Date Published: 10-08-2022

Publisher: The Chapel Perilous

 

 

Bevil Cyrex, adrift in space on a ship determined to kill him, stumbles
across an ancient and abandoned space station called The Starlite.

Once on board the station he sets about repairing it, with the goal of
opening up for business.

Along the way he befriends a possibly sociopathic, all powerful nanite
swarm, who has decided to take on the appearance and mannerisms of his
grandmother.

He must also contend with being hunted by an ex-mob enforcer looking for
revenge, a handful of pirates and various threats of invasion, marriage and
death.

All in all, Bevil would have to admit, things were really looking up.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

 

The phone was ringing. It would not stop ringing. Bevil knew that if he did not pick up the phone it would continue to ring. Then it would stop. Then it would ring again. The flashing name on the screen to his left sent dread throughout his entire body; it was one word, one name, MOM.

 

Bevil answered, “Hi, mom!” he said with as much gaiety as he could muster.

 

“Bevil, dear, it’s mom.”

 

“Yes mom I know.” Bevil’s mom had been calling everyday for the last two weeks. Usually he would speak to his parents once a week, maybe once every other week, but with the big Jamboree coming up things were getting a little intense.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about the Jamboree if you have time, dear,” said his mother in that lilting yet authoritative tone that made it very clear that she didn’t care if he had the time, they were definitely going to talk about it.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Well, we just got word that both the Majere and the Fireforge will be able to attend.”

“Uh huh.” Bevil braced himself for what was coming

next.

 

“I have spoken to the captains of both ships and they are very interested in having you meet a couple of very eli- gible young ladies,” said his mother.

“Okay, mom.” Bevil needed to phrase this next bit care- fully. “But are you sure we want to ally ourselves with the Majere or Fireforge?”

 

“Bevil Cyrex! You know good and well that we have been allied with those ships for generations. Now you listen to me, young man. I am very happy you’ve been having fun out there, but you are going to come home and we are going to find you a wife!”

 

Bevil knew his mom wasn’t really angry, she simply missed him and was worried about him. As the ship’s Exec- utive Matron she was also obsessed with keeping the genetic makeup of the Cyrex as diverse as possible, which meant pairing people up at functions such as the one upcoming.

 

Bevil was not close to being ready to get married. He also wasn’t brave enough to tell his mother that, so he most likely was going to get married. The brave live beautifully but cowards live long, as the old saying goes.

 

He’d been on his own now for going on five years, just him and Bethany. There were times he was lonely and lots of times he missed his family, but at twenty two, Bevil just did not want to go home yet, if ever. The idea of taking a respectable position on the Cyrex and starting a family filled him with absolute dread.

 

From a lifetime of experience Bevil knew he could never win an argument with his mother. There was only one thing he could do, lie and fake it. “Okay, mom,” he said. “But, I’m not just going to settle down with someone because she’s from a ship you think is good for us. If I don’t like her I’m not doing it.”

“Of course, dear, I would never want you to marry someone you didn’t want to marry, just to make me happy,” lied Bevil’s mother.

 

“Thanks, mom. Can I talk to dad?”

 

A second later he heard the familiar words in that booming happy voice “Hey boy!”

 

“Hey pop.”

 

His father’s voice turned to a conspiratorial whisper,

“How’s Bethany?”

 

“She’s good,” replied Bevil. “I’m taking good care of her.”

 

“You know the saying, you keep her happy and she’ll

keep you safe.”

 

“Yup. So dad…”

 

“Yes son what is it? Whatever, is on your mind?” asked Bevil’s father sounding incredibly amused.

 

“I’m not ready, pop.” Bevil waited for a response, there was none. “I’m gonna need you to cover me at the Jamboree.”

 

“I’ll make you a deal, son. If you sincerely do not meet a young girl that you like, I’ll make sure you escape the Jam- boree unencumbered.”

Bevil let out a relaxed breath. “Thanks, dad, I—” “But,” his dad interrupted. “If you meet a girl and you

like her, you have to promise me you’ll be honest about it.” “Yeah of course, pop. I promise.”

“Swear on the hull, boy,” said his dad with utmost

seriousness.

Shit, thought Bevil.

 

“Swear to me, son.”

 

Bevil had walked into a trap. To swear on the hull was no joke. He was basically taking an oath to avert a curse. To swear on the hull meant he was swearing on the integrity of the Cyrex itself. To swear on the hull of a ship and then back out could bring about all manner of karmic disaster. “I swear on the hull,” said Bevil reluctantly, but sincerely.

 

“Good.” His father changed tone back to his usual jovial self. “Now, you take care of yourself and Bethany and we’ll see you here for the festivities. I’ll send you the coordinates when I have them.”

 

“Okay, pop. I love you. Tell mom I love her too.” “Will do, son.” His dad hung up the phone.

Well, that didn’t go anywhere near as smoothly as I expected, thought Bevil.

 

Bevil’s navigational computer started beeping slowly. He was approaching the solar system designated EA-90048. The system’s sun grew brighter, its light beginning to block out the distant stars around him. Bevil cut his engines, extended the solar sails and began sailing Bethany toward the asteroid belt he planned to spend the next month mining.

 

He had recently been on Gardena station, looking for work, when he ran into a friend of sorts named Corbin. Corbin told Bevil about the mining opportunity in exchange for some fresh greens, coffee and eggs.

 

Bevil knew a few men and women during his time roaming, and traded information back and forth with the ones he trusted. Corbin wasn’t a friend as much as a friendly associate, but he’d proven his trustworthiness over the years.

 

He sealed the deal by offering to buy Corbin dinner

if the mining panned out. The two men spent the rest of

the night gaming before each retired to his own ship. Bevil woke up the next morning and departed Gardena for this uninhabited solar system.

 

Mining was mind numbingly dull, exhausting and even in zero gravity could be back breaking. A week of mining could feel like a month. Bevil smiled slightly. If he was really lucky, the next month would feel like a year.

 

Chapter 2

 

Centuries ago, the Terran government faced a problem. There were far more people on the planet than could be sustained. At the time there was a small colony on the moon and a slightly larger one on Mars. But, those were both at capacity and not accepting any more immigrants. Some people, no more than two hundred, were living off-planet in different systems.

 

Terrans were restricted from emigrating to inhabited alien planets. This was fallout from the only intergalactic war Earth had engaged in, now known simply as The Mistake. The only reason the few people already living in other systems were allowed to stay off-world was because a handful of brave and possibly insane heroes had set out to make things right. They intended to prove not only to the Terran government, but to any extraterrestrial race willing to listen, that Earth had been tricked into fighting on the wrong side of the war. They succeeded and this was known as The Redemption.

 

With Earth redeemed, and the threat of another war no longer looming, the still fairly new Terran government needed to do something about the population problem. Someone, somewhere, sifting through a spreadsheet real- ized that if they could find people to outfit and crew the tens of thousands of ships that had been used during The Mistake, now lying empty around the globe, they could get rid of enough people to make things manageable. Perhaps,

even use these people to find planets and moons that could sustain human life.

 

The program was called The Explorer program and was open on a first come first serve basis. Those who could prove they knew how to handle a ship, put a crew together and were willing to leave Earth, would explore the stars in the name of humanity. It worked like a charm.

 

Of the ten plus billion inhabitants of the planet, nearly half a billion applied either for ships or to be a member of a crew. Of the original applicants, over the course of several years, the list was whittled down to roughly fifteen million. These original fifteen million were either given ships to captain, or chosen as crew members for those ships.

 

The rest of the applicants who did not make the cut were put on waiting lists for eventual colonization of planets and moons, discovered by those in the Explorer program. These candidates were broken down by age, qualification, skill set and other traits in descending order, that the Terran govern- ment felt would be useful in setting up off-world colonies.

 

Bevil’s great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather was one of the lucky ones. He secured himself as captain of the ship that he would name the Cyrex. It was a former battle cruiser that he and his original crew of three hundred and seventy five people converted to a vessel of exploration.

 

These new explorers were set with the task to go forth, search the galaxy and, should they find a suitable uninhabited planet, inform the Terran government, which would then set about colonizing it.

 

Some explorers settled on the planets they found, others kept to the stars, still voyaging, trading, and seeking. There were maybe seven hundred original ships left out in space that had decided not to settle. They called themselves Star Folk.

 

Other people, those who did not live off-world called them Shippers or Drifters, but these terms were considered

derogatory. Especially Drifter, which could lead to a fight. The Star Folk were a proud lot, simply calling themselves Folk most of the time.

 

Bevil was born on the Cyrex. His father was currently head of the ship. Captains on the Cyrex were elected by council, and maintained that position for life, as long as he or she led the ship well. The Cyrex had two hundred and fifty souls living aboard her, this being the perfect number that allowed them to live comfortably and maintain healthy diversity without being too overcrowded.

 

All Star Folk ships had their own rules and population caps, but they also followed a series of laws and guidelines that were agreed upon by all the Folk. One of the rules of the Cyrex was that for every new person brought on to the ship, one had to leave. So, much time was spent at Jamborees by captains deciding who would stay and who would go.

 

Jamborees were a big deal—a very serious tradition amongst the Star Folk. Ships from all over would gather once every two years in a system that had at least one planet or moon with a breathable atmosphere. There were parties, dances, games, and all manner of entertainment. It was both a celebration of their lifestyle and a way for ships to marry off family members to other ships.

 

A few Jamborees back, Bevil’s older sister Sarah paired up with a nice guy named Derrick. Derrick came aboard the Cyrex and now served as head of galley operations, while Sarah served as commander of communications. Bevil’s older brother Oliver had also paired up at the same Jamboree and now lived aboard the Xavier with his husband Shamir, where Oliver was second in command of security. One on, one off.

 

Amongst the many rules and laws of the Star Folk there was the law of salvage. Any ship finding another craft, either abandoned or defeated in combat, could claim it. If the ship was big enough, it would be manned with a full crew. That ship would stay with the mother ship (like the Cyrex) until the next Jamboree at which time populations would be balanced on both ships.

Sometimes however, if a small ship was found – one that could hold up to four comfortably – a lottery, or some other system would determine a new owner from the mother ship’s population. The Cyrex employed the lottery system and anyone over the age of fifteen could put their name in for a chance. These names would be entered into the computer and a program would pick one at random. Whichever name was chosen, that person got the ship.

 

In actuality, any citizen of the Earth Alliance could file a salvage claim on a legitimately found abandoned craft, but the Star Folk were the originators of this law, which was adopted later by the ever expanding EA.

 

The law of salvage was how Bevil became the sole owner of the Bethany. He had just turned sixteen when they’d come across her. She was drifting in space with no power. It was brought on board and the body of its owner was found with a single gunshot wound to the head. This was unfortunately not too uncommon. Upon inspection, the ship had been out of fuel, food and water. When something like this happened it was thought far better to end it than to die slowly.

 

Bevil couldn’t believe his luck when his name was called as the winner. His mother cried with grief for days, but she eventually got over it and even pitched in with repairs once she forgave her son for abandoning her. It was customary to rename a ship, especially when there was a dead person found inside it. Naming the ship after his mom seemed like the smart thing to do, so that’s how the Bethany became the Bethany. His dad pretended to be insulted, and “demanded” Bevil name the ship after him.

 

“I’m not naming the ship after you dad.”

 

“And why not?!” replied his father, acting as hurt as possible and really laying it on thick for his wife’s amusement.

 

“I refuse to be Bevil, captain of the Nevil.”

 

Captain Nevil Cyrex, of ship Cyrex stood up from the

dinner table and said indignantly, “I will not sit here and

be insulted at my own table. I’m going down to the engine room.” He gave Bevil’s hair a tussle and left Bevil, his mom, his sister and her husband at the dining table.

 

A few seconds later, Sarah’s husband Derrick spoke up. “Was all that just an elaborate excuse to go play poker?”

 

Bethany smiled. “I believe so. Now finish your supper” Derrick stood up. “I will not be told what to do—”

“Sit down, Derrick,” Sarah interrupted. Derrick sat down.

“Nice try, dear,” said Bethany. “Thanks, mom,” replied Derrick. “Now do finish your supper.” Derrick did.

The Bethany was really no more than a glorified shuttle craft. Two people could perhaps live somewhat comfortably on the little ship, but one was better, for now. The pilot’s chair and flight controls were set up at the front, behind that was a small lounge area which was really no more than a couch and a couple of shelves. Across from that were the galley and a small table that folded down for meals. Aft of the galley was the sonic shower, and next to the shower, in its own enclosed space was the lavatory.

 

Near the back of the little ship was his bunk. A compact cabin with a single bed, little desk, and small toiletry cabinet and mirror for shaving. Far aft was the cargo hold, and between the cargo hold and bunk was a little maintenance area that housed the small sled that Bevil could use when on a planet or moon. There were also his storage pods, which he could use to haul goods.

 

Bevil was able to replace the old jump drive (with the

help of his Nan and brother-in-law) with a new one and even a mag-buff circuit for the hull. They also stripped out the old fuel based system and wired in batteries to power the ship when not in jump. The energy collected by the solar sails not only slowly propelled the ship when in a solar system, but recharged the ship’s batteries. The Bethany was not fast and she was definitely not graceful but she was a good, reliable ship.

 

She had no weapons and no shields, but rarely did people attack other craft with weapons as ships were too valuable. However, micro-meteorites were a thing, a rare thing, but definitely a thing. The mag-buff set up a magnetic field that repelled about ninety-nine point nine percent of any meteorites that might puncture the hull.

 

The new jump drive ran on its own batteries that were built into the coils as opposed to the ancient one that had been used by the previous owner. However, it was a small drive with not much power and took a long time to recharge. It took Bevil six jumps and two weeks to get to his current location and it could take him anywhere from two to twelve jumps to get to the Jamboree depending on where it was.

 

Bevil loved the Bethany and took very good care of her,

and she took care of him.

 

He was quickly approaching the asteroid belt that would be his home for the next month or so and began to take readings. If he could find one, large asteroid with different minerals in enough abundance to make it worth the mining, that would save him a lot of time and effort. Being able to avoid hopping from asteroid to asteroid would make the next month a lot easier.

 

A large asteroid near the far end of the belt was read- ing silver, gold, cobalt and quartz in absolutely stunning amounts. He could mine for a month and barely make a dent in the supply.

 

He angled in, approached oh so slowly, and touched down on the rock. He pushed the button that released the

anchor and waited until the words “lock secured” scrolled across the monitor to his right.

 

Bevil had been flying for most of the day and decided to wait until the morning to start his operations. He hopped out of his seat, stretched and walked over to the galley to prepare dinner.

 

Tonight we feast. Tomorrow we mine. Bevil celebrated his find with a very indulgent meal of one actual egg, the last of his green beans, the last of his fresh water and finally, before settling down to sleep, his last bit of scotch. His pan- try was now absolutely bare. From here on out it would be recycled lavatory water, protein wafers, veggie cakes and Carboneine.

 

Once he was done mining he’d be able to stock up on a lot of fresh goods and even get the lining repaired on his ship, which was much needed but currently beyond his means. He might even have enough left over to have a little fun.

 

Bevil lay on his bunk and thought about the Jamboree. He pushed thoughts of matchmaking and courting from his mind and focused on how good it would be to see his family and friends. Plus, there was the added advantage of being able to pilfer fresh goods and supplies directly from the Cyrex.

 

Going home wouldn’t be so bad…as long as he didn’t meet a woman he liked. He swore on the hull; he couldn’t afford to lie to his dad. He said a silent prayer to the universe to send him horrible women who were mean and terrible before drifting off to sleep.

 

Chapter 3

 

The first morning of mining Bevil chipped a drill bit which cost him two hours of work replacing it. He only had five drill bits and needed to be very careful he didn’t run out. He changed tactics and spent the rest of the first day surveying and marking mineral deposits instead of just jumping in feet first.

 

That had actually ended up being very helpful, since it gave him a strategy and schedule. The second day of mining went better. He started with quartz, he would then move on to silver and gold, and end with the cobalt mining. Cobalt was worth the most money and was the most difficult to mine because of its brittle nature. Bevil was hoping that by the time he got to the cobalt operations, his endurance would be high so he could mine for five hours a day, maybe more if he was strong enough.

 

He was nearing the end of his first week and still couldn’t get past two and half hours of exposure. Yet, he was getting stronger every day and had collected enough quartz that he felt good about moving on to silver the day after tomorrow.

 

Bevil removed the large quartz cluster from the asteroid and stared in awe at its natural beauty. The advantage of weightlessness was that he could lift a two hundred pound cluster one handed with little effort. Carrying it was a differ- ent matter and his muscles strained under the two hundred

pounds of inert mass. He carried it to the Bethany, secured it in the cargo hold and then went back out to the asteroid, retrieved his tethered mining tools and decided to call it a day.

 

Inside the cargo hold he cleaned the dust and dirt from his tools and stored them securely. He closed up the ship and let the atmosphere get breathable. He removed his suit, brushed it clean and then floated forward toward the air lock that separated the cargo hold from the rest of the ship.

 

Bevil went straight to his bunk; put weighted bands around his wrists and ankles and then the weighted vest around his shoulders before turning on the artificial gravity. He could hear the disks in the hull spin up and hum as grav- ity slowly became a reality. He drifted a few inches before touching down on the floor and then walked to the galley. The weights were essential to Star Folk, wearing them in artificial gravity was also essential, if slightly uncomfortable. Bevil popped open a can of Carboneine and drank it down in a few gulps.

 

This was a daily routine. The weights helped maintain bone density and Carboneine was essential in supplying most nutrients the body needed. Technically you could be healthy on three cans of Carboneine a day but that was no way to live. It tasted like a mix of sour chocolate milk and bad coffee. But it was loaded with supplements, carbohydrates and a good amount of caffeine.

 

Bevil wore the weights for two hours a day, and during this time would usually exercise, but the mining was more than enough exercise currently. Instead, Bevil passed the time watching a movie, playing video games, reading or listening to music.

 

He was feeling a little bored tonight. Not in the mood for a movie or a game, he turned on the radio, broke out a couple veggie cakes, a protein wafer and took a seat in the pilot’s chair.

 

He stared over the black and brown landscape of his

asteroid. Beyond this, he could see half of the small moon

known as EA-907 orbiting the planet Turbit. Turbit itself was a gas giant. The EA in EA-907 stood for Earth Alliance. Not known for their imagination, the Earth Alliance rarely named things. When they did, planets and moons would end up with very unfortunate names like Turbit.

 

Bevil took a few sips of precious, recycled lavatory water, grimaced and then let his mind wander to thoughts of the Jamboree. For just a moment he had the terrifying thought that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he met a nice girl.

 

Thankfully, this thought was wiped from his mind when a massive Earth Alliance freighter suddenly appeared over the moon. He saw the space above EA-907 fold a moment before the ship appeared with a bright flash. Out of instinct Bevil shut everything down. If the soldiers on board were scanning the area, Bevil didn’t want to be found. Unlicensed mining wasn’t exactly illegal, but it wasn’t entirely legal either. Even though the Earth Alliance was a mostly benign, if ridiculously bureaucratic organization, Bevil did not want to draw attention to himself. He also didn’t want to pay any fines that would definitely be levied for his unlicensed mining.

 

Bevil ran to the back of the Bethany to grab his suit. He wouldn’t run out of oxygen for an hour or so, but he had no idea how long the freighter would be here and what it was up to. He quickly put on his suit and then sat in his ship, all systems off, watching the massive ship in front of him. He hit a small button on his chest and the plexi-faceplate magnified the moon and ship a hundred fold. It gave the disconcerting feeling of floating in space a few arm lengths from the front of the vessel. He watched as enormous cargo containers dropped from the freighter down to the moon’s surface. Twenty minutes later the containers shot back up and were taken aboard.

 

Once the containers were secured, the ship left orbit and accelerated before disappearing in a flash of light when it entered a warp tunnel. Bevil powered up his ship.

 

Curiosity quickly got the better of him and he scanned the moon. There was only one thing on the surface, a large

structure. Energy readings showed a sensor array around it for a decent distance. Bevil would need to put the Bethany in orbit over the structure for visuals, and he didn’t want to do that. He turned his attention to the net and began researching system EA-90048. It only took about five minutes to figure out that the moon housed a fully automated supply depot used for Earth Alliance forces.

 

The depot on 907 was a holdover from the last Earth Alliance war with the Simrun Collective. It made sense. This sector had been a major launching point into the Collective’s territory. The Collective was crushed in the final battle and its surviving members were either still on the run or in custody. During the war this system would have been teaming with Alliance ships loading up supplies or falling back for repairs.

 

Nowadays it was basically empty. People like Bevil would come here to mine the asteroids or maybe scoop helium from the gas giants. Earth Alliance ships rarely patrolled this system and sector for long amounts of time. Bevil’s best guess was that the depot maybe had four visits a year at most.

 

His curiosity continued to hold him in focus on the depot. He began scanning for a signal he could hack, purely out of curiosity. He certainly wasn’t going to do anything as foolish as try to rob an Alliance re-supply station. Digging into the depot’s systems would simply help him pass the time.

 

He found the uplink signal and with the crack of his knuckles and a slug from a can of Carboneine, Bevil set about trying to hack into the system to poke around…just for fun.

 

Chapter 4

 

Bevil was halfway through his last week of mining. He’d secured enough quartz, silver and gold that he could definitely replace the lining on his ship. Hull lining was crucial for breaking atmosphere on a planet or moon. The last time he took the Bethany planet side he thought the hull was going to melt. By the time he landed, the inside of the ship was so hot he could barely stay conscious. Bevil ran from his ship, and even through his suit’s boots he could feel the heat from the deck.

 

The cabin took three days to cool back down to livable. Bevil knew that if he tried to take the ship through atmo- sphere again, he’d most likely burn up before he got halfway through entry.

 

But now, with this haul, he could have serious top shelf product applied to the Bethany.

 

The cobalt mining was going well. It was tough, but so far he’d been able to mine nearly twelve pounds of the stuff. If he could keep up this pace, he’d be leaving with roughly thirty pounds of it—more than enough to keep his ship loaded with fresh supplies for a year, maybe more. He could even get some countermeasures attached to the Bethany just in case he was ever attacked.

 

Living in space wasn’t like the dramas he watched on

TV or the movies. No laser fire dog fights or missile attacks. Ship to ship lasers and plasma weapons were outlawed centuries ago. Pistols and rifles were still legal but anyone stupid enough to have any type of beam weapon installed on their ship would find themselves in hot water with not only the Alliance, but the Star Folk as well. A laser shot in space kept going, forever, until it either dispersed into harmless nothing or made contact with something.

 

Long ago, so the story goes, a pirate was running from the Alliance. The Alliance locked onto the ship and fired, but at the last moment, the pirate slipped the lock and the bolt of lazed plasma zipped past. About six months later, that single shaft of deadly light collided with a refugee ship, puncturing the hull and killing everyone on board.

 

That was the end of lasers in space. Missiles were defi- nitely a potential threat. But all missiles were built with self-destruct mechanisms. A missile was fired at a ship, if it missed the target it could fly for maybe two minutes tops before self-destructing. The same thing was done with bullets and ship-to-ship heavy rounds.

 

There was a certain type of person who attacked ships with missiles, and they were not nice people. It basically came down to slavers if they couldn’t secure the ship and passengers. And psychopaths who thought flying through space and blowing stuff up was fun. Unfortunately there were more of those people than there should be.

 

Bevil had not been attacked or really harassed in any way since he’d had the Bethany. He’d had run-ins with people on stations and docks but out in space, never. However, he was always nervous when he closed his eyes to sleep. Proximity alarms were very helpful, but an automatic countermeasure system to keep him safe would be better. Shields would be best but that was just not feasible on Bevil’s budget.

 

Since discovering the depot on the moon, Bevil spent his free time snooping around the system. He would access the depot’s mainframe looking for an answer to the night’s question such as: what were the system specifics? What

were the coded responses? What was the response to a craft that actually made it to the surface? And what was the response when it tried to leave?

 

The only thing on the moon was the depot, fifty robotic patrol units, and six ground to air assault cannons. Anything trying to land within the radius of the depot’s sensors without Alliance clearance would be shot out of the sky before the ship could break atmosphere. The sensors were attuned to a geosynchronous satellite, giving them very impressive range.

 

As long as Bevil was careful, poking around the system would not set off any alarms so that’s what he did. The first major thing he noticed was that the hardware running the depot had not been updated or replaced in nearly ten years, but the software was only a year or so old.

 

He also found, after going through thousands of lines of code, that there was either a case of epically lazy coding or intentional caution. While the assault cannons would shoot anything down that attempted to land without clearance, they never tracked anything when it left the moon. From the code, he was absolutely positive that any ship that made it to the surface, unauthorized or not, would not be tracked leaving. So if one could land illegally, the cannons would not fire when the ship departed. The robotic patrols were a definite problem, but a circuitous route from landing to depot would allow someone to avoid the ground sensors that would activate the patrols.

 

That’s when Bevil realized he was planning on robbing the depot. Not robbing it in reality, but in his mind, as a fantasy, as something to do. Put aside the fact that robbing an Alliance outpost, no matter how remote, was epically stupid. Forget the fact that if he tried to land the Bethany on the moon it would melt before he could break atmosphere. Never mind the cannons that would automatically lock on and blast his precious ship out of the sky the minute he couldn’t respond with the right random code. Forget all that. Even if he could get past all that, he still wouldn’t do it. But if he could do it, it’d be a hell of score.

Bevil did not consider himself a pirate or a thief. Though he was not above a little petty larceny now and again and didn’t even consider it a crime if done correctly. Ripping off an Alliance supply depot would fall into that category. A victimless crime by all standards. But the risk definitely did not equal the reward.

 

Still, every night he would go through lines of code, peeking for weaknesses and assessing the difficulty. He would mentally drool at the haul that would dwarf the profits from this mining operation of his. Food, medical supplies, clothes, blankets, weapons, machine parts, seeds, tools and on and on the list went.

 

Given the massive Alliance ship that showed up a couple weeks ago was a supply ship, the depot was fully stocked with “fresh” product.

 

Bevil got up at different times, mainly so he could observe the system to see if there were any major glitches in it that could (if he were so inclined) be exploited.

 

This morning Bevil was cleaning his mining equipment, watching out of the corner of his eye both the moon and the monitor displaying the depot’s internal workings. He was replacing a drill bit, while eating his breakfast. Breakfast being the same thing he’d been eating three times a day for the last month or so. A protein wafer, a veggie cake and a can of Carboneine.

 

Bevil watched the moon, lazily rotating in its orbit, the depot side of the moon turning slowly from night side to day side, and then it happened. The entire depot system shut down and began rebooting. The reboot happened twice. Then it did a systems check, twice. Between the reboot in which everything was down and the system checks in which all cannons and patrols were offline, it created a ten minute window in which one could easily land on the surface. Bevil sat in silence with a mouthful of Carboneine. He finally came to his senses, swallowed his drink and rechecked the system. And then checked it again.

The drill clanged loudly on the floor of the ship, but Bevil did not care. His attention was now completely on the depot.

 

Bevil’s fantasy of robbing it just became a potential

reality.

 

Chapter 5

 

The mining operation was now completely forgotten. Bevil’s only concern this past week was monitoring the depot. For the last five days he got up at the same exact time to make sure the reboot wasn’t a one-off fluke.

 

Every morning he would watch the monitor and every morning it happened. He quickly realized why it happened. The old hardware was not fast enough for the new software. This incompatibility caused the software to glitch heavy. In turn, this then corrupted the clock system of the depot, which then corrupted the daily system scan. Instead of simply checking the system every twenty four hours, the computer now did two hard reboots and two offline scans.

 

Bevil surmised that this had been going on for a while now. Most likely, the first glitch had simply been a hard sys- tem reboot. This then cascaded into two, which cascaded into adding an offline check and then cascading into two offline checks. It would most likely cascade more over time until finally being bad enough to alert the Alliance to the problem.

 

Bevil was not insane enough to think that he could rob the depot semi-regularly. That would be seriously pushing his luck. But, he might be able to get away with it once, and if he did, the score would be epic.

 

Bevil needed to be logical and think clearly. His ship

was not large and even his storage space couldn’t actually store all that much. However, if he was willing to sleep in the pilot’s chair, which he was, he could take as much as he could carry. He did the math and figured it would mean two trips over two days. Risky, but worth it.

 

Yesterday a request came in for a re-supply. The ship that needed the supplies would be here in six days, which meant Bevil needed to be completely done in four.

 

He’d have to pod down to the moon. And he’d have to take the chance of testing it before he did it himself. His storage pods were lined so they wouldn’t burn up in the atmosphere and they were also equipped with maglev discs which would make hauling easier.

 

That’s what he was doing today. The Bethany was cur- rently in a high geosynchronous orbit over a canyon out of range of the depot’s ground sensors.

 

Podding down to the moon consisted of shooting a micro-filament line to the surface, which would anchor itself into the ground. The pods would then shoot down the line and once the job was done they’d retract up to the ship via remote. It was basically a poor man’s space elevator.

 

Bevil, floating above EA-907, watched his monitor. The system began its first system reboot and Bevil hit the go button. The micro-filament line shot out of the ship, unspooling as it went. It took five minutes for the line to hit the surface and anchor itself. Then he sent the pods. All five of them. The pods were heavier and began to pick up steam once they were in atmosphere. It took the pods three minutes to hit the surface. That left a two minute window for any error.

 

Bevil kept an eye on his monitor. The last system check was done and everything was coming back online. Nothing. No alert, no missiles and no messages sent from the depot. The first part had worked. Now came phase two, retraction. Bevil kept one hand on the accelerator just in case something went wrong. He hit the retract button, the micro-filament

line dislodged from the surface and began to spool back up toward the ship taking the pods with it. This was a much slower operation and took fifteen minutes. But during that time not a shot was fired, no indication that the depot was aware of anything. The pods were spooled into the cargo hold and secured aboard his ship.

 

Holy mother of mischief! thought Bevil. This is going to work!

 

Bevil spent the rest of the day, back on his asteroid, making a tight list of the things he was going to take from the depot. He also decided to remove the ore from the cargo hold. He secured it with mining nets to the surface of the asteroid. If something went wrong, but not catastrophically wrong, Bevil would be able to retrieve his mining haul. If things went really well, he would simply come back for the ore at a later date. There was the chance someone would take it, which wasn’t really stealing. Anyone dumb enough to leave their haul behind was knowingly taking the risk. Bevil was feeling pretty dumb and confident so the choice was made.

 

The phone calls from his parents increased to twice a day. Bevil did not mention anything about robbing the depot. Not that his parents would object on principle but they would worry about him being killed, or worse, arrested and sent to prison.

 

His dad sent him the coordinates for the Jamboree. Bevil mapped it out and estimated he would be there in time for the festivities if he could sell the goods fast enough, which wouldn’t be a problem if he visited one of the more unruly stations like Juniper or Sonovan. Gardena Station was way too above board so he nixed that and Artax was filled with psychopaths and maniacs. Bevil was more likely to get killed on Artax then sell his goods, so Juniper or Sonovan would be his destination. Both stations were mostly above board but Bevil had contacts that would have no qualms about buying stolen Alliance swag. He’d probably make a better deal on Juniper, but Sonovan was closer to where the Star Folk would be so that’s where Bevil would go.

Bevil tried to retire for the night, but he was so excited about the prospect of the heist that he found it hard to sleep. He forced himself to go through some meditation exercises, finally drifting off with visions of drinking fresh coffee and eating real chicken dancing in his mind.

 

Bevil woke up extra early and was now back in orbit over EA-907. He was securely tucked into the last pod. He was wearing his suit, under which he wore comfortable clothes, his gun in its holster on his hip, canteen slung over his shoulder, and his small lock pick attached to his belt. In his hand was the remote. He rigged up a monitor in the cargo hold so he could time his launch. The minute the system began its first reboot, he hit the go button, shooting the line down to the surface.

 

He got the green light that the line was secured. He closed his eyes, hit the go button again and the pods were catapulted out of the ship.

 

Bevil was now rocketing down to the surface of the moon, trailing the four empty pods in front of him. He could feel the heat but it wasn’t unbearable. He kept his eyes glued to his timer. He waited until he was about thirty seconds from the surface and hit the button on the inside of the pod that activated the maglev discs. There was a hum, the pod slowed, bumped the ground ever so slightly and then bounced up and hovered. He cut the power and all five pods tumbled to the ground.

 

He crawled out of his pod, took off his helmet and suit and breathed deeply. He was on the surface, he had not been noticed and none of the pods were damaged. He took a moment to enjoy the act of breathing fresh air for the first time in a long time before getting to work.

 

He planned a very circuitous route to the depot in order to avoid the sensors that would alert the patrol bots to his presence. His route would bring him in contact with only two sensors, which could easily be shorted with an EMP blast. Bevil’s pistol had various settings on it from stun to kill, but it also had an EMP setting. Bevil’s pistol was considered an

antique but he loved it. Modern, EA-regulated pistols did not have EMP settings as the Alliance considered that illegal and a setting only used for unlawful shenanigans.

 

Bevil’d been roaming for about a year when he saw it strapped to the hip of a store owner on Juniper station. He asked the man if it was for sale and of course was told no. Bevil knew enough to know that everything was basically for sale on Juniper station; he just needed to dicker correctly.

 

In the end, Bevil got the gun for two hundred crowns cash and a very decent warp coil he’d salvaged that week. The pistol had never let him down and the EMP came in handy more than it should for an honest-ish space fairing roamer.

 

Bevil gave the pistol on his hip a pat and stared out over the desert landscape. I am not a thief or a pirate. Bevil told himself, but if I was, I’d be an absolutely excellent one. Bevil unhooked the pods from the filament line and strung them into a little train. The maglev discs back on, they all hovered slightly above the ground. He led them by the leash and began his long, winding, out of the way walk to the depot to rob it blind.

 

He approached the two sensors and stayed just out of range. Bevil got down on one knee, aimed carefully and fritzed them good. The minute the two sensors went down an alert went out from the depot that would send a mainte- nance bot or two to check on the problem. The maintenance bots were not a threat. However, if they saw or sensed Bevil those bots would send for the security bots, which definitely were a threat.

 

Bevil had about twenty minutes to hightail it to the depot and get out of range of the incoming mechanicals so he started running.

 

By the time he reached the depot he was covered in sweat. His empty canteen clinking loudly on his side. But that didn’t matter. He could refill the canteen here before he left.

 

There were only two ways to get supplies out of the

depot. The first way was to have some officer or grunt aboard an alliance vessel enter a manifest code into a computer. That code would be transmitted to the surface. The goods would be sorted and loaded onto a cargo pod and that pod would be launched to the waiting ship. It would be unloaded and then the empty pod returned to the surface.

 

The second way was Bevil’s way. The illegal way. Bevil approached the door marked maintenance. He took his small lock pick, placed it over the keypad by the door and watched it run through thousands of possible combinations in a matter of seconds. The numbers scrolled out onto the small screen, there was a click, a buzz and then a green light before the door slid open.

 

Beyond the door was the server room where things could be checked and repaired. Attached to that server room was a small bathroom. A door on the far side of the server room led into the depot’s warehouse.

 

Another instance of what Bevil assumed was either lazy programming or in this case arrogance, meant that the computer in the server room had no password protec- tion. The Alliance, confident in their defenses, assumed that anyone who made it into the server room was supposed to be there. All Bevil had to do was initiate an inventory and quality sampling program. The computer would then instruct the system to arrange all of the goods in the middle of the warehouse for inspection. Bevil would load up his pods with his booty and slink away.

 

Bevil was a little worried about leaving Bethany up there all alone. He checked the small monitor strapped to his wrist every few minutes to make sure she was still there and so far so good. If something were to happen to her, he’d be trapped. Checking was a simple reassurance that helped keep him calm.

 

He took a seat in front of the computer and set the sur- veillance cameras into a loop. He deleted all the video that showed him approaching and entering, then spliced in more vacant scenery. He set the loop to run for a few hours, more

than enough time for him to finish. Tomorrow he would do the same thing. The cameras downloaded to the server and all the files data streamed to the nearest alliance ship once a month. Bevil doubted anybody ever looked at those, but better safe than sorry.

 

While Bevil fully intended on coming back tomorrow to finish the job, he decided it would be best to load up on everything he really wanted today, just in case. It would take about thirty minutes for the system to have everything all stacked up in the depot so Bevil took the opportunity to look around the small room. Finding nothing of interest and realizing he needed to relieve himself he wandered toward the bathroom.

 

Opening the door Bevil saw something that made today even better. It hadn’t even occurred to him that this bathroom would have a shower. This was not a sonic shower like on his ship. Sonic showers were fine, but you never really felt clean. Sonic showers assaulted the body with alternating high and low frequency blasts that removed dirt and killed bacteria, but that was about it.

 

Standing before him was an honest to goodness shower, a real shower, with water. He opened the small cabinet under the sink and saw about thirty bars of shrink wrapped soap.

 

Best day ever! thought Bevil. Quickly peeling out of his clothes he hopped in the shower smiling and humming. If it would take thirty minutes for the depot to do its job, Bevil was going to spend the next twenty luxuriating.

 

Chapter 6

 

Bevil whistled happily when he entered the welcoming shadows of the canyon. The pods were filled to capacity with food, weapons, clothes, medicines, seeds, entertainment and fresh water.

 

Bevil hitched the pods up to the filament line, he then crammed himself into his pod which he’d stuffed with clothes. He had a bit of trouble getting it to seal and in the end had to dump a couple of jumpsuits to make it work, but he’d grab those tomorrow.

 

He hit the button and all the pods began the slow ascent back to the Bethany. Bevil closed his eyes and daydreamed about dinner. He would have salad, chicken, a baked potato, a cold Saturn Cola and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert.

 

He opened his eyes when he felt drool running down his chin. He checked his wrist, the Bethany was still secure. He was maybe about halfway up when it all went wrong. His wrist monitor turned red. The words PROXIMITY ALERT flashed across the small screen and then it went dark.

 

Bevil was falling now, falling fast and picking up speed. He tried calling up the Bethany but the screen was just blank. Something had happened, the Bethany was gone.

 

Bevil was still trying to figure out what was going on

when he heard a massive explosion and then felt the impact of debris, from the destroyed pod above him, bouncing off his own. The cannons! Bevil was absolutely terrified. Bevil closed his eyes and waited to be obliterated but he wasn’t.

 

He checked the altitude and realized he was only moments from impact. Bevil quickly activated the maglev discs. He didn’t know if they would save him and his haul considering how fast and from how high he’d fallen, but he was hoping they would. If they didn’t it wouldn’t matter, he’d die on impact.

 

He and his remaining pods were tumbling like a string of beads, heading toward the ground. He didn’t know where they were going, but he hoped they were falling away from the depot and not towards it.

 

He slammed into the ground so hard the breath was knocked out of him, the pod opened up when it bounced and Bevil held on for dear life, skipping and skidding to a dramatic halt.

 

Now, hovering above the ground, Bevil rolled out of his pod and lay in the dirt. He was mentally checking his body, there was soreness but nothing felt truly injured. He opened his eyes and slowly stood up. Removing his helmet and looking around, he realized he was deep inside the canyon he’d originated from.

 

All his remaining pods were open and there was food, clothes, meds and other gear scattered around. Bevil checked his small monitor in desperation, there was nothing. The Bethany simply did not exist.

 

There were only two things that could cover the prox- imity sensor’s range so quickly. The first being a micro-me- teorite, the other was a missile.

 

A micro-meteorite would be too small to trigger the proximity alarm and, if not repelled by the ship’s magnetized hull, it certainly would not have destroyed the Bethany but simply shot through it.

A ship moving quickly could have closed the gap and fired a missile. A cloaked ship could have snuck up behind his ship unnoticed but cloaks were incredibly expensive. In fact the only people known to use them were the now defunct Simrun Collective and Bevil doubted any of the surviving members would venture this far into Alliance territory.

 

Bevil ran through all this while he collected his spilled haul, and just could not think of any other conclusion. He did not know who, but someone had just blown up his ship.

 

If it had been the Alliance, that ship would have broken atmosphere by now. However, the Alliance did not go around blowing up people’s homes. They would simply have arrested Bevil, impounded his ship and sold it at auction.

 

That left only three other choices. Slavers blew up ships but only when they couldn’t capture them which meant it was highly unlikely it was a slaver.

 

So, either the Bethany had been blown up by a psycho- path or someone else knew about the depot and considered Bevil to be invading their turf. In which case, at dawn tomor- row they would swoop down and try to kill him.

 

All Star Folk were trained to fight with weapons and hand to hand. Bevil was certainly not the best fighter, but he wasn’t the worst and he was a very good shot.

 

The first time Bevil was forced to take another person’s life was when a Simrun boarding party tried to take over the Cyrex, during the war with the Collective. Bevil was only thirteen at the time, but he did shoot dead, two of the Simrun attackers. He had been hailed as a hero and to this day he was always shown respect usually reserved for people far older.

 

But the truth of the matter was, the entire incident made him sick. Even now, the memory of killing those two men, as bad as they were, turned his stomach. He had been plagued with nightmares for years, and would still occasionally dream about it. Though nowadays he would consider it more of a dream, a bad dream, but not a terror-inducing nightmare.

The thought of killing someone did not appeal to him. The thought of killing the person who just blew up his home, well, he wasn’t thrilled about it, but he definitely didn’t have a problem with it.

 

Currently though, Bevil felt he had a much more press- ing matter and that was the depot’s security robot patrols.

 

He was hoping that once the depot registered a hit with its cannon that it simply considered the matter resolved. His pods would be read by the depot as a very small craft and that the craft was neutralized with no need for further investigation.

 

Bevil couldn’t take that chance however and prepared for a fight with up to sixteen security bots that would most likely cut him into very small and manageable bits.

 

He collected all the spilled goods and put them back in their pods. He grabbed one of the brand new, high powered rifles he’d pilfered and put on a camouflage jumpsuit as well. Alliance camouflage was top notch. Basically, the material bent light around the wearer. If he was far enough away, he’d be invisible.

 

Bevil piled his pods up in the middle of the canyon and then took position a good distance down the gorge under a jagged outcropping of rock.

 

Sunrise was in twelve hours, and then he’d know if he was trapped or if he was going to have to fight for his life. If someone else had been robbing the depot, and that person did blow up Bevil’s ship, they would consider Bevil to be trespassing on their score. They would not be in the mood to negotiate and they most certainly would not let Bevil leave the canyon alive.

 

Bevil wanted to practice with the rifle but if the bots were coming for him, the sound would alert them to his location. If no robots showed up in the next hour he’d consider himself in the clear on that front.

He began thinking of all the scenarios that could go down in the next one to twelve hours and his thoughts quickly spun out of control. He had a vision of being swarmed by robots followed by the destroyer of Bethany landing, kicking his dead corpse, stealing his haul and leaving his body to rot.

 

Bevil could hear his sister’s voice in his head. Don’t make things complicated, let them get complicated on their own and then come up with a simple solution. Simple will always outsmart complicated. He nodded to himself, gripped his rifle like a teddy bear and began breathing deep and calm.

 

Chapter 7

 

Bevil sat silently in the dark for hours. The security bots never showed and that made Bevil slightly less tense. It was still pitch black in the canyon and Bevil was thinking of getting a few minutes sleep when he heard it, the low hum of an ionic engine. He couldn’t see anything, but the hum got louder.

 

He looked through the scope of his rifle at his pile of pods. Nothing, but then sand and dust began to swirl and kick up, the empty air shimmered and, as if unfolding from the infinite, a ship appeared, hovering just above the canyon floor. It lowered to the ground and the hum died.

 

Bevil stared through the night scope. He still loved the Bethany dearly, but what he was looking at was a real ship. At least three times the size of his, he could see missile launchers under the scooped wings. Someone was behind the flight controls in the cockpit and he could tell the forward guns were armed, slowly scanning back and forth obviously looking to target lock on something…mainly him.

 

The undercarriage of the ship began to open and a thin ramp extended down to the surface. Bevil watched the pilot get out of his seat, then the entire ship powered down. A few minutes later a man came down the ramp holding a rifle of his own.

He was older than Bevil, by perhaps ten years and bore the facial tattoos of a Simrun Collective enforcer. Bevil’s blood ran cold and his hands began to shake. He took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself.

 

The man lifted his rifle and scanned the canyon in Bevil’s direction. Bevil quickly lowered his rifle and sat perfectly still. His camouflage worked under the same basic principle as the ship’s cloak. As long as he didn’t move, the light would bend around him and he’d be invisible to the naked eye.

 

Bevil watched the man approach the pods, all the while

scanning the canyon.

 

“Sorry about your ship!” the man yelled. “My name is Max. Let’s talk!”

 

Bevil remained still.

 

“I’ve been doing this place for months now. I assume you’re here for the same reason!” The man stopped, opened one of Bevil’s pods and nodded to himself. “Nice haul!” He checked all the pods and nodded approvingly. “I don’t know how you got down here without a cloak, but I’m impressed.”

 

Max put the rifle’s scope to his eye and scanned the

area again.

 

“I know you’re alive or these pods wouldn’t have been piled up so neatly!” Max yelled. “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me how you got down here, and I’ll get you off the moon and drop you someplace, but I’m keeping this haul.” Max lowered his rifle and appeared to be adjusting his scope.

 

Bevil breathed deep, he knew Max was lying. The Simrun Collective may be in hiding or defunct, but there was no way this guy was going to let Bevil live. Max raised his rifle again.

 

Bevil could hear his own voice screaming in his head. Shoot him already or you’re gonna die! Bevil was having a hard time committing to the act. The choice between turning himself in to the Alliance and murder was actually a tougher

one to make than he’d first thought. He’d never spent any time in an Alliance prison but from everything he heard it wasn’t all that bad. But prison was prison and to a Star Folk, prison was as good as death.

 

“Okay!” Max shouted, “Your choice…” Max aimed the rifle directly at Bevil and that’s when Bevil realized Max could see him.

 

Crap! Bevil dived out of the way just in time. Max pulled the trigger and a bolt of laser fire, moving so fast Bevil could not see it grazed the side of his head, tearing the camouflage hood. Bevil rolled on the ground in searing, burning pain, the smell of burnt flesh and singed hair filling his nostrils.

 

Bevil could see Max approaching, the rifle at his hip,

and pointed at Bevil.

 

“There you are,” said Max with a grin, striding forward until he loomed over him. “Well you’re not much to look at, but you might fetch a fair price…unless you’re worth more in parts.”

 

Bevil was desperately trying to focus past the pain when Max bent down, grabbed him by the collars and hoisted him up. Bevil knew what Max’s words meant: slavery, ransom or killed, dissected and his organs sold on the black market.

 

Bevil reacted instinctively. When Max lifted him up, Bevil wrapped his legs around Max’s waist and lurched backwards. Bevil hit the ground hard, but did not have the air knocked out of him. Max stumbled down to the ground, landing on his knees. He did not let go of Bevil, but now, wrapped tightly in Bevil’s guard, Max realized he had a fight on his hands.

 

Max let go with one hand and attempted to punch Bevil in the head. Bevil shifted his upper body out of the way, cap- turing Max’s striking arm with his hands. He planted his foot on Max’s hip and shifted his body in the opposite direction. He lifted one leg up and across Max’s head, pinching Max’s arm tightly with his legs. Bevil bridged upward quickly with

force, hearing the sickening pop and rip as he hyper extended

and dislocated Max’s elbow.

 

When Max screamed in pain, Bevil planted both feet on the man’s hips and kicked his attacker away. Both Bevil and Max scrambled to get up, Max raised his rifle with his good arm, but he was too slow. Bevil grabbed his own rifle and emptied the magazine into Max. He did not stop shooting until Max was a lumpy, bony puddle.

 

Bevil dropped to his knees and immediately threw up. He gingerly touched the side of his head to check for any blood, but there was none. His skin felt crispy from being instantly cauterized by the bolt that barely missed him.

 

Bevil grabbed Max’s rifle and looked at the scope. It had three settings; normal, night and thermal. It had been set on thermal, which explained how Max saw through the camouflage.

 

Bevil slung both rifles over his shoulders and walked toward Max’s ship.

 

He stripped out of the camouflage, putting it and the rifles in a pod. Bevil did not think there was anyone else aboard. If there was they would have come out during the fracas. But Bevil wanted to be sure.

 

He pulled his pistol and slowly walked up the ramp.

 

Entering the ship, Bevil stood completely still, listening for any movement. Hearing none, he began to move. It was powered down completely which was both an advantage and disadvantage. The advantage being that no sensors or countermeasures would be active. The disadvantage being it was nearly pitch black inside the ship so an ambush could come from anywhere.

 

Bevil worked his way carefully from compartment to compartment, eventually covering the entire ship and find- ing no one inside. He holstered his pistol, walked down the ramp and brought his pods aboard.

The sun was rising and light was beginning to stream into the ship through the cockpit, making it easier to see. Bevil slumped into the pilot’s seat and slowly scanned over the controls. His head was aching and he needed to patch himself up before he took off.

 

The Bethany was a simple setup, whereas Max’s ship seemed to be much more complicated. Bevil realized as he was stalking the compartments that this ship was definitely at least three times the size of the Bethany if not more. It made sense that a vessel like this would work more like the Cyrex than his little ship. Bevil got up and worked his way toward the back, finding a panel far aft that monitored the batteries, engines and warp coils.

 

He found the master, primer switch and flipped it. There was a low hum and a slight hop when the ship came to life. Bevil could feel the craft bobbing above the canyon floor.

 

Bevil breathed a sigh of relief. The ship now completely illuminated, he went in search of medical supplies. He found a door with a red cross on it that opened into a very small med bay the size of a long closet. Inside were a series of well- stocked cabinets and even an auto-doc. Auto-docs were very expensive and incredibly helpful to those who could afford them. The patient sat in the chair and could attach various bracelets to their arms, legs, torso or head. The chair would scan and, if possible, direct the proper protocols to bind wounds, administer drugs and even repair broken limbs.

 

For now Bevil just wanted to make sure he wasn’t too badly hurt. He looked in the mirror and saw that there was a large, mottled stripe of skin where his hair had been, but it was superficial. He found some burn cream and applied it which immediately eased the pain. He placed a plaster over the burn, took an aspirin and decided to investigate the rest of his new ship before taking off.

 

He exited the small med-bay and was instantly thrown to the floor when the ship quickly lifted off and began head- ing for orbit.

He could hear the ramp closing up and the high pitch of the ionic engines let him know the ship was picking up speed.

 

In a panic Bevil ran to the cockpit, grabbed the manual controls and desperately tried to maneuver the ship, but he was locked out. The ionic engines were screaming. Once the ship burst through the atmosphere, Bevil caught a quick glance of the Bethany’s wreckage before the ionic engines died and the ship switched over to the more powerful slip drive used for interstellar travel.

 

The ship continued to pick up speed, flying past the asteroid field. Bevil stared on in shock and dismay. He watched space fold in on itself and EA-90048 disappeared, replaced by the chaotic view of a warp tunnel.

 

Crap! A Tantalus! Bevil was trapped and if he couldn’t figure out how to get himself free he would most likely be dead in the very near future.

 

Chapter 8

 

Most people respected the rule of salvage and claim. You’re dead, you don’t need your ship and so, let someone else take it. Some people however, would set up a Tantalus.

 

A Tantalus worked like a failsafe. Let’s say you’re leaving your ship at a space station or surface side. You’re out and about enjoying yourself and someone comes along and steals your ship or kills you for any number of reasons.

 

This person then boards your ship and powers it up. If a Tantalus has been preprogrammed the thief would need to enter a code to disarm it. If they don’t, the ship takes off, locking the person out of the controls and flying to a specific destination.

 

Most people program their Tantalus to return to their home, main ship or base of operations. Once there the person who killed the owner, or found the ship, could explain things and if all was on the up and up they would be allowed to keep the ship, fair is fair. A thief might have a harder time explaining things.

 

Some people, however, would set up their Tantalus to simply fly until out of fuel, or if the ship didn’t run on fuel, until the batteries and or warp coils completely burned out. This would more than likely strand someone in deep

space with no way of refueling or recharging. Oxygen would dwindle, power would drain and the person who claimed the ship, rightly or wrongly, would die alone in an empty sector of space.

 

Bevil was pretty sure that a guy like Max would fall into the “die alone in space” category rather than a, send the ship home to his people, type of person. Quite frankly, Bevil wasn’t sure what would be worse in this case.

 

Bevil was completely locked out of the ship’s systems and frantically trying to come up with a plan. Then he remem- bered his lock pick. He inserted it into a port near the navi- gation computer and activated it.

 

There was a spurt, a spark and then a fritzing sound a second before the lock pick caught fire. Bevil removed it and quickly stamped it out. As if on cue Max flashed onto the port computer monitor.

 

Bevil looked at him. He was sitting on his bunk, smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of something. He looked into the camera, smiled, raised his glass and said “Well, you’ve either killed me or stolen my ship. Have fun dying alone in deep space, asshole.” Max gave one more nod, took a puff from his cigar and then the monitor went blank.

 

Bevil checked the battery levels. The ship engines were at roughly seventy five percent capacity and it was running at top speed. Depending on how long it could stay in a warp tunnel it could be out of juice in anywhere between two days and six weeks.

 

He ran to the back of the ship and flipped the main power switch. Nothing happened, which he sort of expected but he tried it anyway. He found the maintenance closet and grabbed a tool box, rushing back to the cockpit he attempted to open the panel under the drive computer and immediately received a very impressive shock which threw him back.

 

Max’s Tantalus had bypassed the engine controls and electrified the panels in the cockpit. Bevil assumed anything

that could lead to a main part of the ship’s guts would be similarly booby trapped.

 

He did, however, try. While receiving various shocks from various panels, he worked on attempting to access the ship’s navigation system through the med bay computer. The result from this was the computer instantly locked down. The ship quickly came out of warp to a full stop, sending Bevil sailing and then slamming into the mirror, shattering it and giving him a new cut on his forehead that was bleeding profusely.

 

He grabbed a bandage and ran back to the pilot’s seat. He stared out the window and could see he was at the edge of a binary system. The navigation computer was running a million calculations. The ship lurched forward and picked up speed, heading straight for the twin stars. Space began to fold and Bevil was again in a warp tunnel.

 

The Tantalus was running a randomizer that would have the ship stop, recalculate its destination and then take off again. This was done both to keep the new owner of the ship disoriented and to torture them with false hope. Bevil knew the computer was sending him to places that were either uninhabited or simply dark spaces in between systems. Bevil had no false hope, no hope of any sort. It had perished the minute Max told him, from beyond the grave, that he’d be dying alone in space.

 

He stumbled back to the med bay and properly patched himself up. He would have used the auto doc but with the med bay computer down, it was basically just a chair.

 

Bevil had been jumping in and out of warp for two days. He’d barely slept or eaten the entire time. He tried everything he could think of but to no avail. He even, for a moment, thought about putting on a suit and waiting for the ship to come out of a warp tunnel. Once back in real space he would do a quick space walk and try to disable the ship from the outside. He nixed that plan late yesterday once he realized the ship was spending less and less time in between warp jumps. If Bevil was outside the ship when it

jumped, he’d either be pulled apart inside the warp tunnel or left alone floating in space when the ship warped. Either way, he’d be dead.

 

Bevil did have time to explore the ship. The main deck housed the cockpit, a large lounge and well-appointed galley. Surrounding both lounge and galley were a full bathroom with both a sonic and water shower, maintenance closet fully stocked with equipment, the med bay, a very large cargo area, two airlocks both starboard and dead center in the bottom hull and a very impressive armory.

 

There was a spiral staircase that led up to the sleeping

quarters, one master suite and two small bunk rooms.

 

The ship was equipped with two missile launchers, twinned, forward facing machine guns, high quality shields and the cloaking system. It also had a large retractable arm for salvage that could be controlled by a small dome, acces- sible via a ladder in the corridor of the top deck. Inside this little dome were controls for the arm, an array of high powered lights and a drone control station.

 

Bevil thought that aside from the fact that the ship was trying to kill him, it was top notch. This knowledge did not in anyway help Bevil’s current state of depression. He couldn’t even bring himself to eat any of the great food he’d stolen from the depot or partake of any of the high quality items in Max’s larder.

 

He continued to subsist on Carboneine, protein wafers and veggie cakes, which Max had in great supply. Bevil was hoping this diet would get him past depression and back into anger, and that the anger would make him clever.

 

Currently Bevil was sitting in the pilot’s seat, looking at the battery level. It was at about twenty five percent and burning quickly. Batteries and warp coils were rechargeable, mostly. After a warp, if the coils were depleted they would either recharge off the ship’s batteries or from their own battery if they had one. Batteries could also recharge on their own over time and when not in heavy use. Another way

batteries could charge was from an external power generator

that fed the batteries, like the solar sails on the Bethany.

 

The problem was, if a battery completely drained down to five percent or worse, zero, there was no going back. A five percent battery left you without the power to travel or the ability to charge itself. All a five percent battery could do was run systems until everything died. Without an external power source to recharge them, it might take a while, but eventually the power would drop to zero and the craft would turn into a floating coffin.

 

He was praying that he might accidentally end up in a well-traveled part of space, but he didn’t think he would. He didn’t even know where he was. He could be near his folks, or even be close to Earth at this point.

 

Bevil knew his parents would be worried sick about him but he couldn’t call them. He was locked out of communi- cations and couldn’t connect his phone to the computer, but that didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to worry them and a phone call, especially a final phone call, wouldn’t help anyone.

 

He was a little concerned that his folks might send someone to EA-90048 to check on him. They would find the wreck of the Bethany and that would throw them into fits.

 

He was brought out of his thoughts when the ship dropped out of the warp tunnel.

 

Bevil looked out of the cockpit. He was definitely in the middle of nowhere. Then in shock and dismay he watched the battery power drop to five percent. Max again appeared on the screen. “Ha! One last little gift. This should give you enough time to enjoy a final meal or two.” The screen went dark.

 

The navigation computer was still down, communica- tions were down, and the engines died when the batteries dropped to their current level.

Bevil tried the controls and to his surprise they worked, as did the small gas-powered maneuvering jets, but that was no help considering he didn’t know where he was.

 

He was drifting through the darkness and would die in the void. Which was something that Bevil decided was not a good idea. Bevil closed his eyes. Think Bevil think! You are not allowed to give up. Bevil took a deep breath, slugged down a can of Carboneine and made his way to the salvage dome.

 

Bevil sat in the chair, surrounded by a circle of controls and stared out into deep space. The dome, sitting atop the ship, dead center, gave an unobstructed three hundred and sixty degree view.

 

He thought about launching some drones but that would be a waste, since he couldn’t see anything. He hit the button that lit up the salvage lights overhead. They weren’t very powerful and only faced forward. Bevil stared straight ahead hoping they would light something up. But they didn’t.

 

Atop the small dome was one very large, searchlight that could be rotated manually from inside the control area with a three hundred and sixty degree radius. Bevil switched it on and began turning it, his gaze being led by the beam. The searchlight’s beam was, thankfully, incredibly powerful. But in space distance gets tricky so even if he spotted something it would be hard to gauge how far away it was unless it was right on top of him.

 

Bevil swung the light in a circle but saw nothing. His heart sank. He took a couple very deep breaths and decided he would very slowly move the light. He’d complete the circle in micro movements stopping to stare intently in the direction the light was pointing. Maybe, if he was very, very lucky, and very astute he’d see something.

 

He was about an hour into his circle and just about finished with no luck. He was maybe ninety percent through his desperate act when he could have sworn he saw some- thing. He moved the light back, just empty space, then

forward ever so slightly, and definitely saw some sort of

object.

 

He moved it a little more and whatever it was, was still reflecting light. He kept moving the search- light and was still getting a slight reflection. Whatever he was seeing was pretty big and most likely far away.

 

Figures. If I’d gone the opposite direction this would have taken minutes. But that never would have happened, because I’m me and this is my luck this week, thought Bevil. But now he did have hope and he knew in which general direction to head.

 

Bevil ran back to the cockpit, and lined himself up as best he could with whatever was reflecting the light. At this point he’d be thrilled if it was an Alliance base. He hit full thrust on the aft maneuvering jets for a count of ten and began moving at a leisurely pace toward…something.

 

Chapter 9

 

Bevil had been floating toward the object for two days. The Tantalus, having now run its course, no longer locked him out of the ship’s power grid. He couldn’t unlock naviga- tion or communications, but he was able to shut everything down except life support, helm and salvage controls.

 

This allowed him to extend the ship’s battery life by quite a bit. He was sitting in the salvage dome and staring forward, his finger hovering over the button that would activate the forward lights. He closed his eyes, said a prayer and then turned them on.

 

He stared forward and he could see it. He still didn’t know what it was but it was very large. The object didn’t seem to have lights from what he could see so maybe it was just a massive hunk of metal, wreckage or an asteroid of some odd material. But, if that were the case, it would be moving and whatever this thing was it wasn’t moving.

 

Two days ago Bevil aimed the ship at the object which stayed in front of him the whole time. He still wasn’t sure exactly how far away he was. He could be minutes away from hitting a smaller object, hours away from hitting a large object or days away from hitting something absolutely massive.

 

Bevil decided to launch one of the drones. If the entity was farther than the drone’s control range he’d wait and send

another one later today. There were four drones available, so he figured he had good odds of finding out what had been floating in front of him for days.

 

Bevil launched and guided the drone using the controls to the left of him. He watched the camera feed on the monitor as the little probe sped into the distance. He kept an eye on the range, and while the target seemed to be getting closer it wasn’t close enough. After about ten minutes of straight flying a red light came on indicating he’d lost control, but the drone’s camera did continue to send video back for about thirty seconds before the feed cut out.

 

Ugh! Thought Bevil. My luck hasn’t changed yet. Bevil called up the last thirty seconds of feed and went through it carefully; watching the mystery object get closer and closer, frame by frustrating frame.

 

When he came to the last still image, he nearly wept. There it was, clear as day. Still far away, but there was no mistaking what he was looking at; a docking clamp. Bevil was heading for some sort of space station.

 

Bevil didn’t know what to do first so he just sat under the dome staring straight ahead trying to will the station closer. Finally, he went down to the galley and fixed himself his first real meal in over a month.

 

He decided to use the food in Max’s larder instead of his pods and made himself quite a little feast of chicken, roasted potatoes, green beans and something called asparagus which he’d never had before. After one bite he decided he did not like asparagus but he also did not believe in waste so he ate the asparagus first and then finished the rest of his meal.

 

He enjoyed a nice cold Saturn Cola along with his din- ner followed by a strong cup of coffee. He sat back, tried to relax but he couldn’t. He was excited, nervous, scared, hopeful and anxious.

 

A quick check of the clock informed him that he’d been out of the dome for two hours. He stared out of the cockpit

and could swear he was beginning to see the full station unaided by light, but he also thought it might just be wishful thinking.

 

He jogged back up to the dome and took a seat. Turning on both the search and forward facing lights he could see the station, or most of it. It was very big and looked old, but undamaged.

 

He drifted for another hour, but from his perspective the station didn’t seem closer. He sent out another drone and kept an eye on the range finder. Through the monitor Bevil watched it speed through space. Suddenly, he threw the drone into reverse, narrowly avoiding a collision.

 

Bevil carefully flew the drone around the station. It was definitely large, but did not seem military and it did not appear active. Some of the technology, like the airlocks, and docking clamps looked ancient.

 

A ship could dock four basic ways with a modern station: via airlock, clamp, platform, or in a large maintenance bay. A ship like the one Bevil was in could simply pull up and dock via the airlock or platform. A large ship, say a freighter, would dock with the clamp. The clamp was basically an air- lock attached to the end of a long extendable, pressurized walkway. Depending on the station there would be many bays used for maintenance or repair. The bays would vary in size and the ship would be guided to the one best suited to it. Some stations like Gardena and Juniper had bays large enough for military vessels and long haulers.

 

Modern clamp walkways were made out of foldable steel. Based on the drone’s view of the one extended clamp, Bevil thought it looked like an old, industrial plastic model. He couldn’t think of a single station that had used anything like that in over two hundred years.

 

The station itself was made of metal, with an outer ring for docking. The outer ring was attached to a large central hub via twelve spokes that were spaced equally around it. A ship would dock at an airlock or clamp and then the crew or

passengers would simply follow the outer ring to the nearest spoke and enter the main station.

 

Bevil could also see large bay doors spaced around the central hub.

 

He was feeling incredibly relieved and then relief turned to wonder and even excitement. He flew the drone toward the center of the hub and over the large, glass bubble which would have been the operations center for the station. Strapped to the hub, was an absolutely massive, unlit neon sign atop a pole so large that the bottom of it almost touched the outer ring.

 

“Oh…my…Gods!” exclaimed Bevil. He flew the drone over the sign a number of times to make sure he was read- ing it right. He could picture in his mind what it would look like if it were attached to the center of the dome and lit up, casting a soft purple and orange glow over the entire station. He knew what it would look like because he’d seen pictures and video of it in history books.

 

The sign said Starlite and next to the word Starlite was a large plus sign. So the sign would read Starlite + when lit up.

 

Bevil looked up from the monitor and could now see the entire station and it seemed to be coming at him fast.

 

He ran back down to the cockpit, hopped into the pilot’s chair and started maneuvering with the gas jets. First he hit the reverse jets at the front of the ship, slowing it down. He had to figure out how to dock with the station. If the station had no power–and it didn’t look like it did, he wouldn’t be able to enter through an airlock, but he could get a partial seal. The clamp was just too iffy of a situation since he was only maneuvering with the gas jets and a maintenance bay was out of the question.

 

His only choice then, was to maneuver with the gas jets and get a seal from his side on an airlock, then E.V.A. to a maintenance hatch which he could manually open from the outside. Get into the station, power it up if possible and see

about rebooting his ship and purging it of Tantalus protocols, among other things. From there, he could hopefully figure out where he was, how to get to his folks and, if he was so inclined (and there were things to salvage), take what he could from the Starlite for sale or trade.

 

Bevil checked the ship’s battery, it was at four percent. He powered up the entire ship, hitting the reverse jets again. After a count of twenty, he gave the reversing jets one last big burst which slowed him down to a very soft crawl toward an airlock just to the right of the nose of his ship.

 

Bevil may not be the best pilot in the galaxy, but he had a lot of experience with manual docking procedure. He was feeling very confident in his ability to get this done. He hit the starboard jet and then quickly the port jet and aligned the nose directly with the airlock.

 

He then hit both the forward port and aft starboard jets and spun his ship perpendicular to the airlock and yanked the flight stick, flipping the ship on its side before hitting the top hull jets for a quick spurt immediately followed by the bottom hull jets to slow him back down. Bevil watched it all via monitor. Slowly the bottom airlock on the ship moved toward the station’s airlock. He nailed it perfectly and then sealed tight from his side.

 

Just then all the power went out of his ship. The bat- tery was completely drained and useless but Bevil did not care at the moment; he was alive and had a sense of hope. He did a little dance while floating in zero G. His luck was definitely changing.

 

He put on his suit, headed to the starboard airlock,

opened it with the manual override wheel and went for a walk.

 

Chapter 10

 

Bevil held the inner edge of the ship’s airlock while very carefully flipping his body out and upward. He felt his boots magnetically clamp to the hull and he slowly stood straight up. He turned and walked up the side. He took a moment and basked in the view of this beautiful anomaly straight out of his childhood day dreams.

 

Bevil knew he was nowhere close to being out of danger but he just couldn’t help feeling excited. He whistled with each step, walking along the top of his ship and over the curve to the other side. He squatted down, disengaged the magnetic soles and launched himself toward the station. He flipped and activated the boots again just before his feet made contact with the side of the station’s outer ring.

 

Bevil walked up the side of the ring, made his way to the nearest spoke and in ten minutes was standing on the edge of the hub. If he was inside the station, the walk would have taken less than two minutes from ring to hub. However, what he was doing now was incredibly dangerous. The soles of his boots were magnetized, but without something to tether him to the station, one misstep could send him floating away into deep space. Slow, deliberate, careful navigation was the key to survival in situations like this.

 

He scanned ahead looking for the small ladder he knew would be poking up somewhere. Spotting it, he made for

his target. He could envision the layout of the space station in his mind and knew exactly where he was going, because Bevil knew the design of the Starlites by heart.

 

When Bevil was a boy he was completely fascinated with early space travel. Before warp engines, when the Explorer program began, people traveled through a series of gates that were based on alien technology.

 

The basic science behind the gates was that space was indeed a super fluid. The space inside the massive gate would be agitated and the temperature raised slowly until that space within the gate became a Bos-Enstein condensate. This gate would then be synced up to another gate that was also turning the space within it into a matching condensate.

 

The particles, space and reality in the two gates would begin to intermingle until they both occupied the same “space”, at which point the ship would enter gate A and come out of gate B in a new part of the galaxy.

 

New gates were set up upon the existing network and before long the Earth Alliance had a huge road map from which to explore. The further away the gates were, the longer it took for them to sync up. More gates meant more jumps but took less time in the end.

 

In those days, ships would travel through systems and the space between, sometimes for months to the next gate. With nowhere to stop for supplies, repairs or just to get out and stretch some legs, things could and did go wrong.

 

But then, about ten years into the Explorers, the Starlite chain of hotels and stations was born. There was a whole range of them from the basic Starlite, which was fully auto- mated and served very basic needs like fuel, food, and repairs all the way up to the ritzy Starlite Lightplex series of stations.

 

The Lightplex line was expensive and fancy, boasting a staff of up to three hundred human employees that would cater to the whims of the wealthy and the elite.

Bevil had been fascinated with all of it. To him, it seemed incredibly exciting that you couldn’t just hop from one system to another, but could go weeks or months through noth- ingness. And then, there in the distance you would see it, a neon sign welcoming you.

Bevil studied blueprints, watched old industrial mov- ies about their construction and even saved up money and ordered highly detailed models of the Starlites that he would build in his bunk.

 

He had one of each and painstakingly assembled and painted them to look as authentic as possible. He then hung them from his ceiling by fishing line. Every night he’d be greeted by the soft glow of the five neon signs floating over his bed.

 

Even now, back on the Cyrex they were still floating in his quarters, casting their glow and waiting for him to return. A Starlite, a Starlite Plus, a Starlite Grand, a Starlite Hyper- plex and then the biggest one of all, the Starlite Lightplex.

 

While the Grand, Hyper and Light series of Starlites were by far the nicest, Bevil always loved the idea of working on a Starlite Plus. A Starlite Plus was manned by a few human employees with the rest being automated systems or robots, which always sounded very exciting and adventurous to Bevil when he was a boy.

 

People coming onboard during their travels were greeted with a friendly smile, shown to their room or suite by the manager who also usually worked as the bartender, security chief, maintenance chief or any other thing that needed doing. The people who came to the Starlite Plus were paying for that little extra touch of humanity and the Starlite staff always aimed to please, if the industrial films Bevil had seen as a child were to be believed, at any rate.

 

Bevil always pictured himself as the manager and all the guests had some sort of mystery that needed to be solved. Maybe a lady needed help getting away from a bad person, or a spy for the Earth Alliance was fighting some sort of evil

alien. Perhaps a fleet of pirates tried to take over the hotel and Bevil, along with his crew of trusty robots and employees, would fend them off.

 

Hours and hours, months and years of fantastical day dreaming filled his young mind and even now sometimes aboard the Bethany he would daydream a little.

 

But he never thought he’d be on one. As far as he knew, or anyone for that matter, the Starlites had all been broken down and the parts sold and reused for other projects. Once warp drive replaced the gate system there was no need for Starlites and they rapidly and unceremoniously went out of business.

 

Space stations, of course, were still a very profitable enterprise, but they were huge structures that could house tens of thousands of people and dock upwards of five thou- sand large and three thousand small vessels at a time.

 

Modern space stations had everything from full bays that could fit a frigate, to hotels, motels, food courts, casinos, brothels, shops, fancy restaurants and even homes for those who worked and lived there.

 

In the end, the Starlites just couldn’t compete. Why go out of your way to stay in the middle of nowhere when you could warp to a hub and dock at a station that could meet all your needs for half the cost?

 

If Bevil could’ve pinched himself through his suit he would have. He was living out his childhood dream of explor- ing a Starlite. He brought himself back to reality once he neared the small ladder that would take him over the hub and down to the maintenance hatch.

 

He stared over the edge between the hub and outer ring into black nothing and distant stars. The view instantly reminded him of how precarious his situation was. Anything could happen. The door could be jammed shut or broken and once inside the station he could find that there was no power, in which case he would slowly die of asphyxiation.

Daydream later Bevil, save your ass now! Bevil hooked his body over the ladder and carefully climbed down. Once he neared the large steel door with the hand crank wheel dead center, he walked along the side of the hub and took a position just below the hatch staring upward. Doing a sort of zero-G sit up, he grabbed the large wheel and turned.

 

At first nothing happened and then he felt it budge. He kept turning and the more he turned the faster the wheel spun. The hatch opened, Bevil crawled in and sealed it behind him.

 

He was standing at the bottom of a shaft, staring at a wall that should have a narrow ladder attached to it, but there was nothing there. This was not really a problem and Bevil just walked up the side. Knowing the layout by heart was going to save him a lot of time. He checked his oxygen; it read three point six hours available, more than enough.

 

Bevil walked straight up to a T section. He hooked a left and followed this tube a while before turning right and walking down a shaft that ran at a small incline all the way to the bottom of the station in what was known as the needle.

 

After roughly five minutes he emerged from the tube and looked around. He was in the power room which consisted of four very large ionic batteries. If they were all in working order, the batteries could power the station for upwards of two hundred years under normal circumstances.

 

He didn’t know much about the specifics of the batteries, but he knew they should all be slotted in and clamped with the gold and silver mounts that would conduct the power. He walked around slowly and checked them all, and to his untrained eye they looked to be in perfect condition. He would know if they weren’t soon enough.

 

He squeezed in between two of the massive batteries to get a good look at the primer. A large, red, metal block. The four sides of the block touching the four batteries, this too looked good.

He walked to the far side of the room and inspected the air scrubbers, circulators and oxygen system before moving on to the artificial gravity controls.

 

The control board looked to be installed properly and in good condition like the rest of the equipment but he wouldn’t know if it was working until he turned everything on.

 

Starting up a Starlite was not as easy as pushing a button and needed to be done in stages.

 

He walked back across the room to an open hatch that housed the control board. The first thing he needed to do was prime the batteries at five minute intervals for twenty minutes. The red primer block would send jolts of energy through the silver and gold mounts easing the batteries awake.

 

Bevil hit the button marked “primer”. He couldn’t hear anything but he saw small blue sparks out of the corner of his eye and smiled. He did that three more times and on the fifth go he hit the primer and power button at the same time.

 

There was a massive blue flash and then all the lights began to turn on. He pushed the button marked “O2” and watched the display above the oxygen panels turn green.

 

The oxygen levels rose. Bevil waited until they were at sixty percent before removing his helmet. He breathed deep and smiled, the air was a little thin and stale but it was getting better by the second.

 

He hit the button activating the artificial gravity and heard a hum before demagnetizing his boots.

 

He did not float upwards.

 

Bevil was standing inside of an actual Starlite, breathing oxygen.

 

“Woo!” Bevil yelped in excitement and joy.

He walked back across the battery room to the mainte- nance elevator that would take him from the bottom of the needle all the way to the top, directly into the operations center.

 

Chapter 11

 

Bevil slowly began to notice that things on this Starlite were pretty strange. The main thing that bothered him was that everything seemed to be fine. Beyond fine, the station seemed to be in absolutely perfect order. It was as if time had stood still since the last day of construction.

 

He first realized things were a bit odd when the artificial gravity and oxygen activated. He hadn’t observed the utter lack of dust before that. Space may seem empty but it isn’t a void of nothing. And inside the station, as parts eroded, even in the vacuum there should have been dust. Quite frankly, a lot of dust should have been floating around him while he walked about.

 

When the gravity kicked in, the dust should have settled in a fine layer, and then, as the air circulated, small clouds should have been kicked up. But there had been none, none at all.

 

Once in the elevator, about halfway up from the battery room to the operations center, he became aware that this too seemed to be in perfect working order. The maintenance elevator was nothing more than a very large, open metal cage, its corners set within four massive steel girders. The girders were freshly greased, or at least appeared to be and again not a spec of dust. And not one, odd, creak of metal rolling over dry metal.

Inside the operations center the stations gleamed and the large dome was spotless. Bevil took a seat at the main console and called up the docking controls. Everything came back green except for the extended docking clamp he’d observed earlier and two airlocks that had not been com- pletely installed.

 

The airlock he’d docked with was working, so he simply hit the icon on the screen to complete the seal from the inside and that was that.

 

The next thing he did was try to figure out where in the galaxy he was. He called up the star charts and was absolutely stunned into nostalgic bliss. His location was marked in red, a vast array of portal gates was marked in orange and the inhabited planets glowed a soft green. Slowly blinking on and off in yellow were gate symbols of yet to be constructed gates. From the outdated chart he was looking at, the Starlite Bevil was on had been built at the edge of what would have been the frontier. It floated about a month’s travel (pre-warp) from the nearest completed gate and about a week away from the closest gate on the construction list.

 

But that, in itself, did not tell him where he was. He tracked the gates back to earth and over the course of three hours was able to calculate his location. The Starlite turned out to be smack dab in the middle of nowhere; a flyover part of empty space between system EA-67492 and EA-67493. Both systems were uninhabited and housed six small, rocky planets each. According to the Starlite’s near ancient data- base, both systems were unsuitable for colonization. Bevil made a note to check their status again once he updated the Starlite’s files.

 

Bevil had never been to these systems, but he knew exactly where he was and that was a good thing. He did a bit more fishing and found out that the soon to be constructed gate had actually been green lit and made a note to warp there once his ship was fixed just to check it out and see if there was any salvage.

 

Finding anything there was highly unlikely, but

considering he was currently sitting in a station that shouldn’t exist, he might as well see if there was a gate that shouldn’t exist.

 

Bevil now knew how long it would take him to get to the Jamboree. He called his folks to let them know he’d be home in time for it. He did not reveal where he was and evaded answering questions about why he was calling from an unknown code and not the Bethany.

 

He knew that if he was going to fix his new ship he would need to somehow get power to it and then maneuver it into one of the maintenance bays. This was all predicated under the assumption that once the ship was powered up and the systems rebooted the Tantalus would be inactive or completely wiped from the system, giving him control over it.

 

Bevil headed to the bay closest to his ship’s airlock. Everything that would be needed to fix a ship was perfectly organized, still sealed and again, without a spec of dust or hint of decay. He found a number of portable charging units, opened the smallest one and checked that it was working; it was.

 

He scanned the bay and eyed some large canisters of CO2 with which he could reload the gas jets. He wouldn’t need navigation, but he also wanted to avoid engaging the ionic engines just in case something like that reactivated the Tantalus. After his successful, blind docking with the airlock he was feeling very confident in his ability to maneuver the ship into the bay.

 

Bevil lugged both items to the airlock, and cycled the doors. He waited a few minutes for the oxygen in the Starlite to flow into his ship before boarding. Once on board he connected the charger to the battery input and flicked on the power. Juice began to trickle in slowly. It would be almost a day before Bevil had enough power within the ship’s systems to do what needed doing.

 

Bevil hadn’t really slept since the night before his depot

run. And that had been fitful because of his excitement

about the caper. Now out of danger and with the fear of a slow, painful death no longer looming, he felt every single moment and was simply bone tired. He made his way back to the operations center to double check that all systems were running green, which they were.

 

On a Starlite the manager’s quarters were just off the operations center and since Bevil decided to name himself manager of this station, that’s where he went.

 

The bed was still wrapped in plastic, as were the pil- lows and sheets. He stripped the plastic from the bed, a set of sheets and the pillows. When he opened the sheets, he was again surprised. They smelled completely fresh, but he was too tired to care about this new anomaly. He shucked himself out of his suit and clothes and fell onto the incredibly comfortable mattress. He was dead asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

 

Chapter 12

 

Bevil woke up with a start and for a moment he was completely disoriented. The room was pitch-black and yet Bevil felt like he was not alone. He grabbed his pistol, jumped out of bed and flipped the lights on.

 

The lights slowly shifted from a dim orange to a soft white glow. Bevil remembered exactly where he was and breathed a sigh of relief. He was alone in the manager’s quarters, though he still couldn’t shake the feeling that there had been someone else in there with him when he woke up. Don’t go all space crazy now, Bevil. Nobody here but you.

 

Bevil tossed his pistol onto the bed and shuffled into the bathroom. All in all these were incredibly nice quarters. The station had been built at a time before sonic showers so there was a very large wet shower and a stand alone bathtub in the en suite.

 

He opened the mirror over the sink and found a shrink wrapped toothbrush, razor and shaving cream amongst other vanities.

 

He turned the cold water on and…nothing. No water. The fact that there was something wrong actually made him feel better. He knew where the water system was and he was hoping once there, he would find the tanks full.

If the water tanks were full, the water within them should be frozen and would remain frozen for days, maybe even a week or more. Bevil shrugged, nothing to do but wait. He went back into the bedroom, dressed and was about to strap his gun on when he decided to leave it behind. He knew his paranoia was just that. He was alone, in the mid- dle of nowhere, and for the first time in a very long time, completely safe.

 

Bevil made his way through the operations center, only stopping to check the plumbing system. The tanks did read full, but he would need to manually inspect them before turning on the circulators. His stomach was growling but he thought it best to check on the tanks first. So the plan was water, food and then spend the rest of the day inspecting the station.

 

Bevil headed down to the promenade. All the shops were still sealed behind metal rolling doors, their signs dark. Bevil would check each one later, but considering what he knew about Starlites, he was pretty sure all were stocked and ready to go. The promenade deck sat one level below the operations center and like most everything else in the station was set up in a circular fashion.

 

In the center of the promenade was a large sunken eat- ing area and food court. The small automated stalls placed throughout it served everything from coffee and pastries to corndogs and tacos. There were twelve stalls total, all of them printed out food from a very limited menu. These were for the traveler on a budget who could not afford the food at the two nicer restaurants in the promenade.

 

Around the rim of the promenade were the two “fine dining” establishments. A French themed restaurant Le Sanglier and the Lucky Star Bar and Grill which served retro-American fare. An arcade filled with games for both adults and children, a business center, laundry service, saloon and general store filled out the rest of the space.

 

Bevil took a moment to soak it in before heading to the far end of the promenade and through a door marked

employees only. This door led to a narrow staircase that took him one deck below to water storage. The two massive, clear tanks had no cracks, and like everything else appeared to be in perfect working order. The water within was indeed frozen solid, but he could already see a thin layer of liquid on top. It would be about a week before this melted and it would be disastrous to turn it on before then. Nothing he could do but wait for it to thaw and shower in the ship for the next week.

 

Bevil went through a door to the food storage area. This was where all the pre-made food was stored for the restaurants upstairs. The food crates were all stasis sealed and even though they had been sitting in the station for hundreds of years, they would be good indefinitely until opened. Once out of stasis, the individually wrapped meals would last for at least fifty years.

 

Bevil would have to go back up to the operations center to activate all of the promenade services, which he would do later. He quickly walked back up the staircase and headed for his ship.

 

The batteries were only at two percent but they were charging. Since the small generator would not be able to flow more power into the battery, than the battery would use, Bevil could not power up the ship yet. He nixed the idea of a cooked meal and once again was forced to drink Carboneine and choke down veggie cakes and protein wafers. Once I have everything up and running I’m never eating this crap again.

 

Belly full, Bevil wandered back into the station. He decided to go deck by deck and check all of the major areas. He stayed on the current level, to inspect the maintenance bays. Walking through the corridor, he began making a checklist of things he would need to do. On every deck along the walls, were long plastic pots connected to a drip system that would feed and water fresh plants. Plants, of course, produce oxygen, which meant less strain on the system. They also helped create an undetectable amount of humidity which served to make the station more comfortable.

It wasn’t until he started calculating how long it would take him to plant every single planter on the station that he realized he was not planning on leaving. Of course he’d go home for the Jamboree, but then he would come straight back here. He didn’t know what the legal ramifications were for claiming something thought not to exist. But, basic law must apply. It was abandoned, the Starlite corporation long dissolved. It should be as simple as claiming a ship. He would ask his dad when he got home about that.

 

Approaching bay nine Bevil expected to see the same as in the previous eight he had recently inspected, but he didn’t. He froze in the doorway and instinctively reached for his pistol, which was not at his side. Smack dab in the middle of the bay was what looked like a tall, wide pile of metal shavings. To the left of the pile was some odd lump of steel the size of a large boulder. And to the right were a pair of skeletons. More accurately, one and a half skeletons. Human or at least humanoid. Bevil crept slowly toward them and knelt down. By the half skeleton there was a bit of cloth, he grabbed it and turned it over. There was an insignia on it. It was faded, but he could easily make out the crimson star centered in an orange cross. Theses were Simrun men… or women.

 

Bevil got up and walked to the lump of metal. It had no real form other than lump. Walking around it, he saw half of an orange cross and a couple of rays from the star coming up from the bottom of it. At some point this lump must have been a ship, but how it became a lump was beyond Bevil.

 

He was lost in thought for a few minutes. How long had these guys been here? Were there more still alive? Hiding? Waiting to pounce? Maybe that’s why he thought he felt someone spying on him. Then he heard it. Faint at first but then getting louder and louder. Buzzing became chirping and then it just sounded like metal scratching metal, almost a chittering sound.

 

Bevil looked to the pile of shavings and saw that it was moving like a tornado, under some sort of control and then he knew and his blood ran cold. Nanites! Oh my God

I forgot about the nanites! Being nearly microscopic in size this swarm must consist of billions, if not hundreds of billions of them.

 

It had not occurred to Bevil to check the nanites. He assumed, like everything else that they would be laying dormant. But they weren’t. What was worrying him to the point of terror was that this swarm was much larger than anything that should be on the station. The swarm should be basically invisible to the naked eye, this was definitely not.

 

All Starlites were equipped with a tiny nanite swarm. Nanites were easily programmed and would be used to make immediate and/or emergency repairs. Nanites were fed two ways, either by being recharged in their station, or by consuming raw material. There should be a massive steel block housed in the needle meant to supply them with both sustenance and raw materials for repairs. Judging from the size of the swarm Bevil thought it most likely that this swarm had been gorging on the block for centuries.

 

But how? Thought Bevil, before hearing himself respond.

Who cares! Run you idiot, run!

 

Bevil ran as fast as he could, not stopping to close the door behind him. His only goal was to reach the operations center and kill the nanites. He could hear chittering, the nanite swarm on his heels. Then he was surrounded by them. He could feel them cutting into his skin through his clothes, his face and hands.

 

He was lifted off the ground, held in the swarm. Blood poured from the deep cuts in his body and the last thing he felt was something burrowing deep into his brain. The last thing he heard was his own voice, screaming in terror and agony before it all went black.

 

Chapter 13

 

Bevil woke up screaming. Then he realized he wasn’t in pain and so stopped screaming. He was back in the manager’s quarters, his quarters, on his bed, in the dark. Again he felt like someone was watching him and turned on the lights. No one was there.

 

“Holy Celestial Mother was that whole thing a dream?!” Bevil whispered to himself while feeling around his arms and body for scars. Don’t start talking to yourself, that’s definitely a sign of madness.

 

Bevil got up, put his clothes on and this time strapped his gun to his side. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and blinked. Then he sat down on the bed. It read Oh Six Hundred Hours and the local date was April ninth. Even though Terran English was a dead language which had not been spoken in centuries, everyone on the Cyrex learned it. It was part of their cultural heritage. So while Bevil could read everything on the station, he had no real idea what “April ninth” meant, since no one had used the old Sol calendar system for centuries either. But, the string of letters next to the time was the same as it had been yesterday. Meaning it was a dream. A very weird, very long, very scary dream. Maybe I am going a bit off?

 

Bevil exited the sleeping quarters and entered the oper-

ations center. He walked straight to the main console and

called up the nanite system. It was indeed off. The only way to know if the nanites were in their container was to turn it on. Bevil’s finger hovered over the button but he didn’t push it. He was angry at himself for being so freaked out, but he couldn’t get the image of the giant swarm out of his head. He cursed himself for acting so childish and decided he would turn it on when everything else was up and running. He just needed to shower and eat some real food, which he should be able to do in his ship now that it would have more than enough power.

 

No, it won’t. Yesterday didn’t happen, it was a dream.

Remember? Bevil sighed in both relief and frustration.

 

He was halfway to the door when he stopped in his tracks and quickly dug into the breast pocket of his jump suit, retrieving a veggie cake wrapper that he was sure he had eaten yesterday. He stared at it, now totally confused. Okay, take a deep breath, Bevil. This is obviously from one you ate during the Tantalus and you incorporated it into your dream. Bevil tossed the wrapper into a bin and headed to his ship.

 

Bevil spent the walk trying to push the memory of being sliced into by a maniac swarm of nanites out of his mind. By the time he got to the airlock he convinced himself thoroughly that everything was fine. Except the airlock door was closed and he was positive he’d left it open.

 

He ran to it and peered through the small window in

its center. He was staring into space. His ship was gone.

 

Bevil dashed back to the operations center and called up the station logs. He read the activity log with some confusion. It showed that a ship had been taken from the airlock, and a ship was now sitting in the maintenance bay closest to that airlock. If it wasn’t his ship, it was at least a ship.

 

Bevil checked the security system, but it was offline. All he knew was there was a ship in bay one and it most likely was his. The battery wouldn’t be nearly charged enough for flight, so perhaps the thieves were charging it with one of

the larger units too heavy to move by hand.

 

In the end, the details didn’t matter. They’re not taking my ship! And they’re not taking my Starlite! Bevil pulled his pistol, and went to confront these thieves.

 

He took the stairs instead of the elevator. The stairs would let him out down the corridor from the bay as opposed to the center of the deck. He slowly opened the door, checked to make sure no one was observing and as quietly as he could he walked forward.

 

He could see the door to the bay was open. He slowly crept up and peeked in. There, in the middle of it was his ship. A large piece of hull had been removed, exposing the wires and workings of the navigational system. In front of this exposed part of the ship was a rather large woman, holding a wrench and whistling. Her long gray hair was braided and when she came to a particular part of the mysterious song that she seemed to like she would shake her hips a little while she worked.

 

Bevil leveled his gun at her.

 

“Oh, put that thing away, Bevil dear,” came the all too familiar voice from the mystery woman. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. Besides, I literally have eyes in the back of my head.” The old woman continued to work, and suddenly two very large, but very human eyes blinked instantly through the braids at him. It made Bevil both nauseous and terrified.

 

He stood frozen, his gun slowly lowering to his side.

 

“Thank you dear.” The eyes disappeared, the woman turned around and Bevil came face to face with his grandmother.

 

“What the Fu-”

“Bevil Cyrex! Language!” said his grandmother. “Sorry,” said Bevil out of instinct, before recovering and

raising his pistol again. “Who are you? What are you? And why do you look like my Nan?”

 

“Put that away, young man, if you shoot me I’ll just get angry.” His fake grandmother put the wrench down and sat on a nearby stool. “As for me, you know exactly what I am.”

 

“The nanite swarm?” Bevil asked. He heard himself say the words, but he still felt like an idiot for even asking the question. This was simply impossible.

 

“That’s right! Yes!” replied the nanite swarm excitedly. It changed tone and continued, sounding more caring, “I am sorry about causing you pain. I’ve been alone for a very long time and I didn’t know who you were.” The nanite swarm stood up and took a step toward Bevil. “For the last time, put that silly thing away. You’re perfectly safe.”

 

Bevil knew the swarm was telling the truth, a gun would not hurt it and if it wanted him dead, he would be dead. He holstered his weapon. Bevil couldn’t get past the fact that this thing looked like his Nan. And sounded almost exactly like her, except for a slight metallic echo in her voice.

 

“Now, I have cleared the system of the last remains of the Tantalus and have finished recharging your batteries. Why don’t we go have some breakfast and we can talk. I’ve never had any of the food on this station, and I’d like to try tacos. Have you ever had tacos?”

 

Bevil, dumbfounded, shook his head no. “Good, we can try them together.”

“Just hold on! Why do you look like my Nan?!”

 

“Because I thought it would make you feel comfortable. I can be anything you’d like dear.” Bevil watched his fake Nan turn into a beautiful young woman, followed by a handsome older man and then she transformed into a large, scary man in Simrun gear that Bevil instantly recognized as Max. The man he’d killed. Max quickly transformed back into his Nan.

“So that wasn’t a dream? There are dead men a few bays down?” asked Bevil.

 

“Yes dear,” replied imposter Nan. “They were not nice people. And again I am sorry about last week, I didn’t know who you were and I couldn’t take any chances.” Bevil’s fake Nan walked past him quickly. “Now, let’s go have tacos, I turned everything on in the promenade while we’ve been talking.”

 

“How? You’re here.”

 

“Bevil dear, I’m everywhere.” said the swarm.

 

“What do I call you?” asked Bevil catching up to the

nanites.

 

“I like Nan. It works on a couple of levels. So call me Nan.” she said, stepping into the elevator.

 

Bevil followed her into the elevator, a second later remembering something she’d said. “Wait. What the hell do you mean by last week?!”

 

“Language!” “Sorry.”

 

 

  About the Author

I truly enjoy writing and it really never feels like work. Okay, mostly
never feels like work.

Folks who have read my books have said they are definitely filled with
words. These words are used in a very clever way to form sentences, which
then form paragraphs until a page is just jammed packed with them. I do this
repeatedly throughout my novels.

I am a lifelong lover of comic books, video games, science fiction and
fantasy. My favorite authors include Robert Heinlein, William Gibson and
Mark Twain.

Once the technology is perfected, I hope to own a robotic chimpanzee that
will accompany me on many adventures. We will travel the globe solving
crime, eating pie and saving the day.

I think it’s safe to assume that we’re gonna look pretty cool doing
that.

Contact Links

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Instagram

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Date Published: 10-08-2022

Publisher: The Chapel Perilous

 

 

Bevil Cyrex, adrift in space on a ship determined to kill him, stumbles
across an ancient and abandoned space station called The Starlite.

Once on board the station he sets about repairing it, with the goal of
opening up for business.

Along the way he befriends a possibly sociopathic, all powerful nanite
swarm, who has decided to take on the appearance and mannerisms of his
grandmother.

He must also contend with being hunted by an ex-mob enforcer looking for
revenge, a handful of pirates and various threats of invasion, marriage and
death.

All in all, Bevil would have to admit, things were really looking up.

About the Author

I truly enjoy writing and it really never feels like work. Okay, mostly
never feels like work.

Folks who have read my books have said they are definitely filled with
words. These words are used in a very clever way to form sentences, which
then form paragraphs until a page is just jammed packed with them. I do this
repeatedly throughout my novels.

I am a lifelong lover of comic books, video games, science fiction and
fantasy. My favorite authors include Robert Heinlein, William Gibson and
Mark Twain.

Once the technology is perfected, I hope to own a robotic chimpanzee that
will accompany me on many adventures. We will travel the globe solving
crime, eating pie and saving the day.

I think it’s safe to assume that we’re gonna look pretty cool doing
that.

Contact Links

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Instagram

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway