking the information your father gave me to someone in the Authority I thought I could trust. The next thing I knew, I was on a plague ship being sent here, deliberately infected, and your father and the Merlin had sacrificed themselves for nothing.” His voice had become a tight, vicious whisper and the fever in his eyes looked more like an inferno.

My pulse beat in my ears like a flock of pigeons taking flight, and the tightness in my throat made speaking impossible.

At last Keen continued. “With the mass destruction caused by the infected ships, naturally public opinion turned completely against the SNT project, just like the Authority wanted. Up until that time the virus was known only by name V1. Most people just referred to it as ‘the virus.” But after the SNT disaster, it became known as the SNT virus. Rumor even spread that the ships had engineered it on their own for the purpose of destruction, never mind that they didn’t used it and never mind that it destroyed them. By that time the evidence was irrelevant. Emotions had been whipped into a frenzy, and what blame I didn’t get, your father got. That’s the truth of it, Diana. I swear to you. ”

I sat for a moment, feeling the world spinning out of control around me. It wasn’t that I ever had any control, but if what Keen said was true, then I felt more helpless, more trapped than ever.

Keen took a deep shaky breath and spoke into the silence. “I … I was sent to Plague One to die a long and painful death, and your father was saddled with the crime he didn’t commit, and the debt of the loss of the Merlin, which was all kindly passed on to you.” That part of the story I knew and lived with every day. I had no doubt Fallon had known this all along – even been a part of the downfall of the SNTs most likely. And for him, I was just a reminder of a job well done.

The clatter of Manning’s coffee cup hitting the floor brought us rudely back to the present. “I’m sorry. Clumsy of me,” he said, reaching for a handful of napkins from the vintage dispenser and scooting from the booth, where he promptly fell to his knees with a pained gasp.

“Manning, what is it? What’s wrong?” I clamored out after him, ignoring the shard of the broken mug slicing through my jumpsuit and into my knee, as I did so. “What’s wrong? Manning talk to me, damn it.”

 

 

“I need to get back to Fury, back to my quarters, then I’ll be just fine. Don’t worry.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he began trembling so hard I feared his bones would break. He forced a laugh between gritted teeth. “Talk about lousy timing. Mac, you’re knee’s bleeding. Best take care of it.” He offered me a napkin, but dropped it with a sharp groan as he doubled over, like someone had punched him in the gut.

“Forget my goddamned knee, it’s just a cut. Tell me what’s wrong?”  In my peripheral vision, Keen was now standing, braced against the table with his hand extended to Manning. Between the two of us, we got him back into the booth just as the uni-com system crackled and a computerized female voice spoke.

Warning, all personnel return immediately to Pandora Base. P-Blizzard Epsilon will be planet wide in T-minus 40 minutes. Repeat all personnel return immediately to Pandora Base. P-Blizzard Epsilon will be planet wide in T-minus 40 minutes.

A siren began to wail outside in the biosphere’s main street.

“It wasn’t predicted to hit that fast,” Keen said, fumbling for his personal device in his pocket. “That means it’ll be a deep atmosphere storm.”

Manning grabbed my arm. “Get me back to my quarters, and get the Fury a safe distance from the planet.”

“You’re not fit to go anywhere,” I said, settling his parka around him. “I’m sure Dr. Keen can –”

“Do it, Mac. That’s an order.”

“Listen to him,” Keen said, helping him into the parka, and motioning me to put on mine. “He knows what he needs, and it’ll take you at least thirty minutes to get the Fury prepped and out of orbit.”

Manning fisted my parka in a wave of pain and then hissed between gritted teeth, “Mac, if you don’t get Fury out of high orbit, there’ll be no ship left to move.” Then Manning was leaning on both of us as we half dragged half carried him into the street, which was a hive of organized chaos as everyone prepared for the storm.

“We can mol-tran you two from Main Street,” Keen said. “In this weather, it’s not likely we could even get containment outside the airlock. It’s unusual for a P-level storm to breach so quickly, but it happens.”

Just outside the door of the diner, Ina Stanislovski joined us already dressed in her parka and storm gear. “I’m coming with,” she said falling into step.

“Ina can help,” Keen explained. “You can send her back as soon as the storm breaks.”

She took Keen’s place supporting Manning on the other side and Keen pulled out his device. Then he stopped and turned to me.

“I know you have a million questions, Diana, questions I’ll happily answer. Com me. I’m in Fury’s database under Kandenski. It was my mother’s family name.” And then he stepped back and spoke into his device. “Three for Mol-tran to Fury.”

The next thing I knew we were standing in the ship’s corridor in front of Manning’s quarters, with me feeling like I’d left half my innards on Pandora Base.

Stanislovski gave her belly a quick fisted rub, clearly feeling the same. “Always a rougher mol-tran from inside the base,” she said offering a reassuring smile.

“Get Fury out of orbit,” Manning managed, leaning heavily on Stanislovski. “I’m counting on you, Mac.”

“I’ll see to Rick,” the woman said, and the next thing I knew the door to his cabin opened just wide enough to admit the two of them, then slammed shut and locked behind them leaving me standing in the corridor next to the bridge.

I felt the click of the locking mechanism like a slap, but I had more important things to dwell on than what I swear was absolutely not jealousy. I turned away, strapped myself into the pilot’s chair just as the whole ship lurched wildly. “Buckle in,” I announced over the com, already checking telemetry and trajectory “We’re in for a rough ride.”