Junker Blues Page 2

  “At least we still have the lights,” Marcus said with a shrug.

  Harley cleared her throat. “What happened. What do you mean that could ‘fix it later?’ What did--”

  Harley cut herself off as the lights went off in the cockpit. When the emergency lighting flickered on--bathing everything in a muddy red light—she asked in an eerily cold voice, “What did you do?”

  Marcus shrugged. “I tried to push a bit of power from the environmentals into the engine is all. Thought it’d—”

  “And then?” Harley interrupted her mouth set in a rictus of anger.

  “The engine died,” Marcus said, pointing around at the dead display. “Power’s out.”

  Marcus watched as what he had said dawn on Harley. She screamed, “You did what?”

  “I—“

  Harley cuffed him hard on the shoulder. “You dimwit, this is an Eridani designed ship. That won’t work. You can’t just dump more power into the engine. These engines were designed so that particular foolish move, and dozens of other stupid human workarounds were never needed. The core will overheat and shut off completely if you even try anything like that.”

  “Well, that’s kinda obvious,” Marcus said, gesturing at the cockpit.

  Harley took a deep breath. “The ship’s engines will need a major overhaul once we get back to Mars. This is not what I signed on for,” she sighed and moved towards the co-pilot seat paces away.

  “You still think we can get to Mars? With our ship being pulled into a giant asteroid?” Marcus shouted back. “You are either overconfident or totally crazy. My vote is crazy.”

  She looked at him, giving a grin as a reply. She moved closer, not saying anything. Even without the muddy red light to cast half her face in shadow, the grin sent a chill down Marcus’ spine.

  “So, why aren’t the backups coming online?” Marcus asked, turning away from her.

  Harley leaned closer to him, giving him a withering look. “You know the chances of a failure like this happening on an Eridani designed ship if the procedure is followed?”

  Marcus looked at her, confused.

  “You are talking about a fraction of a percentage,” Harley said. “The backups aren’t coming online because they weren’t programmed to deal with this kind of failure. No Eridani pilot would do what you did, Wolflng.”

  “I did do it, though,” Marcus said. “And, if your procedures weren’t so rigid, we’d be safe…maybe.”

  “That is because you, little Wolflng brain dead idiot did something that is so imbecilic to literally cause the engines to overheat. You moron.” She shook her head. “This is the worst day I have ever had. I have no idea why my master wishes for you to stay alive?”

  The emergency lights shut off. Harley hissed and Marcus couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Why are you laughing?” Harley snarled in the dark.

  “Reminds me of when Lash first started working with me. We had something like this happen and she went to pieces.”

  “You are suggesting I am falling apart? Why, because I’m a woman?”

  “No. Has nothing to do with that. You have been taught by the Eridani for so long, you don’t know what humans can do.” Marcus said. “Lash didn’t at first either. But, we’ll be ok, if you listen—”

  “Your friend betrayed and lied to you, Marcus,” Harley snapped. Before he could respond, she continued. “And this is one of several contingency plans the Eridani do plan for. I’m fully capable of handling myself. Even if I’m stuck with a Wolflng.”

  Marcus was quiet for a second, his eyes—though he couldn’t see his hand—looked at it for a minute. Did Lash li about that? He reached out with his other hand, groping his questing hand towards where the bite mark of the Crawl had healed up. “Lash said something about my blood having a possible cure for the Crawl venom,” Marcus said in the dark. He felt the heat of the cabin already decreasing. He could hear the thu-shunk of something grabbing Blues and then the lurch again. After whatever grabbed them, Marcus felt his stomach roil as the ship was pulled forward again. Images of what was going on rattled around in his head for a moment before he realized what made the most sense. He cursed. “Well, at least the Commune isn’t going to kill us right away. That’s a plus.”

  “Then, why do you look like you just swallowed a bitter Lotus seed?” Harley’s voice called out from the dark.

  Marcus looked in the direction of Harley’s voice. “First, you could have said you can see in the dark. Second, I would almost prefer to be killed than be grabbed by the Beldine Commune.”

  “Why?”

  Marcus sighed. “You don’t know much about the Belt, do you?”

  “No, Grin-Izo49 preferred Mars. My directives preclude the need to—”

  Marcus held a hand up in the dark. She stopped. “Well, few things about the Beldine Commune. They are quasi-raiders, since we didn’t announce who we were when we emerged from the micro-jump, we are seen as invaders by them. They took it as an invitation to use their weapon on us as ‘protection’ and will now claim salvage rights on us. They didn’t use radiation on us, meaning they know there are people here and want to ‘give us a choice.’” He groaned, rubbing his head, trying to remember the Beldine and what they believed.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Well,” Marcus said, taking a deep breath, “that brings us to their ‘philosophy’ on ‘choice.’ It’s their way of saying ‘convert or die.’ A mentality that I frown on really,” Marcus said, trying to summon a wry grin. “I have grown accustom to breathing.”

  “You might die, I can probably kill anyone before they know what is going on when they come aboard and escape form here relative ease.”

  Marcus let out a small derisive laugh. “Want to bet on it?” Not like she can do it.

  He could hear the raised eyebrow on her face and the grin. “Sure, what is the wager?”

  “You win, you cut your way free alone, you can take the Junker Blues—“

  “Not the designation, it is the—“

  Marcus continued, “—Wasn’t asking—and escape back to your slagging Eridani bastard and tell him I’m dead, or even where am I when you left me to die.”

  “And, if I can’t defeat this rabble?” Harley asked, again h could hear the rye smirk in her words.

  “You have to help us, both of us, escape and help me with the ship maintenance for two weeks.” He held his hand out and grinned when she snagged it and shook it. “You are not going to like this.” Marcus almost felt bad. However, she had almost killed him several times, and if there was a hope of escaping these insane hippies, it would be best if he had her help, willing or not.

  “Why?” Harley asked.

  There was a distant hint of light that appeared in the distance and a discordant noise followed, rattling Marcus’ bones. It grew larger and larger, rushing towards the ship. “Oh, you’ll find out,” he said while closing his eyes, taking a short series of breaths and braced for harsh impact of the gravity lance.

  Striking him, it felt as though a giant hand crushed backwards and down him into the seat. He saw the brilliant light of the gravity lance blaze through his closed eyelids.

  He heard Harley scream in pain, then heard her hit the ground hard, unable to move to try to help her, even if wanted too. He wanted to laugh, yet the pressure on his chest was so intense he couldn’t manage a chuckle, or a breath. The lance was how they pacified people they wanted to “give the choice.” Three to five times Earth normal made even a healthy human pass out in a few minutes. It wasn’t the extra weight, it was the inability to draw a breath, his diaphragm felt as though it was cramping up. Or he would have thought that had unconsciousness not swept over him a few moments later.

  Chapter Three

  Marcus came to, feeling pain flare through his body when he tried to move. Staying as still as possible, he tried to look around. It was difficult, yet he found himself in a small cell with light came from a buzzing flickering fluorescent bulb above him.
He felt puzzled by the bulb, that’s really old. How old is this colony? He sat up on a cot that was built into the wall, with a grunt, body loudly protesting.

  At least he could breathe again. And what his nostrils took in was that ionic tang of recycled air. The ubiquitous scent of colony life. That was the reason he knew Harley wouldn’t be able to fight her way out. The gravity lance used to pacify the and knocked unconscious he was sure. Even Harley’s cyborg parts would be affected, he was sure.

  The pain from the grav-lance would linger for a time he remembered. The room had seen better days. The cot, he realized, could be flipped up to give more space to the tiny cell. Hope I don’t need to stay her very long to need more space. Looking at the door, h wondered if he should even try it. It hurt too much to move passed the sitting position, so he decided to try think things through about what had happened instead of tempting more pain.

  It wasn’t until he sat up that he realized there was something on his chest. His hands were flush on his chest, and it wasn’t until he sat up that realized what was going on. He tried to move his hands and after a moment of effort, they came away from his chest. He looked down a little to see that his wrists were cuffed, and a bar of some cool metal had been secured to his chest. The wrist cuffs hadn’t been recharged and had lost their magnetic quality, he realized. He’d seen these kinds of restraints and hated them. He recognized castoff MDF prison restraints. Well, haven’t seen these in awhile.

  Twenty minutes into leaving Mars and I’m already in trouble again. All thanks to that probe wherever it was. Marcus thought it might still be hidden on the Blues, but also as likely the Commune people had found it.. Should have just spaced it. He put that in “not a priority at the moment.” Or at least tried. He regretted fighting with Lash over it. He realized if it hadn’t been for the probe, he would have been able to avoid the Crawl attack on Mars all together. Was it really worth all of this? Plus, there is Harley that I have to deal with. He realized he had to find her and help her. The bet was a partial joke, yet she’s capable of getting us out of her. He had made a joke about her rigid thinking, yet she would be invaluable to escape this place. He wondered for a moment where she was being held. He filed that away into things to worry about once he talked to whoever would be in charge to “convert him.”

  The wait was longer than he thought, not even realizing he had fallen asleep until a hard slap brought Marcus to a painful consciousness. Blinking through the pain, Marcus looked into the dark eyes of a grinning stick skinny man with a shock of green hair which swept from a patch of hair over his otherwise bald pate. There was an odd wave in the center, right above his nose.

  “Welcome to Beldine Commune,” the green haired man with a savage grin. “You may join us in the exploration of the Divine, or you may perish.”

  Marcus’ jaw stung from the blow. He recognized the voice of the green haired man. He was the one whom sent the order to identify themselves over the Blues commlink. The one who threatened them with taking the ship in the first place. Great, a punk kid with power.

  “Thanks for the wake-up call. But, I was hoping for a later check out time.” Marcus said, looking at the green haired man. “When can I see someone about your illegal seizure of my ship?” Marcus said, deadpan. He shifted and felt that his bonds had been secured to the bar on his chest. Slag.

  “What?” the green haired man asked, genuinely confused by the statement.

  “I want to know who to talk to about my—“

  Another painful slap across the jaw stopped him from speaking. Marcus glared at the green haired man, tugged at the restraints, doubting they would give. Except for the green haired man and Marcus, they were alone in a small moldy and dirty room. “Charming torture place you have here.”

  “We don’t torture. We give you a choice,” the green haired man said with a soft smile. “Once made, we are very humane. One way or the other.”

  Marcus watched as the deranged man pulled out a blade, a cloth wrapped hilt made from a broken lander struct, one edge honed to razor sharpness. The flickering light from overhead danced over the sharpened edge in a near hypnotic pattern as he moved it back and forth, closer and closer to Marcus and his throat. “Do you wish to join the Beldine Commune?”

  “Carmichael,” a loud feminine voice said from Marcus’ right at the entrance to the room. “That is not how we treat guests.” Both Marcus and the green haired Carmichael turned their attention to see a solid built woman. in long flowing robes, her broad yet a beautiful face, accentuated by her slanted eyes and darker skin, looked at Marcus and Carmichael. Her hair was a wild tangled riot of colored curls that flowed and moved in strange ways as she entered.

  The thick woman strode forward, wearing a long flowing robe that had been dyed a riot of colors that made Marcus’ eyes hurt even more than her hair. She beamed a bright smile at Marcus. Then, turned a frowning on the green haired youth. “Now, now, Brother Carmichael. Is that any way for the Beldine Commune to greet a new guest?”

  “Mother, he’s ship was unresponsive. We claimed—”

  “I was dealing with a stowaway,” Marcus replied. “I didn’t—"

  “Please, both of you,” she said holding up her hands to quiet them, a wide white smile on her face. She turned stunning grey gold eyes towards Marcus. “Please do forgive my children, they are overprotective of the Commune. Please, come closer so we can get a better look at you.” Her voice was a sweet and rich on that Marcus found oddly comforting. She then frowned at Carmichael and lashed out at him in a strange tongue Marcus had heard half a dozen times in his life on the Cusp. It was SiRus— a mishmash of Chinese, Japanese, and Russian. The only word he understood was “stupid,” which is a word she used several times.

  After a few moments of the verbal tongue lashing, Carmichael drew in on himself like a child given a dressing down by an aunt. He reached out towards Marcus’ side and sliced the restraints off Marcus. With the straps cut, the manet lost its power and he felt his wrists pull away as the metal bar on his chest dropped to the deck with a solid clang.

  Carmichael turned to look at the woman, not see the wild haymaker Marcus threw at him. Marcus misjudged the swing, catching the green haired man in shoulder, spinning Carmichael around. Marcus reared back for another strike when he felt the woman grab his hand in both of hers, her hands surprisingly warm and soft around his own.

  “Peace, please,” she implored, “There is no reason for you to use such violence. Carmichael is sorry, aren’t you, Carmichael?”

  “Yes, Momma. I am sorry, sir,” Carmichael said without looking before giving Marcus a small bow still not meeting Marcus’ eyes.

  Marcus looked at him, then at the woman, who was still rubbing his hand and trying to sooth him. “Thank you…”

  “Mother, or Momma,” the woman said with a smile. There was a gentleness in her voice that threw Marcus. It was unnerving.

  Marcus cocked an eye, “Mother?” He asked with a hint of smile.

  “It is my name, and the title I have chosen becoming the leader of the Beldine Commune. I am Mother Beldine. It is a pleasure, Marcus Redding.”

  Marcus knew there were many ways for her to find him name, so he simply nodded, “It is a pleasure as well, Mother Beldine,” he said. He gave her a small bow and tried to pull his hand away from her, only to find Mother Beldine’s grip stronger than he thought.

  Marcus knew about this practice from the other cult he had been part of, the Eridani cultists loved to touch any newcomers, hoping to “transfer some of their essence of love of the Eridani,” to the newcomer. It was a way to ingratiate someone new. Plus with the contrast of Carmichael, “Mother” was a gentle way for a newcomer to feel accepted and wanted. It was also a way to play the age old “good cop, bad cop.” He tried to push back the memory of how he’d done that with Lisa, when she had first arrived months after himself. And within days, they were married, part of the “bonding” that the two had been forced into. He shook himself from his thoughts yet still
confronted by Mother Beldine’s intriguing eyes. A few of her other followers had paused in the doorway to look at Marcus and Mother before moving on with their business.

  “We should go to my office,” Mother Beldine said. “I would like to welcome you properly. And in private,” she whispered the last part while releasing his hand.

  This is odd. “What about my companion?” Marcus asked before following.

  “I thought she was a stowaway?” Carmichael said, finally looking at Marcus fully. “We have her safe. Do not worry, all are safe in Beldine.”

  “She will not be harmed. I promise,” Mother Beldine said. “Please, we should talk.”

  “I would like to see her, first” Marcus asked, feeling the need to see Harley, something even quasi familiar in this strangeness.

  Mother Beldine gave another beatific smile. “Oh, brother, we are only—"

  The comment died on Mother’s lips when Marcus’ hand strayed to where Marcus’ pulse pistol should have been. “I would very much like to speak to her,” Marcus said. He frowned realizing his hand gripped nothing and how hollow the threat had been.

  She frowned at him, and with much less sweetness in her voice stated, “Weapons aren’t permitted in the Commune,” Mother Beldine said. “I am sorry, but—”

  Carmichael moved closer, hand straying to the knife tucked on his belt. With a self-satisfied smirk, he said, “You can’t—”

  Marcus slipped around Carmichael’s questing hand, plucking the knife free first and holding it with the blade flush along his arm, the triangular strut pressed against his skin with the razor edge pointed out. “He seems to have a weapon. Or at least, did,” Marcus said with a flash of a grin.