March 13^th, 1991

Cluster 16-A ‘The Circus’

Independent Service Station, ‘The Crucifix’

 

Chug-Chug-Chug  our work came to life, pistons firing, diesel burning. I felt the smile start to cross my grease stained face. The generator was my ticket to a proper berth if it was finally fixed. My eyes moved up from the machine, to land on my partner, Vice.

“We finally fucking did it!” I grinned. Vice nodded, but his smile was weaker than mine.

“Don’t get all excited yet Guppy. Listen.” He pointed to one of the pistons. I focused on it, and heard the scratching noise. Vice put his head closer to the offending piston, trying to figure the cause. Just as he turned his head, there was a loud pop, and the generator stalled in a cloud of black smoke. I hissed and waved my hand through the choking fumes. Two steps forwards, one step back.

“Ah son of a bitch!” I heard Vice coughing in the smoke. He came away with a face coated in black soot. A dry chuckle rang out from behind us. I turned to see Marlin, one of the local ship captains, laughing at my friend’s plight.

“You boys finally got it running huh? You should have checked the piston rings. That’s what the scratching was. If you fix that and get a good seal, I bet you can sell it for twenty, maybe twenty five grand.” He walked over, grabbing a clean shop rag from a nearby bench and handing it to Vice.

“Rubber’s nearly worth its weight in gold right now.” Vice lamented as he cleaned himself up. The sour fumes started to dissipate, joining the grimey smells of the oil stained workshop.

“Yeah it is. The Recyclers need to fix their machine that handles it. That’s why I’m here actually, I got a job if you two are up for it. Big Mouth heard a rumor about an Empire ship that got into a shoot out with a Kingdom Alliance scout frigate two gates over. Supposedly they were fighting over an old abandoned listening post. The Empire ships tend to have good machine shops, I bet you we can find the parts the Recyclers want. They’re offering one hundred big ones and a premium rate on salvage for whoever gets it to them first.” Marlin took a seat on an old shop stool, looking between Vice and I.

“Now? I guess you want to get to them quick.” Vice asked. Marlin nodded. “I can’t. Jimmy’s expecting me on the mills for the next few days to pay for our tool time on the generator and a bit extra, he’s got an order to mill out some parts for Claim Jumper’s mining rig.” Vice shook his head. Marlin looked over to me.

“So long as you’re paying as good as you usually do, and I can get first call on spare parts that fit this generator.” I eagerly accepted the offer. Work on the station had been slim, Vice and I were dangerously close to coming up short on our air ration. I already felt the headache coming on from working without my mask today.

“Better than usual. This isn’t just a snag and grab job, there might be some danger. I always pay an extra twenty five percent up front for hazard pay, this is a bit heavier than that. Get yourself a helmet, a flak vest, and a trauma kit from Slim up on deck five.” Marlin handed me an envelope. I took it and counted out the bills, it was more money than I’d ever seen in my own hands.

“Marlin, this is five thousand credits.” I didn’t even know what to say, I’d just been worried about an eight hundred credit bill for air.

“That’s right, and I’m going to pay you sixteen thousand whether we get what we’re looking for or not. Put your masks on, go pay your bills, talk to Slim, get a good meal at the Hog Yard. They just got some real beef in from one of the farm stations.” Marlin patted me on the shoulder before turning to leave. I looked over to Vice, he was just as stunned as I was.

“Let’s get this cleaned up. If there’s enough left over after I buy that stuff, want to get a burger?” I grinned. Vice didn’t need any more prompting, we’d been eating freeze dried rations for weeks.

 

March 16^th, 1991

Cluster 16-A ‘The Circus’

Independent Salvage Rig, ‘Angler’

 

“Guppy, good to see you kid. Nice helmet.” Mack, the ship’s engineer, tapped his plated knuckles on the M1 steel pot. It’d been in good condition, and I’d heard they could stop pistol bullets.

“Good to see you too Mack, thanks.” I nodded at him as I stepped into the airlock. Mack turned the control to cycle us back to the ship and gave me another look over. He seemed to approve.

“That M1 Flak Rig is in pretty good condition, Slick pull it out from the back for you? Bag’s mostly new too, no patches.” Mack sounded like he was smiling behind his mask.

“Slick used to have me and Vice watch his warehouse for him, make sure people weren’t casing the place. Slept in that rusty old cargo container outside it. He said he wasn’t going to sell me the shit gear he sells to the pirates.” I laughed.
“You two were the Station’s kids after what happened with… well, I won’t bring up old scars. Come on little fish, Big Mouth and Marlin are doing the final checks then we’re clear to launch. I need some help priming the thrusters.” Mack motioned for me to follow as the inner door of the airlock opened. We went straight to the dimly lit engine room where the ship’s hybrid engine was ready to fire. I set my bag down as Mack directed where to go and what buttons to press. I knew it by heart already, but the reinforcement was always welcome.

“Marlin, deisel’s ready to go, batteries are reading forty percent charge. That should be enough to light off the hydrogen thrusters now, but they need to charge up if we want to light twice.” Mack called on his radio. I heard Marlin’s voice fill my ears.

“Go ahead with a full start up, the air scrubbers and tanks give us forty eight hours of time with the deisel. We’ll probably be able to top off from the wrecks if they’re there, if not it’s enough to get there and back. Get the old girl going.” The man’s gruff voice sounded tinny in the radio headset I’d bought.

“Got it. Guppy, Ignition in three, two, one, now.” Mack counted down. I pressed the start up button and our deisel engine started, cranking slowly at first until a steady hum had built. The shaft plugged into a large alternator and began pouring power into the battery bank. The lights flickered before coming up to full power, revealing the massive tanks of water and deisel fuel farther back in the engineering space.

The ship was in fairly good condition, excellent condition by the standards of The Crucifix, but it was still an older generation hull. The metal was pitted from where rust had eaten away the metal, been scraped off, and painted over in UA green. It matched the color of my helmet, as did the cargo crates and a dozen other random items strewn about the lower deck of the ship. Once the ship had been called the UAS Dan Daly, now it was the Angler, heavily modified from its light scouting and picket duties of old.

The original twin 25mm mount had been replaced with a salvage harpoon, while an old 40mm L/60 had been fitted to the belly of the ship in a pressurized turret. The armor had been repainted from solid UA green to a dazzle pattern of white stripes over the original, and all of her military markings had long since disappeared. It was a fine ship, more than capable of defending herself from an equally sized opponent and even a shoddily maintained larger foe.

The sensors that she had gained from her last in-service overhaul put her in line with the second rate hulls of the major powers. The search and track radar, a forward looking infrared sensor, and a radio direction finder all made her an excellent ship for salvaging. They let her find the loot, and avoid pirates before she could be attacked. The crew was where she really shined. I’d known Marlin, Big Mouth, and Mack since I was ten years old, about nine years.

I’d never gotten the full story about how they’d come to live out of the Crucifix, but I knew they were deserters. The cluster had seen a flare up between the UA and Kingdom Alliance when an Iridium mine opened a few gates down the line. The Crucifix had been under United Allies control at the time, nominally, but it was off the beaten track. It was a forgotten relic of an even older expansion push that had failed when the gate meant for us never arrived. After the fighting died down, a task force of disgruntled UA ships had put into dock for repairs. There was a mutiny, and then we were independent. Just another station on the edge of no where slipping through the cracks. I was broken from my reverie when Mack tapped my shoulder.

“Daydreaming? Come on, I’ve got some work to do and you’re my gopher.” Mack led me around as we fixed fuel lines, replaced old wires, checked the seals on pipes and tanks. We’d been at it for six hours when Marlin came below to check up on us.

“Guppy, earning your pay?” He asked, his Thompson swaying on its sling. He had another gun in his hand, but I couldn’t remember what it was called. I gave Marlin a thumbs up as Mack passed a wrench back, and snapped his finger at a hammer and grease tube.

“Learning too. Ship’s in pretty good condition, I see why though.” I pointed to Mack after handing him the requested tools.

“It’s his baby, has been for fifteen years. This is for you, it’s a Sten. Slow rate of fire, cheap ammo, but it’ll punch through a pressure suit and they’re easy to use.” Marlin held the gun out to me by its sling. I took it carefully, despite the fact it was unloaded. Marlin had taken me shooting plenty of times, just pistols down on the old cargo deck where we wouldn’t hurt anything, but I’d never handled a machinegun.

“Thanks, I know you said this is going to be more dangerous than usual, but are you expecting trouble?” I slung the gun over my shoulder as Marlin held out three stick magazines. I took them and stuffed them in the pouches on my vest.

“Might be survivors. Mack and Hank are hard shooters, but you’re going aboard the ships too. You know more than I do about all this, and I’m the best pilot. Big Mouth and I are going to stay with the ship while you three collect up the salvage to float it back to the cargo airlock. If we run into anyone, we’ll probably have to kill them. Supers don’t like it when freelance scum steals their shit.” Marlin’s voice betrayed some humor. I grinned, despite the warning. I’d never shot anyone before. Fist fights, a knife slash over my right eye that was paid for with a broken jaw, but I’d never killed anyone.

“That’s how it goes I guess. Hank’s the German, that Empire guy the crew of the Claim Jumper brought back a few years ago right?” I jogged my memory. The Crucifix wasn’t huge, but the transient population numbered around seven hundred. It made it hard to keep up with all the names.

“That’s him. He’s down in the turret until we hit the jump gate, just an hour or so now. Nice guy for an Imperial, bit crazy, but trustworthy. We’ve worked with him a few times. He was a medic for their storm troopers before he had enough and jumped ship.” Marlin gave me a quick description. I started to remember hearing about him working in the infirmary sometimes.

“So three of us to salvage two warships and a listening post? That’s a lot of work.” I thought it over. We didn’t even have the space aboard to take all the goodies from an Imperial Raider’s machine rooms, let alone adding the Kingdom Scout.

“We’re not bothering with a full chop job. We’re taking shells, fuel, oxygen, guns, medicine, and any machinery worth the effort. I’d love to steal the powerplant and weaponry out of a Raider, but we won’t have the time. The Empire ship should have a small recycling suite for in-flight repairs and machine tools to mill out parts. Those two things will net a hundred fifty thousand from the Recyclers back home. Fuel tanks, O2 scrubbers, valuables, weapons and ammo could bring us up to two hundred easy. Everything over that number is an even split between the five of us, plus your right to what you can fit in your personal pack. Remember, first come first serve, but if I catch you shirking for your own gain I’ll have your hide.” Marlin jabbed a finger at my backpack hanging on a nearby shelf. Even if I hadn’t known a thing about Marlin, his warning was all the motivation I needed to look out for my crewmates first. He’d beaten a man to an inch of his life for stuffing his backpack in the middle of a gunfight a few months ago.

“Got it, I won’t fuck this up Marlin, promise.” I did my best to make eye contact through our visors. He gave a curt nod, and left Mack and I to our maintenance. We hit the jump gate a while later, with most of the maintenance work done. Mack sent me to get some rest on one of the bunks while he went up to talk with Marlin. I was almost asleep when I heard the heavy clunks of booted feet come in. I rolled over, and saw a fully armored stormtrooper standing there with an MP40. His armor was painted black and bright blue, with a laughing skull across the front.

“Sorry Guppy, didn’t mean to wake you.” The man’s heavily accented voice called over as he sat down on the bunk across from me.

“No problem.” I rolled back over and went to sleep.

 

0535 Ship Time, March 17^th, 1991

Cluster 16-A ‘The Circus’

Independent Salvage Rig, ‘Angler’

 

“Captain Marlin, out for another salvage run?” A voice called through the void. Marlin grinned behind his mask.

“You know I am. Heard any juicy rumors Old Salt?” He spoke into the radio.

“Crown’s reeling, Empire smashed their outpost on the moon of MO-246 with crawler tanks, took the mine and the farm intact if our scouts are right. Be careful, might run into some Empire pickets if you head that way.” Old Salt answered.

“Thanks for the heads up. I’m headed out the other way though.” Marlin kept his details scarce, hoping his old friend would volunteer something else.

“They fought there too. Your friends on that piece of shit miner said they saw two wrecks floating near a listening post. Nobody on our side has gone to check, but there are two gates in that system, ours and the Crown’s that leads to the Hirsch Front. Command is thinking of pulling our gate from it if it looks like it might leave us open to raid.” Salt’s voice had a tone of warning.

“How soon?” Marlin didn’t want to end up cut off from the Circus, if he had to fly through Crown territory, they were all dead.

“A few days. I’ll tell them we’re sending a scout through if you can get us some detailed imagery and scans. And the usual.” Salt chuckled. Marlin shook his head. They were pulling up alongside the UA Cruiser already to hand off the bribe, twelve thousand credits.

“You’ll get your cut old man, and the data.” Marlin looked over to Mack, who had a small pouch in his hand with the money. Mack went down to the airlock.

“Thank you kindly, good luck marine.” Salt signed off. The hand off didn’t take long, Mack chucked the money to a UA Marine sergeant waiting in the other ship’s airlock and they were off to the next gate. Thankfully it was unguarded and no UA officers needed to be paid off to look the other way. Marlin had them on course for the battle site seven hours later.

“Mack, when Guppy wakes up teach him how to use the harpoon with your new upgrades to it.” Marlin laid back in his Captain’s chair, content to catch a few hours of sleep in the safety of the Jump Gate’s channel of faster than light travel.

 

1357 Ship Time, March 17^th, 1991

Cluster 16-A ‘The Circus’

Independent Salvage Rig, ‘Angler’

 

“Alright, last time you were aboard we just had the magnet on the winch. It’s the same now, but I’ve added some grabbers.” Mack walked me through the controls of the salvage harpoon. The turret was a repurposed 75mm gun housing, with the cannon removed and replaced with a stubbier barreled 50mm gun. There was a winch and spool of steel cable mounted on top to pull the salvage back in. A tracking radar provided a short range solution to help the gunner snag floating debris.

“Grabbers?” I asked as I ran through the controls. It was an electric turret rather than hand cranked, which honestly did more for accuracy than the radar did.

“See the orange button there? I rigged a command wire onto the steel cable that plugs into a little switch on the magnet head. There’s a bunch of extra lines with more magnets attached on the back of it. They’re all springloaded, so the grabbers spread out and hook anything within five yards like a net. You’ve got to time it well though, if you spread them out too early they start getting pulled back towards the main magnet and clump up. Too late and the tentacles might not spread out enough to give us a good grip.” Mack explained.

It was a simple, cheap upgrade. I realized why the crew of the Angler were continually more successful than the rest of the ships that called the Crucifix home, Mack was clever. Not many other ships actually had a crew that’d been properly trained to fly their vessels though. The crew of the Claim Jumper was a decent sort, but it was a miracle they hadn’t blown themselves up yet.

“Nice. So about how long? Five seconds before, three?” I asked. Mack nodded.
“Three seconds is about how long it takes the grabbers to spread, by ten seconds they’re all clumped up on the main magnet. Four seconds before seems to be the sweet spot.” Mack ran me through all the controls a few more times before I was comfortably able to recite their functions and work the turret. We’d search around for any floating debris before heading into either of the ships. It gave anyone waiting to ambush us plenty of time to get impatient and jump the gun, and our passive sensors enough time to spot them first.

The rest of the flight into the system Mack taught me more about the ship systems, what certain machines did, which were more important than the others, which ones we could live without. It may have been a job, but I was enjoying my self on the ship. It was only the fourth time I’d left the Crucifix, so seeing how a ship really worked was a treat. I’d spent most of my life watching them come and go from the hangars, or through the tiny viewing ports in the dock walls. I slept again, and woke up to Hank nudging my shoulder.

“You’re up little fish, we’re here.” The German handed me my helmet and my rig. Two minutes later I was sitting in the gunner seat of the harpoon, Mack standing by to reload the launcher with fresh fifty millimeter blanks.

“Radar’s on, I’ve got a track on… It looks like we’ve got eight objects within ten miles big enough to be crates or lockers knocked free.” I moved over to the periscope and zoomed in on one the contacts. It took me a few minutes to find it.

“There, it’s a locker. I can’t tell anything more than that.” I called into the radio. Mack verified it, and I heard the fwooooshhh of our thrusters spinning the ship to close in with the object. I felt it too, but the harness of the gunner seat kept me in place. Mack held on to a handle that he probably welded there for that exact purpose. As I waited to get a clear shot, I spun the periscope to check out the two damaged ships twelve miles off. If I’d known how, I would have whistled.

The Empire’s Raider had lost two thrusters on the starboard side, it looked like the fuel had exploded. The gouge torn in the hull plates was nearly ten feet tall and twenty long. Pock marks of hundred millimeter shell impacts and scars of deflected shots marred the vessel’s armor, along with what looked to be older hits from rockets and other weapons. Surprisingly, the power still seemed to be on. I could see small glimmers and gutters of light through the tear in the ship’s hull, but with that much damage it had to be completely exposed to hard vacuum.

“Hey Mack, check out the Raider.” I backed off the periscope to give him a look.

“Damn, they took a beating. Power’s still on though, which means we can pump their fuel out and into our spare tanks. The starboard magazine exploded, a shell probably snuck in through one of the thruster ports, they have gaps in the armor there. Lucky shot. The Scout is fucked, catastrophic detonation.” Mack patted the periscope and I took a look. He was right, the ship’s nose was completely gone, the turret was blown out, and it looked like the belly of the ship had been gutted by an internal explosion.

“No kidding, magazine explosion or fuel you think?” I asked him.

“Both, neither, could have just been a square hit from the Raider’s eighteen inchers. Those shells have three quarter ton of explosives inside them. If that went off inside the Angler they’d never find a piece of us bigger than a dinner plate.” Mack shrugged. Now I knew why nobody ever wanted to tangle with the majors when they came knocking. I’d seen pictures of those shells, they stood up to my shoulder without the old ballistic caps attached. No need for aerodynamics in space, but they still weighed close to two tons. Even the eight inch guns I’d seen on a marauder’s ship would gut a scout frigate like the Angler in one or two hits.

“Alright Guppy, we’re within six hundred yards of your locker. Line her up, Hank is waiting on the cargo elevator to bring it in.” Marlin’s voice brought me back to the present. I looked at the radar solution and then swung the periscope around, zooming out to find the locker. A glint of shining metal betrayed it, and I lined the gun up.

“Remember, it pulls up and left, so shoot low right of what the solution says.” Mack guided me. I lined up my shot.

“Ready to fire.” I warned.

“When you’re ready.” Marlin’s grin could be heard. I squeezed the trigger on my joystick, and moved my left hand to the grabber release.

One, two, three, four, five… now!

I pressed the button, and watched the tentacles lazily expand before beginning to contract. They wrapped around the locker perfectly.

“Wooo! Great shot Guppy!” Mack patted me on the shoulder after he looked through the periscope.

“We got it, spin us around and we’ll pull the locker in.” Mack spoke over his shoulder to Marlin. The cargo airlock was on the dorsal side of the ship, just behind the turret. Two minutes later I heard the cargo elevator go up, and could see Hank tethered to it, walking across the hull of the ship to pull the locker over.

“De-power the magnets so that Hank can reset the harpoon.” Mack pointed to the control board. I did so, and the German untangled the tentacles before setting the locker down on the elevator pad. The cargo lift had a series of magnets in it to make sure that pallets would actually come down into the ship where the gravity was. Mack had tried to explain how the gravity worked on stations once, and it made my head hurt. I’d leave that to the smart boys and girls of the super powers to play with.

Once my harpoon was reset and Hank had brought the locker down, we moved on to the next contact. It was a cargo container with a painted wrench on top. The next was just a massive piece of armor that had broken off, too big and heavy to bring down into the ship. We kept at it for a few hours when Marlin called it.

“That’s enough small stuff. We haven’t picked up anything on our infrared seeker, radio, or the periscopes. Guppy, go check out what we got, Hank says there’s some good stuff back there. Take your pick if anything stands out to you.” Marlin pointed me out of the cockpit. I found my way to the rear of the ship and the cargo bay. Hank was just coming down with our last prize, a Kingdom Alliance crate with the markings B.S.A. ‘MUNITIONS! HANDLE CAREFULLY!’ on the side.

“Good shooting little fish, you didn’t miss once did you?” Hank set the crate down with the rest. It was a motley assortment of two locker banks, six crates, and a pile of machinery scrap.

“No, I don’t think I did. So we got some good stuff?” I asked, pointing at the pile. Hank nodded before calling on the radio.

“Herr Captain, can we turn the O2 up in the cargo bay? I’d like to take my mask off for a while, moving the crates was hard work on low air.” Hank put one hand on his mask latches.

“Stubborn German… I told you to turn your mask O2 up. No problem, the scrubbers are working great right now. Enjoy your time in earth standard.” Marlin laughed. Hank unclipped his mask from his helmet and let it hang on his chest plate. He was scarred, not terribly, but noticeably, by fragmentation on his left cheek, a blade on his lip, acid or maybe burning fuel splatter on his chin. He had hard blue eyes, and wisps of dirty blonde hair poked out from under the hood of his pressure suit.

“Good to finally put a face to the name.” I put my hand out to him. Hank let out a dry laugh and shook it. Some people had known each other for years on the Crucifix and would never have recognized their friends without their masks on. I took mine off too, as well as my helmet. I hadn’t gotten the chance to really breathe in nearly six months.

“You look a bit older than I thought you would. The way people talk about you… Sorry, that was rude.” Hank apologized in a somewhat abashed way.

“I know, they treat me and Vice like we’re still young kids. I’m nineteen, turning twenty in June. Vice is a bit younger, he’s just turned eighteen.” I walked over to one of the lockers.

“No matter, you do a man’s work and get the benefit of chocolate bars sometimes.” Hank grinned. I couldn’t fault his logic, it was a nice middle ground, even if I wished they’d pay my water bill instead.

“Good point. What’ve we got here… Empire pressure suits, bullets, fuck yeah, you like the PanzerKommando comics?” I held out two issues of the mentioned magazines. Hank nodded and I gave him one.

“These are good issues! My favorite was always… how to say it… Captain Donetsk and The King’s Horse? It’s the one where the PanzerKommando steal a Royal Cruiser and rescue the miners. I don’t know if the English ones had different titles.” Hank flipped through the comic book. My German was bad, but I knew enough to read through the comics courtesy of the polyglot upbringing I got aboard the Crucifix.

“That’s Commander Blitz and The Crown’s Beasts I think. They shoot it out with the SAS aboard the mine, right?” I rolled up the magazine and stuffed it into a side pouch on my back pack. I kept going through the locker while Hank talked. I took a few boxes of 9mm rounds, some military rations, four canteens, and then I found the gold.

“Ja, that’s the one. Is there any 10mm in there? Oh, what’re those?” Hank walked over, having set the comic book down.

“Imperial Eagles. Split them with you?” I asked, my eyes glazing over with images of cheese burgers. The gold coins were worth thousands each, and there were six of them in the locker.

“No, one for each of us on the ship, and one for the old girl herself. That’s fair.” Hank suggested. He had a point, three of them each was nearly twenty five grand. I nodded.

“That’s a good idea. We’ll set them aside… What’s in this box… just cigarettes. If we find anymore coins we’ll put them in there and split it six ways.” I took a small biscuit tin and put it on a shelf near the pile with the lid open. We kept going through the crates until we hit a medical box and the one with the painted wrench.

“Shit. Most of this stuff is ruined. Damn, that was a lot of morphine that got smashed. Can you use any of it?” I asked the medic. Hank groaned, the spilled medical supplies would have been worth a fair amount of money.

“The trauma kits are still sealed, the bandages in plastic, the tourniquets… ah! Three morphine bottles… but the rest is tainted. Put it on the elevator, we’ll throw it back out.” Hank sorted the usable supplies while I junked the rest. He went to grab his medical kit while I started opening the maintenance crate.

“No fucking way…” The first thing I saw was a pristine tool box, with factory wrap still on it. It was the sort of thing that would have cost me ten thousand credits to buy back home, if I could ever even find a full set of tools. There were tool belts too, better than the raggedy piece of shit I was wearing. I put on one of the new ones, and clipped two extra pouches to it for small stuff I might grab.

“Guppy, what’ve you gotten into?” I heard Mack’s voice as a door quickly opened and shut. I lifted up the brand new tool box and patted my new belt.

“Struck gold kid, Hank says you found some Eagles too. Any torch fuel in there?” Mack started digging through the box. He found two canisters, and a big roll of duct tape. I could hear him let out a soft cheer at the find.

“That fucker Charlie took my good tape a week ago, and Slim wants six hundred bucks for a new roll of that Kingdom Alliance garbage. Buy American, steal the Imperial stuff when you can.” Mack tucked the tape and canisters into his bag before turning his eyes to the BSA crate.

“Didn’t mention anything about a crate of guns… Come on please be FAL’s…” Mack walked over to the metal box and knocked the latches open. I followed, and watched as the engineer pulled away the packing straw. The top layer was bricks of ammo, 5.56mm, .45, a few boxes of buckshot, and then Mack howled in delight.

“Fuck yeah! Check these out kid, mint tommy guns. Magazines too! These are worth a chunk of change.” Mack pulled one of the guns out and wiped it off, the oil shining. It had a full stock and seemed to be brand new, like Mack had said.

“Mack, why did these ships have so much new shit? I thought the Supers were barely scraping by themselves.” That made Mack pause for a second, before looking back at the brand new tommy gun’s receiver. He was searching for something. He found it, and the color drained out of his face. Hank came in a few moments later with his medical kit, ready to start stocking it up with what we’d found.

“Hank! The scout was SAS! Get your fucking mask back on! Guppy, ditch that garbage rod Sten, load up as many magazines for the tommy guns as you can. This one’s for you.” Mack shoved the gun into my hands. I was confused as Mack sprinted out of the cargo bay, fumbling with his mask. Hank hurried over and began packing his bag. I clipped my mask back into place and put my helmet on.

“Hank, why’d Mack just freak out?” I asked as I started to open a box of .45’s. Hank looked at me, the red eyes of his mask were a bit unnerving.

“Little fish, if that ship had the SAS on it, their friends are going to come looking for them, soon.” Hank’s distorted voice answered. I gulped. I’d heard stories about them, just like I’d heard stories of Empire Panzertroopers and UA Marine Recon teams. Not many survived an encounter with any of those groups.

“So we’re leaving without going aboard the ships?” I asked as I slotted another round into the magazine.

“Of course not, we have a contract to finish. The Recyclers will have our heads if we come back empty handed, piss running down our legs. Don’t worry Guppy, it won’t take long to get the parts. I know where the recycling units are on those ships.” Hank gave me a thumbs up. It wasn’t very reassuring. Our headsets crackled as Marlin came on.

“Boarders, be ready in five minutes. We’re angling for the hull breach on the Raider. I want this to be done quick! In and out, take apart the recycling machinery and send it over on the anchor line. No fucking around, don’t waste time trying to take anything hard to get.” Marlin instructed. I had started loading my second magazine when Hank took the Tommy gun from where I’d leaned it. I was about to protest when he put a cable through the sling swivel on the stock. When he was done, a simple sling was attached, long enough so that I could shoulder the gun or drop it without pulling it off my shoulder.

“Raid sling. Tuck it under the tether mount on your shoulder so nobody can take your gun from you.” Hank handed the gun back. I saw that his MP40 was slung the same way. I loaded the Thompson and racked the bolt back. That was when I saw what had alarmed Mack so much. The date of manufacture stamped on the tommy gun was barely a month old. Nobody but the best got brand new shit.

“Thanks Hank.” I nodded to him as I looked over the sling. It was just one of those clever things I’d never have thought to do, but might save my life. A few minutes later, and we were in the airlock. It hadn’t dawned on me that we weren’t just using a docking umbilical, or walking from our airlock to the other one… I was about to go EVA for the first time, and it was scaring the shit out of me.

 

 

Part Two: Shadows In The Dark

 

“Remember Guppy, on the tether, you’re always on top of it. Not on the side, not on the bottom, you’re always on top because you keep your chest pointed at it as you cross, then you orientate your self so that your feet will come down in line with the other ship’s gravity.” Mack was instructing me as we waited for the airlock to cycle. He could tell I was a bit freaked out. I’d been in hard vacuum, but I’d never been well and truly outside of a ship or station before.

“Got it, one hand on the tether line at all times, keep my chest pointed at it, make sure my feet can touch the ground the right way when we get there. I got this.” I said the last part more to my self than anything.

“That’s right. Hank’s going to go first, and he’s got a small thrust pack. He’ll be there to catch you as you come in, and I’ll be behind you just in case you lose your grip on the main tether and start bouncing on your own line. It’ll take forty five seconds tops. Just breathe.” Mack patted me on the back. He had an anchor gun ready to fire our tether at the wrecked Empire ship.

The doors of our airlock rumbled open, the grating vibration flowing through my boots to make a heavily distorted grrrtttttt noise inside my suit rather than the usual high pitched shriek. The Angler’s head lights were bathing the target vessel in a bright yellow glow, giving Mack a good target for his magnetic anchor. I felt a very soft thump as he fired, and the line silently crossed the fifty yard gap between us and the tear in the armor.

“Line secure, hook up.” Mack called after he made sure the anchor was tight. Hank clipped his tether on, and got a running start before leaping into the void. He caught the anchor line in his right hand, and used his thrust pack to stabilize, flying perfectly into the hole of the other ship’s hull. I stepped to the edge of the airlock.

“Get going Guppy, we ain’t got all day.” Mack prodded me in the back. I took a deep breath, and jumped out of the airlock, immediately feeling the lack of gravity as I drifted out. I reached up with my right hand, and then my left, doing my best to orientate. It’d been a long time since I’d felt zero-g, but I wasn’t too terribly clumsy. I got my chest pointed at the wire, and slowly rotated around it so that I’d be able to land feet first. My gun started to rise towards my mask, and so I grabbed it in my right hand.

That was where I ran into a problem. I didn’t want to let go of the anchor line with my left hand, but I couldn’t take it with my right. I was quickly running out of arm too. I started tumbling, my body rising away from the anchor line and my legs following as my momentum tried to keep going. My breaths started to quicken, but I let go of the anchor line before I yanked my self to a stop. My face started to heat up, and I could feel the sweat coming.

“Woah Guppy, you’re tumbling now, just let it happen. You’ll keep going, yeah just like that.” Mack waved at me as I spun to face the airlock. I waved back before seeing the expansive black void, dotted with stars and dust clouds, and then my suit tether line pulled taut as my shoulder came up a bit to high. I almost yelled. “Don’t worry kid, just a brief yank, alright now let go of the tommy gun, take the anchor line in both hands to cancel out your spin.” Mack instructed as I came back with my chest facing the anchor. I did as he told me, and got my rotation under control.

“Good! Good little fish, bend your legs, now slowly spin. Just like that… Got ya.” Hank caught me as I landed into the Empire ship. The gravity was weak, maybe a third or even a quarter of standard. Hank had taken off the skeletal thrust pack, and mag-locked it to the wall after landing. The radio crackled in my ear, chuckles spilled into my helmet.

“Nice job for a first space walk kid, you even did a flip!” Big Mouth laughed. He’d had a good view from his spot in the belly turret.

“Hell yeah, I’ll do two of them next time.” I joked back, trying to suppress the anxiety that had built up in my mind. My hands were shaking a bit, but I was settling down now that I had a steel deck to lock my boots to. Mack came over next, landing gracefully with a practiced twist.

“Alright Hank, lead the way. Guppy, keep your finger off the trigger unless we get shot at, and remember that Hank’s plate is painted bright blue. Black plates and red plates are bad guys, kill them. Shoot for the legs and throat if you see them, their armor will stop your .45’s easy.” Mack got us moving. I heard Hank chuckling at the reminder. Hank had a flashlight attached to his shoulder, giving us a bit more light than the faint flickers of the failing ship.

“This is the boarding party quarters.” Hank said as we entered a bunk room. The beds had been scattered everywhere in the explosion, uniforms and busted open footlockers scattered the floor. I saw something gleaming in the pocket of a jacket as the overhead light flashed once. Mack grabbed my hand before I could reach out for it.

“Careful… We don’t know if we were here first.” He shined a light on the jacket, checking it for wires. After he was sure it was clean, he pulled out the thing I’d been looking at and passed it over. It was a silver wrist watch with a fancy makers mark. It read Glashütte, and looked old, maybe even actually made in Germany.

“Hank.” I walked over to where the man was holding the corner of the door frame leading deeper into the ship. I took my Thompson in my right hand and moved to cover the hall, holding my left hand out to him.

“German watch, looks like an original Terran build. You want it?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the hall. Hank took it and looked it over.

“I’ll find something valuable for you friend, danke.” Hank carefully slipped the watch into a vest pocket under his armor before sliding out of the door frame and continuing on.

“Guppy, you know that watch was probably worth twenty large?” Mack asked. I shrugged, I was going to have more money than I knew what to do with from this job, and a new gun, and the reputation to get better work back on the station.

“Worth more to Hank I think. If someone gave me an original American built Colt Government I’d never sell it. Closest to home we’ll ever get.” I reasoned. Mack pushed me through the door and I kept my gun up, covering the door at the end of the hall while Hank covered the turn.

“Fair point. You know Marlin has one, stamped 1941, Remington-Rand. Slim’s typewriter was made by the same company in ‘34.” Mack laughed. I didn’t know what was funny about it, but we kept moving.
“Trade places with me Guppy, watch our rear.” Mack slid around me to stack up with Hank. I turned to watch the empty hall, keeping the pair in my peripheral vision. Mack crouched low with his carbine in his hands.
“Hank, lean on three. One, two, three.” The pair peeked around the corner, with Mack standing and crossing left to right when no bullets came. I began backing up to where Hank was posted like Marlin had taught me.
“Keep going to the third door on the right, that should bring us to the upper catwalk of the engineering space.” Hank said as he advanced behind the Engineer. The lights in the hall flickered, and I thought a caught a glint of something red. They flickered again, and I saw it was just a fire extinguisher on the wall. Breathing out my anxiety was starting to get old.

“Guppy, keep up.” Mack beckoned me forwards. I turned the corner and caught up to the pair as they got ready to open the blast door to Engineering.

“I’ll open it, you go in, Guppy will be right behind you, I’ll take up the rear.” Hank gestured to to the door. He’d taken the riskier high position on the peek. Mack nodded and we got ready.

“Don’t shoot me in the back kid.” Mack hissed as the door came open. He surged into the room, I followed close behind. There was a lot of smoke in the room, drifting around from fires that had probably fueled themselves for a while on leaking atmosphere. The lighting was all red emergency panels, their dim glow was harsh to look at. Mack reached into his belt and pulled a flashlight out, holding it high above his head before turning it on. The beam swept over the machinery space, before he tracked it back up to the opposite catwalk. All was good until it landed on a panzer trooper with his STG leveled right for us. Mack didn’t hesitate, squeezing the trigger of his M2 Carbine and letting loose a hail of bullets punctuated with bright yellow flashes.

I was quick too, bringing my Thompson around and adding to the strobing mess of gunfire. The Panzertrooper either couldn’t see us, or had been killed instantly. I saw the sparks as my rounds peppered his helmet, mask, and upper plate. I eased off the trigger after the first ten shots.

“Easy… He was already dead. See the arm?” Mack pointed his flashlight at the wall behind the soldier. There was a long steel spike embedded into it, with a black suited arm dangling limply. Mack tracked his flashlight back to the machinery space and settled on a blown out fuel tank.

“Shell splinter must have set it off, poor fucker probably caught some in the face too, dead before he knew what happened.” Mack continued to the stairs like he knew where he was going.

“Hank, is the workshop behind the main engineering space?” He asked over the radio.

“Ja, der werkzeugmaschinenraum is behind the main engine room.” Hank pointed his flashlight at the door we needed.

“Fuckin’ german words. Just watch our backs while we get this handled. The dead panzerman probably has more magazines for you if we didn’t shred them.” Mack pointed his light to the body.

“Thanks comrade. My wife has been very hungry.” Hank moved to loot the body while we moved to the workshop. Once we were inside, Mack found a portable light and flipped it on, bathing the space in bright gold.

“Alright… Guppy, take this bag.” Mack had opened his duffel, and pulled out another duffel from inside it. “…And fill it up with as much torch fuel, welder sticks, tools, wire, tape, glue, epoxy… you know what’s worth the most. Load it up. Don’t be afraid to bash open the lockers, here’s a sledge hammer.” Mack pulled the tool from behind a drill press and tossed it to me, the big hammer lazily drifted in the weak gravity. I let my Thompson fall on the sling, and went to work while Mack started to take apart the recycler.

It was a shame to leave the rest of the big machine tools here, they were in pretty good condition, but we didn’t have time to haul them around in zero-g. I had the duffel half full when I felt a weird bump in the floor plates. I bent down and felt it out with my hand, and sure enough one of the plates was ever so slightly raised.

“Hank, do Imperial ships hide much contraband?” I asked over the radio. Hank’s laugh told me all I needed to know.

“That watch was contraband. The Empire doesn’t like people having nice things unless you can pay the bribes or have the right title. There’s got to be stashes all over the ship.” Hank confirmed. I grinned as I reached into my tool belt and drove a pry bar under the panel. It came loose with a bit of effort, revealing a crate tucked into a wiring space. I lifted it out carefully, and set it down under the portable light. I opened it, and was treated to the sight of a custom mauser with a twenty round magazine and foregrip attached. I checked the safety before stuffing the gun into my backpack for Vice, he’d always liked mausers. Next there was a manilla envelope, inside there were a few certificates of some sort. Underneath that was a book, with the emblem of the Central Empire on it.

“Oh shit… Mack, is this the Captain’s log book?” I held up the journal. Mack turned to see.

“Fuckin’ A boy, how do you keep finding this shit. Yeah, that’s the log book. Go finish taking the screws out of the power supply on the recycling unit.” Mack switched places with me. I took over the disassembly while he poked through the crate.

“Hank, how much is an Imperial mark against a Credit these days?” Mack asked over the radio.

“One to five… Maybe six? That’s one credit to six marks.” Hank answered. Mack did some math if the muttering was anything to go by.

“These war bonds are worth fifty thousand credits each when they’re fulfilled, three years out, we can probably get ten or twenty grand a piece. Hear that Marlin?” Mack asked.

“Loud and clear. The bankers owe us a favor to. Bet we call it fifteen even and they take the deal for the favor being used. How many did the kid find?” Marlin asked, his voice crackling.

“Six of them. Got some coins, a gold ring, the logbook and a keycard too.” Mack counted out the items before stuffing them back into the crate, and shoving the whole thing into his duffel bag. I took my eyes back to the work and pulled the power supply free. Mack had the machine mostly parted out, we just needed to find a dolly or something to move them.

“Mack, read the last entry of the logbook, tell me what it says.” Marlin seemed interested.

“My German is rusty, let me see.” He opened the crate and pulled the book out again.

“Enemy action, break, Kingdom Alliance vessels appeared at short range, break, critical damage to ship, break, boarding action launched, abandoning ship, break, one enemy vessel… one enemy vessel destroyed, one enemy vessel at large, boarding party lost.” Mack’s voice became very nervous on the last line.

“Get out! Get out now! Grab the parts you can and haul ass, we’re leaving in five minutes!” Marlin shouted over the line. I had already dumped out a big crate and was packing the recycling unit into it. Mack ran over and started to help.

“Hank, you get all that? We’re leaving.” Mack made sure we’d all heard the order. There was no response.

“Hank! You there?” Mack stopped, and turned to face the open door we’d used to get into the machine space, his M2 carbine slowly rising. A light was swinging back and forth over the floor of the engine bay, and then suddenly jumped.

“Marlin they’re aboard! Hank’s dead! Guppy don’t just stand there, come on!” Mack hauled me to my feet, when a bright series of flashes erupted in the engine room. The lack of air meant we couldn’t hear it, but Hank had probably just been double tapped by the SAS men.

I brought my Thompson up, and covered the door when another series of flashes lit up the far wall of the engine room, and a returning flash came back.

“He’s not dead! Mack! He’s not dead!” I ran towards the door, and peeked out. Two SAS men were sprawled out over the middle catwalk, leaking blood to the floor below. Hank’s flashlight and battery pack was dangling from one of them, the cord had been wrapped tight around the man’s neck. I saw a flash from the far side. Brass casings gleamed as the light caught them. Hank shot back, sparks burst around the crate the fire had come from.

“Guppy don’t!” Mack tried to stop me, I rushed out the door and dove to my left, behind an O2 scrubber, crawling forwards for a shot. I got to the end of the massive machine and peeked out. The darkness of the machine’s shadow kept me concealed as I hunted a target. I could see the big red lenses of one of the SAS men, his iconic mask catching the emergency lights in all the wrong ways. There were two of them actually, reloading in a corridor. The man closer to the door frame was counting off with his fingers. When they hit one, I held down my trigger.

The man in the door frame sprawled out immediately, the second man mistook it for him stepping out to shoot. It was too late by the time my second victim realized what had actually happened. He stumbled, one of my bullets seemed to hit his arm as I struggled to bring the thompson back down on target. The glass of his mask broke into glittering shards. The rain of red hued lenses fell in slow motion as their owner cartwheeled down the catwalk. I felt a mix of emotions burning away.

Fear, excitement, pride, terror, remorse, everything Marlin had told me. Then I did my best to follow the next part of what he’d taught me, shoot and scoot. I pushed my self backwards as steadily as I could, my heart was beating like V12 at full throttle. It didn’t seem like any return fire came at my former position, but I wasn’t going to chance it. The SAS were good enough to be patient, and I had a feeling if I stuck my head out again it’d be the last mistake I made. Once I got my feet under me, I stayed low behind the scrubber and turned to run back to Mack. It was a clear shot back to the machine shop, but running wouldn’t help.

I was careful not to rise up to much in the low gravity as I made my way back. My left hand got a hold on the edge of the scrubber, my feet planted and legs bent. I threw my self through the open door to the machine shop with every ounce of strength I had. A bullet nearly found me anyways.

“Mack I’m coming in!” I yelled just before I got inside. I was glad I did, Mack had his gun pointed right at me. The nervous man relaxed his shoulders when he recognized me.

“Damn it kid… Come on, grab this crate. Hank, you with us?” Mack called.

“Ja, Little Fish just killed two of the King’s best!” Hank howled happily. Mack’s head tracked towards me, tilted just a touch to the side.

“No shit? Can you meet us somewhere and lead us out?” Mack asked as he picked up his end of the crate and started heading out the back door of the machine shop. The crate was heavy, even in low gravity. The recycling unit probably weighed five hundred pounds.

“Head straight back, the infirmary is the next room out that side of the machine room. The right bulkhead leads to a hall, second door on your left is a stairwell, I will meet you there.” Hank directed us. We reached the infirmary with no issue. There was a PanzerKommando backpack with a medical symbol sitting on one of the beds we passed, and I spared a hand to pluck it and throw it over my shoulder. I probably weighed four hundred pounds in standard gravity with all the shit I was carrying.

“Damned sticky fingers you got.” Mack commented as we headed for the right side door. I still had my Thompson in my right hand, occasionally looking behind us to make sure the SAS weren’t in pursuit. It seemed like we’d either gotten them all, or they’d pulled back.

“Mack, is that you in the stairwell?” Hank asked. He probably beat us there.

“No, kill them.” Mack quickly answered. Hank laughed sadistically. Ten seconds later I felt a strong thump in the deckplate, and then another, and then another. Mack waited five seconds before opening the door out of the infirmary, his carbine raised. The door to the stairwell was open, and half of an SAS man had been flung bodily out of it. I almost threw up in my mask at the sight, his insides were spread outside, all over the damn hallway.

“Fuck that’s gross…” I fought the urge down.

“Frag grenades really, really fucking suck in confined spaces.” Mack commented, stepping through the gore until he hit the doorway.

“Hank, we’re coming up.”

“Ja, clear. Four dead SAS men here, four there, that should be the whole assault team.” Hank was waiting for us, his MP40 dangling from his ‘raid’ sling, with a true monster in his arms.

“Hank, where the hell did you find that?” Mack asked as we ran down the corridor. It was a big fucking gun.

“The armory is above the infirmary. I took a belt of splittergranaten, and this beauty. They were sitting in an open locker along with the bullets. Best design of 1942.” He patted the machinegun and an ammo can that he’d tied to his backpack. We were almost back to the hull breach when Marlin’s voice came over the line.

“How’s it looking guys, still alive? Your five minutes is just about up!” Marlin sounded more worried than I’d ever heard him.

“Almost at the breach, all alive, wiped out the SAS team.” Mack turned the power on his radio back up to answer.

“Good, I’m getting a thermal signature about ten miles out but they’re moving slow. Get home and get ready for a chase.” Marlin relaxed, seeming more like he was tired and ready to go home than worried. Once we got back to the breach, Mack hooked a tether to the crate and we tossed it to the airlock. Hank reached over to take our heavy duffels, which confused me a bit.

“He’s going to throw them into the airlock with the thruster, they’ll crush us in full grav. What about your backpack? The medical satchel?” Mack reached over to test them.

“No, they’re not that heavy. Let’s go.” I hooked up my tether to the anchor and jumped without waiting. It was a far more graceful crossing the second time, even if I bounced once or twice on the landing. We carefully unhooked the heavy crate of recycler parts, and dragged it into the forwards cargo area before running to positions.

“We’re all inside, the anchor’s detached! Everyone get in a crash seat.” Mack hurried me to one of the mentioned harnesses. We were strapped in a few moments later.

“All secure!” Mack yelled.

“Maintain masks and suits, depressurizing the cabin for combat. Brace for high G burn.” Marlin answered automatically, his military mind taking over. I’d never felt a full burn before, but I knew they weren’t pleasant.

“Guppy, keep your jaw tight, head up, flex your core to keep the blood in your head. Stick your gun in the rack here.” Mack directed as the fuel pumps started humming and the thrusters started popping.

“Ohhhhh shittt!” I felt the pressure immediately as we took off. I could barely move, even my eyes seemed to struggle as my whole body was crushed.

“F-f-f-ii-veee Gee!” Mack let out a hoarse noise like a set of air brakes breathing their last. It must have been a laugh. The pressure just kept building.

“S-s-v-v-en!” He croaked as the pressure seemed to stabilize. We were crushed like that for almost a minute. Finally the violent vibrations of the engines seemed to die down, and I could breathe again.

“Fuck that man.” I leaned forwards and took a breath.

“We should be moving about six, maybe six and a half thousand miles an hour relative now. Woah shit! Hold on.” Mack tried to stand and was thrown back into his seat, as I was. Marlin laughed over our headsets.

“Sorry, should have warned you. I put the cold side to the contact so they can’t track our thruster. That trick cost us nearly a third of our fuel, but they won’t follow us. They probably can’t follow us, our tanks are easily double the size of theirs.” Marlin explained over the radio.

“That’s a real close call Marlin…” Big Mouth’s voice cut in.

“It’s alright, the burn is putting us towards the gate, I can thread the needle here. We’ll be moving eight hundred miles an hour relative to the next gate after that with a few careful burns to line up, then we’re home in a day or two.” Marlin sounded confident.

“That’s not what I meant…” Big Mouth let the point rest, he sounded resigned.

“Captain, how fast are we moving relative to our gate now?” Hank asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

“Thirty seven hundred miles an hour.” Marlin answered as I began to hear the noises of the ship, he must have repressurized the cabin. I started to think about the speed, and the target.

“You marines, confident that you can hit a sixty yard circle that fast. I like it. You’d have been put in front of firing squad by any Empire officer…” Hank laughed. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if he missed. The speed wasn’t what killed you, it was the sudden impact with the steel bulkheads…
“That’s what I was talking about...” Big Mouth grumbled to himself.

“Hey, it means we’re only going to spend about forty five minutes in between this gate and the next one.” Marlin ignored his gunner’s concerns. A brief alarm chimed throughout the ship.

“What was that?” I looked to Mack.

“Radar warning receiver, that contact just went active. We’re so far away that even if they do pick us up, they’ll never be able to hit us. Probably have three or four hundred miles on them now. Don’t worry about it. Help me sort through the stuff we got.” Mack headed back into the cargo area. A few loose items had gone flying, but most of it was where we’d tied it down.

The next few hours were uneventful, spent sorting through tools, parts, consumables, ammo, guns, and more. I’d made off like a bandit all things considered. The way Marlin did things was fair, everyone got a bit of everything, but first claim was still respected. It just so happened that I was going to get first claim on the most expensive single items.

 

Epilogue: Birth of a Marauder

 

“Guppy, come over here, I need to talk to you a bit. Hey Mack, turn the air up, Earth standard for the trip back!” Marlin called me over to his bunk room and took off his mask. He was older, but not old. Maybe early forties or a hard thirty six at the youngest. He had black hair, grey eyes, and strong features. If it weren’t for the damn masks, he’d probably wear a beard.

“What’s up? Did I do something wrong?” I was a bit nervous. I’d known Marlin for years and he’d been a foster parent in some ways, but so had half a dozen other men and women back on the Crucifix.

“No, hell no. Close that door. I wanted to ask how you’re feeling. Hank said you really slaughtered those two SAS goons. You’re a man now, in more ways than just being old enough to drink and get the wrong girl pregnant. First real job, first space walk, first kill, you did great. Hank probably wouldn’t have made it if you didn’t stick your neck out for him. Mack’s a lot of things, but he isn’t brave, not for strangers like that. Mind you, he’s worked with Hank half a dozen times, and he still left the man out to dry. He didn’t come out to help you either, and he’s been teaching you how to hold a wrench since you were twelve.” Marlin made a good point. I hadn’t thought of it much, but I had a feeling that if I hadn’t announced my self, Mack would have panicked and put five rounds in my chest when I came back in the machine room.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m doing fine. The SAS guys would have killed me and Hank if I hadn’t killed them first. Mack got closer to killing me than they did though, he was tucked into the corner of the machine shop with his carbine pointed at the door when I came back in.” I explained what had happened. Marlin’s face twitched, but he didn’t say anything for a second. He seemed to make a decision.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Mack wasn’t a marine, he was a naval ensign, Engineering crew aboard the Antietam. He didn’t mutiny like we did. Hell, we only pulled him off that scrap heap because he said he could fix our engines. Big Mouth was my corporal, Trout was our machinegunner, Carp was the radio man, and Grouper was our grenadier. Fish names were a joke about our lieutenant, he said our barracks always smelled fishy, but he never figured out how much contraband we were running through the task force. The rest of those guys are all dead or retired from the spacer business. You know Carp, that’s Slim. He gave you that spot to live in behind his warehouse after I strong armed him into it, but you and that Vice kid grew on him. He loved watching y’all two patrol the alley outside his warehouse. Said the pair of you took it more seriously than some of the marines took guarding ammo dumps. He was right.” Marlin smiled at the memory. It was a bit much to take in.

“Did you set Grandma Six up to it too?” I laughed. She’d fed me more times than I could count out of her little diner. I’d also scrubbed more of her plates than there were stars in the sky.

“No, she told you the truth, she was friends with your mom. After that run in you had with the Rusties a few years ago her husband damn near killed that boss of theirs… what was his name? Something dumb, like Hack Saw or Hatchet.” Marlin laughed.

“Hookhand! That fucker… He ended up getting it from a marauder crew one night in the lower decks, they spaced him.” I felt just a bit of a sadistic grin rise, the bastard had been twenty something and kicked the crap out of me over a nearly empty bottle of vodka when I was fifteen.

“Serves him right. Anyways, my point about all this is that you’re old enough to get real work, real money. People on the station have been making an investment in you ever since your parents’ ship disappeared. We knew you were smart, we knew you had it in you to be a real badass if you kept your head. You did. I want you to fly with us. We need another man, and Mack is getting crazier as he gets older. We damn near dragged him into the airlock this time, and I think we’ve only got a few more flights with him before he snaps for good. I counted it out with Big Mouth, your cut on this should be around fifty thousand. That’s all the money you need to get a berth on the upper decks, same floor as me if you really wanted to. You’ve got a tommy, you’ve got an alright rig, a decent helmet, good instincts, a complete tool box even. What do you think? You in?” Marlin put out his hand.

I stared at it for what seemed like ten years before I smiled and took it. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, to stop slumming it with the scumbags on the lower decks, to get out of the rat race for air, water, food. If I got a paycheck like this one once every six months, I could eat cheeseburgers every day for the rest of my life.

“Hell yeah, I’m in.” It was a new chapter in my life, a welcome one.

 

 

2132 Station Time, March 19^th, 1991

Cluster 16-A ‘The Circus’

Independent Service Station, ‘The Crucifix’

 

“And then this crazy little fish runs out! Right into the gunfire! I thought to my self, ‘great, now we’re both going to die’ but he beat the odds! On my life, I saw him dive behind a machine and pop back out, he shot both of those SAS men in the back, they had no clue what happened!” Hank played up the story of Guppy’s heroics. Not much, but just enough.

The young man was sitting at a bar with his crew, mask off and enjoying life while they regaled the other recently returned crews and local rich snobs with their exploits. A pretty young brunette was hanging on every word, looking to the newly minted marauder, that’s what they were calling him. Anyone who shot it out with the supers was a marauder to those that hadn’t. She probably thought it gave the otherwise plain looking kid some sort of roguish charm.

What she didn’t know was that Guppy was so drunk he barely knew she was there. He’d never had the money to get properly drunk on anything that wasn’t oil barrel moonshine before. The lack of tar was a welcome change in his mind.

“You keepsh talkin’ about me! What about yoush? You dun blew up a whole team of’em Hank. Clink clink! Bombs away done that shtairwell. Blew’em all to pieces. He did! Really, we was all runnin’ for the ship, when Honk said watch out, sassy cunts on the stairs. We waited, then BOOM! No more sassy cunts.” Guppy was loud and boisterous, but so was half the bar. Down the counter a ways, Marlin and Big Mouth were having a quieter conversation.

“He sure can tell a story…” Big Mouth laughed.

“Why’d we never think of that? Sassy cunt, I like it.” Marlin chuckled before downing his shot of whiskey and tapping the glass on the bar for another.

“Probably because we mostly fought Hank’s friends and the people that live on stations like this.” Big Mouth shrugged and sucked down his beer.
“True. We’ve still got to figure out what the hell we’re doing with the book. High Tower is going to skin us if she finds out we had the intel and didn’t pass it to her. Peaceful discharge has its price…” Marlin brought the conversation back to the recurring point of the night. The Raider’s logbook had been a trove of worrying details.

“Fuck, we already told Old Salt about the SAS and PanzerKommando unit. Isn’t that enough? They should have pulled the gates already too.” Big Mouth groaned. Passing information to High Tower was a double edged sword. She kept them off the radar of Navy retribution, they gave her information they could get as freelancers that no UA Intelligence Service men would come within two gate jumps of. She also sometimes needed freelancers to take care of the problems that intel caused. She paid well, if you lived to collect.

“She’ll want it direct. I already have a report typed up to send to our friend at the prison…” Marlin referenced their point of contact, a fictional prisoner that got more letters and packages than the rest of the inmates combined. It was one of many UA Intel drop boxes scattered throughout the gate network, and they all led back to High Tower and the pastey white analysts she kept locked in her basement.

“Fuck… Do what you have to man, but last time…” Big Mouth let the point trail off as the bartender came around.

“Howdy there boys, heard you went on a trip.” The woman had no right using the word howdy with an Irish accent as thick as she had it.

“That’s one way to put it Miss Paddy. How’s your uncle?” Big Mouth cheered up, he’d been trying to get her to go on a date with him for years.

“Oh, probably up to the same non-sense as usual, trying to raise funds for a colony ship that’ll never happen, trying to start up a new resistance cell on every forsaken orbital they name after royalty. One step ahead of the interior police, that’s for sure.” The pretty redhead smiled as she poured two shots of real Irish whiskey, the year on the bottle said 1953, one of the last good years.

“Paddy I don’t think I can afford…” Big Mouth tried to refuse.

“On the house for anyone who kills one of those SAS bastards or hides the one who does. Old world.” Paddy waved away his worries.

“Your green fields may be brown and dead, but the spirit lives on.” Marlin respectfully nodded and raised the glass to her. She smiled and moved on to other customers.

“To… Ireland I guess?” Marlin seemed at a loss despite his momentary eloquence.

“To Irish maids!” Big Mouth cackled as he raised his glass. It wasn’t the last time that the Little Fish would earn them a drink.