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Piloting Fury Part 13: A KDG 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.  As I said, Fury is a little different from what you’ve come to expect from KDG. I’m revisiting this serial novel for multiple reasons, but mostly because I love Fury, and I hope you do too.

Last  week Rab found himself with the last partner in the world he’d ever want. This week, it looks like he’s going to be stuck with him.

Catch up here if you missed last week’s episode of Piloting Fury.

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

 

 

Piloting Fury Part 13: Into the Lion Cub’s Den

Good work, Leo. I need to discuss this with you and Gerando. Have him take you onboard the Ares.

Next to him, Junior was reading the same message on his own device. Fucking hell, the one place Rab did not want to be was smack dab in the middle of the lion cub’s den. But like it or not, that’s where he found himself.

The bullyboys grumbled about having to leave their entertainment, but one look from Junior silenced them. Rab hoped they didn’t decide to take out their disappointment on him.

Gerando Fallon took him straight to the bridge of the Ares, strutting about like he was king of the quadrant. He was the typical spoilt brat, showing off his little toy. Rab didn’t give a fuck if daddy bought him a whole damned planet. All he wanted was his freedom and a chance to start a new life as far away from Authority space as possible. If he never set foot on another goddamned starship again, well he could live with that just fine.

Gerando replicated something strongly alcoholic and motioned for his ass kissers to do the same. He didn’t offer Rab anything. At last, after a fair amount of belching and farting and sniggering Rab reckoned was meant for his benefit, the Ares’ computer forwarded an incoming subspace message.

To Rab’s surprise, the screen lit up, and he found himself eyeball to eyeball with Abriad Fallon. It was him, not Junior, who was under the man’s sharp gaze. Managing not to piss himself, Rab gave a nod of his head as greeting. Fallon nodded back. “Nice work, Leo Rab,” he said. It was always difficult to reconcile such a smooth, daddy-like voice with one of the most powerful, most dangerous men in the galaxy. But then some of the most dangerous animals seemed all bunny rabbit sweet even as they lured their victims to hideous deaths.

“Thank you, sir.”

While Junior made no sound, Rab feared he might need a round of radiation meds just to counteract the hate and resentment rolling off him. He noticed that while some of it was directed at him, at least as much was directed at his old man.

Once Abriad Fallon was sure he had their full attention – as if there was any doubt, he began to pace back and forth behind a dark wood table. Then he dropped the bomb. “The two of you are quite the team,” he said, including his son in his gaze now. “But quite frankly your hands are tied onboard the Dubrovnki, Leo. I no longer have need for your services there now that Diana McAllister is gone.”

Holy hell on a ham sandwich that wasn’t what Rab wanted to hear. Now he’d never been a wimp. He’d been in some deep shit in his time, and faced it nose to nose, but he honest to god thought he’d pass right out there on the deck of the Ares. He struggled to breathe struggled to pay attention to the rest of what Fallon was saying.

“As for your other duties, well, I’ve decided that Captain Harker’s crew could benefit from a good shaking up. He waved a hand that looked as though it had never seen a hard day’s work. “As of tonight, I’m moving you to the Ares and …”

“Father, that’s not fair!” Junior all but catapulted out of his chair. “If you’d just give me a chance I would …”

The man stopped pacing and the same raised hand silenced the kid and the color drained from his face. “I gave you a chance, and you nearly killed my best informant and then you did kill a notary, who was good at his job. The publican was not best pleased. It wasn’t easy to cover up your mess, boy. As I said, the two of you are a good team.”

 

 

If Junior was unhappy, Rab was beside himself. He didn’t figure he’d last ten minutes alone with the ass wipe and his lads. But fucking daddy Fallon had thought of everything. “During the time Leo Rab is onboard the Ares, I swear to you that if any harm comes to him, I won’t take the time to find out who caused it. I’ll simply slap shackles on all of your pals and send them off to the nearest mining colony. And I’ll be sending you right along with them, boy. Is that clear?”

New Vaticana Jesu, Rab thought the kid was going to puke. But he held his gorge, squared his shoulders and nodded.

“Good.” Daddy clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace again. For the first time Rab caught a view of the la-de-da study all done up like it came straight from Old Terran England, what with its leather sofas and glassed cases full of honest to god books. If it belonged to Fallon, Rab could guaran-fucking-tee that it was all the real deal. Hell, even a cheap-assed imitation of a room like that would cost more than Rab could make in several lifetimes.

In the background a servant poured a drink from a crystal decanter, then delivered it all careful and respectful-like to Fallon. Poor bugger was probably terrified. Rab sure as fuck would have been. Then he noticed the raw wound of an indentured’s shackle on the servant’s left arm, and for a second, Rab feared he might be the one about to puke. A raw shackle was a dead giveaway that the owner of the indentured used the SNT virus as punishment. But he already knew that about Fallon. The man bragged about it openly. While Rab had been indentured to a mean sonovabitch, the bloke had been scared shitless of the virus and found other ways to punish his indentureds. Only once had Rab been infected, and that was when his shackle malfunctioned. He’d been punished more times than he could remember, but no matter how creative and sadistic those methods were, they were still far better than being infected.

Fallon cleared his throat and ran a finger around the rim of his glass, and Rab’s attention jolted back to him. “Oh cheer up you two.” His face lit with the kind of smile that your old man might give you just before he whups your ass for crossing him. He reckoned Junior had seen that look often enough. “I have contacts who have connections with the Authority outposts near Outer Kingston. We’ll know within the hour if this Banshee Blake is the lucky buyer. And then it’s just a matter of making him an offer he can’t refuse. The Authorities will take back my property and send Manning to a triaxium penal colony. And the two of you will be free of each other. Leo,” he turned his full attention on Rab, who found himself unconsciously rubbing the place where his own shackle had been. “Once my property is safely onboard a Lightning Cruiser bound for Terra Nova Prime, you’ll find your account unfrozen and fat enough with credits to get you anywhere in the galaxy you want to go, to set you up in whatever business you choose to do. I’ll see you transported safely to the nearest space station. In the meantime,” he sipped his drink and heaved a contented sigh, “I would suggest you two get used to each other. Oh, and one more thing, Gerando. Make sure that Leo gets decent accommodation. I don’t want the brains of this operation suffering from lack of sleep because you’ve made him bed down in some corner. You’ve got room. I expect him to be fed well and housed well and be treated hospitably until the business between the two of you is concluded. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear,” the kid mumbled, but his white-knuckled fists said he wasn’t happy about it.

Fallon tossed back the rest of his drink and slapped the glass down on the table behind him. “I’ll update you when I hear back from the Authority sentinels for Outer Kingston. Enjoy the rest of your night.” The screen went blank, and both Rab and Gerando Fallon sat staring at it. Rab figured it would be hard to tell which one of them was the most miserable. As if he wasn’t already chin deep in the shitter, now he was caught between father and son, which only added to the major pain in his ass. He didn’t want to leave the Dubrovnik, but it was a done deal, wasn’t it? All he could do was hope for a quick and successful end to the hunt for Diana McAllister. Even as he thought it, he recalled the angry raw lesion on the arm of Fallon’s servant, and his mind rebelled at the idea of such a thing happening to the Dubrovnik’s pilot. Still, it wasn’t his problem, was it? Fallon could do whatever the fuck he wanted to his indentureds, just like anyone else could. He stroked the inside of his left forearm and cradled it close. His freedom had not been cheap, but up until the last few days, he’d at least thought he could afford it. He shoved aside his doubts. It was way too late for them now.

Piloting Fury Part 12: A KDG 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.  As I said, Fury is a little different from what you’ve come to expect from KDG. I’m revisiting this serial novel for multiple reasons, but mostly because I love Fury, and I hope you do too.

Last  week  Mac learned that there is a cure for the Plague. This week Rab finds himself with the last partner in the world he’d ever want.

Catch up here if you missed last week’s episode of Piloting Fury.

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 12: Not an Ideal Team

Rab wasn’t bad at this investigating shit, if he did say so himself. And even though the work all had to be done on his own time and on the sly, it sure beat the hell out of being indentured — a thing Fallon reminded him of often. He’d managed to play stupid when Harker questioned him concerning his unhappy encounter with Fallon’s brat. After all he’d had the hell kicked out of him. It wasn’t hard to believe that a man might take an ass whupping on a backwater space station and not know who’d done it. The stations and colonies on the edge of the Rim were noted for being rough. That’s why Harker tried to avoid them whenever he could. Being that the Dubrovnik was a big-assed fancy-shmancy conglomerate ship, it seldom put in at the more remote shitholes. The conglomerates always wanted everything to look all squeaky-clean and we-care-about-our- employees like. But Rab knew better. They all knew better.  Hell, Rab wasn’t the first of the Dubrovnik’s crew to get roughed up while on shore leave. He’d been damned lucky, truth be told. Harker lost an ensign just last year and in a place far more respectable than NH372. Young Turk, flirting with a woman. Turned out the bitch in question had a boyfriend, a real jealous boyfriend. Cut the poor kid’s throat from ear to ear. He bled out in nothing flat. So Rab’s story wasn’t much of a stretch. Whether Harker believed him, he couldn’t say. The boss man kept a good poker face. Working for the conglomerate, he couldn’t afford not to.

Over in the corner of the bar on Mining Colony Heceta 9 – the dive didn’t even have a name — Gerando Fallon sat with a woman on his lap all but fucking her right there at the table. Apparently she was on the menu. Rab knew for a fact that daddy had ordered sonny-boy to play nice and not draw attention to himself. But it still made Rab’s skin crawl to think of that turd ball even feeling up a Faribaldina crater slug, let alone a woman.

It wasn’t by chance they’d ended up in the same bar. Sadly, while Rab might have the makings of a good detective, Abriad Fallon had decided that a part of his job should now be babysitting his jizz waste of son. The two were all but joined at the hip until they found Diana McAllister. Hell, he’d thought he’d never have to look at Junior’s ugly face again after what had happened in New Hibernia. But feeling the sting of daddy’s wrath had sent the little cockroach scurrying to find a way to make right his fuck-up, and that led to an even bigger fuck-up. He cornered the poor unsuspecting notary who had notarized the bet between McAllister and some punter named Manning.

Well, the good folks of Rim stations take their gambling seriously, and the bets placed by clientele in any establishment are duly notarized, then kept secret on pain of death. And this notary’s death had, indeed, been painful. Before he died, he’d managed to destroy the DNA codes on his device and everything but the name Manning.

That was when dear ole dad had stepped in. He didn’t want the fucking fruit of his loins killing any more innocent people – mostly because the cover up cost him serious credits, but he also wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened to Diana McAllister. So like it or not, and neither of them liked it one little bit, they were a team, which meant Rab doing all the work and Junior spending his time whoring and drinking.

Rab had done a little detective work from his sick bed on the Dubrovnik and had discovered that there had, indeed, been a Richard Manning in port that night. Manning was the captain of a bucket of bolts called the Fury. Fury was a cargo ship, but you didn’t need much of a brain to know that small cargo ships stayed in business by smuggling, and this Richard Manning had a reputation for being damned good at it. Several people who knew him, or knew of him — as it turned out no one knew him all that well – claimed to have seen him with Diana McAllister at watering holes across the Inner Rim over the course of the last couple of years. Hell Rab had probably seen them together himself, but he didn’t pay much attention to who drank with who, since he knew damn good and well an indentured wasn’t about to jump ship. Or so he’d thought until McAllister had done just that.

Strange now that he’d had time to think about it, low-end cargo ships and smugglers seldom hung out with Orca class conglomerate freighters. They were more likely to hang out in the shitholes at the edge of the Rim where there was business a plenty to be had for their ilk. While Rab knew who Diana McAllister’s father had been and the debt she’d been saddled with, while he knew that a place as corrupt and the Authority had to have enemies, rebel fractions, he seriously couldn’t imagine any of them would have the power to take McAllister right from under Fallon’s nose. Nor could he imagine why they would do it, except maybe to make a statement. Hell, maybe this Manning bloke was working on his own and just wanted some company that looked nice and could pilot a ship. Big risk though. But then again, who wouldn’t want to spend time with Diana McAllister, if they could keep her from winning the clothes off their back.

That’s what landed Leo Rab at a nameless bar on Heceta 9, tossing back a few and blowing off some steam with as many of his crew mates as could get shore leave. The Dubrovnik was at the colony to pick up a large shipment of triaxium ore. And mining colonies, no matter where they were, always attracted the scum of the galaxy. It was perfect for Rab. He’d learned that Manning had made a dodgy purchase of New Hibernian whiskey from a man named Gruber. According to rumors, Gruber was one of the more straight shooting smugglers out there. The man had a partner on Heceta 9, who ran the business planet-side and made sure all the transactions were just enough above board for Gruber to look legit.

 

 

“Yeah I know Manning,” Gruber said, sipping on the same beer he’d been nursing since Rab came into the place. He’d approached the man and offered him a fresh pint. Gruber nodded his thanks, and Rab took that as permission to sit. “He captains the Fury,” he said sniffing at the beer like he thought Rab might have pissed in it. But then you couldn’t be too careful in Gruber’s line of work, could you? “Don’t know how the hell he keeps the wreck flying. He must be a damn good engineer as well.”

Rab pulled up the image of McAllister on his device. “Don’t suppose you happened to see this woman onboard the Fury?”

Gruber grabbed up the device and squinted at it. “So what if I have? I don’t want no trouble, and Manning, well Manning’s all right.”

“She’s my sister,” Rab lied. Aside from the fact there was no resemblance whatsoever, he couldn’t think of any other reason why he might be asking after her. “The folks are worried. Old man’s not in the best of health, ya know. I just want to know my sister’s all right.”

The bloke shrugged and handed back Rab’s device. “Got a sister of my own, and yours could do worse than running off with the likes of Manning. Sorry about your old man, though.”

Talk about dumb fucking luck. Who knew the sod had a soft spot for his sister.

Gruber finished off the dregs of his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Didn’t get a good look at her. She was on the bridge, but that’s her. Maybe the bastard hired someone on to fly the damn ship while he’s busy fixing it, although,” he squinted harder, “Manning’s quite the ladies’ man. Your sister might have just gotten herself smitten.”

“Smitten. That don’t sound much like my sis, but hell, I suppose anything’s possible. The heart wants what the heart wants.” Strange, as long as he’d worked onboard the Dubrovnik with his only real reason for being there to keep an eye on McAllister and to see what Harker got up to, she really did feel sort of like a little sister – one he didn’t think he’d want to cross left to his own devices.

“Well, Manning’ll take good care of her if she’s on his ship. You don’t need to worry about that. Man’s got a good heart, even if he is bat shit crazy, but hell this far out, ain’t that many sane folks around is there?”

Wasn’t that the truth, Rab thought. “Don’t suppose you know who Manning’s selling the whiskey to?”

“Probably heading for Outer Kingston. That’s where I’d be heading if I had a load of New Hibernian I wanted to shed for a good profit. Woulda done just that ‘cept I had another contract pending.”

Rab’s heart sank. He was tied to the Dubrovnik as surely as if he was an indentured, and the Dubrovnik never ventured out that far. He hated like hell to think of Gerando Fallon getting his hands on McAllister before he did. He supposed the end result would be the same. Poor woman would be returned to Daddy Fallon, and Manning, if he survived, would be indentured and sent of to some penal colony for the rest of his life, which wouldn’t be long. Rab didn’t like to think about that. He didn’t like to dwell on the end result of all his detective work.

He tossed back his whiskey and ordered another one. “Don’t suppose you know who he might be selling to?”

“He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. None of my goddamned business once the stuff’s out of my hands and I got credits in my account.”

With no joy there, Rab tried a different approach. Another hour of asking around if anyone knew where he could unload a hefty shipment of New Hibernian on the QT, and he came up with a name he figured just might be their man, some Polyphemian named Banshee Blake. About as slimy as you could get, the scuttlebutt had it. But he paid well for New Hibernian. You just had to make sure the bastard didn’t take the goods and run. Polyphemians were notorious for that. Just one rung above thieving pirates, the whole damned lot. They’d sell their own mothers to the highest bidders. Blake was exactly the kind of scum they might be able to work with. But Rab wasn’t about to turn that information over to Junior.

He paid for his drink, and glanced around. Sonny boy was still parked in the corner with his head buried in the woman’s tits and his feet up on the table. He headed out back all nice and quiet like to run his plan by Fallon Senior. The man had the connections he’d need if they were to get to this Banshee Blake in time.

He found a quiet corner and was just about to send the message when a wave of alcohol on the air that made his eyes water told him that he wasn’t alone.

“What are you up to Rab?” Gerando Fallon sauntered up to him straightening his trousers. “You’re not trying to pull one over on me are you? What did you find out from Gruber?”

“What’d you do, kid, pull a fuck’n’run?” Before Junior could respond with more than just a growl, Rab fumbled with his own trousers. “I came out for a piss. Do you mind?”

Damned if the little gob shite didn’t pull out his cock and start pissing right next to him, while Rab had visions of working up a sweat kicking the bastard in the ass. “So, what did Gruber say?” Junior made a show of shaking it and tucking himself back in.

“He knows Manning.”

“Well we already fucking knew that, didn’t we? If that’s all you could squeeze out of him then maybe you better let me have a go.” He cracked his knuckles, and Rab would bet a galactic month’s wages that, if he looked, the motherfucker was getting a hard-on just thinking about beating poor old Gruber.”

“No need for that,” Rab said, tugging up the last reserves of his patience. “He sold Manning whiskey. Said he reckoned he’d sell it somewhere near Outer Kingston. I suppose you coulda have told me that too,” he said, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Coulda. An ass-kissing bastard like you wouldn’t know that, of course because the old man keeps you busy aboard the Dubrovnik.”

While daddy Fallon had ordered Junior not to kill Rab, he had conveniently overlooked the possibility that Rab might just kill the kid. Hell the old man would probably reward him for making the galaxy a more pleasant place.

Before he could get into a heartwarming fantasy of the best ways to take Junior out, the fucker grabbed Rab’s device right out of his hand and opened the message he’d been about to send. Rab braced himself figuring this was the part where the kid lost control and all bets were off.

“When were you gonna tell me this? When the fuck were you going to tell me this?” Spittle gathered in the corner of his mouth like a mad New Hibernian wolf dog and just as he drew back a fist, Rab took advantage of his generous alcohol consumption, ducked the punch, grabbed back his device and sent the message.

“I was going to tell you when I knew a little more about this Banshee Blake, and I thought with your father’s resources, he might be able to help us.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before a subspace came through from daddy.

 

Piloting Fury Part 7: KDG Scifi Romance

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Good morning, my lovelies. Time for another cheeky Monday read that’s cheekily late this week because I’ve been away. BUT I promise next Monday’s will be on time. So here’s this week’s slightly delayed episode of  Piloting Fury.  As I said, Fury is a little different from what you’ve come to expect from KDG. I’m revisiting this serial novel for multiple reasons, but mostly because I love Fury, and I hope you do too.

Last  week Mac discovered that Manning had been expecting her. This week aboard the Dubrovnik, Captain Harker  hopes for the best when Mac doesn’t show up for her shift.

Catch up here if you missed last week’s episode of Piloting Fury.

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 7: Turning a Blind Eye

Captain Evander Harker paced the bridge of the Dubrovnik waiting for the shuttle to dock. The ship had been delayed in its departure due to a missing pilot. Oh he’d occasionally had crew members jump ship without giving notice, but they were usually unskilled labor and certainly they were never indentured. Of course there were others who could pilot the ship, though certainly none who were anywhere nearly as good at it as Diana McAllister.

“No sign of her, Captain,” came the message from the shuttle pilot. “If she’s on the space station, scans aren’t showing any evidence of her shackle. She’s long gone.”

Harker certainly hoped that was true. Leo Rab had reported to sickbay with a broken rib and a ruptured kidney last night. He claimed he was attacked behind the Nine Tails. But Harker knew better. He might have a reputation for being one of the few orca class captains working for Bright Star Conglomerate that was incorruptible, but that didn’t make him stupid. That made him cautious. It didn’t matter if you were a starship captain or a bum. Harker was always well aware that the boundary separating a free citizen from an indentured was thin and fluid. Diana McAllister was a perfect example of that. So he’d always been cautious. But he’d been a helluva lot more so since taking Mac onboard. She had made the Dubrovnik, and therefore Bright Star, a lot of money. But he had known from the beginning her being on the crew was only a temporary reprieve. That he wasn’t sure what had happened to her left a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. That Rab had gotten away from whatever altercation he’d been involved in with no more than a broken rib and a ruptured kidney left him hopeful. But then again, there was really little reason for Rab to remain aboard if McAllister was gone. Well he could tell himself that, but clearly Fallon senior still wanted him watched.

Harker paced back and forth on the deck one more time, knowing that there was no need to wait any longer, and hoping against hope that the best damn pilot in the galaxy could somehow make a successful escape. If any indentured he’d ever known deserved it, she did.

“Juarez, take us out of orbit,” he ordered the lieutenant now sitting uncomfortably in Diana Mac’s chair. Then he hit the com button. “All hands to stations.” With any luck they would be out of hailing range before Abriad Fallon checked in. In truth Harker was surprised that he hadn’t done it already. Surprised and worried. Conditions were picking up for one helluva radiation storm, giving him a genuine excuse for not contacting Fallon about Mac going AWOL. That would give the girl a little more grace, he thought, trying not to dwell on the very real possibility that she was already suffering in an alley somewhere, or worse yet, aboard Gerando Fallon’s ship. By now the virus would have become far more than a rash and in another forty-eight hours, there would be nothing anyone could do for her. The only other possibility was just too damn good to be true, and yet circumstances kept him hoping.

As he took his seat and buckled in, he knew that there was already nothing anyone could do for her if Fallon found her. He had no idea why the man wanted her so badly, and Vaticana Jesu knew he had done everything in his power to keep her away from the man. Now matters were out of his hands, but as long as Leo Rab remained onboard the Dubrovnik, he was still under Fallon’s scrutiny.

Once the Dubrovnik had cleared the Corset and the jump was made, and he couldn’t help noticing it was a little rougher than it would have been if McAllister had made it, he unbuckled and turned to Juarez. “You’re head pilot now, lieutenant, at least for the moment.” He supposed it was his own little streak of mean, his own way of dealing with all the goddamn helplessness he felt every day, but it did his heart good to see Juarez pale just a little bit as he gave a stiff necked nod and a breathless ‘yes sir.’

 

 

He returned to his quarters and grabbed a quick cup of coffee from the replicator before he settled in to inspect the manifests one last time for the cargo they’d be off-loading in Inner Rim City. But the words and numbers blurred in front of his eyes like some foreign language. He pushed back from his desk and commed Sickbay.

“How’s Rab?” he asked without preamble.

“Making a recovery,” came Dr. Flissy’s no-nonsense reply. “He’s off the duty roster for two, maybe three days, but he should be good to go by the time we hit Inner Rim City.”

“He still in sickbay then?”

“For a couple more hours, yes, then I’m releasing him with pain meds back to his quarters to sleep.”

“Good. I’ll be right down. I want a word with him.”

“Right captain.” Flissy didn’t ask why the ship’s captain was questioning Rab rather than the on-duty security staff, which was just as well because he really couldn’t give a good answer could he?

As he stepped into the corridor security chief, Ivan joined him. “A word, sir, if I might.”

“What is it, Ivan. I’m in a bit of a rush.”

The man matched his steps unflustered by his captain’s impatience. “Just thought you might like to know that Amos and Han saw Gerando Fallon in the Nine Tails last night eyeballing McAllister. If I were to venture a guess, he’s the reason our pilot is missing.”

Well hell, this was not what he wanted to hear, and yet it didn’t surprise him either. Even as it worried him, it left him hopeful.

“That’s a possibility,” Harker replied. He’d known Fallon would be there. That was the reason Fallon senior ordered him to make the unscheduled stop at NH372. He’d also known exactly what Gerando Fallon had been there for, which had forced him to act recklessly, but he was the only one who knew just how recklessly he had acted.

“Militia said that a hooker who worked from there turned up dead this morning. Last seen leaving with Fallon.”

No surprise there, Harker thought, as his stomach tightened still further. He’d feel better, he hoped, after he’d talked to Rab. “Thanks Ivan,” he said as he reached the lift. “Keep on it for me. She was a damn fine pilot. Could well be she saw him and ran. I would have. Could well be she’s holed up somewhere. I’ve got the militia looking with instructions to administer the antidote if they find her in time. Nothing else I can do at the moment, is there?” Nothing else but keep his fingers crossed and hope.

Harker would be willing to bet that Gerando Fallon being at the Nine Tails last night had more than a little to do with the hooker’s death and Rab’s beating. Hell, the way he saw it, if Gerondo Fallon had gotten hold of Rab, then the man was lucky to be alive and in one piece. But if Fallon junior had been that upset, then Harker would also be willing to bet it was because McAllister had slipped through his fingers. Even the thought of Abriad Fallon’s eldest being that close to the girl made his skin crawl. The scuttlebutt was that some punter beat McAllister at poker last night. That was big news and it travelled fast. He also knew she had left with him. That was all he knew. That was all it was safe for him to know, and even that might be too damn much.

Piloting Fury Part 51: Brand New KDG Read

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It’s Friday, which means it’s Fury time again. This week Gerando and Rab show up at Pandora Base with bad news all around. If you’re enjoying Fury, please spread the word and pass the link to a friend. I love to share my stories with as many people as possible. I’m offering a new episode of Fury every Friday.

 

 

“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 51: Bad News From Brothers

 

Blood Bros! Blood Bros! Blood Bros 123!

“Wait a minute. I recognize that ship’s signature, but it can’t be.” My stomach clenched so hard I thought I would vomit. “It’s … It’s the Ares.”

“You’re fucking kidding me? I should have killed that little shit when I had the chance!” Manning said. “What do you say, Fury? Time to blow that bastard bastard out of the sky?”

BloodBrosBloodBrosBloodbros plz! Plz! PLZ!

“That message, while it emanates from the Ares, it is not from the Ares. It is

for me.”

I didn’t know if it were possible for me to feel Fury’s tension, but I was sure I did. “For you? I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” he said, “but I believe it comes from another ship, it is a message the Ares is piggybacking. Open a channel.”

Manning didn’t argue, and for a second, I didn’t recognize the face that flashed on the screen, it was so ravaged by the SNT virus, “This is an urgent message for Fury and for Pandora Base.”

“Jesu Vaticanus!” I came out of my seat and leaned forward over the console. “Gerando? What the hell happened?”

“You bloody well deserve it, whatever the hell it was,” Manning interjected.

“They have been infected with the SNT virus,” Fury said, and that made Manning shut up fast.

Gerando didn’t wait for an invitation to speak, an act, which was clearly painful for him. “Pandora Base has been compromised. Listen to me!” He said when Manning opened his mouth to respond. “We don’t have much time. The Svalbard has been destroyed along with its crew. Before they were destroyed, they sent a subspace transmission, which my father intercepted. He doesn’t know that anyone else knows. But the Apocalypse leaked the message to the Ares while the ship was being prepped.”

“So let me get this straight,” Manning said. “First the Apocalypse blows the Svalbard out of the sky and then leaks you the message to give to us? You can’t seriously expect us to believe that any of you are working for the good guys, and –”

“Shut up! The Apocalypse has no more choice than we do,” Gerando managed and, with the effort he dissolved into a fit of deep chested coughing.

“Fucking Fallon tortured the Svalbard’s science officer, Markov, used truth drugs on him.” For the first time we became aware that Leo Rab was onboard, and not looking much better than Gerando. He took over while Gerando coughed like he would hack up his insides. “There was nothing the poor man could do. He told the bastard everything before he died. Fallon knows about what’s going on at Pandora Base. He knows about the cure for the SNT virus, why the fuck do you think he infected us? He also knows that you’re here, McAllister, and he knows the Fury’s SNT1.”

“I still don’t understand why he infected you and sent you here.” Keen joined the party. Up until now, Pandora Base had maintained radio silence.

“He’s convinced you’ll let the shields down to take the Ares inside,” Gerando took back over. “He doesn’t think you’ll let us die, then he can take what he wants without destroying any of the valuable research. He can also take Fury and you, MacAllister.”

Manning grabbed my hand and held it tight as Keen spoke again. “He’ll destroy us either way. He’s got to know Pandora Base can’t stand against him.”

“But if he’s forced to destroy the shields he’ll destroy what’s inside too, and he doesn’t want that.”

 

 

“In other words either way, bend over and kiss our asses good-bye,” Manning said.

“How long do we have?” Keen asked.

“Not long enough,” came Rab’s reply. “Maybe nine hours. The Apocalypse gave us a little speed boost or Fallon woulda been riding the Ares’ ass right on in. But it’s still only enough for a warning, maybe for the chance to maybe evacuate.”

“And how the hell do you suggest we do that?” I said. “The only ship we have is Fury, and he can’t defend the base and evacuate it at the same time all alone.”

“I don’t believe that I shall have to,” Fury broke into the conversation. “Is that not correct, Gerando Fallon?”

“That’s right. You won’t,” Gerando replied.

“Care to explain,” Manning asked.

“The message from the Apocalypse,” Fury said. “While cryptic, he was counting on the comprehension of another SNT.”

“Another SNT? What the fuck? Has Fallon managed to commandeer one of the missing ships?” Manning said.

“No. The Apocalypse is a hybrid, only half formed, only half SNT. That’s why he struggles to communicate, and it’s why he could not override Fallon’s command to destroy the Svalbard.”

“And the bro 123? What’s that all about,” I asked.

 

“It means, Fury, you’re not an only child, son.” This time it was Rab who spoke up.

“What the hell does that mean,” Manning asked.

“It means whoever’s seed fathered me, has fathered others as well, but that is not unusual. Our seed, those of us who were seeded via sperm and egg, rather than cloned, was donor sperm, after all. Be that as it may, Pandora Base is still at risk, and we have very little time. I must ask what you need of me, Professor Keen?”

“Is there any way we can find out just how much help we can get from the Apocalypse,” Keen asked,” because no matter how pure his heart is, if Fallon controls the weapons, then it won’t be enough.”

“And what about them,” Manning asked.

“There’s nothing you can do for us.” I was surprised when it was Gerando Fallon who spoke. “My old man might have been counting on you lowering the shields to get us inside the base, but he wouldn’t have left it to chance. He had to suspect we would find a way to get a message to you in advance. He had to expect after what he’d done to us we might happily betray him. I don’t believe for one moment that he wouldn’t consider booby-trapping us, and we were both unconscious for several hours. We have no way of knowing what he did while we were unconscious. So there’s nothing you can do.”

“If you could blow us out of the sky before it gets too bad, that would be a kindness,” Rab said, “probably one we don’t deserve, but it would be appreciated.”

“The space dock is outside the shields,” Fury said. “I’m ‘tranning them onboard.”

“What?” Both Manning and I said in unison.

“I don’t want them on this ship.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I wouldn’t have if I could have. I knew what Gerando Fallon was capable of. I bore scars from what he was capable of, but before I could say anything else, Fury spoke in a voice suddenly gone cold.

“That choice is not yours to make.”

I felt those words like a killing punch to my heart and, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. “You’re right. It’s not.” Even as I managed the words I knew he’d already done it.

“They can be safely contained in the hold and Fury will be able to see if they are booby trapped.” Manning’s voice was apologetic, but it no longer mattered. “It’s the best place for them.”

“The best place for them is out the airlock,” I managed around the weight on my chest and the knot in my stomach. And then I left.

 

Piloting Fury: Part 17 Brand New KDG Read

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Happy Friday everyone! Time for more Fury. Let’s all escape to deep space for a little relief from the stress of our own space. I don’t know about you lovelies, but a good rollicking read is the best sanity saver.  As I mentioned last week, I’m self-medicating with NaNoWriMo. for a writer writing a new novel is as much of a sanity saving escape as a good read. I do confess, however, to suffering from sleep deprivation while my characters keep me up late and get me up early for lots of caffeine and an extra hour or two of writing. In the worlds I create, I am god. 🙂 The new Medusa Consortium novel is coming along nicely, and it’s great to be back with Magda and the gang.

I hope you’re enjoying Piloting Fury as we enter the 17th week. If you are, please spread the word and pass the link to a friend. I love to share my stories with as many people as possible. I’m offering a new episode of Fury every Friday. Today Mac and Manning arrive on Plague One and meet someone from Mac’s nightmare past. Happy reading, and stay safe out there!

 

 

“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” McAlister 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 17: Plague One Surprise

For the briefest of moments, I simply didn’t exist, and then I blinked back into my own skin freezing my ass off in the middle of a blizzard. Manning still held onto me, which was just as well because I wasn’t entirely sure without him as anchor I wouldn’t just blow away in the storm. He guided me right into a solid wall of ice. I caught my breath with a gasp of surprise as he pulled me through the illusion and into an airlock, which was opened from the inside by a one-armed man in clothing replicated to resemble the Old Terran mid-20thcentury. His t-shirt was covered in splashes of color along with the words ‘Make Love Not War’ superimposed over the peace symbol so popular in that time. One sleeve was empty, neatly folded over and pinned the to shoulder of the shirt. A gnarled twist of puckered scars climbed out of the neck of the t-shirt and up around the side of his face to disappear in the shoulder-length scraggle of graying brown hair. I recognized the results of late stage SNT, but the loss of an arm and the scarring belonged to a man who seemed absolutely healthy otherwise. I could only assume that he was another survivor who had been treated with the vaccine.

“Richard, good to see you again.” With a very pronounced limp, the man shambled forward and gave Manning a one-armed hug, which Manning returned with gusto.

“Vic. Been awhile.” He pulled away and turned to me. “This is Diana –”

“Diana McAllister.” The man turned fever-bright brown eyes on me and offered a beatific smile. He extended his hand. “Aden McAllister’s little girl,” he said. “You have your father’s eyes.”

My knees would have given beneath me if it hadn’t been for Manning’s arm slipping supportively around my waist. “You knew my father.”

“I knew him, and I knew the Merlin.” He gave my hand a hard squeeze and held my gaze. “I bonded them.”

“Jesus!” I pulled away so quickly that I nearly knocked Manning off balance. “Vic? You’re Victor Keen? You did that to him. It was your fault.”

Keen looked from Manning to me and back again, and stepped away, color climbing his scarred throat. “You haven’t told her?”

“We weren’t planning on making this stop, Vic, and I wasn’t exactly expecting you to be the greeting party.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I stepped forward ready to punch the bastard, crippled or not, but Manning pulled me back. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“Professor Keen is here because he’s an indentured, just like everyone else.”

“Not like everyone else,” the man said, his face darkening and his shoulders drooping noticeably. “Tell her the truth, Richard. Not like everyone else at all.”

“You tell her the truth, Vic. It’s your truth to tell, but,” Manning gave a glance around, “this is not the discussion to have in the airlock. Please, Mac,” he turned to me. “I promise you’ll get the whole story but not out here.” He grabbed me by the shoulder and gave Keen an apologetic looked. I wanted to kick him in the balls for it, but he might have suspected as much. He reeled me in close enough that I could do no damage and spoke next to my ear. “You’re about to do something you’ll seriously regret. Wait for the facts. That’s all I’m asking.”

I squared my shoulder and gave a jerk of my head that would have to do for
agreement. I wanted to hear the bastard’s story. Oh yes, I wanted to hear every bloody detail, and then I wanted to rip his other fucking arm off and let him bleed out. I knew what he had done. I knew every goddamn detail – way more than most, because the Merlin was the only SNT whose humanoid compliment fathered a child, who just happened to be onboard when the world fell apart.

The SNT15s were designed to fly deep space missions with a compliment of only one humanoid. There were just fifteen of them ever made. They were powerful, outrageously fast and versatile ships that would give any pilot wet dreams. In spite of having only a crew of one, they were stripped down and streamlined to have lots of cargo space to carry heavy equipment for colonization, supplies, even humanoids if necessary. In fact everything to begin a new colony, along with the colonists themselves could comfortably be transported on one properly outfitted SNT. They were all equipped with cloaking technology and a full array of weapons – weapons to be used only for defensive purposes, weapons that were controlled by the ship, not the pilot, effectively doing away with human error.

The thing about the SNTs was that they were more than just metal alloys and computer components.They were organic at their core, and they were sentient. They were programmed to see long-range outcomes that would eventually lead to peace rather than escalation. Because the SNT project was overseen by the few remaining Free Universities and funded privately with no aid or ties to the conglomerates, the general population of the Consortium of Planets saw the SNTs as the dawn of a new age. The ships, with their bonded humanoid compliment, had the power to end conflicts, negotiate treaties beneficial to all parties and use their resources for further exploration and colonization to everyone’s benefit. They offered a galaxy reeling beneath the weight of petty wars, conglomerate greed and indentured servitude a new beginning. That was the dream, but all too quickly it became the Consortium’s worst nightmare, one that the shackle in my left arm assured I could never walk away from.

These past two days had forced everything I’d spent years trying to suppress back to
the surface, and now here I stood on Plague One, the hellhole of the galaxy with the man responsible for the whole SNT debacle.

Manning and Keen spoke quietly among themselves, and I ignored them, lost in my own thoughts. I remembered only too well how the age of the SNTs ended. Victor Keen and his team had biologically bonded fifteen humanoids — all of whom had volunteered for the irreversible procedure that integrated their brains and central nervous systems into the sentient ships. The procedure effectively and permanently tetheredthe ship to its humanoid component.

My father was not only one of the volunteers, my father was the SNT fleet commander, and no one was more proud that I was. I understood the opportunity. I understood that he, and me by association, were on the cutting edge of science and the evolution of a better society, a society that eventually would have no need for indentureds. Hell, as a child, I used to fantasize about growing up to be bonded to a ship of my own in a future generation of SNTs.

In that brave new beginning, Keen’s science didn’t take into account the psychological factors of that integration. If a mentally unstable humanoid can be dangerous, imagine how much more so a heavily armed star ship with a mind of its own? My father had died as a result, and I would have died too, should have died, except for a quirk of fate that left me both orphaned and indentured to a monster.

The first ship to go rogue was the Peregrine. It suffocated its human cargo of refugees from the conflicts on the New American outposts, blew its pilot out the airlock and destroyed four colonies and a space station on the Inner Rim before it was disintegrated by the Dubrovnik’s protective mol-canons. The modified canons were a gamble that an SNT would not anticipate an attack from a freighter.

My father died when the Merlin was blown to bits by the Alvarez, an Authority warship that should have been easy for the Merlin to defeat. But my father and the Merlin chose not to fight back. I was the only survivor. That was when Keen’s flawed science first came to light. Somehow, and no one ever figured out just how, the SNTs were extremely susceptible to the virus engineered for the shackles of indentureds. Somehow they had become infected. The virus destroyed the part of the ships biotechnical brain programmed to protect humanoid life. The end result was mass destruction on a scale no one could have imagined.

It was all because of the virus. That was what the Authority scientists had told everyone after the destruction of the Peregrine. Several of the ships were decommissioned without incident, several more were destroyed in boarder skirmishes on the edge of the Rim. After two more incidents and countless deaths, the rest of the SNTs were destroyed or decommissioned and taken secretly to remote space docks where they’d been either impounded or taken apart. That was not an easy task. The biological brains at the heart of the ships had a very powerful survival instinct. No one actually knew how many had been destroyed or rendered harmless. What I knew was that visions of those ships and the horrors they caused still haunted my nightmares.

I had been so pulled into the memories of a past that I was unaware of our surroundings until I realized I was sweating inside the parka and that the world had suddenly gotten brighter as we stepped through the airlock into what felt like bright sunlight.

“Welcome to Pandora Base,” Keen said, and in spite of his distress at what had just passed between us, he couldn’t hide his pride in the place that, while not exactly a paradise, wasn’t far from it. I could do nothing but stand and gape. “Plague One doesn’t exist anymore. Hasn’t for a long time now,” Keen hurried on to say, probably figuring to take advantage of my good graces.

“What about the SNT victims?” I asked.

“The ones on Pandora Base have all been cured,” and then his face darkened. “The ones who survived the horrible early years, that is. A new generation has been born here, a generation that would have been born into indentured servitude had the Authority gotten wind of what was going on here. So we prefer it if people still believe we’re Dante’s vision of Hell.”

“And this is your penance?” I asked.

He flinched, then squared his shoulders. “In part, I suppose.”

“If all the indentureds on Plague One have been cured, then why did we just deliver serum?” I questioned.

“You brought with you a dozen SNT survivors, also,” Keen said. “We’re a refuge, the safe place to which ships like the Svalbard can bring survivors, the place they can get treatment, so we keep a supply on hand. As for the whiskey,” he offered a tentative smile, “well while we’re very self-sufficient, we’ve not managed to increase the size of the biosphere to include luxury items like grains for fermentation. At least not yet. Follow me.” He nodded down what looked like the main street of a town straight from Old Terran middle America of the 1960s. “I know you’re on a tight schedule, but you’ve got time for meal before you head for Outer Kingston.” He turned to me. “And your explanation, Diana. The truth.”