The Reaper Diaries: Fetch Job, Part 3
03 Dec 2015Michael Wolfe
My father had a favorite saying: Son, there are two great misfortunes in life: not getting what you want, and getting it.
If he were here now, he would probably find himself greatly amused at the situation that Kyndi and I found ourselves in. That is, after he wrapped his head around the idea of me being a bounty hunter, mixing it up with a low-down smuggler. I smiled a little at the thought. As far as him and mom are concerned, I’m just a truck driver who lives out of his Type-6.
And here we were, clutching the very thing we had wanted- the alien artifact- and Kyndi in a heap of trouble for it. We had lingered inside the derelict Anaconda just long enough for us to become trapped in a– storm? Ice geyser eruption? In truth, we had no idea what was responsible for the sudden maelstrom of ice and rock just outside the crashed ship. We didn’t care either.
Kyndi was down to about thirty minutes of air, thanks to an unlucky ice shard slicing her suit.
“So, why the hell didn‘t you tell me you were running out of air?”
We were searching every nook and cranny of the Anaconda that we could- searching for oxygen tanks, rebreathers, or even still-functional space suits. Something. Anything. Most of the doors in the ship were shut and needed functional power to open, or else it might have been fairly easy to rig something up with an entire Anaconda’s worth of supplies.
Kyndi dumped out a load of ancient rations over an unused bunk. “I needed a moment to process, ok?”
I opened up a locker, sifting through what looked like a woman’s set of shirts and trousers. Nothing.
“Well, process faster next time. I ain’t carrying your passed-out ass all the way through this storm.”
Kyndi slammed shut her own locker in frustration. “I wouldn’t expect you to. You were breathing hard enough just making it here on your own. Maybe you should do some curls with something heavier than a bottle, huh?”
This woman. I turned to her. “There ain’t nothing in here. Let’s move on.”
While we were trying to find an intact supply store, we could still hear the soft pounding of debris against the hull. The storm was still raging.
I shone my light against what looked like a small door near the floor. “Hey, what do you think of this?”
She crouched near it and frowned. “It’s an old access way for what looks like“- she brushed the frost off with her gloved hand- “an auxiliary power unit.”
We looked at each other. I gestured towards the panel. “Well, you were saying earlier that this ship might have local back-up power, right?”
Kyndi shook her head. “Yeah, but this unit might be hundreds of years old. There’s no telling if it’s even intact, or if it’ll activate even if it was.”
“We got anything better to do? And what happens if we can get it back on?”
My partner shrugged. “Well, we might be able to access some of these locked doors. That would help a lot.”
“It’s worth a shot, ain’t it?”
Kyndi looked at me, and then the panel. “I guess it is. Help me with this.”
The panel was made to fit within the bulkhead, and was secured by four clips, which- after applying enough pressure- popped open easily enough. Gently, we lifted it out, set it aside, and Kyndi got down on her knees to shine her helmet lights inside the small tunnel.
“It ain’t too far in. Let me see if I can get to a manual activator or something.”
With that, Kyndi slipped her slim (even in an atmo suit) frame inside the accessway. For a moment, I heard the usual cursing and expletives that one involuntarily utters when working on anything mechanical, and then she slid back out on her back.
“Well?”
She shook her head, staring up at me.
“You ain’t going to believe this, but the thing actually works. It needs some kind of crew authorization to come online, though. Looked like a thumbprint device. Can you believe that?”
I looked down at my hands. “And our thumbs ain’t going to do it, are they?”
“No, they sure ain’t.”
Kyndi and I looked at each other for a moment- and slowly, we both turned our gaze in the direction of the bridge. I snapped my head back at her.
“Oh, hell no!”
I could only see her eyes in the shadows, but they were looking at me with amusement. She unsheathed a combat knife with a serrated edge from her boot and handed it to me.
“Things getting a little too real for you, flyboy? Just pretend I’m walking in front of you. You’d follow my ass anywhere, right?”
I pointed the knife at her. “You owe me for this!”
As I started making my way towards the bridge, I could hear her calling out: “Don’t worry if you botch it, Matt- he’s got a spare!”
Well, I sure as hell didn't see me sawing through no dead man's thumb when I took this job.
I was knelt in front of the- mummy? Corpse?- of the crewman still in the pilot seat. It was a struggle to even remove the glove, so frozen was everything. When it finally came loose, I had to pull hard to slide it off his hand. And- there it was. The thumb. Brown, shriveled, and dead- but hopefully still scannable.
Placing the serrated edge against the base of the digit, I began to saw. The tissue was frozen solid, and I had to press hard, but I was slowly making progress. I thought back to Rax’s office, when I had accepted the job.
Yep. Definitely didn’t see this coming.
I had to maneuver my way between the joints, but eventually, the knife cut clean through the thumb.
Glad that’s over.
I stood up, and looked into the hollow, sunken eye sockets of the person before me. “Thanks, buddy.”
I followed his face down to his neck, around which was a chain of some kind. I peered down the front of his atmo suit’s opening, and I could see the faint orange glow of a Pilot’s Federation ID.
Well, I’ve already taken this poor bastard’s thumb- swiping his ID can’t hurt none, either.
Gingerly, I felt around the mummy’s neck to try to lift the chain that had been frozen to it. Segment by segment, it broke free from the leathery, cold skin to which it had been adhered for- months? A year?
Then, I had to work my way a little into the flightsuit- my arms inches away from the corpse’s head- to free the rest. It wasn’t what I would call fun, but if I rushed it and his ID fell down into his atmo suit, there was no way I was straightening this guy out, taking off the suit, and fishing it out. I didn’t have the stomach for it, and Kyndi sure as hell didn’t have the time.
My effort were rewarded when I was able to crack the ID from the layer of frost gluing it to the corpse and hold it up, still dangling on the chain.
Dr. Jonathan MacEntire, Surveyor
Cannon Interstellar Research Group
Date of Birth- 08-05-3236
Status: MIA
I looked down at the body again.
So this guy was a doctor and a pilot? He wasn’t even that old.
I looked around at the antique controls and frosted, old-style ship construction.
Kyndi’s right. There’s something screwy going on here.
I made my way back to where Kyndi was working. She was halfway into the accessway, atmo-suited legs exposed. I tapped her on the thigh to get her attention. Instead of speaking, am open hand shot out.
Shrugging, I gave her the knife, severed thumb, and the ID. Her fingers closed around them, and the gloved hand disappeared back into the accessway.
Inside, I could hear her voice. “What the hell?”
I hunched down to peer inside the tunnel. “What is it?”
“This guy- he was with CIRG?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Well- that just adds another layer to this whole damn onion.”
There was a few more rounds of cursing coming from the accessway and-
The lights started to flicker on, and all around me, I could hear systems start to come online.
Holy shit. It worked.
Kyndi slid out. Extending my hand, I helped her up. “Well, let’s hope that did it. If we can find a way to recharge my air, great. If not- well, I ain’t as worried as I was.”
“Why is that?”
Kyndi walked over to a wall terminal and started going though the menus. “She’s coming back to life, Matt- at least in this section. First thing the ship’s going to prioritize is life support, and it looks like that’s working.”
She looked around. “Let’s hope that the damn heaters kick on, too.”
We made our way back to the storage closets that had been locked. With the power restored, they slid right open. One of them even had spare atmo suits, and oxygen canisters ready to go. Kyndi grabbed a few and started towards the crew quarters.
They weren't too bad now that I was trying to think of them as a place to sleep. The bunks were comfortable, and for now, that was plenty good enough. Yeah. This'll do nicely now that the power's back on.
Kyndi checked the readout on her wrist computer. “I had about ten minutes left.”
“Pretty close, considering.”
Under her suit, I could see her shrug as she threw away her old canister and plugged in the new one. It secured into place with a satisfying click.
“I’ve had closer.” She turned to me, smiling just a little. “Thanks, though. I mean it.”
I smiled and nodded. “My pleasure. So what now?”
Kyndi sat down on one of the crew bunks. “Now? Now we wait out the storm, and hope the ship warms up a little.”
Piled on the floor were the ship rations that she had dumped out in our previous haste to find anything of use. I tossed one over to her. “At least we won’t starve to death.”
She held it up and inspected it. “Still not expired. Go figure.”
Turning to the terminal in the crew quarters, she slid in the Pilot’s Fed ID into the slot. “I’m a little more curious about this. CIRG is one of the most prestigious, well-funded bunch of eggheads in the bubble- so I’m pretty damn curious why they would bother with this old jalopy. Maybe our friend John here can illuminate us.”
The terminal went through its bootup, and Kyndi had to bypass a few warnings that it couldn’t connect to the ship’s network- or any network, for that matter. Then, it found the doctor’s personal ID, and accessed his personal logs.
Kyndi smiled.“Jackpot.”
I pulled up a chair beside her, as the first log pulled up on the screen:
<Johnathan MacEntire, personal log, 04-08-3293>
<Well, I’ve been selected for this mission due to my unique qualifications as both a specialist in Xeno-archaeology and a ship’s pilot. The company bonus for a simple courier mission was curiously substantial, as well. I admit, I’ve never flown anything as large as an Anaconda before. A friend let me take out his personal Fer-de-Lance once- but never anything like this. These controls are ancient- how did pilots from yesteryear make sense of the sea of switches and button before them? I feel like a conductor at the head of an orchestra.
No matter. CIRG had to acquire this ship from some, well- irregular sources. It had to be something that predated the galactic registry, something untraceable in case the experiments went wrong. And we can’t be traced along the way, either- Empire, Fed- even some Alliance systems- all know how to scan for the artifact. Thus, my cargo bay was filled with purposefully-leaking containers of radioactive material. Excess radiation doesn’t really distort the signal, but it seems to at least have a masking effect. (sighs). I know I’ll be perfectly safe once I undergo the anti-radiation procedures, but it still gives me the creeps knowing that I’m living and working in such an environment.>
<04-15-3293>
The artifact seems to be bad luck when it comes to ship systems. I know, I know- a man of science ought not believe in luck. Yet here I am, on the third leg of my journey, and even the multiple redundant systems this old ship has are taking their turns at failing for no apparent reason.
Sometimes, it’s one of the thrusters. Then, the shields just die for no reason. Yesterday, the landing gear wouldn’t lower the first ten times we tried it. Life support on deck two mysteriously gave out for ten minutes. And it’s getting worse, with greater frequency. It terrifies me just to engage the FTL drive. I just hope I make it at this point.
<04-22-3293>
I’ve been reduced to piloting the ship from the auxiliary bridge. The main one is completely unusable. Displays kick on and off. Controls are unresponsive. Diagnostics insists that everything is fine, every time. Rubbish. It’s the artifact- I know it. It isn’t the ship- everything that could be replaced and updated prior to flight was. Even if the ship was running on her original parts, the failure rate wouldn’t be anything near what I’ve experienced. I’ve taken to wearing an atmo suit at all times, in case the life support gives out.
My final destination is to the LHS 3005 system, so that I can hand this bloody thing off. I’ll be glad to be rid of it, and the moment that courier bonus hits my account, I’ll be putting in for a much-needed vacation after this little road trip.
“That's the last one”, declared Kyndi.
I thought of the mummified figure, still in the auxiliary bridge command chair. “Looks like he never got that vacation.”
Kyndi nodded. “Never made it to Cartmill, either.”
I looked back at the artifact, sitting on the table in the crew quarters. “Doesn’t look like much, does it? You sure you want to haul that thing all the way back to Eravate?”
My partner glanced at it and sighed. “Not after reading this, I don’t. My ship starts acting funny, it’s your turn to carry it. Maybe we can play Hot Potato until we get there.”
I shook my head. “You know, I’m starting to think I ain’t getting paid enough for all this horseshit.”
Kyndi narrowed her eyes and smiled, in a way that I hadn’t quite seen before. “I know just what you mean.”
She ejected the Pilot’s ID and navigated the terminal menu a bit. ”According to this, we’ve got full atmo back on this deck, and it’s a nice 24 degrees Celsius in here.”
Smiling, Kyndi began to unseal her helmet and power down her atmo suit. Gingerly lifting it off her head, she took a deep breath and smiled at me.
“C’mon in, Matt- the air’s fine!”
It was. As disturbing as the thought of the life support just shutting down on us due to the mysterious effects of this artifact was, it felt really good to be out of the atmo suit. You always forget how heavy they are until they’re off.
Kyndi had shed hers, too, and was seated back at the terminal. “I’ve got external cameras, and, well- take a look.”
I glanced over at the monitor. The storm was still pummeling the side of the ship, with no signs of slowing. “It’s looking like we’re bedding down here tonight.”
Kyndi sighed. “I guess we are. But you’re sleeping there“- she pointed my the top bunk- “and I’m sleeping here!” she pointed to the bottom bunk. “Don’t get confused in the middle of the night, either, or my knife’ll saw something else right off!”
I held up my hands. “Ok, ok- gentleman’s honor.”
She looked at me skeptically. “No good. I’ve known too many ‘gentlemen’.”
“Then I swear as the guy who cut the thumb off of a damn corpse to save your ass!”
Kyndi scowled. “I guess that’ll do. Although I wish you’d done it to save the rest of me, too.”
I smiled and held out my hands. “Well, it’s an ass worth saving, if I do say so myself.”
My partner rolled her eyes and flipped off the terminal. “And here you almost went a whole afternoon without being a pig.”
We spent the rest of the evening- or whatever the hell time it was- munching on ration bars and speculating on what the hell CIRG was doing having their people moonlight as smugglers instead of locking them in a lab like normal. The facilities worked, and so did the showers. Kyndi even helped herself to a change of clothes from what was once a female crew member’s locker. She emerged wearing a set of long flannel plaid pajamas. I chuckled.
“You look like you’re about to chop some wood.”
She looked me up and down. “You look like you sleep alone a lot.”
I shook my head. “You wound me sometimes, you really do.”
One of her eyebrows shot up. “Whatever. It’s bedtime.” She walked over to the wall, and turned off the crew quarters light.
I climbed up into my bunk, and heard Kyndi below me settling into hers. The only illumination in the room was the glow from the Pilot’s ID and the door controls.
Well, I guess it could have turned out worse, huh?
I thought of Kyndi below me, still occasionally shifting position. As hard as I tried not to, I couldn’t help but picture what she must have looked like without those stupid pajamas. My mind only wandered from there.
I hadn’t been this bothered by a woman since I was sixteen. Even the first dock knocker after a celibate deployment cycle in the navy never had me riled up this way.
Go the hell to bed, Matt. She ain’t bothering with you. This is just a job to her.
I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but the first thing I felt was my covers being moved aside, and the ice-cold feeling of Kyndi’s feet sliding down my leg.
Then, I felt Kyndi’s petite frame nestle up against mine, her hair just below my face, her back against my stomach, and her ass pushed up against-
“Don’t get confused, Matt,” I heard her whisper icily. “I’m just here to stay warm. My knife is still where I can reach it.”
Right. “Anything you say, darlin’” I whispered back.
With that, I felt her take my arm and wrap it around her body. My fingers ended up being tucked against where her rib cage met, only inches away from the swell of her breasts. Her bottom was still pressed against, well-
And I’m supposed to be able to fall asleep like this?
I looked at the rise and fall of Kyndi's breathing, silhouetted against the meager light in the crew cabin. There wasnt enough room for me to roll over, and being pressed against her like this was causing my pulse to spike.
It’s going to be a long damn night.