Starship Revenant (The Galactic Wars Book 3) (10 page)

“
I
can’t believe
you
, of all people, would be superstitious,” Declan said to Violet.

“Out with it,” Mitch said. “What is she talking about?”

“She’s talking about the curse,” said 8-Ball.

“Alright, enough of this voodoo nonsense,” Declan interrupted. “I don’t want to hear anymore talk about this. I don’t need you two filling people’s heads with fear and doubt.”

He eyed Violet and 8-Ball. “We’re going to load this on to the
Zephyr
, and we’re going to take our clients to Alpha Ceti 7 and finish the job we started. Unless, of course, you want to stay here.”

Violet’s face tensed.

“Start moving these crates to the airlock,” Declan said.

Jaxon grabbed one end of a crate, and Mitch grab the other. Their faces went red, and the veins in their necks bulged. The two could barely lift it.

“We need a dolly, or something,” Mitch said, gasping for breath as he set the crate back down.

“I don’t care how you get it there, just do it,” Declan said.

Mitch went to look for a dolly, or a cart—anything that would make moving the heavy crates more efficient.

“How are we going to handle the Brody situation?” Jaxon asked. “I mean, he’s not here. He’s not contributing. I don’t think he should get his share.”

Declan grimaced. It was a bold thing for Jaxon to ask.

“If he contributes to the success of this endeavor, he’ll get his fair share. If he doesn’t, he won’t.” Declan said. “That goes for all of you.”

Declan may have been a lot of things, not all of them good, but he was fair. And that was one of the reasons his people followed him.

He stormed over to the crates, grumbling something about how managing this crew was like herding cats.

“Violet, can I speak with you for a minute?” Zoey asked.

The two stepped aside.

“Were you able to find any system faults with the ship?”

“I scanned everything. There are no viruses in the operating system. Diagnostics doesn’t detect any mechanical faults in either the reactor or the engines. Yet neither will come online. Right now, the ship is functioning off reserve power cells. That’s enough to give limited lighting and run the atmosphere processors, but that’s it.”

The emergency lighting flickered again.

“As far as what’s causing the intermittent power outages, it’s difficult to say. Chasing down electrical gremlins in a ship this old is next to impossible. Could be bad wiring, corroded terminals, any number of things.”

“You don’t think this is just an electrical issue, do you?”

“I’d rather not say what I think.” Violet measured her words, eyeing Declan.

“Did something happen? Have you seen something… Odd?”

Violet hesitated. “Let’s just say, I’m ready to get off this ship.”

Mitch returned with a cart. He, Jaxon, and Declan hefted a crate, grunting and groaning.

“You know, this is going to go a lot faster if you all pitch in and help,” Declan said.

“There’s a freight elevator we can use to take this to the upper decks,” Zoey said.

They loaded the crates onto the cart and wheeled them up to the airlock. It took two trips to move all the crates.

As they were unloading the second round of crates in the hallway by the inner airlock hatch, a thunderous impact shuddered the ship.

Then another.

Dozens of smaller hits pinged against the hull. The sound reverberated throughout the ship.

“What the hell is that?” Mitch asked.

“Are we under attack?” asked Jaxon.

“No,” Zoey said, listening to the rumble. It sounded like a hailstorm. “Meteorites.”

Another massive impact rattled the hull.

Zoey raced into the airlock and peered through the view port in the outer hatch. Her eyes went wide at the sight. A large meteorite was tumbling through the nebula, barreling straight toward the
Zephyr
.

It was twice the size of the small craft.

The giant space rock plowed into the Zephyr, tearing it to shreds. The ship exploded in a blinding fury. Twisted metal and debris showered out as the meteorite bowled through the craft. The explosion rocked the
Revenant,
knocking Zoey, and the others, to the deck.

She climbed back to her feet, and the others staggered into the airlock and crowded around the viewport. They all looked on in horror.

The
Zephyr
was gone.

Mangled bits of wreckage spiraled out into space.

“That’s just fucking great!” Jaxon slammed his fist into the bulkhead.

Declan stared, slack-jawed. His knees went weak, and a wave of despair rushed over him.

“Brody was on the
Zephyr
, right?” Mitch’s face was somber.

Declan’s head fell into his hands. His soul ached, and the lump in his throat burned. But he held the tears back. Brody wasn’t perfect, but despite his sins, he was blood.

“This ship doesn’t want us to leave,” Violet said in a grim voice.

“Oh, give me a break,” Jaxon said. “It’s bad luck. That’s all. Nothing supernatural about it.”

“There’s a lot of unexplained shit out there,” 8-Ball said. “Ain’t nothing surprises me anymore. I know I ain’t the only one that’s seen funky shit happening on this ship.”

Nobody seemed ready to volunteer stories, but there was a grim acknowledgment among them. Something strange was happening.

Declan pulled himself together. He pushed the pain into a dark corner and stood tall. It would certainly come back to haunt him later, but he didn’t have time for wallowing now.

He took a deep breath, and did what any good leader would do. He rallied the troops to action. “Look, we’ve got one priority. That’s to get this ship operational in the next 40 hours,” Declan said. “Mitch, Jaxon… quit screwing around and shore up that hull. With as spotty as this ship’s electrical system is, all it would take is for one of those containment hatches to spontaneously open and we’re all in deep trouble. Especially if it were to happen in the middle of a slide-space jump”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Mitch said. He patted Declan on the shoulder. “I’m really sorry, man.”

Mitch nodded to Jaxon and they strolled down the corridor.

“Violet, I want you and Zoey to go over the ship’s control systems one more time,” Declan said. “Then check it again after that.”

“Aye, sir.” Violet’s concerned eyes examined him.

“We could try calling for help,” 8-Ball said.

“Who knows how long it would take for the signal to reach New Earth? If Customs, or the UPDF, did respond they’d confiscate the ship and I’d be arrested, along with several other members of this crew. Not an option. And they are certainly not going to help you liberate your beloved captain.”

8-Ball sighed. Declan had a point.

“I’ll be in the captain’s quarters if anyone needs me.” Declan spun around and headed down the corridor.

“What are you going to do there?” Violet asked.

“Drink.”

Violet chased after him and grabbed his arm. Her eyes burned into him. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

Declan jerked his arm free. “I think it’s a great idea.”

I
n the CIC
, Violet and Zoey ran another diagnostic.

“I don’t understand,” Violet said. “Everything checks out.”

“Why aren’t the reactors responding?”

“I’ve analyzed every line of code. There are no viruses, no mechanical failures. By all rights, they should work.”

Zoey looked at her curiously—there were millions of lines of code. It was obvious Violet had an above average level of intelligence.

The emergency lighting flickered. It was eerie. The three of them exchanged a nervous glance.

“So, I take it you and Declan are a couple?”

Violet crinkled her brow. “Why would you say that?”

“I just got that vibe.”

“No. Me and Declan. No way.” She was adamant. But Zoey could see through her protests. She had seen the way Violet looked at him. Maybe they weren’t a couple, but Violet had feelings for him. That was for certain.

Zoey decided not to pry. She moved on to more pressing subjects. “Tell me about the Numarian curse.”

“It’s just a myth,” Violet said, trying to downplay it.

“You seemed awful spooked about it down in the cargo hold.”

Violet was silent a moment.

“The way I heard it, the Numarians were slaughtered,” 8-Ball said.

“They were a primitive society, known for their wealth and abundance,” Violet said. “Marauders invaded and did the whole rape, pillage, and burn thing. They killed the king’s family and took his treasure. Somehow he survived and put a curse on the treasure. Legend has it that the marauders met with an untimely demise shortly thereafter. In all this time, the treasure has never surfaced. Though many have gone looking.” She paused. “I’ve read numerous accounts of sailors stumbling across the treasure, only to meet with misfortune.”

Zoey looked at her with skepticism.

“Like I said, it’s probably just a myth. No one has ever been able to find any remnants of the Numarian culture.”

“That’s because they were destroyed,” said 8-Ball.

“If that
is
the Numarian treasure, how did it get aboard this ship?” Zoey asked.

Violet shrugged. “I don’t know. But I found this.” She pulled up a static-filled surveillance video. It was just a short clip. “This is the only video I could find.”

The clip showed a man hunched over the command console in the CIC. He was probably doing the same thing they were—trying to figure out how to get the ship running. He was dressed in civilian clothes. A few minutes later, another man came up behind him, grabbed his head, and slit his throat.

Blood poured out of his neck as his body collapsed to the deck. The attacker just stood over him, holding the blood soaked knife. He turned and left the CIC.

Zoey caught a glimpse of the attacker’s face. He looked a lot like the man they found in the toilet stall.

The video turned to static, and the clip ended.

“That clip is dated six months ago,” Violet said.

“They must have stumbled across the ship like we did,” 8-Ball said.

“Why did they turn on each other?” Zoey asked.

Violet arched an eyebrow at her.

Deep down inside, they all knew why—the crew had gone mad. And it had something to do with this ship.

In the captain’s room, Declan’s lustful eyes ogled the bottle of McMillan scotch. He pulled off the top and smelled its rich aroma. A fruity and sweet toffee flavor. He closed his eyes and inhaled, infusing his lungs. He could almost taste it.

10 years. It was a long time. Just one drink wouldn’t hurt. His brother had just gotten killed. He deserved at least a sip, he thought. Just a small little reprieve from the pain of life.

One drink.

Not two, or ten, or the whole bottle.

Just one.

He had age and wisdom behind him now. He could stop at just one. Maybe two. Sure, two wouldn’t hurt. Three at the most.

That would be a respectable amount. He could pour out three glasses, then throw away the rest of the bottle before he had the first sip. That would surely limit his intake.

But this scotch was too good to throw out. And they certainly weren’t making any more of it.

No. It would be a sin to throw it out.

He could control himself, he thought.

He poured a glass and watched the amber liquid swirl around as it rose to the top. It was much more than a single shot.

He picked up the glass and held it to his lips. He sniffed the aroma again. He was about to slug it down, but he stopped himself. He set the glass back down on the counter and eyed it some more. He was so tortured he was almost sweating. How much willpower did he really have, he wondered?

Across the ship, Jaxon and Mitch were fully suited up. They used the adjacent hallway as an airlock, and had loaded in their repair gear. There were a couple of tool boxes and a dozen metallic roles the size of paper towels.

“I can’t believe we’re stuck on this rust bucket,” Jaxon said.

“I can’t believe Brody’s gone.” Mitch’s face was bleak.

“I wouldn’t get too bent out of shape about it. It’s a six way split now.”

Mitch looked at Jaxon in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Brody always was an asshole anyway.”

“That’s Declan’s brother, man!” Mitch shook his head.

He pressed a button on the bulkhead, opening the hatch. Air rushed out of the compartment. The two entered the area of the breach. A gouge about a foot wide carved its way through several sections of the hull. Its edges were sharp and nasty. You could see straight through to the nebula outside.

“We need to sand these edges flush, then we can start patching,” Mitch said.

“I’ll grab the sander,” said Jaxon.

He headed back to the tool box. He lifted the lid—snakes slithered about the container. Jaxon shrieked as he sprang back, eyes wide.

“What is it?”

Jaxon looked again at the tool kit—nothing but an assortment of tools. No snakes.

“It’s nothing,” Jaxon said.

He knelt down and grabbed the sander. He moved to the bulkhead and began to sand down the rough burrs where the metal warped inward. Amber sparks showered as the sander ground the metal smooth.

Mitch took the metallic role and peeled off a strip that was about 2 feet long. It was like a giant roll of tape with an adhesive on one side. He affixed it to the bulkhead, covering the damage.

The material was soft and pliable. It was made of a photosensitive alloy that hardened when exposed to a certain spectrum of UV light. When fully cured, it was harder than composite steel.

Mitch ran a special UV wand over the material. The tape cured and bonded to the bulkhead. He repeated the process over and over again as they inched their way down the damaged bulkhead.

Jaxon began obsessing on insignificant details, slowing the process. He was grinding the burrs down to perfection.

“Hurry up, man,” Mitch said. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. Just focus on the big protrusions. We’ve got another 45 minutes of oxygen before we have to recharge the unit.”

“Why don’t you sand them yourself.” Jaxon glared at him.

“I’m just saying. This ain’t a beauty contest.”

Jaxon threw the sander down. It clanked against the deck. He stormed into the next compartment, and sealed the hatch behind him.

“Hey, what the fuck, man?”

Mitch marched to the hatch and tried to open it. But it wouldn’t budge. He pressed the access button on the bulkhead a few times, but it didn’t work.

“This isn’t funny. Open the hatch, Jaxon!”

There was no reply.

“I’m serious, man. Open the hatch right now!”

He banged his fist against the hatch. Still no response from Jaxon.

“Violet, do you copy? Violet, are you there?”

Nothing but static crackled over the comm line.

“Can anybody read me?”

No response.

Mitch trotted down the corridor to the far hatch. It was sealed shut as well. He was trapped in this compartment with 41 minutes of oxygen remaining in his suit. And he knew the meter probably wasn’t accurate.