One Roll of the Dice (Chapter 1)

One Roll of The Dice

By Derek Carroll

Chapter One

Event Horizon lurched drunkenly to port, Geiger’s head smacked into the bulkhead and he shook it to clear the sparks dancing in front of his eyes. This was not good, not good at all. Outside the plasma bolts slammed into the shields with increasing ferocity, followed by the electronic hiss as the energy dissipated across the grid, at least the shields seemed to be holding, for now but a quick glance at the rear monitor revealed the Mandelay veering away, as the Bayamon drifted into view and lined up to attack. Shit, it looked like it was packing PSG’s and if they opened up while he was in range it would be game over.

Geiger threw himself over to starboard, hauling the control column with both hands, willing the ship into a tighter turn, he started jinking, trying every evasive manoeuvre he knew, but each time, any distance gained, would be lost as the Bayamon slipped back in on his tail and closed the gap between them. Without pausing to consider the consequences, Geiger slammed on the reverse thrusters and held his breath as the Bayamon screamed past it’s lower nacelle’s passing inches above the cockpit.

He switched on the afterburner and slammed back into the seat, thanking the fates he had purchased the upgrade before he got into the card game on the Pirate Station. Up ahead the nebula beckoned, the shadowy outlines of massive asteroids drifting in and out of view. With some luck, he’d be able to lose them in here and as long as he didn’t run into a Khaak Cluster there was a chance, a small chance he might live to enjoy the proceeds from his winnings, tucked safely in the cargo hold was 20 units of weed he’d won from the Bayamon pilot, now desperately trying to close the gap behind him.

It was going to be close, damn close. The afterburners had shut down and the pirates would be upon him before he could use them again. The Mandelay was closing fast, already firing, although it’s shots were going wide, too wide to be accidental. The plasma bolts slammed into a medium-sized Asteroid dead ahead knocking off several large chunks that spun crazily into Geiger’s path. Brace for impact, klaxons went off, warning strobes kicked on, the ship stopped dead and screamed while Geiger was thrown violently forward against his harness, forcing the air from his lungs.

“Shields 40%…….Strafe Drive damaged….” Droned the computer. Sparks flew from the damaged panel as current arced across the controls shorting out readouts. Smoke drifted through the cabin. Consciousness returned, as did the remorseless thud of PAC fire striking the grid. “Shields 20%…….Ecliptic Projector Destroyed”. Geiger tried to clear his head, ignore the pain in his side, and assess the damage to the ship all at once. It felt like he’d dinged a couple of ribs but that was the least of his worries right now. “Shields Critical…..Hull 86%”. He finally got it moving again, although something was wrong, no healthy ship should make sounds like this one was making. He targeted the Mandelay and launched a couple of Mosquito’s to keep it busy and moved deeper into the nebula.

The Clouds closed in around him, comforting, yet claustrophobic at the same time. The pirates couldn’t see him but he couldn’t see them either. Up ahead a massive asteroid appeared, pock marked and scarred from millennia of collisions, a deep crater which looked large enough to hide in, appeared as the rock slowly rotated in front of him. Targeting a smaller asteroid nearby, Geiger launched the last of the mosquitoes and jettisoned the emergency flotsam pack, a collection of junk, spare parts and a container of whiskey. Enough to convince his pursuers? Maybe, if lady luck smiled on him twice this tazura. As the missiles exploded against the asteroid, he nursed the Event Horizon into the darkness to wait and see if this gamble would pay off.

The asteroid was old, and battered, a target for countless rocks and assorted space debris for aeons. Whatever had made this crater had punched into a fracture that seemed to lead right to the core and was large enough for Event Horizon to fly carefully into. He didn’t dare using the landing lights for fear of attracting attention, so he relied on the red and green nav beacons and instruments to fly through the twisting tunnel.

After a few mizura’s the tunnel widened into a cavern, and he swung the ship around shutting down the engines. The damage assessment wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, ok so the strafe drive, and ecliptic projector were fried but he could live without them, the 14% damage to the hull concerned him more. At 135.9 m/s the Falcon was never a fast ship, despite what the dealer in Seizewell said. With the hull damage, he’d be lucky to get 105 m/s out of it and with the afterburner maybe 290. On top of that he was low on E-Cells and the repairs to the ship were going to cripple his finances. There was nothing else for it, the plan to buy a jumpdrive in CBSW would have to go on hold. With those bastards looking for him and the increased Khaak activity in the sector recently, it was too dangerous to continue. His only option was to make a run for the north gate and once he got to Home of Light, he could crawl safely back to Argon Prime for repairs.

Then an idea struck him, maybe he should drop in on Chris on the way, he would help out, maybe throw some work his way. Nothing big or risky, a few local runs would go a long way to getting Event Horizon fixed and leave enough to maybe buy some stock. Like Geiger, Christoph Behringer was a vet. They’d served together with the Wolves, aka 15th Strike Squadron serving off the Argon Carrier Aggamemmnon. They’d been through some times together, with Chris on his wing, they’d fought they’re way through Omicron Lyrae, Black Hole Sun and right into 472, before faceless decision makers who never got they’re hands dirty managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and ordered the retreat which shamed the memory of those who’d sacrificed so much.

While the Xenon, replaced their losses and recalculated their strategy, the Argon Navy, in their wisdom, de-commissioned the Squadron, and left it’s heroes to readjust and somehow fit into a society they had little or no knowledge of. A few drank themselves to death, couple more swallowed their laser pistols, Geiger used his muster pay to buy a beat-up disco and started trading and Chris, well Chris became the proud owner of “Louies”, a run down watering-hole, on the docking level of TerraCorp HQ in Home of Light. Now the DL was not the kind of place the bright lights of headquarters society hung out and even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t hang out in Louie’s. No, Louie’s clientele were more transient in nature, Ore haulers docked for a few hours r & r, bounty hunters looking for a mark or in to check the BBS for work, assassins, drug dealers, pimps and whores. Eventually they all showed up at Louies, where they could get a drink, information and almost anything they wanted without any questions being asked.

Chris worked the bar of his little empire, offering an ear to anyone who needed one and advice to anyone who asked. Geiger smiled, it would be good to hook up with Chris again, it had been too long, there was a lot of catching up to do. He struggled into his suit before opening the hold and went EV to manhandle the weed containers into a corner of the cavern, he wasn’t going to risk bringing then to AP. They’d be safe here and he’d come back for them when the repairs were done. Once he was back onboard, he began the checklist, preparing Event Horizon for departure…………

………………Outside, the Mandelay cruised slowly around the asteroid and spotted the debris field. Alert to the possibility of an ambush, he checked all around for anything suspicious before targeting the whiskey container and opening his cargo-bay doors to bring it aboard, he then commed his partner to report that Geiger was now a smear on the side of a rock. The Bayamon pilot responded,
“Hey Uri, you sure it’s him? What about my weed, did any of it survive”
“No, Tselmo, nothing but a crater and some debris, he must have hit pretty hard, probably a jammed thruster”
The Bayamon pilot cursed fluently in 3 different languages,
“Ok, lets go, a Merc’s just jumped in through the North gate, maybe this tazura won’t be a complete loss after all”
“ Affirmative, I’m just goi………..”
“Repeat your last message, I didn’t get the last part”

There was no response, just static, “Damn asteroids”, so much ore and minerals, played havoc with comms systems at this range. He swung the Bayamon around and headed into the nebula. He flew with great caution, he would be right on top of Uri’s Mandelay before he saw him. As the darkness swallowed his ship he shivered, the outside seemed to close in around him. As he rounded an asteroid he shut down his thrusters and tried to make sense of the scanner readings but the interference was too strong, just a jumble of static and ghost imaging.

Something bumped gently against the canopy. He looked up and saw his partner Uri, rotating slowly a few meters in front of him, still strapped into his seat, a cloud of blood droplets orbiting around where his head used to be. Instinctively, he reached for the thruster control but the angry buzzing and purple glow of a dozen Kyon emitters erupted around him and before he could open his mouth to scream his ship imploded.

As he approached the tunnel exit, Geiger shifted the thruster control to neutral, he had no idea what was waiting for him out there and didn’t want to charge out into an ambush. He glanced at his scanner, but noise and interference made it next to useless. He reached out to move the control forward but as he did so a pyramid shaped shadow passed 50 metres in front of him. He froze as the enemy M3 and it’s attendant wing of M5’s passed, like a shoal of predatory fish and disappeared into the swirling clouds. After a while Geiger realised he was still holding his breath and released it hissing through his teeth.

That had been so close, if they had been a couple of stazuras later, he would have flown right out into them. Indecision gripped him, should he stay or should he go. The old fighter pilot instinct re-instated itself and he slammed the thrusters to max, his engines roared, illuminating the veins of ore running through the asteroid. As soon as he cleared the rock, he turned the Falcon in the direction of the north Gate and hit the afterburner. This was no time for caution, if this was his tazura to die then so be it, bring it on, he’d had enough of hiding.

The sudden onset of gravity forced him back into his seat as the clouds whipped past him, thrust from his engines tearing them to shreds, leaving them swirling in crazed spirals behind the ship. His eyes flicked to the readouts 294.6m/s, at this speed he have no chance to avoid an asteroid if one was in his path. For an instant he thought he glimpsed a Khaak ship just off to port but no sooner had it registered then it was gone, like a ghost lost in the mist. Sweat ran into his eyes, he tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. Without even realising he was doing it he mouthed a prayer to the ancient Goner gods, yeah so most people believed the Goners were mad, but what was the saying “There’s no unbelievers in an asteroid field”.

Event Horizon was shaking violently as it entered a debris field, the remnants of a catastrophic collision. Rocks, some the size of small ships peppered the shield grid causing the computer to intone “Shields 60% …..”. ….”Shields 50%….”. The vibration increased in intensity and just as it reached the point where he was sure the ship was going to shake itself to pieces, he was clear, the clouds parted and starlight once again filled the cockpit. “The Gate, where’s the damn Gate”, there it was off to starboard. Geiger hauled on the control column and turned the ship towards it.

In the rear monitor the nebula seemed to erupt in multiple places as the Khaak ships punched through the clouds and swung as one, in his direction. Purple beams lit the space behind the Falcon, sweeping and reaching towards him, like the antenna of insects. He tore his eyes away from the Gate which was now filling his forward view and glanced at the afterburner readout 10 mizuras….9 mizuras…..8.

An explosion rocked the ship as a Kyon beam glanced off one of his engines ….”Shields Critical” The starboard thrust readout plummeted, the sudden shutdown causing a regulator to disintegrate, parts smashing through the nacelle plating as the trail of debris arced away from the ship. The shuddering increased as torque from the port engine tried to force the ship into a circular trajectory. Geiger leaned his entire weight against the column to keep the ship centred on the fast approaching Gate 4 mizuras….3 mizuras…2, then without warning and with the gentlest of tugs the Gate reached out and he was in the warp field……safe….for now.

Home of Light, what a wonderful sight. Geiger smiled to himself as the Gates speed control disengaged and he pushed the throttle forward. His top speed was now hovering around 58m/s and he wanted to move away from the main shipping lanes as quickly as possible, in case a TL decided to jump in behind him. After all he’d just been through, surely fate had better plans for him then to end up as an inconspicuous stain on the hull of a Hercules but he was taking no chances.

He glanced at the rear monitor. So far all reported encounters with the Khaak, suggested that for reasons unknown, they did not pursue ships through gates, in itself that should have been comforting, if it wasn’t for the fact that most ships who ran into the Khaak, didn’t survive to make a report.

A Manta glided past, Geiger tried to ignore, the laughing faces of the children looking at him through the view ports. It was a dream to have a Manta of his own one day and watch the credits roll in from those “Tour of a Lifetime” jobs he seemed to see on every other BBS. Bringing up the sector map, he targeted TerraCorp Hq, at 160km distance it was gonna take a while to get there so he tried to relax and enjoy the company of having shipping passing to and fro around him as well as the knowledge that the local sector patrol, 2 Argon Centaurs were now in position between him and the Gate behind.

After what seemed like an age, he came within comm distance of the station, he even managed to smile at the docking controllers post scan humour when he suggested that Geiger couldn’t dock cos they didn’t have five or six docking bays available for him park his ship. The relief that flooded through him when the docking lights turned green and the outer doors slid open was immense. He wasn’t sure, as he glided into the docking tunnel, what was holding his ship together but he was sure it wasn’t much. For the third time, this tazura he found himself holding his breath as Event Horizon reached her berth and the maintenance droids hooked the ship up the stations computer network.

As anyone who has ever worked the docking level of a station will tell you, it is the one place where real honest work is done. A place inhabited by those with the grime of honest toil beneath their fingernails…or claws, depending on the species. Of course, this is a load of Argnu shit, people here will screw you or stick a shiv in your back as quick as anyone else, but it sounds good to the unwary and they don’t last long enough to figure that out for themselves.

As Geiger stood at the access tunnel entrance and looked up and down the D/L’s main thoroughfare the first thing that struck him was the smell, a potent mix of oil, grease, ore, sweat and whiskey. The raw ingredients of life for those not fortunate enough to live in the levels above.

A voice spoke beside him ”Ahh Argon, perhapsssss we can do businessss together, yesss”
Geiger shook his head, “Sorry, I ain’t buying and right now I’ve nothing to sell”
The Teladi nodded sympathetically “May profitssss soon find you Argon” as she shuffled away. Despite, the rundown and disreputable nature of the docking level, it was still a busy commercial area and numerous shops vied for space and the attention of passersby. Geiger smiled, ”…even lowlifes like us need to consume”, he thought as he looked through the window of a sex shop, selling a huge array of gadgets to suit a wide range of anatomies, all guaranteed to take a space weary pilots mind off his journey for a while.

He stopped at a stand and ordered a Cahoona burger, while he was waiting for his food a cry rang out followed by the sound of glass breaking, the crowd ahead parted as two Split warriors swaggered through, their hands resting belligerently on the stocks of their hand weapons. They were Rhonker according to the badges on their bandoliers. Geiger stifled a smile, a couple of Jazuras ago he briefly merc’d for the Family Rhonkar during the Thynn’s Abyss Border Conflict with the Xenon. He’d learned a thing or two about the Split then. Putting it as diplomatically as possible, suffice to say it was no coincidence, the old saying that thrust controls on Split fighters had 16 reverse settings and only one forward, just in case they were attacked from behind.

He continued walking along the thoroughfare at a leisurely pace relishing the experience of being on his feet after spending so long strapped into the seat of his ship. He wondered how the great and good were getting on in the lofty heights above, on the levels accessed via the luxury turbo lifts which only open to those with Nividium credit cards.

Something moved fast into his peripheral vision and he was almost knocked off his feet as a young Argon man came rushing out of a shop, followed by a furious Paranid shopkeeper. Out of nowhere two TerraCorp Security guards appeared and grabbed the kid. One of them stepped in front of the irate Paranid, who looked like he was ready to kill. “He has a DNA scanner, he stole from my establishment”
“Ok, ok”, said the cop, “Calm down”, he nodded to his partner who expertly frisked the youngster, pulling the stolen scanner from his pocket.

“Busted”, said the cop, “you wanna press charges”. The shopkeeper shook his head, “He’s not worth my time”, he muttered, “I’ve got my goods back, but if I see him near my shop again, I’ll tear him three arseholes, thieving Argon primate”. The kid looked sullenly at the cops, “I needed the scanner to try and find my sister Suzie, she missing somewhere on the station.” The cop shook his head, man, had he heard that story before.
“Beat it kid, count yourself lucky you’re not on your way to Slam right now”.

Geiger moved on, up ahead he saw the flashing sign for Louie’s, Bar and Grill and quickened his pace. As he stepped inside he paused to let his eyes adjust to the smoke filled gloom, the pungent smell of weed wafted through the place, Chris must be well in with the cops or this place would have been shut down long ago. As he got used to the lighting Geiger saw another old comrade from the squadron working behind the bar. Arturo “Rivets” Spinoza, so named for the robotic arm and leg he earned after being shot down during an atmospheric raid on the planet Chryse, in 347. Known as Saa-Russ by the Boron), Chryse was 90% water and home to a Xenon installation, the Argon brass considered so important, they sacrificed 5 fighter squadrons and 2 destroyers trying to take it out. A lot of good people rest on the ocean floor of Chryse, and Rivets was damn lucky not to be one of them.

Geiger looked around the rest of the bar. It was pretty quiet, a couple of whores in the corner taking a break, A drunk in a booth trying to convince a Teladi to sleep with him, damn he had to be drunk. He walked to the bar and grabbed a stool, “Hey Rivets, gimme a shot of fuel on the rocks will ya”. The Bartender squinted at him in disbelief, “Sal…..Salazer Geiger, you old Argnu-shagger. I don’t believe it. How are you pal?”
“Been a bit better, been a lot worse, how about you, Arturo, how you doing”
Spinoza, spread his arms expansively,
“Hey, I’m still breathing and at least my dick is real”
Geiger smiled, Rivets fancied himself as a ladies man, back in the day. Some things never changed.
Spinoza, laughed and shook his head in amazement,
“Man, I can’t believe you, just showing up out of nowhere, like this Sally, Chris is gonna go wild when he gets back”
Geiger nodded ruefully,
“He’s not on station, huh? Where’s he at?”.
Some of the sparkle left Spinoza’s eyes,
“He had some business, in Herron’s Neb, was due back 3 stazura’s ago. I hope nothings wrong”

Geiger was sure he detected more then the usual degree of concern in Spinoza’s voice, “What’s going on, Arturo, what kind if business is Chris involved in….Drugs?…..Booze?”. Spinoza shook his head, “I wish it was that simple Sal”, he looked uncomfortable, “shit, Chris will go nova when he finds out I’ve been talking about it”. Geiger leaned forward and pointed to the squadron tattoo on his left arm, “Chris has one of these, just like you and me Arturo, we’ve all saved each others lives more times than we care to mention over the years and if Chris has gotten into something that has you this worried for his safety, then he’d better deal with it, cos I’d expect him to tell you if I was in trouble………so…..what gives?”.

Spinoza, sparked and took a deep hit on a joint before passing it to Geiger and clearing his throat to speak,
“Three Tazura’s ago, this guy comes in to the bar, halfway through uptime, the place was almost empty so it struck me as kind of unusual. Anyways he orders a soft one and sits in the corner for the next stazura, nursing his drink, watching the door. By the time Chris showed up for the downtime shift, I was convinced this guy was a contract killer waiting for his mark, so I mentioned it to Chris and he looks over and his face goes white, then real quiet like, he asks me to cover for him for a while. I said sure and asks him what’s up but he says its nothing, he’s just got some business to attend to and over he goes and talks with this stranger for…I don’t know maybe half a stazura. Finally the stranger gets up and leaves and Chris just comes to the bar and tells me to go home and get some rest. I could tell there was something wrong, you know Chris, wears his heart on his sleeve. Well not this time Sal, this time he’s shut down real tight, tells me it’s nothing to worry about. Next tazura, when I get here….there’s a note saying he has business in Herron’s Neb and that he’ll be back in 3 –4 tazura’s”.

Spinoza took another hit off the joint, “You know Sal, I’ve been thinking about that stranger ever since. At the time I was convinced he was an assassin or some kind of tough guy civilian but the more I think about it, the more sure I am. He had Shadow written all over him”.

Geiger felt as though his jaw had become unhinged and was about to hit the table. The Shadow Units were the most secret and elusive of the already paranoiac Military Intelligence wing of the Federal Argon Navy. A Black Ops Unit which existed more in legend and rumour than in reality. Their exploits always related as having been witnessed by someone’s, best friend’s, third cousin.

Like most people, the members of Wolf Squadron didn’t really believe they existed at all, until the tazura they were ordered to the Wastelands and landed on ASD-538. The briefing said it was a scientific colony, a hollowed out asteroid served as their home and base of operations. Contact had been lost for 20 tazura’s and had not been re-established. Wolf Squadron was ordered in to offer whatever assistance was required.

Geiger stared bitterly at his drink, “Whatever assistance”, he thought, “the only assistance those poor bastards required was a burial detail”. Eleven hundred and thirty seven men, women and children lay dead in the passages and caves of asteroid ASD-538, even the scientists, god-damned pets had been slaughtered, in the coldest most clinical act of brutality, Geiger and his men had ever witnessed. The perps had been very careful, even the stray weapon blasts had been treated in a way that made them unidentifiable. But someone had fucked-up, deep inside the asteroid there was a passage where probably the last group of scientists had tried to find refuge. High up on a gangway a solitary securicam had remained un-noticed by the killers, and it recorded for posterity the final moments of the scientists lives as several masked men, wearing Argon military uniforms murdered 25 unarmed Argon civilians as they begged for mercy.

The camera even managed to get a close-up of an officer delivering the coup-de-grace to a woman who had survived the initial barrage of laser fire. Although he was masked, the footage showed the unit insignia on his sleeve. A stylised backlit doorway, with a crooked shadow protruding beneath.

Geiger’s C.O. Colonel Petrie Vandoren, destroyed the recording, with a warning to his men that if any of them spoke of this ever, both they and their families would likely meet the same fate. To this tazura, Geiger still had night terrors about the mission to ASD-538 and lying in his bunk, while cold sweat dried on his skin, often wondered what act or crime the scientist’s could have committed that would warrant such a response. The answer would probably never be known, perhaps they had uncovered a secret too dangerous for anyone to know, maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the dark power games played by the faceless, a pawn or in this case 1137 pawns were expendable. Someone once said, “A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths a statistic”. Geiger shook his head and slapped Spinoza on the shoulder, “Don’t worry Arturo, we’ll get him back safely”, hoping to hell, he sounded more confident than he felt.