Totaled

Totaled: Part 8

It was the strangest debriefing he'd ever had. Officers interviewed him in the med bay of whatever base they'd brought him to. They didn't seem as interested in asking questions as in explaining to him what had happened. Drone attack by a rogue mercenary cell, inner-worlds. No military directly responsible. Cell was being hunted down, would be held accountable, blah blah blah. His mind wasn't as nimble as it had once been, but he recognized political mumbo jumbo when he heard it. And he knew the perils of letting on. So he nodded and smiled and thanked each one of them for coming to his aid.

They said they'd found the hopper drifting out toward open space, leaving behind a few scattered pieces of a starship. Lucky for him, the comp on one of the local freighters had been on the fritz and ran a scan too wide by a factor of ten. The freighter had scooped them up, brought them to this Kuiper-friendly base, and alerted the authorities. So here they were. Any questions, Sir?

No, thank you.

He was being retired with honors, sent back to his family hab on Pluto. He couldn't complain. At least his career was ending with a battle instead of a bottle. Caspar was being promoted—Lieutenant Caspar now—and transferred to a more active charge, the Starship Fairfax. So they hoped to keep him quiet with a fat pension, and keep her distracted with building a career.

Fine. Only something didn't sit right.

"Congratulations, gunner." She opened her eyes at his voice. She was sitting in the corner, punching buttons on a new device. He was still stretched out on a med bed. Had they been keeping him sedated?"

"Thank you, Sir. You too. That's quite the souvenir."

His arm was covered in bandages.

She stood and came to his side. "I told them not to make it pretty."

He snorted and nodded. "Good thinking blowing her up, Caspar. Fairfax is a fine ship, and Harris a good Captain. You might just make something of yourself. If you can manage not to blow up the Fairfax. So consider carefully what you do with what you've seen these past few days."

"Sir?"

He beckoned her forward, and she leaned in.

"Do you remember ever seeing Marx? Since we left port?"

"No, Sir. But the log on the pod—"

"Logs can be fixed. And the comp was going haywire long before the drones appeared. Seeing ships. Finding UPs. And we had it checked just before we left Pluto."

Her eyes widened and she pulled back. "Sir, you think it was an inside—"

"I'm feeling fine, thank you!" he said loudly. Meeting her eyes, he nodded subtly.

He was discharged in a week—apparently the medics had been more concerned for any lingering effects from the poisonous gas than for his arm—and sent home on a charter. On Pluto he met with and was debriefed once more by a mid-ranking commander. It was more of the same. Lots of assurances, lots of apologies. No real answers. No real questions.

Home was a farm hab. He tinkered with the idea of resting on the pension, sending for a freightload of scotch and spending the rest of his days with his ankles crossed in front of the fire.

Instead, he went out under the dome and worked the soil.

--THE END--

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading 'Totaled!' This is a prequel story to my forthcoming series, Starship Fairfax, which can be found on Amazon (Book 1, 'The Lunar Gambit,' is live on Amazon, and Book 2 comes out September 2017!).

If you enjoyed what you read, please consider leaving me a review on Amazon, Nook, Smashwords, Goodreads, or any blog or other service you frequent. I really appreciate it!

You can find me at my own blog, , and on Twitter (@cantankerousben). Thanks so much!