Outlaw Galaxy: Fugitive Among the Stars

In the Distant Future ...

It is a time of legends and myths, of technology and magic, of epic struggles and journeys to the stars ...

A time when great heroes confront the forces of darkness ...

A time when adventure beckons across the Billion Worlds of Outlaw Galaxy!

What Has Gone Before ....

Outlaw Galaxy: Fugitive Among the Stars occurs approximately six months after Outlaw Galaxy: Trip and the Space Pirates (Outlaw Galaxy 1). After his battle with Diamond Black Joe’s pirate gang, Benjamin Trip Trippany has returned to his home on the planet Karrison, where he attends school and helps Uncle Craz repair starships. His quiet life is about to be interrupted when he goes on vacation with his friend Johnnie Ojin.

Visit Bill Smith at www.BillSmithBooks.com or www.OutlawGalaxy.com. Bill blogs at www.BillSmithBlog.com.

Chapter 1 ~*~ Deep Space, 6.3 Light Years from Saronon

Captain Corris Thyne calmly sipped the steaming chaskul and carefully placed his cup back on its saucer. As he moved his hand away, he noted with satisfaction that there was barely a ripple across the surface of the milky white liquid.

The Port of Artheorse’s lightspeed engines were that smooth.

Thyne strained to swallow, forcing the bitter, frothy liquid down his throat.

Now, if only Liam could find a way to make the chaskul palatable. How can the humans drink this stuff? Do they utterly lack taste buds?

Captain Thyne smiled up at Liam, who hovered beside his chair, eagerly anticipating his response. A Physhan, one of the countless human races, Liam was perhaps twenty years old, with bright pink skin and stark, fiery red hair. His clear secondary eyelids flashed shut, then opened again while his main eyelids remained wide open. The odd effect was that of an unending, unblinking stare. The secondary eyelids were an evolutionary adaptation to keep out grit from the dust storms that bombarded his desert homeland on Aelion.

Liam couldn’t yet grow a beard, one of the signs of human maturity, but he was experienced and knowledgeable when it came to starship engines. He’d proven his worth by keeping the Artheorse’s engines running to perfection. In between rebuilds and drive system calibrations, he found time to act as the ship’s cook.

Of course, that was a mixed blessing as far as Captain Thyne was concerned. His digestive tract was still in full rebellion when it came to stomaching the boy’s native cuisine.

How’s the chaskul, Captain? Liam asked.

Oh, it’s —

Wonderful almost slipped out but Thyne couldn’t bring himself to lie.

"It’s unforgettable. Simply ... unforgettable, he said, squeezing out a smile. Thank you, Liam."

The Physhan grinned. My pleasure, Cap’n. It’s a family recipe.

I’m sure you come from hardy stock, I’ll give you that, Thyne quipped, thinking, The food kills the weak ones.

Then he saw the Artheorse’s pilot, Ragz Gotom, chuckling. Ragz was seated at the control station at the front of the bridge.

Mr. Gotom, Thyne called out, letting a trace of irritation creep into his voice. Status report, if you please.

The blue-skinned Braecht glanced down at his control panels before announcing, On course, Captain Thyne. We’ll arrive at Kuttlemuir’s Rim in ... approximately seventeen hours, forty-two minutes. Currently, the nearest system is Saronon, six-point-three light years away, bearing one-twelve horizontal, forty-two vertical.

Good, the captain said, checking his wrist chrono. We’ll be arriving at the Rim a little bit early. Excellent work, Ragz. Changing routes at the last minute hasn’t slowed us at all.

Better to be safe, Captain, Liam added enthusiastically. We don’t want to make it too easy for pirates to find us.

Captain Thyne grimaced. Why did he just do that?

Captain Thyne was a Liegar and, true to his heritage, he was superstitious and quick to worry. To Liegars, it was dangerous to mention any mishaps that could befall a ship while in flight. Saying such a thing was a challenge, a sure way to draw the attention of the dark, mercurial forces lurking in the universe’s shadows.

And now Liam’s comment had tempted those fates.

We don’t want to make it too easy for pirates to find us.

It was a slip of the tongue, innocent enough some would suppose, but Thyne knew that those dark forces lurking out there would see the comment as a brag, a taunt.

The boy hadn’t meant it that way, but the harm had been done just the same. It was as if the boy had said, Come and get us, I dare you.

Captain Thyne shuddered as if someone had stepped on his grave. He stared at the young crewman.

I appreciate your support, Liam, but let’s never speak of such things again, shall we?

Liam backed away and looked down at the deck. My apologies, Captain Thyne. No offense meant.

Captain Thyne glanced up at the main viewport and watched the swirling rainbow-color patterns and ripples of energy that were characteristic of hyperspace.

Once we safely get to Kuttlemuir’s Rim, no offense will be taken, he whispered.

Thyne tried to push his thoughts away from the possible dangers but his mind rebelled and drifted back to the beginning of this run. At the time, he had been nervous, worried ... no, concerned was the proper word.

Reports of pirate raids had prompted him to make a last-minute course change just before the Port of Artheorse jumped to lightspeed.

Thyne had been in this game of piloting big, almost defenseless freighters for twenty years. He’d been in dozens of battles with raiders and pirates. A few he’d won. Most he’d merely survived. He had little desire to add another skirmish to his record.

Of course, Captain Thyne knew his biggest victories had come when he’d outsmarted his enemies. They were the times he’d fooled his attackers by changing flight routes or had scared them away by arranging for an armed military escort. He had been hoping for one of those quiet, unnoticed victories on this particular passage from Shreilei to Kuttlemuir’s Rim.

Now Liam had thrown that hope into jeopardy by taunting the fates.

Captain Corris Thyne had long ago learned to trust his instincts. In fact, his stellar record was why GPX Vardo Lines Pulsar had put him in command of the Artheorse. This lumbering old freighter — a big, bulky ship over four hundred feet long and nearly a century old — was filled to the airlocks with robots and sophisticated electronics. The cargo was worth millions of Steds.

Defenses? Just three energy cannons. The Artheorse had no fighter escorts, no assault shuttles, no heavy cannons ... just three underpowered guns, barely suitable for blasting at unarmored shuttle pods much less raiding ships, and she was running out in deep space, far from the protection of GPX Vardo’s fleet of combat ships or the Frontier Rangers.

Captain Thyne knew that the Artheorse’s best hope was to run silent and hidden. Escape the notice of those who coveted his cargo.

That was the plan.

Vardo is just cutting corners, Thyne had thought bitterly when he’d first read his mission orders. A few fighters would be a fine deterrent, but the data pushers at Vardo headquarters are more concerned with shoring up the balance sheets and trimming expenses. That means not deploying extra personnel or equipment unless absolutely necessary. Besides, if things go wrong, their heads won’t be on a platter.

Snapping back to the present, Thyne took another gulp of chaskul, trying to steady his nerves.

Raiders don’t want a fight. They’re just looking for easy pickings, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, that’s precisely what we are right now. Easy pickings.

Thyne knew that going in when he took this run. He knew the danger as soon as he received the flight plan. He felt the simmering tension and concern on the part of the crew the moment as he stepped aboard the Artheorse.

Still, he’d accepted this cargo run for several reasons. Foremost was the fact that he couldn’t afford to turn it down. He was getting older and closing in on retirement age. The last thing he needed was to be labeled a coward. Work was hard enough to find as it was. So Thyne took this assignment and hoped for the best.

He looked around the bridge. At least I have good men and women aboard.

The veterans like Ragz Gotom knew what they were doing. They were alert and ready to act.

The younger ones, like Liam, were too confident, too excited, too raw to be scared — but they’d learn.

Thyne’s mind drifted back two days. As they were waiting for permission to leave the stardocks at Shreilei, Thyne had felt that familiar gnawing sensation creep up on him. Something was wrong. Something was calling out to him, trying to warn him that danger was ahead.

Never turn your back on advice from the spirits, his father always said. Trust them. They know the ways of the universe.

Thyne smiled as he thought of his father. Father was also a freighter pilot, just a simple man, but he’d logged over three thousand flights without any serious incidents — no crew fatalities, no lost cargoes, no shipjackings. One couldn’t doubt a record like that.

Father was retired now. He was probably spending the day on the lake, harassing the fish.

Captain Corris Thyne had acted on those warning instincts, just as his father would have.

Ragz, plot a new course, routing near Vashuungor Minor. Same entry and exit points, Thyne had ordered when the dock moorings released the Port of Artheorse and the ship’s thrusters pushed her away from Shreilei and towards open space.

Ragz looked at his captain, puzzled about the course change, but immediately turned to his work.

Keep it quiet for now, Thyne remembered saying at the time. Just get the route calculated before we reach the lightspeed jump point. I have a feeling about this ....

Pilot Ragz Gotom had served several missions with Captain Thyne, going back nearly six years. Ragz had good reason to trust his captain and his mysterious feelings.

With the new route calculated — a completely different path to Kuttlemuir’s Rim, far removed from the flight plan registered with the stardock’s flight controllers — Thyne relaxed a little.

Thyne knew there were too many possible loose ends back at the stardocks: cargo handlers, starport controllers, even employees of GPX Vardo. Any of them could know the scheduled travel route. A group of raiders would pay handsomely for that travel route information since they’d stand to make a fortune should they be able to capture the Artheorse and steal her cargo. A bribe of a few thousand Steds was a lot of money to a cargo hauler who tossed modules around in zero gravity for fifteen or twenty Steds an hour. A pile of money could tempt any starport controller who wanted a few of the nicer things in life. It could even loosen the lips of a mid-level Vardo corporate drone who’s realized he has nowhere to go but down, who has a house he can’t afford and a family that spends money faster than he can make it.

No, there are too many people who could sell out this cargo ship, Thyne thought as he watched Ragz furiously tapping away at the lightspeed computer, calculating a new hyperspace jump route.

Thyne could hear the raiders’ sales pitch in his mind, picturing a seedy broker holding a bag full of Steds, his voice low as he won over his informant. "Dozens of ships disappear every day, my friend. There’s deep-space collisions, mechanical failures and, of course, pirate raids. No one will notice — or care about — the disappearance of just one more ship. Besides, the crew won’t die."

Now the broker would flash a reassuring smile. "Only the stupid ones die, friend. The smart ones surrender. They’re returned to their families in a few days. Here’s a few thousand Steds. Don’t let it bother your conscience. Go buy your wife that new dress she’s been eyeing. Take her out to a nice dinner. Now, the ship’s route, my friend ...."

Over the years, Thyne had been approached with similar offers. He knew how tempting the money could be. He knew how even the most elaborate safeguards could be overcome if enough money was thrown around.

And this is not exactly a high-security mission, Thyne had reminded himself.

So, in truth, Thyne knew he had a target on his back from the moment the Artheorse lumbered out from Shreilei’s starship yards. As they pushed out into space, Thyne nervously reviewed Ragz’s revised route and checked his chrono. One minute before the jump, he’d nodded to Ragz and the new coordinates were loaded into the lightspeed computer.

That will throw the maraudhounds off the scent, Thyne remembered thinking at the time.

The jump to lightspeed had been smooth, without incident. There was the standard shudder, the vague feeling of falling into a deep, deep hole as the stars were blotted out by a brilliant flash of light, and finally the smooth roar of the Artheorse’s lightspeed engines cycling to full power. Through the viewport, Thyne and the others on the bridge watched the multi-colored streams of red and blue, yellow and silver and every other color imaginable, patterns forming then eroding away in fractions of a second as the chaos of hyperspace swirled around them. It had been a smooth, flawless jump.

The only discrepancy in it all was Communications Officer Clire’s announcement that he’d detected a stray transcomm signal — a coded signal, just a brief burst — originating near the Artheorse in the scant seconds immediately before the lightspeed jump. Thyne wanted to dismiss it as a transcomm flutter. Nothing to be concerned about.

That was thirty-five hours ago, Thyne thought as he looked around the bridge. Just over seventeen hours to go until we reach Kuttlemuir’s Rim. Come on. Just a little while longer.

All had been going well. That feeling of imminent danger had faded. That little voice of warning had been quiet.

Then Liam calmly, casually, half-joking, shattered the illusion of calm.

"We don’t want to make it too easy for pirates to find us," he’d said, not knowing any better, not meaning any harm, but still, he’d challenged the fates. Thyne shuddered. He knew what it felt like to stare death in the face.

Captain Corris Thyne tried to calm down. Nothing had gone wrong, he reminded himself. Besides, only he and Ragz knew the new lightspeed route. Not even the company knew where they were. There was no time for a traitor — should there even be one among the ship’s tiny crew — to pass word to partners off-ship. There was no chance that raiders could find them.

Still, that feeling of uncertainty kept gnawing at him.

He glanced at Liam and wanted to reprimand him, but the young man still looked skittish, afraid of his captain’s wrath. He’s just a kid. No need to scold him now. Besides, we’re safe. No one knows we’re here. Corris, you’re just being superstitious in your old age.

Thyne grabbed his cup. He sipped the chaskul, then took a deep, full drink of the bitter white beverage and swallowed. Next time, I’m bringing my own firemead from home no matter how expensive it is.

He drank again, smiled and nodded towards Liam.

We’re safe. No one knows we’re here.

But as he thought about it, something in that stray transcomm signal bothered Thyne. It was a high-density, short-burst signal. Ordinarily that would be of no concern. Space, especially in heavily trafficked systems, was full of such transcomm signals. But Clire had said the signal was close to the Artheorse.

What if that signal was from the Artheorse? What if there was a data transponder in the lightspeed computer? And what if it was linked to a transcomm signaler, coded to transmit the lightspeed computer’s coordinates as soon as the lightspeed drive was activated?

Thyne looked down as he heard the cup clack, clack on the saucer. His hand trembled, almost of its own accord. And, back there at Shreilei, if there was a ship out there with a transcomm sniffer keyed to the signaler’s frequency ....

The warning voice inside his mind screamed, Something’s wrong!

The Artheorse bucked and lurched as if it had smashed into a wall. Liam crashed to the deck with a cry of surprise and pain. Captain Thyne, Ragz Gotom and Clire, safely secured in their chairs by their restraint belts, all held onto their consoles, steadying themselves as the Artheorse was buffeted back and forth.

Thyne watched the saucer and cup shoot forward, seemingly in slow motion. A stream of milky white chaskul arced through the air, splattering across Clire’s transcomm and sensor consoles. The cup and saucer tumbled to the deck and shattered, fragments bouncing through the air as they careened towards the main viewport at the front of the bridge.

Thyne’s eyes rose to the viewport. A flash of white light blotted out the colored swirls of lightspeed. Then, as his stomach threatened to rise up his throat and he was overwhelmed by a sense of falling, falling long and far forever … Thyne saw black, star-filled space.

They were no longer in hyperspace.

Directly ahead of them drifted dozens of asteroids. That could only mean one thing.

Raiders! Thyne screamed.

Clire checked the sensors. Captain, the route ahead is blocked! Asteroids forced the lightspeed drive to disengage.

Ragz, plot a course around the blockade, Thyne screamed. Get us clear! Engage the lightspeed drive as soon as possible! I don’t care about the vector, just get us out of here!

Thyne felt the Artheorse’s sublight engines power up. The ship vibrated under the strain and yet the view changed only slightly as the bulky freighter tried to turn away from the asteroids.

We won’t have time to get out of here, Thyne thought, panic rising inside him.

We’ll be clear of the asteroid field in seven minutes, Ragz reported, his voice steady and calm.

By then it won’t matter, Thyne muttered.

Incoming ships! Clire screamed. Three fighters to port, three to starboard, closing fast! There’s also a small freighter to port, just out of range of our cannons. They’re hailing us and demanding our unconditional surrender. It’s their command ship.

Thyne paused only a second. He knew what would happen to the crew if he surrendered. They would all face death. Raiders couldn’t leave any witnesses alive to identify them. There would be no surrender. Their only chance was to make a run for open space and hope to jump to lightspeed, even if it was a blind jump.

Thyne keyed the Artheorse’s internal transcomm. Gunners to energy cannons! We’re not going down without a fight!

Chapter 2 ~*~ To Battle!

The Port of Artheorse’s Chief Gunner, Devin DeadEye MagArgoll, raced through the freighter’s cold halls, skidded to a halt and then climbed up the ladder to his gun turret. He settled into the padded seat and frantically pulled on his transcomm headset, flipping rows of switches to bring the power generators and lasing barrels to life.

Devin felt the energy cannon’s machinery shudder around him as power coursed through the weapon. His holographic heads-up targeting display projected images into the air directly in front of him. Range numbers popped up while distant blue specks were highlighted by brilliant, neon blue outlines. Those specks would be the enemy, Devin knew as he watched the attack fighters crisscross space. They were still out of range of his weapon, but they were coming.

Oh yes, they’re coming in fast.

The Port of Artheorse’s shipboard communications blared in his left ear. Captain Thyne was screaming about incoming raiders.

Like that’s a surprise, Devin thought as he finished pre-battle system checks.

Devin knew there was going to be trouble when the Artheorse’s lightspeed drives ground to a halt and the ship bellyflopped back to normal space, sending the cards and wager chips flying across the pilots’ cabin. He and the Artheorse’s other two gunners, Dvir and Stryer, ran for their cannons even before the order was given.

Devin sighed. Talk about bad timing. He’d had a good hand.

I really could use the money, he thought, wincing at the thought of losing the stack of Steds that he’d built up. Four hundred Steds! When’s the next time the cards will be that kind to me? And now? Nothing!

Devin pulled on his gloves and searched open space as the gun turret circled around, satisfied that the rotation servos underneath the turret were working smoothly. Devin’s turret was mounted near the Artheorse’s nose and he had the duty of protecting the forward half of the ship. His partners, Jascho Dvir and Bethailia Stryer, had the tail guns, Dvir on top and Stryer on the bottom side. They simply had to protect the engines.

Of course, that only sounds easy until you realize there’s six fighters picking away at us, Devin thought as he looked out across the darkness. The view is spectacular but it’s always the same. Big, black, endless space.

Off to his right, Devin saw the cluster of asteroids and a small, nondescript cargo freighter far off in the distance. Directly ahead of him, three fighters were headed straight for the Artheorse. They would be in range in a few seconds. His targeting screen showed another trio of fighters behind him, racing towards the Artheorse’s tail.

Devin cued up the transcomm. Stryer, Dvir, you boys ready to roust a few raiders?

Stryer’s voice whispered silky smooth. Sir, I’m ready ... and remember, I’m not a boy.

Not much chance of that happening, Bethailia, Devin thought. That’ll get her riled up — not that she needs it. She’s already a better shot than I am. Devin’s fingers flexed as he grabbed the controls, his thumbs hovering over the bright red firing studs. No, she’s not better ... but she is in my league ....

Communications Officer Clire keyed in. Gunners, fighters are incoming. Twenty seconds until they engage us.

Devin keyed his transcomm. Already have them on visual, Clire. We’ll keep ‘em plenty busy. Count on it.

Hey, boss, time to earn some bonus money! Dvir shouted over the transcomm, referring to the bonus payments Vardo offered for taking out any vessel attacking one of its ships.

Leave it to Dvir to find the positive side of this mess.

Devin watched as the Artheorse pulled away from the distant freighter and the asteroids. That’s gotta be their command ship, Devin thought