43 Days to Oblivion (The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Book 2) Read online

  Katy nodded, yes. And so did Hurley and Koba.

  “Alright, let’s get the groceries and git gone,” said Jolo. “Katy, move us in close.”

  The freighter was torn in half like a can ripped open right in the middle. White Federation issue boxes floated in space just outside the black hole in the side of the long ship. One crewman wearing the thin clothing designed for the climate-controlled, pressurized compartments floated in space with the debris. It was as if he was defending the ship, his chest sticking out and arms extended. One leg had broken off and was hovering upside down a few meters off. Katy moved the Argossy closer and Jolo and crew could see his face on the main vid screen, ashen gray, black holes where his eyes once were.

  "Hey, George, got two freeze-dried arms here if you want one. Maybe the frog-man could sew one on for you," said Greeley. George didn't take the bait. Katy looked at the thickly-muscled Greeley and just shook her head.

  “Greeley, shut it,” said Jolo.

  Jolo urged Katy forward but she stopped, afraid of bumping into the stiff corpse wearing the yellow UFP Freight Lines jumpsuit. Jolo put his hand on her shoulder. "He died instantly.”

  "Technically, about fifteen seconds," said George. "In an oxygen depleted environ--" But Jolo gave him a look and he stopped.

  Jolo and Greeley jet-packed across the thirty meters or so between the Argossy and the freighter untethered, aiming for the big hole in the center. They wouldn’t have to cut their way in this time, the BG boat had done the work for them. Jolo knew Katy was keeping a sharp eye on them in case one of the jet packs failed, and George was on standby with an extra suit. They had two hours of air and enough fuel to fly half-way back to Duval.

  As Jolo got closer the big ship just got larger--silent and gray, UFP Freight Lines written on the sides in bold, white letters. They entered through the blast hole into a dark storage bay. Their helmet lights illuminated shiny bits of metallic debris, several chairs, a standard Fed shipping container torn in half, a single shoe, and shiny white shards of dinner ware all hanging in space as if strung up by invisible lines from the ceiling.

  The tricky part about entering a ship uninvited is dealing with the air pressure. Usually Greeley would put a charge on a sealed door and get the hell out of the way as everything inside got sucked out into space, which worked fine in a pinch, but they got lucky and found an air lock door and were able to get in to the pressurized section of the ship. Once they got an oxygen reading they could take off the clumsy, heavy suits and search unencumbered.

  Most freighters were set up with engines in the back; ops, comms and the bridge in the front; then quarters; then everything in between for storage. The cavernous storage sections could hold enough food and supplies to keep a settlement well fed and housed for 12 to 18 months. Jolo knew he had to get as much as he could and get out before either another BG boat came or UFP Freight sent their scouts. Either of whom would be obliged to shoot first if they came upon the Argossy in the middle of a transaction, as Jolo and crew were fond of calling their excursions.

  A typical freighter runs a small crew, maybe a dozen or so, and judging by the damage to engineering and the bridge, and the blown out storage section, Jolo wondered if anyone beyond one heat sig in quarters that Katy had picked up, was alive inside. He and Greeley entered the air lock room, sealed the door and pressed the large red button to repressurize. Jolo kept an eye on the thick round window that led into the dark hallway, storage bays on either side, but saw no movement. Jolo watched the oxygen levels on his helmet display slowly rise and after a few minutes the room was ready and they climbed out of their suits and checked their weapons. You never know who’d be waiting on the other side.

  Air rushed in when Greeley pushed the heavy door open. Betsy was the first in.

  “Stale air,” said Greeley.

  “Life support is down. We’re breathing whats left.”

  “Katy, what we got on the monitor?” said Jolo into the comm.

  “No boats in the sector. And I got you in the second compartment, no other heat sigs there, but I do still have a strong reading in the forward compartment behind the bridge. Probably quarters. There may be a few people there.”

  “Ain’t here to help the Fed,” said Jolo.

  “Roger that, Captain, but it ain’t like they’re military.”

  Freighters usually did not use psuedo grav and inertial dampeners in the storage compartments and this boat was no exception, so Jolo and Greeley floated along, checking each compartment for the light-blue colored Fed ration crates. Red was for misc non-military hardware, green for live biological, and a bunch of other colors that Greeley and Jolo hadn’t sussed out yet. It didn’t take long to find the blue food boxes that looked sort of cream colored in the low light.

  Each compartment had a large door that opened from the inside to make loading and unloading easier. You couldn’t get into a freighter from the outside unless you blew it open with an ion cannon and destroyed valuable cargo, but if you could get inside it was just a matter of hitting a switch and then overriding the safety sensors. The doors rarely opened into space. So once they’d found the compartment, Greeley suited up again and got the side doors opened. Then Katy moved the Argossy closer, aiming the storage bay at the open door, and George suited up and assisted Greeley moving the boxes into the Argossy.

  Twenty minutes later the Argossy had four of the huge twenty-by crates in her hold and half another. Early on they would just grab the four and bolt. But then Jolo and Greeley had started blowing a fifth box open and filling the ship to capacity. Greeley had gotten especially good at blasting crates open without doing too much damage. So the last bit of storage capacity was filled with half a crate of Federation Seafood Deluxe #3 Mealpacks, the remaining packs floated away, each on their own slow trajectory out into space.

  That was the best thing about Fed rations: they lasted, even in deep space. There were never contamination issues, so you didn’t have to worry about people getting sick from eating them.

  Bertha, down on Jaxxon, had recently lost her crops. Most of the work crew Jolo rescued six months back depended on the kale, collard greens and potatoes that Bertha and her crew worked. But most of the crop was destroyed when a BG boat decided to build a listening station on top of the plants. All of the time spent hauling good dirt and irrigating that dry rock was wasted.

  “Anything in the sector I need to worry about?” said Jolo on the comm.

  “Still clear, Captain.”

  They were making excellent time, so Jolo decided to take a risk. He wanted to know why a BG would attack a Fed ship, a ship it was supposed to protect, and steal a black box. What was in the black box? he wondered. “Okay, against my better judgment, me and Greeley are gonna check out your heat sig in the forward compartment.”

  “Roger that, Captain,” said Katy. “George says he votes NO on you guys going to the forward compartment.”

  “Good thing this ain’t a democracy,” said Jolo.

  So he waited for Greeley to come back through the airlock, and then they both floated through the long, dark hallway down the center of the freighter past the storage area and into quarters. There were handholds along the way and they pulled themselves through what was essentially a long, black hole. They used just enough light to see the next handhold.

  They started to hear something a few minutes down.

  “You hear that?” Greeley whispered, pitch black behind and more darkness ahead.

  “Yep. Keep going.”

  Pretty soon the sound became a little clearer, echoing off the metal walls of the long hallway. It wasn’t a constant mechanical drone like an air mover slowly winding down because the power had shut off. This sound had rhythm.

  Five minutes later the they could make out singing. It was a man’s voice: “…goes left. She goes right. Papa is looking for mama but mama is nowhere in sight.” And then the horns kicked in and, “Papa loves mambo. Mama loves mambo.”

  Computer, Jolo thought,
who sang Papa Loves Mambo?

  “Papa Loves Mambo” was a popular song on old Earth, first sung and recorded by Perry Como on August 31, 1954. Later covered by Dean Martin.

  Then Katy came through on the comm: “You’re close.”

  “Yeah, they’ve got music playing and there’s light ahead,” said Jolo, pulling out the Colt.

  They made it to a door with a round window, light streaming out into the hallway. Jolo went under the window and eased closer for a look.

  “Are they closest to the hallway or the hull?” whispered Jolo into the comm. Meanwhile Perry sang: “They’re having a fling again, younger than spring again…”

  “The hull,” said Katy. “About ten meters from your position.”

  So Jolo popped his head up and took a nice long peek into the cabin. There were two people dancing: a crewman with a energy rifle slung over his shoulder and a woman wearing a blue dress. They twirled around the gravitized room on a raised dance floor. All around were chairs and tables that might actually be made of wood, not the typical bolted-down metal crap, and a sofa with some kind of covering that might pass for leather. The lady had long hair and jewelry. Typical Fed extravagance, thought Jolo. He put his head down and he and Greeley huddled under the window.

  “Let’s say Hi,” said Jolo. Then he got on the comm. “Katy, who looks more friendly and trustworthy, me or Greeley?”

  “I’d say you, Captain. Just remember to smile and not be so serious. Greeley’s a bit roguish and he smells.”

  “You know I can hear that,” said Greeley, lip starting to poke out again.

  “George votes Yes for the captain. Koba votes Yes for let’s get the hell out of here and Hurley is eating a seafood pack that he claims ain’t half bad.”

  “Well thank you for the update. We’re going in,” said Jolo.

  “Y’all please be careful,” said Katy.

  Jolo tapped on the window with the butt of the Colt and stared into the room intently. At first the dancers didn’t hear so Jolo tapped again louder and then they both stopped dancing and spun around to face the door as if they’d heard a gun go off.

  There was a brief pause as the three people considered each other, and then the man snapped out of it and suddenly pushed the girl aside and tried to swing the energy rifle up into firing position but the strap got caught and the gun started to fall, but he grabbed it and pulled it up like he was going to fire, but then the strap was covering the trigger so he just held it there with an expression of anguish and fear, Como still singing Papa loves mambo, Mama loves mambo… in the background. At this point Jolo remembered he’d forgotten Katy’s advice so he smiled real big, but that did not seem to change the man’s panicky look or the woman’s cold gaze. The man stepped back and the woman turned off the music.

  Jolo pressed the door comm, “May we enter?”

  The man seemed to gain some composure, and pressed a comm link on the back wall. “You here to rescue us or steal cargo?”

  “Well, rescue, of course, would be our primary concern at this particular juncture,” said Greeley in the most politest Federation lingo he could muster.

  “Rescuers generally don’t carry weapons,” the man said, the end of his weapon now pointed down.

  “Why’d the BG ship attack? What was in the black box?” said Jolo.

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge the particulars until you show me your ID.”

  “You mean like, uh, Fed papers and all?” said Greeley, a shade less polite than before.

  “Yes, like that,” the man said.

  Greeley gave Jolo a questioning look, and Jolo shrugged and nodded okay.

  “Here’s my papers right here,” said Greeley and blasted a hole where the door lock was. Jolo slid the door open, the air inside clean and cool.

  Jolo and Greeley stepped into the room with the sweet smelling air and were instantly pulled down by the gravity generator. Jolo found his feet and nearly stumbled and Greeley fell down but kept Betsy on the man with the weapon the whole time.

  The man stepped backwards, holding his arm out to move the lady behind him protectively. Not a military man, thought Jolo, putting the girl in harms way, he should have pushed her to the side, though his heart was in the right place. For a moment the man just stared at Jolo.

  And then his face turned sour.

  “I know who you are. You are the synth, Jolo Vargas. I've seen the wave reports,” his fear slightly buffered by anger. “You, Sir, are an affront to humanity. An abomination. I'm gonna tell you right now you are not Jolo Vargas. He was our hero. Bad enough you being a synth. But you took a dead man's body. He was a great man. You're just a frakkin synth. Nothing more." He spat in Jolo's direction, his eyes darting back and forth like a cornered animal.

  “Well that ain’t too dang nice. Not nice at all. Seeing how we come all this way to perform a rescue operation,” said Greeley.

  The crewman suddenly raised his weapon, the strap clear of the trigger. Jolo shot the weapon out of the man’s hands and it fell to the ground. The man rubbed his right hand in pain. “You could’ve killed me,” he yelled, visibly shaken.

  “Nope, if he’d’ve wanted you dead, you’d be dead. He don’t miss,” said Greeley. And then he got back to the point: “What was in the black box?”

  “We didn’t have a black box,” said the man.

  “And what y’all dancin’ for?” said Greeley. The man looked at the woman as if she was going to explain, but she ignored him.

  “You are lying about the box,” said Jolo. And then Jolo and Greeley went into their well-rehearsed bit to scare info out of freighter crew.

  “Captain, we cain’t be leaving none behind to sqwauk about our whereabouts and such,” said Greeley, stepping forward aggressively, Betsy pointed at the man’s head.

  “That’s right. Jolo Vargas ain’t one to take prisoners,” said Jolo, rubbing his chin.

  “And he is one low-down sumbitch!” said Greeley, getting into his role, though a bit off-script, eyes all lit up. Jolo gave Greeley a quick, raised eyebrows, please-shut-up look.

  “Yes, yes, he is,” continued Jolo, steering the dialogue back on course. “He’s got a synth brain that don't care much for humanly emotion and such.” And then he eyed Greeley. “Why he'd just as soon have one of his brainless, knuckle-draggin' henchmen do his dirty work for him.” And then it was Greeley's turn to give Jolo a look. Then Jolo pointed the Colt at the man. “Tell me, what was in the black box and I'll let you live for a little while longer.”

  The crewman was on his knees now, stammering and slobbering. “I’m sorry,” he said with a shaky voice. “They don’t tell us what’s inside.”

  “Where’d you pick up the box?” said Jolo.

  “I don’t know,” said the man, then his head jerked up. “Might’ve got it in Corpus 2. There was a brief, unscheduled stop there, put us behind a few hours.”

  Jolo was convinced the man didn’t know, in fact, he felt sorry for him.

  “What happened when the BG boat came?”

  “They said they were getting close for support. But then they opened up on us. We knew their guns were hot, but thought it was because they were going to protect us. We lost the captain and pretty much everyone else.”

  “Captain, I think he’s holding out on the black box info. I’m gonna wing him once or twice and see if it don’t jog his memory a little,” said Greeley.

  The woman watched her would-be protector, the freighter man, start to blubber and cry, his earlier burst of angry defiance now faded, still rubbing his hand. His broken weapon on the floor at his feet.

  She walked up to Jolo, blue dress, pretty face and long brown hair. She put her hand on his shoulder, “Does a synth-man have all the requisite parts?” Her fingers glided down his arm and she held his hand. “I could make it worth your while if you let us go.”

  Jolo was speechless. But Greeley was sold. “Ma’am, I have the requisites!” he said, stepping forward. But the woman was still staring at Jo
lo.

  “Exactly who do you think I am?” said Jolo.

  “You are Jolo Vargas. And I don’t want to die,” she said.

  Jolo couldn’t take it any longer. “I’m not here to kill anyone,” he said, but he could tell she didn’t believe him. Suddenly, he was deflated.

  “Perhaps the synth doesn’t have what it takes,” she said.

  “Naw, he don’t. But I do!,” said Greeley, smiling.

  Jolo looked at the woman in wonder. She was stronger than the freighter man, willing to trade herself for her life. It saddened Jolo that she would think so little of him. He holstered the Colt. The game was over. They didn’t know about the box.

  “Perry Como or Dean Martin?” he said.

  “Huh?” she said, tilting her head.

  “The song.”

  “Oh. Perry.”

  “1954, by old Earth reckoning.”

  “If you are going to kill us, then get on with it.”

  Just then Katy called on the comm. “Jolo, we got three scouts and a few larger boats that just popped into the sector. We gotta go now.”

  “If you want,” Jolo said to the woman, “I’ll take y’all off this dead boat. There are some other boats coming.”

  She just looked at him. “Please just take what you want and go, Synth. We are not fools. The ships are here for our rescue.”

  “I hope so.”

  Jaxxon

  On the planet Duval

  Bertha was the queen of the large house made of clay and wood that sat just outside of Jaxxon. It was low slung and open and allowed the air to flow through so the heat wasn’t so bad during the harsh summer. Marco said it was built in the old style. It housed nearly a hundred misplaced kids and mothers, and a few broken pirates, there ostensibly to help with security. But people from Duval took care of their own, the only real trouble coming from the Federation and most recently the BG.

  Katy landed the Argossy on a pad near the house. Jolo had been quiet all the way back from the dead freighter. They had dodged a bullet and come away with some Fed rations. Jolo knew this was cause for celebration. The only sore spot, mainly for Greeley, was not getting the black box. Or the woman.