STARSHIP ROGUE
Chris Turner
Fantastic Realms
Copyright 2019 Chris Turner
Cover design: GooKingSword
Published by Innersky Books
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these stories are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
CONTENTS
THETIS 3
STARHUSTLER
STARVENGER
THETIS 3
BOOK I
Chapter 1
Wandering, wandering…way back in the mists of time I walked the starry mile, across a lightstorm of shattered dreams, a galaxy of endless possibilities, wondering what it would be like to fly a starship. An X-class starship. Well, I wasn’t flying one of those now, but I was certainly captain of a dingy VH3 maintenance craft, out in Veglos sector. Wow, Rusco, you’re a real top gun. Gonna pin a medal on that chest myself.
Marty, my partner in crime, a short, heavy-boned bully with fleshy lips and swarthy complexion, was acting navigator. We were off to heist a bunch of beryl on Thetis Station.
Why beryl? The heart of the Varwol space drive, crystal beyond value.
Yet this sector was no safe zone for old men, as near inside enemy territory as could be. A cesspool of warlords, cons, thieves, murderers, creepo gangsters, come to scavenge anything and everything, using Skgurian raiders, those mutant cannibals, as muscle, every low life imaginable.
The free sectors had gone to shit—as had most of the rest of the colonized worlds—except some notable planets fighting for and maintaining their independence, but those were fast falling to scumbag warlords. Marty was a real warthog today—jittery and curmudgeon material, riding my ass about every detail. He’d been cracked high on Myscol, just a few hours ago. Still running paranoid. I told him not to gulp down so much but he patted me on the back a little too hard and flashed me his fox-like grin, “Relax, Rusco. You always worry too much. I need that fix to set my aging nerves straight.”
Too many schemes gone bad lately. And Marty had crossed from irritant to pain in the ass.
“When we going to make our approach? How we know they’re going to buy it?”
“Everything’s in order, Marty, relax.”
Gras, our shaven-headed pilot, snuffled and cast him a disgruntled glance. “Yeah, muzzle it. You’re going to jinx this whole mission.”
“Yeah, well that blip on our holo-radar is not just a figment of my imagination.” Marty waved a chunky finger. “Check it out.”
I scanned the holo grid and swung my gaze about. “Just one of Sharki’s patrols. We’re all good. The ship is lock tight, drive signatures in order, maintenance logs in place. Our two birds here can’t squawk either.” I motioned to the two trussed-up bodies, backs huddled against the console.
Marty grumbled and let his fingers crawl over the nav pad.
Timing? Fate? Luck of the draw? To fly a stolen craft with kidnapped crew into the hornets’ nest meant a lot of shit-feathers were going to fly. Anything else was just lies.
That cautionary voice went off in my head like a dull schoolbell: Commander Dakker’s last commendation before I went completely rogue, “I’m hiring you, Rusco, because you’ve done good work in the past. Keep my product out of the hyena’s grip. Don’t mess up.”
Well, I messed up, and here I was on a thieves’ run to hijack some high end beryl out from under some serious scumbags’ noses. Give me an A for Audacity.
So, life had taken a plunge since I’d lost Dakker’s commission and inevitably turned to vice. But in the long run I was just following my path, wasn’t I? Whatever destined path that was. Some middling success out in Ganymede had stoked my fires, gained me a bit of confidence and ready cash. I hoped I could make this heist work, that there was some method in the madness. But unexpected upturn plus confidence can set one flat on his ass.
While the captain and his crew member struggled at the thick cord wrapped around their torsos, wrists and legs, I thought of all the bad things that could come out of this caper.
Marty seemed to read my thoughts. “These two monkeys are liabilities, Rusco. Let me waste them.”
Good old Marty, volatile and violent to the end, ready to plug shells into a problem rather than think it through.
“Remember last time you deep-sixed our pigeons? We needed them and almost got our throats cut.”
“Stop bringing that up.”
A rough boy with bullet-shaped head, Marty had a patch of mustard-colored hair and eyes cold and unblinking as a viper’s. He was as tough as nails, as hardy as they come but maybe too impulsive for what I required at the time. Leaning toward the reckless, he was light on the thinking side. Yeah, Rusco, like the wolverine calling the tiger a predator.
“They’re not looking too happy,” Marty pointed out.
“Yeah, well that’s the price of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You’re real compassionate, Rusco.”
“Glad you approve.”
The larger captive with the tawny hair, rasped. “When Drayer finds out we’ve gone awol, you’re going down—”
“But he ain’t, is he?” snorted Marty. “Now shut your gob or I’ll stuff it full of lead. We’ll be in and out of Thetis, and maybe keep this tub here for our own use and ditch you two on a far off planet. Any more lip and it’s bye-bye.” Marty stuck his piece in the man’s ear.
“Dial it back, Marty,” I warned. “These minnows aren’t worth it.”
Our pilot Gras seconded the suggestion.
“We need access codes to dock?” Marty jabbed the captain in the ribs. The man thrashed around, giving back an angry snarl.
“He’s not going to tell you anything,” I said. “Leave it alone.”
The prisoner’s buddy beside him, a lieutenant or such, gave us an equally black stare. “Drayer’s the least of your worries. Boss Sharki’s going to murder your
