Star Road

  ~ * ~

  Star Road

  Matthew Costello &

  Rick Hautala

  No copyright 2014 by MadMaxAU eBooks

  ~ * ~

  PROLOGUE

  THE ROAD TO HELL

  ~ * ~

  1

  THE THALOS MINING COMPANY

  Captain Marie Rioux stood by a railing overlooking the massive hold of the mining ship Seropian. The cargo ship had been designed to do one thing and one thing only: to carry the rare ores found on distant, desolate planets back to an ever-hungry Earth and its colonies.

  Rioux watched as one of the mine’s ore ferries landed and dumped its supply of ore. Another small ferry ship floated outside, waiting to enter the airlock system, and still more were waiting below, on-planet, loaded and ready to link up with the cargo ship in geosynchronous orbit.

  All day long—though who the hell remembered how long a day was here—the mining ships traveled from planet to cargo ship and back to planet.

  Rioux had to wonder if this was what she had trained for all those years.

  The excitement of space travel?

  Certainly not here, sitting in the middle of nowhere, waiting until the cargo ship’s giant belly grew full, and then making the trip to the way station, to the Star Road, and finally home. Well, not “home.” A smelting plant on the Lunar Base Fourteen.

  But close enough to home to count.

  Over and over, this routine made her romantic notions about being a space captain seem ... absurd.

  I’m a damned truck driver, she thought.

  The tedium was matched by a constant urge to get the hell away from here, back to where there were green growing things and the normal days and nights of Earth.

  The small ore ferry below had finished dumping its load and started its return trip to the surface of Thalos.

  Moving along... Good.

  All Rioux could think was, Hurry. Fill me up so I can leave this Godforsaken place.

  Because if there was ever a place the God had forsaken, it was the dismal planet below.

  ~ * ~

  Sam Hatch looked up as another ferry moved away from the ore processors, engines blasting as it passed over the great grinding conveyors that brought the ore to the ferries.

  Each ferry carried tons of ore up to the cargo ship that circled like a hungry bird of prey above the small, red-stained planet called Thalos.

  The Seropian was up there, he knew. But damned if he could see the ship or even the stars through the clouds of red dust churned up by the mining operations.

  When that cargo ship was full, it would leave to be replaced with another.

  And another.

  He looked at the open wound of the mine itself. Huge trucks crawled back and forth over the rubble. The giant diggers, like ancient, lumbering dinosaurs, endlessly moving into caves and then down, below the surface, back to the deep shafts where teams of miners armed with explosives and tools hunted for new veins of minerals.

  Nonstop.

  The mining operation was an endless machine.

  So far, this planet, whose home star wasn’t even visible from Earth, appeared to be rich with the rare ores and heavy metals that could be used to make everything from the World Council’s computers to the good citizens’ sex toys.

  Giant lights covered the area, so there was no visible difference between the broiling days and the frigid nights. And the red dust shot constantly into the air as if the planet itself were wounded ... a bleeding cloud created by the miners’ endless digging

  Hatch was satisfied.

  All was running smoothly. Unlike the miners—whose contracts were tied to how long they worked—his depended on meeting his weekly quota.

  The faster he got the ore, the sooner he would get to leave this hellhole.

  Then he’d get six months of R&R.

  On a beach somewhere. Palm trees. Blue water. Drinking, ogling women in and out of bikinis, and forgetting about this ugly rock, the grinding noises, the dull-eyed miners, and the constant pressure to transport more and more ore.

  Everyone appeared to be working as fast as they could. The machines mindless efficiency seemed matched by that of the men. All of them men and machines—covered with the red stain of the planet.

  But could he really tell?

  Are the loads full?

  Do the workers stop to bullshit, eating up precious minutes?

  The whole operation of filling the cargo ship just couldn’t go damn fast enough for Hatch.

  He turned away and walked over to the miners’ camp to have a few shots. And maybe see if any of the miners decided to go buggy tonight. Because some did go buggy. For some, it wasn’t a question of if... but when.

  ~ * ~

  Hatch took the shot glass and downed the dark rum in a gulp.

  The woman behind the bar hadn’t been picked for her beauty. But he supposed that a patron with enough booze would hit on her, drunk and wearing thick enough beer goggles to make him see double.

  Right.

  Look, she has a twin sister.

  Before that patron keeled over and had to be hauled back to the miners’ quarters and tossed into a narrow cot, where the noise of the miners’ snoring was like a rocket engine’s roar.

  “Another,” Hatch said, slamming his empty shot glass onto the counter.

  “Don’t dent the wood,” the bartender said as she refilled him.

  And as he took the second drink, Hatch looked around the bar.

  Nice and quiet. Off-duty miners sitting at tables, talking about the day, making jokes.

  This drill bit broke ... that grinder shattered ... this guy fucked up planting the explosives and almost blew his team to hell.

  Others indulged in the biggest sin of all—talking about home.

  Earth.

  Holidays. Kids. Wives. Food.

  Sex.

  Now that kind of talk would definitely turn you buggy, Hatch thought.

  ~ * ~

  Though it was in his mind 24/7, too. Even here, on this planet with its fifty-six-hour rotation, everyone operated on Standard Earth Time and thought about their home planet constantly.

  Good thing the operation here was outfitted with an infirmary stocked with enough class-A drugs to sedate a city. No one could run this job without that safety net, even though the booze was usually enough to keep things in check.

  He liked having a belt or two, and then standing there with his handguns at his side, wearing his weapons like some goddamned sheriff. It had worked in Dodge and Tucson in the 1800s. Maybe it would work here.

  The only other guns were in the hands of the security guards who were posted at key spots with pulse weapons. You certainly wouldn’t want any of these miners running around with guns.

  The barroom door opened, and Parker—his assistant who watched the tonnage, who really knew how much ore was being moved—came in.

  He scanned the room for Hatch, caught his eye, and then hurried over.

  Before he could speak, Hatch did.

  “Parker. I’m off-duty. Whatever the hell it is—”

  “We got a jam up on the ship, Mr. Hatch.” Parker’s eyes looked frantic. “Last ferry got engine trouble.”

  “Shit,” Hatch said.

  That would lead to a line of ferries burning fuel, waiting to get into the Seropian’s hold.

  Eating time, screwing the day’s quota. Making me fucking lose money.

  “Great. Terrific. What are they—”

  “Captain Rioux has her team working on it. Shouldn’t be too long. But you said—”

  “I know what I said. I want to know about any delays.”

  Before Parker
could reply, Hatch turned away and nodded at the bartender—a tilt of the head signaling he wanted another hit.

  A quick pour from the bartender, and he tossed the rum down, letting it burn his tongue and throat.

  “You did your duty. Now get back to it.”

  It took Parker a few seconds to realize that he was being told to go.

  And Hatch went back to what he thought would be his last drink of the day before crawling back to his private quarters to shower and sleep and dream about any damn place other than here.

  ~ * ~

  Rioux paced the bridge of the Seropian.

  The dead ore ferry still blocked the entry way for the line of others waiting outside.

  How long was this holdup going to be?

  She had a good engineering team. They’d find the problem and get things moving again.

  But it would take time.

  She could imagine that down below, Hatch was not pleased at all.

  Well, too bad, she thought.

  She looked at the bridge crew, all young ... raw, inexperienced. Most of them were only on their second or third tour. Still excited at being in deep space.

  The reality of what this really was hadn’t sunk in yet.

  The utter boredom.

  She checked the time and decided her workday was over. The ore ship would be repaired. Eventually. Nothing much to do. Watching and pacing the bridge wasn’t going to make them work any faster.

  But then, something held her there.

  Maybe just the need for one last look before she left for the night.

  The sounds of the bridge—the beeps and pings mixed with bursts of static from solar flares of the system’s star—all turned into meaningless background chatter. One monitor displayed the immobile ferry blocking the cargo bay while others showed the red planet below, the stars outside in strange constellations, and the distant, shimmering strand of the Star Road.

  Other screens filled with endless streams of ship’s data. Heating, cooling, oxygen, and gravity levels.

  All good. All okay.

  Might as well turn in, she thought.

  Fahir, her communications officer, suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence.

  “Captain. I’m picking up something.”

  Rioux wheeled around to face him.

  “Something, Lieutenant?”

  “Signal’s coming in. Can’t see how many yet. They’re masking their ID.”

  “Masking?”

  “I’m trying to raise them, but they’re not responding.”

  Rioux turned to the navigation station. Miller, a woman half Rioux’s age, looked up, her inexperience reflected in her eyes.

  “Miller, can you plot their course?”

  The navigation officer nodded, already working on it.

  “Got it, Captain,” she said. “They’re vectoring right toward us. Five vessels.”

  Then Fahir turned to her and said the one word that crystallized everyone’s biggest fear these days.

  “Runners?”

  Can’t be, Rioux thought.

  Not this far in-system.

  And not when their goddamn leader is on trial on Earth.

  The Runners are finished. That’s what people say.

  “Runners aren’t going to raid a mining operation,” Rioux said.

  She tried to project calm even though she didn’t know what the hell was going on. With that ore ship crippled in the bay, they were an easy target.

  “Nearest Road portal is ... how far?”

  “Four AUs away, Captain,” Miller said.

  Rioux shook her head. “Why the hell would anyone come this far in-system? They can’t be Runners.”

  But that forced the question: Then ... who are they?

  One monitor tracked the five ships, coming in quickly, heading toward the Seropian. Until, close enough, the first images appeared on-screen.

  Rioux moved closer to the monitor.

  And saw: a gunship and four smaller raider escorts.

  She thought: Why all that goddamn firepower? Heading here?

  And then—

  They can only be Runners.

  Rioux turned to face the crew on the bridge. From this point on, everyone would hear her voice, loud and clear. She hit a button on the security display, and the quiet of the bridge was shattered by the blaring of a Klaxon. Emergency lights flashed on scores of consoles.

  Battle stations,” she said. “All hands to battle stations. Prepare for—”

  She shook her head.

  Battle stations?

  Stalled in space with the open cargo hold, the ship was unable to take defensive maneuvers. All that was left was for the Seropian to take the first hit, while everyone waited to feel the shattering vibrations of that first blast.

  ~ * ~

  2

  THE RUNNERS

  Like everyone else in the bar, Hatch saw the brilliant flash of the explosions outside.

  His first thought: Something’s gone wrong in one of the mine shafts.

  A goddamned explosion, another screwup that would set the timetable back days, if not weeks.

  Miners scrambled to the windows of the bar and looked out. Several ran outside. Hatch saw them pointing to the sky, but he still could see nothing through the haze of red dust.

  His mind raced, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

  He pushed his way past them and went outside.

  A quick look at the mine operation. Miners had stopped and now stared up at the sky, waiting for more lights, more flashes.

  Then, through the haze above, he could barely discern the massive cargo ship.

  It appeared to be—shit!—exploding.

  And all around it... Were those fragments of the cargo ships or smaller vessels burning up on reentry?

  His earpiece started to vibrate. He fished it from his pocket and stuck it into his ear.

  “What is it?”

  “S-something’s wrong with the cargo ship, sir.” It was Parker. “They’ve gone to—”

  But another, even bigger flash cut off Parker’s words.

  Unnecessary words, since Hatch could look up.

  Even through the red haze, he could watch it all.

  And think: We are so fucked.

  ~ * ~

  Rioux started firing off orders, following protocol for the endlessly drilled response to a major attack.

  Everything moved with a surreal franticness.

  She was still trying to believe this was really happening.

  “Ready emergency evac stations. Power up the pulse cannons. All stations fire at will. Execute evasive maneuvers …”

  Commands flew from her, and her officers shouted into microphones, hit buttons, looked at computer screens and data readouts.

  In the panic, their faces masks of inexperience and fear.

  The screens told the whole story. Those monitoring conditions outside the ship showed the Runners’ ships buzzing around like gnats, firing at the Seropian mercilessly. As they fired, a rapid series of explosions made the giant ship shudder and rock with a slow, lumbering roll.

  Are we even firing back? Rioux wondered.

  Were any of those goddamned explosions from any of the Seropian’s pulse cannons? They were good weapons—powerful and accurate.

  But against this onslaught?

  With this inexperienced crew?

  Then she had the next, unforgivable thought.

  I have to surrender. Now. While most of our systems are still running. While we’re still mostly alive.

  “Fahir. See if you can raise them.”

  But Rioux knew that the ships outside had ignored all attempts at communication.

  Why would they talk now?

  They were minutes away from having the cargo ship dead in orbit.