Planet Eaters (Galaxy Mavericks Book 8) Page 5

  “I hope you find them,” Reiko said. “If you would like to stay with us and Michiko back on Asiazil, you're welcome to.”

  “Thanks, but I've got a long journey ahead of me,” Eddie said.

  Michiko’s face went long.

  “Eddie, can you excuse us?” Michiko asked.

  Eddie nodded and waved as he exited the bridge.

  When he was gone, Michiko put her hands on her hips.

  “I heard what you tried to do there,” she said.

  “You’re coming home with us,” Reiko said. “It’s too dangerous out here in space. Home is where you belong.”

  Michiko remembered the words of her friend, Ashley.

  “Your best duty to your mom is to be honest,” she had said.

  Ashley had given her a long lecture about telling her parents the truth, how she couldn’t hide things from them forever, how she had to start speaking up and taking charge of her life instead of letting her parents tell her what to do, even if that was a cultural taboo, because at the end of the day, it was all about her happiness, and no one could be happy if the truth didn’t come out.

  “I’m not going home,” she said softly.

  “Excuse me?” Reiko asked. Her voice hardened.

  “I’m not going home,” Michiko said, looking her mother squarely in the eye. “I’m needed here. And I’m going to stop Florian.”

  “You’re just a girl,” Reiko said. “You cannot stop him.”

  “I’m twenty-four years old and I can make my own decisions,” Michiko said. “And I’m staying. I know that you and dad don’t like it, and I understand why.”

  “You do not understand,” Reiko said.

  “Michiko,” Arthur said, “all of this is dangerous. You have no idea what is going on here. It’s not like the movies. People will die.”

  “I’m not saying it’s glamorous,” Michiko said. “But when I went to college, you were so proud of me. I didn’t want to go. I coasted my way through classes because I was so scared of what you would say if I dropped out.”

  Arthur and Reiko gasped.

  Ashley would have been smiling in heaven right now.

  But man, this felt terrible and painful and awkward. Michiko wanted to run away. She wanted to catch her breath. But she kept talking.

  “And when you told me that you expected me to go to nursing school, Mom, I wanted to be a loyal daughter. I wanted you to be proud of me. But my heart wasn’t in it. When I realized it, I had to run. I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t spend my career doing something that I hated from the bottom of my heart.”

  “That is what it means to have a career,” Reiko said. “It is not the career that brings you happiness. It is family, friends, and passions.”

  “No, that’s bullshit—”

  The profanity made Reiko gasp again.

  Michiko hadn’t meant to say it. She lowered her eyes for a moment and said “I didn’t mean to say that. But it’s not true. Why can’t you be happy doing something you love?”

  “It’s an age-old problem,” Arthur said. “You’d think humans would have found a way to solve it. Though I suppose I’m moderately happy in my job—”

  Reiko gave Arthur a death stare and he stopped talking.

  “You’ll learn to love nursing,” Reiko said. “You’ll love the kind of life it provides.”

  “Twelve hour shifts, constant back and leg pain, and incredible stress?” Michiko asked. “On what planet are those good things?”

  “You focus on the negatives,” Reiko said. “What about the sacrifice and the ability you have to change peoples’ lives?”

  “I want to change my own life,” Michiko said. “It starts now. I don’t mean you any disrespect, but this is my life, Mom. And the decisions I make are mine. If they’re mistakes, then fine, I’ll own them and you can rub it in my face for the rest of my life. But if they’re not mistakes, then it will have been worth it. Don’t you owe me the benefit of the doubt?”

  Reiko folded her arms and sighed.

  “What will you do? Go on a goose chase?” she asked.

  “We have a plan,” Michiko said.

  Arthur put his hand on Reiko’s shoulder.

  Reiko suppressed a smirk. She and Michiko stared at each other for a long time, and then Reiko brought her in for a hug.

  “Okay,” she said. “We’ll give you a chance. Just this one time.”

  “No, not just this one time,” Michiko said. “The first of many.”

  Reiko hugged her tighter.

  Arthur patted Michiko on the back. “We have faith in you, meu anjo. But if you die, we’re going to be very, very mad.”

  The three of them laughed.

  7

  “My good people, do you seriously think I had something to do with Tavin Miloschenko’s disappearance?” Florian asked.

  Thick handcuffs bound his wrists.

  All across the reddened airlock of the Zachary cruiser, Zachary soldiers in sleek white armor with neon green lines surrounded him. Their helmets, which had glowing pinpoints of light above the forehead, looked like sinister insects. Their eyes were shaded with orange visors, and they frowned as they aimed their guns at him.

  The air was thick with a metallic smell and exhaust from the ship’s engine.

  The airlock was clean, with glowing lines in the floor that illuminated a walkway that led to the interior of the ship.

  A woman with long auburn hair stepped forward. She had dark brown eyes and an athletic build despite the thick battle armor she wore.

  She looked familiar.

  “You're full of it,” Kyla Jax said.

  He recognized her voice. She was the soldier that Miloschenko hired. The one who chased Devika Sharma through the jungles of Coppice.

  “I know you,” Florian said. “You're the soldier that can't shoot. Private Kyla Jax—”

  “Specialist Kyla Jax,” Jax said.

  “Ooh, a promotion!” Florian said, laughing. “So that's what the empire does to its most incompetent soldiers, huh? Fail a mission and move upward. Shoot, shoot, shoot, miss, miss, miss, money, money, mo—”

  WHACK!

  Jax punched Florian across the jaw.

  He didn't see it coming. Damn, that hurt!

  “How's my aim?” Jax asked.

  “A rare hit,” Florian said. “You've got my attention now.”

  Jax scowled.

  “Where is Miloschenko?” she asked.

  “I don't know,” Florian said, “and that's the honest truth.”

  “You were last seen with him,” Jax said. “Where is he?”

  “I told you I don't know!” Florian said.

  “He had a crew of twenty scientists, and they're gone as well,” Jax said. “Ironically, your entire crew seems to be with you.”

  “Why the hell should I care what Miloschenko does with his crew? You need to let me go or you're going to have some big, big problems, little lady.”

  Jax punched him in the gut, winding him.

  “You b—”

  Jax punched him again.

  “I am going to sue you something awful,” Florian said.

  “Do your best,” Jax said. “If you survive.”

  Florian struggled against the handcuffs.

  “You can't detain me!”

  “Tell us where Miloschenko is and we’ll happily let you go,” Jax said.

  “What's so important about that bastard, anyway?” Florian asked.

  “Don't concern yourself with it,” Jax said. “Concern yourself with his location.”

  “I'm going to repeat myself for the third time,” Florian said. “I don't know where the hell he is. He took us to Kepler. I don't know what happened to him after that.”

  “Bullshit,” Jax said.

  “Um, have you seen the Planet Eaters?” Florian asked. “I've never been more scared in my life. The moment he unleashed them, I radioed to my men and got the hell out of there. Have you tried searching near Kepler?”

 
“Kepler’s gone,” Jax said.

  “Oh,” Florian said, “well damn.”

  “We've searched the area around the moon, Refugio, as well, and there's no sign of him,” Jax said.

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe your boy was playing with fire?” Florian asked. “Perhaps something else happened on the ship with that detective? In any case, you'll do well to let me go, or my company will crush you. And when I say crush you, I mean it.”

  “Enough talk,” Jax said. “You're coming with us.”

  “The hell I am.”

  Jax grinned. With a hand gesture, she pointed to the wall. The soldiers dragged Florian, Tatiana, Hux and the rest of the henchmen to seats ranged along the wall.

  “Mr. Macalestern, let’s see how your story holds up to the Emperor.”

  8

  GALPOL Special Agent Ryan Miller decelerated his corsair and coasted toward the airlock of the Quasar Lake Marina.

  The marina, a t-shaped dock with a curved roof, floated in space like an ocean marina. Small corsairs flew around it, and Miller had to readjust his course several times to avoid reckless drivers.

  He checked the clock on his dashboard.

  Saturday night.

  Lot of people out.

  He wouldn't have minded being in civilian clothes, himself, maybe barbecuing in his backyard or nursing a beer in the shadowed nook of the nearest townie bar.

  But this case was going to ensure he wasn't going home for a long time.

  He still couldn't believe what he was investigating.

  Another GALPOL agent.

  Murder.

  A murder weapon with her fingerprints all over it.

  Slam dunk.

  He steered for the airlock in the roof and a dispatcher gave him clearance to enter and a dock number.

  He flew into the marina, over a patchwork of spaceships as far as the eye could see. But these ships were bigger. Bigger than the standard private passenger corsairs he was used to. They were moored to the docks and did not move. Some of them were run-down with rusting panels. Others were a little more respectable. But you could tell people had adapted the ships and were living in them like homes.

  Miller had been to “lakes” like these, settlements full of “space homes” as they called them. Usual homes for transients, migrant workers, or people who didn't want to be found.

  He located his number and circled around the dock before easing down into the parking spot gently.

  A man was waiting for him at the dock.

  Looked like the guy from the website. Arland Edmund. Landlord of the property with one hell of a name. Pockmarked face with a white goatee, portly frame, maroon sweater, serious countenance. Typical landlord type.

  Miller waved. The man tied the corsair to the dock.

  Miller grabbed a portfolio off his dash that contained his tablet and all the photo evidence he'd obtained so far.

  He ducked out of the cockpit of his corsair and walked through his salon, into his airlock. He opened up the bay doors with a button, and they opened like black origami sheets.

  Edmund was waiting for him. Above, the roof panels hummed and recessed into the walls, letting in starlight.

  “Arland Edmund?” he asked.

  “Agent Miller?”

  Miller laughed and shook his hand. “Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday night.”

  Edmund grunted. “Your phone call was pretty cryptic. You here for a showing? I've got two ships that’ll be ready for occupancy within the week.”

  “God no,” Miller said. “I'm not a prospect, Mr. Edmund. I should have been more upfront in my call, but I didn't want to scare you.”

  “What is it?” Edmund asked.

  “You mind if we go to your office?” Miller asked, glancing around. On a nearby ship, one of the windows was slanted open and there was a shadow sitting near it, listening. “It's better if we talk in private.”

  “I'm not in trouble, am I?”

  “Not at all.”

  Edmund motioned for Miller to follow, and they walked toward a rounded spaceship in the distance with a giant placard on the starboard bow that said OFFICE.

  Edmund’s office was a dreary, messy ship filled with electronic memorabilia. A navigation wheel hung on the wall next to photographs of famous ocean ships that sailed on choppy waters that were double-exposed with a green circuit board.

  And there were electronics everywhere. Wires, circuits, switches and fuses, all stacked in boxes that stretched halfway to the ceiling.

  “I'm in the middle of a transition,” Edmund said. “I'm a vintage electronic nut. Keeping some of my stuff here while I remodel my warehouse.”

  Miller grabbed a circuit board with several orange wires sticking out.

  “A whole warehouse of this stuff, eh?”

  “It's worth good money,” Edmund said. “I've already had a couple museums pay me for some of my items. It's a lucrative business.”

  There had to be a code violation of some kind in this place. Miller tried to ignore the thought of it spontaneously combusting.

  Spaceships weren't meant to be homes, or storage bins. No matter how many times people tried to espouse the benefits of space homes to Miller, he never agreed. He would always prefer two feet on solid ground. He loved grass and real air.

  Edmund sat on the corner of his desk. Miller sat in a dingy black chair that looked like it was going to fall apart.

  “How long have you been a landlord here?” Miller asked.

  “Original owner,” Edmund said. “I've been here about thirty years.”

  “I imagine you've seen all kinds of characters, then,” Miller said.

  “That's a fact,” Edmund said. “I've seen criminals and cops. Luckily haven't had too many visits from you folks.”

  “We like to keep it that way,” Miller said. “Unfortunately, I'm here looking for someone, Mr. Edmund.”

  Miller handed him a photo of Devika Sharma.

  “Recognize her?” Miller asked.

  “Yaaap,” Edmund said, stroking his goatee. “Indian gal. Sharma. She lives here.”

  “How long?”

  “Couple of months.”

  “I'm looking for her,” Miller said. “Have you seen her?”

  “Not for a few days,” Edmund said. “She keeps to herself. Between you and me, she's a little different.”

  Miller raised an eyebrow.

  “Real quiet,” Edmund said. “GALPOL agent. Always wears sunglasses. Never talks to anyone. I don't mind it. She pays her rent and keeps to herself, so she's never caused any issues.”

  “So you haven't seen her lately?” Miller asked.

  Edmund shook his head.

  “She's a GALPOL agent, right?” Edmund asked. “Must be in some kind of predicament if one of her own is looking for her.”

  Miller kept his face blank and didn't answer the question.

  “Is she in some kind of trouble?” Edmund asked.

  “Can't say,” Miller said. “You wouldn't mind showing me to her place, would you?”

  “You got a warrant?”

  Miller produced an off-white sheet of paper. Edmund read it.

  “Shit,” he said under his breath. He looked up at Miller. “Keep this quiet, will you? This is going to bring this property some bad publicity.”

  “I won't say anything if you don't,” Miller said.

  “Already had three fires here this year. The galaxy inspectors are crawling all over me to keep this place in order. It ain't easy, enforcing laws in a place like this. If people find out I've got murderers living—”

  “The warrant says nothing of the sort,” Miller said.

  Damn. This guy was good. He knew how to spot drama.

  “You don't have to tell me anything,” Edmund said. “It's written all over your face. Unless you want to tell me it's not a murder.”

  “Again, I can't say,” Miller said, standing. “Let's take a look around, shall we?”

  Miller followed Edmund across t
he dock. They passed several spaceships that were moored to the metal platform. Their steps echoed in the quiet silence.

  Miller smelled bacon and burgers cooking on a grill somewhere, mixed with thick cigar smoke. A television was playing way too loud. Someone’s children were roughhousing, screaming and laughing.

  The smells and sounds reminded Miller of an apartment building.

  “The people here have rejected planetary living,” Edmund said. “Even with all the comforts and planets the Rah has to offer, they'd rather stay on the darkened comfort of space.”

  “It's a dangerous comfort,” Miller said.

  He'd heard of settlements like this running out of energy, out of water. In the former case, microgravity stopped working and it made for an uncomfortable few days as authorities rushed food and supplies to the marina. In the latter case, a water crisis, with no one able to bathe, cook, or clean their homes because water was already finite in a marina like this. Neither of those scenarios was worth it.

  “We've got energy lines and gas,” Edmund said. “We've got water tanks, too, but most of the residents here bring their own water or have it delivered.”

  “What about you?” Miller asked. “Do you live here?”

  “Only on Tuesdays and Wednesdays,” Edmund said. “I've got other properties. My manager lives here and handles all the major affairs.”

  “Ah,” Miller said.

  If he owned a place like this, he'd probably stay here as little as possible, too.

  “Here we are,” Edmund said.

  They stopped in front of a gray spaceship. It was disheveled, its windows were clouded and it looked like the roof had structural damage. Blankets hung over the windows, and the ship needed a good washing.

  “This is Sharma’s residence?” Miller asked. “Jesus.”

  Miller walked up to the bay doors. They showed signs of stress, as if they had been bent back and forth many, many times.

  “This her ship, or did you provide it?”

  “All hers,” Edmund said.

  Miller crouched and inspected the ship’s moorings. Unlike the other ships in the area, this one looked like it hadn't been here for very long.

  “How permanent are these moorings?” Miller asked.

  “That ship’s not going anywhere,” Edmund said. “Unless she wants it to.”