The Lost Gunboat Captain (The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Book 1) Read online

  “Well, then go. Don't risk it for me.”

  “You don't understand. You have to survive. This is bigger than either of us. You have to live. You have to be Jolo Vargas. You have to do it for the Federation. Things aren't going as well as they seem on the core worlds. And I fear something larger and far worse is on the way.”

  “I don't know if I can do that,” said Jolo.

  “You got two choices: A BG prison planet where they'll work you until you're dead. The whole time you’ll wish you were dead. Or this.” Barthelme reached into his jacket pocket. “Hold this in your hand and see if you don't start to feel like your old self again.”

  Jolo reached out and put his hands around the wooden handle of a gun. His gun.

  He closed his eyes a felt the thing, the weight of it, the way the wood was cut. It fit perfectly in his hand and it was as if his arm was ready to go even if his mind wasn’t. Some small part of him turned on, came alive. Jolo stood up and went to place the gun in the holster, but there was no holster.

  “See,” said Barthelme. “Go now and be Jolo. Listen to me carefully. There's an old dump boat at dock seven about 4 km away from here. You've got to cover the ground on foot. You’ve got to get through that first patrol. Get to the boat on dock seven, bay twelve. It's an old trash boat. They won’t expect that. It's a scheduled run just like always. And that will get you off planet. I'll try to get you help after that, but the best I can do right now is to get you off this rock.”

  Jolo stood up and Barthelme held out his good left hand and they shook and said goodbye. Then Jolo stepped into the corridor, looked to the left: two guards were lying on the floor.

  “Wait,” said Barthelme. And then he took a large cutter from his bag and put it up to Jolo's neck. “The moment I cut this you got 30 seconds. Go out the door of the elevator and they'll be a guard waiting near the exit. Take him out then head down the elevator. Run straight across the plaza toward the trees on the other side.”

  Just before Barthelme cut the collar, Jolo grabbed his arm. “The girl, Jaylen Voss, do you remember her? She was under you in engineering on the Jessica.”

  The big man stopped for a moment, and slowly shook his head side-to-side. “No, I'm sorry, I don't remember her.”

  “How could you not?” said Jolo.

  Barthelme put his hand on Jolo’s shoulder. “Go now,” he said. And then he put the cutters up to Jolo's neck and snapped the collar off. Instantly the jail cells flashed red as the warning klaxon went off. And then Barthelme ran into the corridor, stepped over the two guards, looked back once, and again yelled, “Go!”

  Merthon

  Bakanhe Grana Homeworlds

  Warumon 5, Humanoid Synthesis and Production Facility

  Merthon ran straight for the birthing room the moment he got the news. There had been nothing to hope for in so long. Nothing to dream about. At night his mind was filled with nightmares about what cruel method the BG would put him and Jamis to death once the emperor no longer needed them. But at last there was some small triumph in his delicate plan that he had to share.

  He flew past several lesser warriors and mumbled apologies in his mangled Bakanhe hoping he’d said something to the effect of: “Minor emergency in the birthing room.” He found Jamis and nearly knocked him down.

  “He’s there, in Sol!” Merthon whispered.

  “Who?” said Jamis, not looking up from one of his beloved tanks. He was siphoning fluids into a vial for testing. Always testing. It was just like him to play coy and pretend he didn’t care. To pretend he cared about the creatures he was growing.

  His reply pained Merthon and put him on edge again. “Don’t spoil it, you Frog.”

  “Ok, then,” said Jamis cautiously. “What’s got you running your skinny legs all this way for?” He looked up from the tank and then their eyes met and they didn’t have to speak. Jamis knew.

  “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was in the hospital on Sol and there is to be an inquisition.”

  “That does not bode well, then,” said Jamis.

  “He’s there. He’s there, you fool. And it’s him. We chose him carefully. He will come.”

  “Hope is a dangerous thing in the pits of Hell, my dear Merthon.”

  “He will come. He has to,” said Merthon.

  Jamis put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve done well. But you must also consider the odds against us. Were it just the imbecile humans, that would be one thing, but the—” At this he stopped and lowered his voice. “The black bastards have sunk their alacyte claws into the Fed system.”

  Merthon was undeterred. He would not let Jamis, who was acting like his father, steal his tiny moment of hope and joy. But Merthon suddenly felt like a child trying to save his people by releasing a toy boat into one of the great Vellosian oceans.

  “I don’t even know if there was enough of him left,” said Jamis, pulling more water from the next tank.

  “Who are you talking to?” said Merthon, now more offended than woeful. “Of course there was enough left. What kind of talk is that? I am a creator.”

  “Yes, and a brilliant creator is Merthon,” said Jamis. “But I fear you putting all of your hope into one human pulled from the tanks a tad early.”

  “He will come,” said Merthon, his face sad and beaten just like it was before the news came. “If there were anyone to tell, I’d tell them you were an ass.” And he padded off to his work in the birthing labs.

  Flight

  Federation Home Word: Sol.

  Plaza of the Planets.

  Jolo stepped into the corridor still wearing the orange jumpsuit. The entire jail section flashing red and white. He walked towards the door to the elevator but before he got there a young Federation officer came running down the adjacent hall. He looked to be about 20 years old. He was holding one of the snub-nosed, short-range energy weapons designed for close quarters.

  The man saw Jolo and raised his weapon. Jolo stood frozen, the gun dangling loosely from his hand, almost like he didn't want to be holding it in the first place. Almost like he was ashamed to have it. A little part of him just wanted to go back into his cell and say he was sorry.

  But then a funny thing happened. The young man charged, pointed his gun at Jolo, his full intention to bring Jolo down. But he wasn't close enough yet for a good shot and Jolo knew it. And suddenly Jolo's instincts took over. The young officer tried to get a shot off, but it was too late, Jolo jumped to the left and fired. His bullet hit the man's weapon and it exploded. The young officer fell backwards, and then, still somewhat stunned, got to his feet and looked at Jolo.

  Jolo raised the gun to the man's head. “Now take off your clothes. Quickly,” he said. Jolo changed into the young man’s Federation blues and then told him to wear the orange jumpsuit. Jolo grabbed the man and pushed him into the elevator, the gun still held close to him. They went to the ground level and when they busted out of the elevator there were two guards waiting at the front door.

  Instantly the guard wearing the orange jumpsuit started to run off to the side screaming he was Federation but the two guards at the door stunned him with their energy weapons and he fell in an orange clump in the corner. In the commotion Jolo ran out the door and into the plaza.

  Jolo stepped out onto the grass of the plaza and looked to his left and he could see the tree line that Barthelme had spoken about. He still had the gun in his hand. It wasn't Fed issue so he he hid it inside his jacket.

  Computer, pull up a map of the Plaza of the Planets, he thought. Instantly a map appeared in his mind. Computer, where are the docks closest to the Federation Plaza?

  The map in his mind zoomed in to an area to the northeast of his current location.

  Changing out of the orange jumpsuit may have bought him a little bit of time but now he had to move. He started at a full sprint right for the tree line across the Plaza but then thought better of it and went to the sidewalk and started walk
ing. His uniform had prison guard insignia so he'd have to improvise if he ran into trouble.

  The Plaza was empty and he walked as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion. The sun was coming up. It was morning and the grass was wet with dew. The large trees above offered a little cover for when the drones came.

  He made it to the treeline with no problems, then he checked the map again in his mind. By now, though, the whole area was buzzing. He could hear the drones in the air, he could hear men yelling. The warning klaxon half a kilometer away was still blaring.

  He knew he had to head in an easterly direction to make it to the docks. He’d have to cross a large park there with a small bridge. A service tram ran under the bridge that carried trash from one end of the city to the other. Jolo stepped into the park outside of the tree line cover. Now he was in the open again. A few steps into the park and suddenly a drone buzzed past his head and stopped.

  “State your name and serial number, Soldier,” said a voice through the round ball, hovering a few meters off the ground. Jolo answered with the gun. He put one bullet into the drone and it spun off wildly. He could still hear the drone repeating, “state your name and serial number.”

  Jolo headed quickly for the bridge, but soon saw four armed Marines heading in his direction. They had full battle armor and one had a long range weapon. The others carried short range stun guns. They were about 100 yards away but we're heading towards him quickly. Jolo didn't know if they knew who he was. So instead of running full out he just jogged, waving to them as he ran towards the bridge.

  The Marines made it to the bridge first and blocked his path. Jolo stopped just far enough so the short range weapons couldn’t reach him, put his hands on his knees breathing hard. “I just came from the prison ward,” Jolo said. “There's been an escape, and we must locate him immediately. He's wearing an orange jumpsuit, though he may have changed.”

  The leader stepped forward. “Come forward and state your name and serial number,” he said. “And why are you not at your post?”

  “As I said, I'm chasing down an escaped prisoner. Now you boys can get out of my way, or you can help me.” The four Marines stopped just for a moment, and Jolo thought he had them fooled, but then suddenly the Marine in the back, the one with the long-range weapon, said, “look at his pants. They’re too short.” Suddenly all the Marines were on alert.

  Jolo knew he had to do something soon. The man with a long-range weapon had it pointed right at his head. Just then the drone that Jolo had shot earlier came buzzing in at an angle, and for a split second the Marines took their eyes off Jolo, giving him just enough time to reach into his jacket and pull out the gun. He dove to the right and fired twice, taking out the man with a long-range weapon. He knew that his bullet couldn't penetrate the battle armor, but he could take out the weapon and the bullet would stun the man inside.

  Now there were three left. Jolo was standing 20 yards away, and he knew that the stun guns were close range only. 20 yards wasn't gonna do much. They instantly ran towards Jolo just like the prison guard had done. Jolo took down the leader with two more shots, but then the closest Marine fired his weapon and Jolo was knocked to the ground. The gun flew out of his hand into the grass near the walkway.

  At this point Jolo knew that he was done for. He stood up, weak kneed, stunned by the blast, and looked at the two Marines. “Do you know who I am?” he said. “I am Jolo Vargas. This is a mistake.”

  The two Marines lowered their guns ever so slightly. Then the one on the right raised his again. “I'm sorry Captain Vargas, but we have to take you in,” he said.

  “If you do that they're going to kill me,” Jolo said. “I'll die on a on a BG prison planet.” The Marine kept his weapon pointed at Jolo, then told the other one to call in a med drone and to tell HQ that they had Vargas.

  Suddenly the second Marine raised his weapon and fired it at the other Marine. The other Marine fell to the ground and was knocked out. Then the man took off his helmet. “Now you're gonna have to shoot me,” he said. “Just to make it look good.”

  “Why?” said Jolo.

  “You saved my father in Carnassus five years ago. Is there anything else you need?” he said.

  “No,” said Jolo. “Just get a med bot out here for these boys. Oh, one more thing. Tell them I was headed west right before you got shot.”

  Jolo waited for the man to call headquarters and say that his men were down and he was chasing Jolo west. Then he put his helmet back on and nodded. Jolo shot him in the chestplate and the man fell to the ground.

  Jolo ran across the bridge, accessed the map in his head, and headed straight for the docks. They were almost 1 km away off to the east. The sun was starting to come up and he could hear the sound of men's voices and the drones buzzing ahead. He hoped they were heading west.

  After about five minutes he saw the ships at the edge of the docks. There were smaller, interstellar traders, dealing mainly in Federation goods, Federation medicine, and the like. But out towards the edge of the dock there were larger frigate class ships, carrying supplies to the outer worlds.

  Soon he saw an old man pushing a hover cart full of tools and engine parts. Jolo stopped and asked him where dock seven was.

  “What's all the fuss about?” he said. “There's more drones in the air than usual. And I heard some odd sounds coming out of the Plaza.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” said Jolo. They’re testing new defense hover bots.”

  The man shrugged and pointed. “Head that way out towards those larger boats, and you'll run right into number seven. Fed boys usually don't run out there to seven. That’s the trash detail.”

  Jolo said thanks and headed off towards the larger boats. Soon he was at dock number seven. Sitting in bay 12 was a massive hulk of a ship. It was brown and covered with some kind of slime or coating that he had never seen before. It smelled horrible and was ancient, maybe even made from old world metal. He wasn't sure but he thought he was probably at the wrong place. He stood there looking at it, the energy weapon at his side. Drones were flying overhead so he crawled up underneath and wondered what to do next.

  Jolo stayed under the ship for a few moments but soon someone jumped down off the big ship onto the platform. All he could see was a thin pair of legs. “You gonna stay there all day? We got to go,” said a girl’s voice.

  Jolo crawled out from under the ship, and stood in front of a skinny girl. She had long brown hair and wore tight pants and high boots like the old star pilots used to wear.

  “Are you here for me?” said Jolo.

  “Are you him?”

  And they just stared at each other for a moment. And then Jolo remembered he was wearing Fed blues.

  “My name is Jolo. I borrowed these,” he said, pointing to his uniform.

  “Katy,” she said, hands on her hips, eyeing Jolo. “Well, I must admit, you ain't what I was expecting. You supposed to be some big hero, save the planet and all that stuff. I just ain't seeing it.”

  “They tell me the stories of how I saved a battalion on Carnassus V, years ago, and all the other things I've done. But I don’t know if I believe it either,” said Jolo.

  “Huh?”

  “I don't remember anything from more than a few weeks back.”

  “All I got to say is, you better be worth it. Because my ass is on the line.”

  She turned and headed to the front of the ship, placed her hand over the interlock and the hatchway opened leading to stairs directly to the cockpit. They both climbed inside and Jolo sat down next to her as she started the launch sequence.

  “What smells?” said Jolo.

  “This is a trash run,” she said. “43.8 tons of Federation refuse. All manner of slimy, grimy.” Just then two drones flew past high overhead.

  “They’re watching,” she said. “But this old bucket leaves every day same time. It's just another trash run,” she said. And then she grabbed a rag doll and kissed it, then put it back on the console. “Th
at's for luck. You ready?” And then the old trash boat slowly lifted off the ground. “Once we break through atmo, we're home free,” she said. “Prior to that, let's hope things go smoothly.”

  The trash boat lifted up heavy and clumsy.

  “How did you get through the patrols?” she asked.

  “I had my gun,” Jolo said, showing her the old world pistol.

  “You got through a patrol with that thing?”

  “Yeah, this thing throws lead.”

  “You might as well throw rocks. Really, that museum piece got you through?” She shook her head.

  “Listen, I'm doing the best I can here with this hero thing.”

  And then she softened a little. “Well, you did remember how to use that gun. That's a start.”

  The big ship slowly heaved forward. Jolo wondered if its massive bulk would ever break atmosphere. “We have to go about 2 km outside the city before we make a burn,” Katy said. “Fed regulations. There's a clearing where most of the refuse detail and some of the larger frigates have to go from.”

  They got to the launch point, a grassy clearing with nothing around for several kilometers, and Katy said, “She's clumsy in the sky, but won't once we get upstairs she handles better.”

  Just then two drones buzzed high overhead.

  “How much longer before this boat goes up?” said Jolo.

  “It takes a minute to wind up but we’ll be there soon.”

  A moment later Jolo heard the unmistakable sound of a Federation gunboat. “That’s a gunboat!” he said, before it came into view. “I know that sound. I think I remembered it!”

  “That's great,” she said. “When we’re in jail we can reminisce about your first clear memory in two weeks.”

  “There hailing us,” she said, and hit the comm button, as the big gunboat came into view. “This is refuse ship 8725. I'm on the 9 AM run, boys, and I ain't got time to fart around, what's going on?”