The Star Pirate's Folly

Chapter 19: Home

"Montez, we got trouble," called Crane from the front.

Montez was there in a flash.

"Pirates?"

"Prob'ly. Too far out to tell. They ain't seen us."

"Let's keep it that way."

Littlefoot was a short-range supplier designed to dock with a central carrier. She'd been stripped down and modified for longer spaceflights away from the carrier, but they'd used most of the ship's power after their long voyage. They had no weapons but pistols, and any half-decent ship could easily outpace them. Their only tools for survival were Littlefoot's faint energy signature and its extended-range sensors—they could see the enemy well before the enemy saw them.

The map showed a large flashing sphere around the enemy ship—its sensor range. Montez felt her stomach twist into a cold steel knot. The other ship's long-range sensors were active, crawling constantly as they moved—pirates didn't need to hide, they were always on the hunt.

"Kill the power," she whispered.

"What? If they really are sniffin' around that leaves us helpless." Crane jabbed a finger at the display. The other ship was traveling perpendicular to them. Littlefoot stuck to the center of the asteroid belt, following its curve, and the other ship was headed across it, traveling toward the outer rim. "Look, they ain't even close. Just going across. We'll be fine."

Montez darted to her locker and ripped out her helmet. Crane guffawed when he saw her putting it on. He switched on their comm channel.

"Oh, come on, Montez, we're gonna be fine," he said in her comms.

"Gotta check the cargo," she said.

"For what?"

"Don't know. Call me paranoid."

Montez snapped her helmet in place, moved to the airlock, and smacked the button. The door slid aside and she stepped through. The cryo tube was about the size of a couch. Its smoky blue-green glass was encased in a round cobalt-colored frame. It took up most of the length of the airlock, and there was only room to squeeze by on one side.

Montez deactivated the gravity plate in the airlock. She grabbed the tube by the edges, guiding it carefully with the assistance of the gravity tethers to the center of the confined space. When she had it stationary she spun it on its back and stopped it again.

The base of the tube was flat, with a manual control panel recessed into the corner nearest her. She motioned for the grav tethers to hold the tube in place while she pried open the panel. Inside was a series of switches.

Next to each was a label etched into the metal, but some had been crudely taped over, apparently re-assigned—on one she read the scrawled block letters, "PWR." She fingered the switch but didn't move it from the ON position. No telling if that was even right.

"How we doing Crane?"

"Well, we ain't exactly in the clear yet, but they're staying course. You want my bet it's just a drone on patrol. One minute and we're good. I'm telling you, Montez—"

She muted his comms and shook her head. Her heart jumped to her throat, and she swallowed painfully. She brought up the map on a corner of her HUD and watched the other ship approach. It was getting closer and closer, but Littlefoot's tiny signature prevented them from being picked up.

Under orders, she'd nixed the standard deep inspection of cargo by the ship's computer to avoid triggering any response from the tube before getting it home. What worried her was the possibility that the cryo tube was equipped with some sort of distress beacon or auto-wave. Some models would auto-wave any nearby ship—under the right circumstances, something that could save a life. In this case, it threatened rather the opposite.