Armstrong Station Read online

  Armstrong Station

  D. M. Pruden

  Copyright © 2020 D.M.Pruden

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  D.M.Pruden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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  ISBN: 978-0-9953013-9-9

  ISBN-13: 9780995301399

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

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  About the Author

  Prologue

  Something jostles her awake.

  Reluctantly pulled up from the well of her dream, Chloe fights the compulsion to open her eyes. She blinks until focus returns and her initial panic passes.

  She shifts uncomfortably in the leather recliner, questioning why she allowed herself to be persuaded to book second-tier seats. Nan appears unbothered by the prospect of making such a long transit in what she euphemistically refers to as “steerage.” Unaccustomed to downgrading her usual travel accommodations, Chloe again questions the decision to maintain anonymity at the cost of comfort.

  Her friend snores softly, presumably lost in the kind of dreams that reward a generous soul each night. Loose strands of long blonde hair escape her ponytail and drape loosely over her chest, which rises and falls in a calming, steady pattern. Watching Nan sleep reassures her that all will be well.

  Then it happens again. A gentle nudge of an invisible hand pushes her to the left.

  Looking out the window reveals no clue as to the cause. The endless vista of stars sprayed across her field of vision remains constant, unchanged since their departure from Terra. She considers herself well-travelled enough to be accustomed to the push and pull of acceleration during flight. In her limited interplanetary travel experience, changes of course mid-journey rarely happen.

  Perhaps the captain avoided a dust cloud or some other obstacle cluttering the passenger lanes. Or, more likely, her customary seating in luxury class insulated her from noticing the bumps of normal space transit.

  Just as she deems it an annoying mystery not worth further consideration, it occurs again. This time, the bolts securing the seats to the deck groan as they resist the force.

  A few of the other passengers awaken, their urgent buzz of hushed conversation filling the surrounding air. The overhead amber warning sign lights up. Shortly after, the steward makes his way down the aisle, subtly ensuring everyone remains strapped in as instructed.

  Just the idea of being restricted to her pod prompts her bladder to fill. She wants to rise and stretch her legs, relieve herself and find some coffee or snack from the lounge, but she knows from previous experience that the grumpy steward will disapprove.

  She longs to be in the topside section where the servants obey her, rather than in this upside-down world of bossy staff.

  Nan rubs the sleep from her eyes and stretches. “What’s going on?”

  Chloe smiles reassuringly. “Nothing. Just a couple of bumps. Certainly nothing to be concerned about.” Her suspicious gaze follows the steward’s back as he passes.

  Her companion twists around to peer down the rows of passengers. She settles back in her seat and affectionately grasps Chloe’s hand. “We’ll be there in another day. Don’t worry, nobody knows you’re here.”

  Her frown melts, and she grasps Nan’s hand in return. “I wouldn’t be brave enough to do this without you.”

  “You would do the same for me.”

  Chloe’s smile fades. “Your father is kinder than mine. I doubt I would need to rescue you from much of anything.”

  She draws Nan into a tight hug. Eyes shut, she drinks in the warmth of her body and the scent of her hair. Neither of them is in a hurry to break off the embrace, so she savours the reassurance of her friend’s arms.

  Opening her eyes, she catches sight of something across the aisle. She disengages herself and peers out her window.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I saw someone out there.”

  Nan frowns and raises an eyebrow. Then, just as quickly, her features soften, and she leans over to peer outside.

  “He’s gone now,” says Chloe, “but I swear I saw a man out there.”

  After a pause, Nan nods. “I believe you. We should tell someone what you saw.”

  She reaches up to press the call button and freezes.

  Chloe turns to see what captured Nan’s attention.

  She screams and quickly covers her mouth.

  Other passengers now cry out as they see them. The cabin is abuzz as people release their restraints and stand to catch a glimpse outside.

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re carrying guns!”

  “They’re coming from that ship.”

  A tide of panic ripples through the compartment. The steward rushes down the aisle, roughly pushing people back into their seats to clear a path for the pair of armed security guards behind him. Chloe’s gaze follows them to the airlock at the back of the section.

  An explosion vibrates her seat. Through hands covering her ears, she hears shouts.

  Shots boom.

  All falls quiet.

  A woman screams. Chloe turns with everyone else to see three men in mismatched spacesuits. Each cradles a heavy weapon.

  One of them lifts his helmet visor to reveal a weathered, unshaven face. He grins. “If you all stay calm and cooperate, I just might let some of you live.”

  Chapter One

  Carson Willis sits cross-legged on a mat in the centre of his dimly lit office. Eyes closed against distraction, his chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm as he focuses on his heartbeat.

  Random thoughts spring into being, tempting him down roads with no fathomable destination and offering no benefit.

  Following his meditation master’s teaching, he acknowledges the distraction and dismisses it. Pride stirs as he realizes how far he’s come over the years.

  Just as quickly, he recognizes his thoughts have strayed to the subtle path of temptation.

  Annoyed, he tries to regain his centre, but the lingering annoyance hangs over his mind like a suffocating shroud.

  The ping of his cortical implant is more than he can deal with.

  “Wh
at is it? I told you I am not to be disturbed.”

  “Apologies, Inspector Willis, but you asked to be informed immediately if Mister Cabot should call.”

  Inhaling deeply to stifle the rebuke on his tongue, he holds his breath for a count of three before slowly emptying his lungs.

  Composed once more, he rises gracefully to his feet. “Please put him through.”

  Returning to his desk, he activates the quantum radio receiver and counts the seconds while it recognizes its entangled counterpart somewhere in the solar system.

  A grim visage solidifies on the screen.

  “Sir.” Willis inclines his head slightly, enough to be respectful but not so much as to appear subservient. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “My daughter is missing.”

  Anthony Cabot is not one to waste time on pleasantries, but this blunt admission revealed an uncharacteristic vulnerability Willis never before noted in the man.

  He picks up his data pad. “When did you last see her?”

  “Her security detachment saw her board Callisto’s Star, six months ago.”

  Carson’s practiced control prevents his surprise from registering on his face. “The liner that vanished?”

  “The same.”

  He swallows the growing lump in his throat. “Forgive me, sir, but I understood no one survived that tragedy.”

  “A handful did, my daughter and her companion among them. Pirates operating from the belt took them prisoner. They spaced most of the passengers and crew and blew up the ship to make its disappearance appear an accident.”

  Carson dares not ask how Cabot came upon this intelligence. The man’s other agents operate throughout the system.

  “Do you require my assistance to track down these pirates?”

  “No, I dealt with them after learning they sold their prisoners to the Collective.”

  Carson’s forehead creases. “She was not returned to you, then?”

  “No, she travelled using false documents. The idiots didn’t recognize her and trafficked her to a sex-slaver ring. It took time, but I tracked them down. She was transported to Luna and sold to someone named Bentley Ferris.”

  “I will locate him immediately and recover your daughter, sir.”

  “Everyone else involved in this cock-up is dead. I trust you can close this matter cleanly?”

  “Yes, Mister Cabot, I will see to it that this pervert never sees another earthrise as a free man.”

  “You misunderstand me, Willis. I do not wish this handled in your capacity as a morality officer. I want this issue addressed by you as my agent. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, sir.”

  “I await your report that my daughter is located, and retribution is dispensed.”

  The screen goes blank.

  Carson sits back in his chair, replaying the conversation in his head. His shaking hand still holds the data pad. Tossing it down, he wipes his sweaty palms on his pant legs.

  Hands resting on his knees, he closes his eyes and takes deep, slow breaths until calm displaces anxiety.

  All is not lost, he thinks. I can make this work, but it must be done right.

  He opens his eyes and trips the switch on his intercom. “Bring me the latest intelligence update.”

  He switches off the speaker before his assistant can respond.

  No one will question him about opening an official investigation to locate Bentley Ferris. If he acts with care, nobody will be the wiser.

  Yes, I can still make this work. Everything will be fine.

  Chapter Two

  I enter Roy Chambers’ quarters without looking. Immediately, something buzzes about my head and alights in my hair.

  “What the hell?”

  “Mel! Don’t move.”

  “What the fuck are you holding? A fishing rod?”

  He drops it and stands. “I told you to stay still.”

  Advancing, he wears the wary expression of somebody approaching a trapped animal; mostly concerned for the creature’s safety but also worried his hand might be bitten off.

  I impatiently wait while his meaty fingers gently lift the fishing line aside and probe my scalp. He reeks of booze and wobbles enough that I cringe.

  “Don’t move. I’m not done!”

  He peers down at the top of my head.

  “Turn around.”

  I slowly shuffle about, careful not to wind the string around my neck again.

  His hands part my hair. “Um, this might sting.”

  “What wi—OUCH!”

  “Oh, don’t be such a girl.”

  I whirl about, a fist at the ready. “That’s what I am, asshole!”

  Like a proud schoolboy with a bug, bloody fingers hold up a fuzzy, coloured ball by the nasty-looking hook extruding from its butt.

  “What the fuck, Chambers?”

  I push him away and reach up to probe the wound.

  “You might want to put something on that, Doctor Destin.”

  He unsteadily retreats to his bunk.

  “Yeah, I’ll go find a medic. What the hell are you doing, Roy?”

  His grin returns and tosses me a towel. “Casting!”

  Retrieving the fishing rod from where he dropped it, he proudly holds it up for me to admire. I remain across the room, pressing the cloth to my head.

  “It’s my grandpa’s. We used to fish every weekend back on Earth. Ever done it?”

  “Um, no I prefer my dinner cooked before I meet it. Why are you playing with that thing in your cabin?”

  He points to a mound of dirty clothing on the floor by the doorway. A smaller, complementary pile is at the foot of his bed. “Practising; I do it to relax.”

  He smiles at me until he notes the expression on my face. “What? No hobbies?”

  “None that involve killing fish.”

  He frowns. “It’s all catch and release.”

  “What? Do they enjoy the experience so much they come back for more? Sounds like kinky aquatic S&M.”

  His scowl deepens. “What do you want, Mel?”

  Roy Chambers, the presently drunk captain of the independent freighter, Requiem, sits on his bunk in only boxers and a sleeveless undershirt. Almost a year earlier, he waltzed into my life and offered me a job. That I now called him a friend testifies to his character. Not many people can earn my trust, let alone my friendship. Between him and Schmaltzy, our chief engineer, I’ve accumulated more friends in a few months than over the past decade.

  He reminds me of a six-year-old boy hurt by my disapproval of his favourite toy. I try to blunt the offence with a smile. “I came to tell you the medical supplies are on their way.”

  He grunts and winds in the line. “That is your department, Doctor.”

  “Oh, come on, Roy! I’m sorry for dissing your hobby, but in my defence, you assaulted me when I came in.”

  He holds up the fuzzy weapon by its barbed end. “You’re being dramatic, Melanie, and unappreciative of an almost lost art.”

  He continues to display it, silently prompting me to—what? Admire it?

  “It’s a very impressive hook, Captain. I’m sure the fishies go for that kind of thing—in a death-wish sort of way.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s a fly, Mel. I made it myself.”

  “That isn’t like any insect I’m familiar with.”

  He picks up a small box. “You’re such a princess.”

  When opened, I see a dozen of the things are arrayed neatly inside. Almost reverently, he places it into its waiting spot.

  Feeling like I spoke ill of his mother or something, I say, “Did you make those?”

  Still admiring his collection, he says, “Pops made most of them. He taught me how. We went into the woods behind his place to fish for trout.”

  I glance at the bottle of rum on his desk with about a centimetre of amber fluid left in the bottom.

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “He died ten years ago today.”

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry, he obviously meant a lot to you.”

  “Mum took my little sis and me out to see him every weekend.”

  “You never mentioned a sister.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, well, she is eight years younger than me.” A faraway expression comes to his face, and he smiles. “Nee-Cee didn’t join us at the river, but she enjoyed watching Pops tie flies. He made her one for every birthday until she...” He is staring at the box of lures, lost in memory. “Anyway, she loved that.”

  “Did something happen to her?”

  “She ran away from home when she turned seventeen. A year later, Pops died. There’s been no word from her since.”

  Though he rarely mentions his family, the odd time when he speaks of his mother reveals a deep, abiding affection. I can’t imagine what it would be like. My own bitch of a mother sold me to a gang. It angers me that someone with so much would cast it aside like Nee-Cee apparently did.

  The sad memories subdue Chambers’ mood. “When do the meds get here?”

  Glad the awkward moment is over, I say, “Sometime tomorrow. I’ll deliver Vostok’s shipment to him as soon as they arrive. The rest of the deliveries won’t take me more than a couple days.”

  He nods. “We are still waiting on the last of our cargo for our next run, so you’ll have at least a week. I’ll be glad be done with Vostok.”

  “What is your problem with him?”

  “He’s a gangster.”