Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) (3 page)

His second in command, Nels, was deep in the mine, along with most of the LodeStone employees. Normally, Creed would have been with them at this time of day. But Barty, his newest and youngest tech, had been injured when he made a foolish mistake and caused a chunk of tunnel to collapse on him. He’d been so shaken and then ashamed of himself, Creed brought him to the surface himself, so the kid wouldn’t break down and weep in front of his co-workers.
 

Agos, the half-Indigon specialist who took care of the droids, was also the LodeStone med-tech. She’d taken over, giving the injured man a thorough medscan and a gesic for the pain. Turned out he had a concussion, which meant he’d be on bed rest for a few days in the big bunkhouse on the mountainside near the mine. Since the complex included all the latest entertainment equipment for holovids and gaming, as well as a kitchen, the kid wouldn’t be bored, but he’d be missed.
 

With the threat of pirate attacks looming, Creed had moved all the techs with families but one to Frontiera City on full pay, with the promise that they’d return as soon as the IGSF rooted out the pirates hiding along the frontier. Thus, the mine staff had been running lean, with no more than six techs on site to run the droids and machinery that did the actual mining.
 

After taking care of the injured man, Creed had stopped by the big bank of holovid monitors that kept track of the entire mine operation, just in time to see and hear the alarm on the automated transport.
 

The big hovercars ran up and down the mountain in a constant loop, carrying ore down from the mine to the storage silos. When the silos were full, the ore was then shipped to a refinery run by an Indigon cartel, PsyMetals.
 

The Frontieran mountains were built of rock, like those on most of the other settled planets. These mountains were, in Creed’s opinion, the most beautiful. Crags soared high, of local granite that shone in the sun like polished bone. There was even a settlement further north called Bone Arch, for the arch carved in the ridge top by wind, snow and rain.
 

They were also seamed with precious metals—like irridium. And unlike Earth I and II, the planet’s core had not swallowed most of this rare metal. It was near the surface, available to miners.
 

But just because the mountains were beautiful and rich, this didn’t mean life here was easy. Extracting their treasures took hard work and constant repair and recalibration of tools of all kinds.

One of the big ore cars was broken down, sitting crookedly on the rocky slope instead of floating along a few feet above the surface. If he didn’t get it out of the way fast, the next set of cars would run right into it and he’d have a pileup the likes of which he did not want to contemplate. Either that or shut down the whole mining and transport operation for the time it took to repair the car. If he had more techs he’d have them change the route to maneuver around the downed car until it was repaired.

Instead of considering his options with the Zhen calm for which he was known, this time Creed lost it. With every one of his techs busy elsewhere, Creed had stomped out to do the repairs himself, without waiting even for the droids to load on the back of his slider.
 

Now he walked back to open the storage unit on the side of his slider and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. Ice cold, just the way he liked it. Tipping his head back, he bit the top of the bottle off, spit it out and chugged down the water. He crumpled the empty bottle in his fist and tossed it to one side. Crafted of organic wax and plant fibers, it would decompose rapidly now that the protective membrane had been broken open.
 

Hearing the scuttle of tiny feet, he cocked his head to glance under the bush where the bottle had landed. Two bright eyes peered out at him. The bush trembled and the bottle disappeared into the foliage. Okay, that bottle would not be decomposing. Rock rats would eat anything, and this one would lick up the few remaining drops of water before devouring what it could of the container.
 

The little creatures were some kind of rodent. He and his men had christened them rock rats for burrowing under rocks and darting out to make a mess of any organic supplies. At least, unlike the wharf rats he remembered from Earth II, these were dangerous only to unguarded meal pacs. They were also near the bottom of the food chain. Catamounts, snakes and gyre hawks were a few of the local predators that went for a tasty rodent.

Reaching into the storage bin for another bottle of water, Creed found it empty. He gritted his teeth at his own short-sightedness. No droids, not enough water. He was behaving like an immi fresh off a spaceship, not a man who’d lived and worked these wild lands for over four years. Carelessness was the fastest way to death on this planet.
 

Frontiera shared her bounty with those who worked for it, but she exacted a swift and brutal price on the unwary. There were no corner shops to re-supply food and necessities. No brother monks on whom to rely, and his adopted brothers were a day’s flight away in either direction.
 

His own employees were close, and all he had to do was link to have someone here in moments with anything he wanted. But it was his own fault he was high and dry, so he’d deal. He was the boss, the one who set the standard of behavior. The one they all looked to for reassurance and leadership. If he lost it in a fit of temper, his LodeStone people would be shaken, worried.
 

And he knew all too well he could not afford to loose his anger. Even after years of training, there was still too much rage. The last time he’d lost it, he’d killed a man.

Taking a breath, he focused inward. He reached deep into his center, into the well of calm that exists in every soul, which he’d learned to tap through meditation and training. He pulled out serenity and swirled it over his head and shoulders in an impenetrable cloak.
 

When he blew the breath out, he imagined the silvery cloak settling around him, muting his anger and impatience, and sealing away the heat and thirst to be dealt with later.
 

He could finish this repair inside half an hour. Then he’d sync the transport controls to continue on course, delivering this load, and he’d head back up to the mine.

He sank onto his haunches, moving under the curve of the belly of the middle cars, holding the coupling steady while he shook his long tube of liquid metal to trigger the heat mechanism, and then squirted it carefully over the broken coupling. The first batch he’d poured had already solidified. In a short time, the coupling would be stronger than before and the load of irridium ore on its way to the refinery.

A quiet whoosh of the hot air and the angry chirr of a disturbed rock rat was the only warning that someone was approaching. That rush of air happened when a flyer of some kind passed through it. Too large to be a hawk and far as he knew there were no larger birds of prey on planet. No dragons, like Serpentia.

Creed stilled, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, every sense alert. Instantly he considered the possibilities. He couldn’t let go of the coupling yet, or his repair job would be compromised. This could be a LodeStone employee, but it could also be someone else.

If so, this was not good. A legitimate visitor would go first to the mine offices, and he’d know they wanted to see him. That they had not, said they were hoping to sneak up on whoever was working here. Pirates. They’d attempt to take him out and get the transport cars moving on their own trajectory, into cover where they could plunder the contents.
 

There. The soft hiss as a hatch opened, and footsteps whispering in the grass. That settled it—one of his people would have called out by now.

A small object whirred over the edge of the car—a spy bot, an ugly little bulb with tiny wings whirring so fast they could not be seen, and a holocam eye just revolving his direction. Laser already in hand, Creed zapped it just below the top edge of the car. It fell in a tiny shower of sparks. Hopefully he’d gotten it before it could transmit back any intel.

Seemed he had, as a wiry being with bluish skin and dark hair in greasy braids followed it unwarily around the edge of the huge ore car, laser in one clawed hand. A Mauritian.
 

Staring down the barrel of Creed’s laser weapon, the Mau froze, yellow eyes flaring over his own weapon. They fired almost simultaneously, but Creed was a fraction of a sec faster, so the Mau’s aim was off. Pain slashed the top of Creed’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, still firing until the Mau fell backward, landing with a thud against the transport, and then slithering down to fall in the grass.

That’s when Creed heard movement behind him. A low, guttural laugh sent a chill down his spine, and ice spread in his gut.
Quark.
Was he about to pay the ultimate price for his carelessness?

“Still me here, human,” said another Mau in Galactic, the universal language. Using a translator, no doubt. Mau had shit for brains, and barely learned their own dialect. Still, this one had the drop on him, so that made Creed the stupid one. “And when you’re dead, only me to take this fine ore and your slider.”

“Guess so,” Creed agreed. Icy sweat prickled under his arms, and across his upper lip, but he ignored it, every sense tuned to this new threat and the best response.
 

He moved stealthily. Then he pressed the trigger on the tube of liquid metal he held, now aimed backward between his arm and ribs. The Mau let out a ululating howl of pain as white-hot metal shot from the tube, slicing through his pants and into his lower legs.
 

The Mau fired his laser, but Creed was already gone, somersaulting with lightning swiftness, back through the clawing bushes and hot clumps of rock and soil. He came up in a crouch, firing in one concentrated blast of red, straight into the chest of the Mau who lay against the transport, clutching his legs and moaning in agony. As the laser charge struck, the alien gave a choked gasp and fell back, limbs flopping in the dust. His breath rattled in his throat.
 

Creed ducked low in another practiced and graceful move, peering under the belly of the transport for more movement. He stilled his harsh breathing and listened, laser cocked. Checked the sky for any incoming craft. Nothing.
 

He rose to stand over the second Mau, who stared up at him, consciousness fading from his yellow eyes.
 

“Should’ve shot first, then stopped to gloat,” Creed advised. Then he watched as the alien gave one last twitch.

He flexed his jaw to activate the com-link attached to his right ear. “Nels.”

His right-hand man, a beefy human with a bald, deeply tanned head and black eyes, answered at once, appearing before Creed in a small holovid display, his heavy dark brows furrowed in a scowl. “What’s happening out there, boss? Already got Loi and Paulo headed out to you. Saw a strange craft moving in on your location, didn’t have time to let you know before we saw laser fire.”

“Maus. Pirates. Both dead.”

The other man nodded, accepting Creed’s terse answer as a matter of course. But then he stabbed one thick finger toward Creed’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

Creed peered at the ball of his shoulder. Blood oozed through a rent in his shirt. “Just a graze. I’ll take care of it.”

“Good. Any sign of what gang they belong to?”

“No, but I’m sure they’re with one. Probably out of the mountains east of here. I’ll contact the IGSF, send them the link.”

“You have your comlink open during the fight?”

“Yup. Got it all on holovid.” The InterGalactic Space Forces would want documentation that the two kills had been justified, not just preemptive vigilantism.

“Transport fixed?”

“It is.”

“Shoulda let someone come with you. Shoulda brought the droids, too.”

“Yup. Next time. Boys are here. See you at base.”

Creed broke the communication link, and stepped out to meet Nels’ two sons, as burly as their father, but with full heads of glossy black hair. They looked from the dead Maus to him, and broke out in nearly identical grins, white teeth flashing in their dark faces, tinged with awe. “You go, boss. Nice work.”

Creed lifted his chin in acknowledgement, still outwardly calm, although the aftermath of adrenaline now jittered through his system. He forced it down where he could deal with it later, on his own terms. “Got any water?”

Loi, the younger of the two, jogged back to the slider in which they’d arrived, and brought back not one, but two bottles of water, along with a medpac. Creed ripped open the pac and slapped the pad, soaked with gesics and disinfectants on his shoulder under his shirt. The gesics immediately cooled the sting of the wound. The sticky edges of the pad would hold it until he got home.
 

Paulo cocked his head, laser weapon at the ready as he scanned the horizon and the sky. “Betta hurry,” he said, his young face tense. “Blood will bring in the gyre hawks, then the catamounts.”

Creed raised his brows in agreement as he drained one of the bottles.

Ten years his junior, and the two were smart enough to remember what he’d forgotten. Had to get his head back to business, instead of lost in his dreams. Nebulous, half-forgotten, but enough to keep him awake half the night, and intrude on his usual impenetrable calm.