Carson Mach 1: The Atlantis Ship (15 page)

The feronians nodded at the same time. The shorter one of the two, with nervous hands, looked up at Mach. “I’ll need to value your ship for a part exchange,” he said, consulting an oversized smart-screen attached to the arm of his exo.
 

“My crew will show you around,” Mach said and held his arm toward the cockpit.
 

Adira was awake and waited with the two JPs. She knew what to do. The feronian clunked up the ramp, its suit gently humming, and edged past Mach.
 

Mach received a strong waft of rotting cabbage and crinkled his nose.
 

That was their natural smell, but it always took some getting used to.
 

The taller, female feronian smiled and bowed her head. “I’m Harn. Follow me and I’ll show you what we have to trade.”

“I’m Mach. That’s Sanchez and Babcock.”

Babcock cleared his throat. “And this is Squid.”

A warm breeze blew across the landing zone, providing little relief from the thick humid air, as Harn led them across it. The sun beat down directly overhead. A bead of sweat trickled along Mach’s back.
 

Metal crashed together in the distance. Two dirty white rectangular machines, with pairs of folding mechanical arms, towered over the walls of a scrapyard and carried around mangled pieces of wreckage.
 

“What kind of ship are you looking for?” Harn said.
 

Mach quickened his pace and walked alongside her. “Heavily armed and fast. Do you have any capital refits?”

“Not at the moment. The CWDF acquired most of our stock yesterday. We’ve got two C-class ships with quad-mounted laser cannons that have just been refurbed.”

Sanchez shook his head. “Not good enough. Do you have any with ion cannons?”

“Seventy-five HPL isn’t good enough either,” Babcock said. “We need at least sixty, preferably faster, and over one APD.”

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Harn said. “We need to keep our contracts with our main suppliers.”

“You haven’t got anything?” Mach said. “What about the other manufacturers on the planet?”

“I don’t have access to their stock. It’s safe to assume that they’re in the same situation as us.”

“We’ve got access to the CW bank.”

Harn stopped and turned at the edge of the first hangar, her suit’s shoulders smoothly twisted around. “How many eros are we talking?”

Mach gave her his best smile. “Name your price?”

“We do have an option that fits your description, but I need to speak to the master-builder. It’s an experimental design we commissioned ourselves.”

“Sounds promising,” Mach said. “Tell him our money’s good and we have an E-class to trade.”

“If you reduce the price,” Babcock added, “I’ll provide full technical and performance reports. You’ll be getting a free field test.”

“It’s not free if we reduce the price,” Harn said, reverting from helpful to the sharp salesperson that Mach expected. “Your shuttle looks close to salvage and we currently have orders coming in from all parts of the Sphere and beyond.”

“Okay,” Mach said, realizing she knew they had a weak hand. “Speak to your boss. We want to make a deal if the ship meets our requirements.”

Harn raised her smart-screen. “Master-builder, we have an interested party for the Jaguar Mk 1.”

She waited for a response. Mach guessed they named it after an extinct animal from Earth for human appeal. Feronians were clever like that.
 

“Bring them to hangar two. I’ll deal with this personally,” a high-pitched voice warbled through Harn’s comm.
 

“This way, please.”

Harn led them past the open slide doors of the first hangar. Mach peered into the large cavernous space. Eight ten-meter-high robotic arms worked on building the shell of a destroyer’s superstructure. Sparks fizzed from the frame as they attached parts. A Feronian sat in front of a shiny black control panel and monitored the work.
 

The doors to the second hangar were also wide open. Harn entered and stood in front of a large, completed matte black ship. Quad laser cannons on a spherical turret were attached to the bottom of the one-hundred-meter-long hull. A swivel turret, mounting a ten-meter-long ion cannon, sat on the roof, bigger than a destroyer’s but smaller than a capital ship’s. Thick wings sloped from the midsection to the floor at thirty-degree angles. Each had four torpedo tubes.
 

Two feronians clanked down the side ramp, gesturing with screens and chatting. Sanchez looked up and whistled. “That’s a beast. You’ll have to rob the senate to pay for it.”

Mach wanted it like no other ship before. He hadn’t even looked inside, but guessed it was equally as impressive as the exterior.
 

An unusually stocky feronian, wearing a dark green coverall without an exoskeleton, walked out of an office along the side of the hangar and approached them.
 

“That’s the master-builder,” Harn said.
 

“What’s he like?” Babcock said.
 

“He builds ships,” Harn said without a hint of sarcasm.
 

Sanchez turned away and covered his mouth. Babcock groaned and whispered something to Squid. The little machine let out three beeps and spread its tentacles.

“Harn informs me that you’re interested in the Jaguar?” the master-builder said.
 

“That’s right,” Mach said and shook his hand. “You don’t look like a typical feronian, if you don’t mind me saying?”

“Not at all.” The master-builder looked down at his own physique. “I’m just back from spending five years in vestan shipyards. We’ve moved across to their drive technology and I’ve been learning about their operation.”
 

“How fast is she?” Babcock said.
 

“Two-point-five APD on the new Gamma Drive and fifty-five HPL on LD,” the master-builder said and looked over his shoulder at the Jaguar. “If you’re serious about buying, I need evidence that you can afford it.”

Babcock produced a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. He moved toward the ramp. “Mind if I take a look around the engineering deck?”

“Yes, I do.” The master-builder gestured toward his office with a stiff arm. “Finance first, then you look around. We don’t deal with time wasters.”

The group followed him inside his office and sat behind a metal desk. A light on the ceiling beamed down holographic images of ships to glass plates that lined the walls.
 

“How much do you want for her?” Mach said. “You can knock off twenty million for the Phalanx-E.”

The master-builder let out a throaty laugh. “Five million for your piece of junk. That leaves a balance of ninety million eros.”

“That’s insane,” Sanchez said. “We could buy a twenty-year-old horan destroyer for that kind of money.”

“At a time like this?” the master-builder asked. “The Axis and CW are laying their hands on every battleship they can find. You won’t find another option in a hundred light-years.”

Mach knew he was exaggerating the distance, but he took the master-builder’s point. The problem was, they didn’t have that kind of money and Morgan wouldn’t give them a tenth of it.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” the master-builder said. He pushed a button on his desk and the office door slid shut.
 

Babcock glanced at Mach and raised his eyebrows.
 

“What’s going on?” Sanchez said and took a step toward the desk.
 

Mach grabbed Sanchez’s shoulder and eased him back. Feronians didn’t bring in the cavalry for people turning up with a lack of funds. Plenty window-shopped and checked on current prices. He also still had enough eros to buy a C-class.
 

The master-builder peered beyond them at the office window and returned his focus on Mach. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

“I’m all ears,” Mach said.
 

“The orcus still control the mines and supply of fusion crystals. They have a stake in two of the companies along the coast.”

“And you’re in short supply,” Babcock said. “So you can’t run your new vestan drives and beat the competition?”

“I’ve sold arms to the orcus before,” Sanchez said. “Nasty bunch.”

The master-builder nodded. “You understand my predicament. If you bring me four dextans of fusion crystals, the ship is yours.”

Mach did a quick conversion in his head. Roughly two kilos’ worth. That was enough fusion crystals to power ten destroyers and a couple of weeks rock-blasting for their small team, if they could find the right tools. “We haven’t got time to go working in one of your pits.”

“An armed convoy transfers crystals from the mine to the orcus building in zone six every evening. Most get immediately distributed to the Axis or the CW contracts. That gives you two options. I know who you are, Mach, and you, Sanchez, but I don’t know the old man or his little creature.”

“His name’s Squid,” Babcock said. “My identity is irrelevant.”

“You’ve priced us out of the Jaguar on purpose,” Sanchez said. He tensed and balled his fists. “You’re using us to—”

“Easy there, Sanchez,” Mach said. He didn’t want to lose the chance of getting his hands on the Jaguar. “We’ll bring you the crystals if your team give half of my crew a crash course?”

“I’ll give the crash course once you have delivered. My resources are limited and we have multiple projects ongoing.”

Mach shook his head. “No deal. We’re risking our lives to keep your shipyard going. Do the crash course and we’ll complete the mission.”

The master-builder waved his chubby fingers toward the door. “You can leave. I’m not worried about getting a good price for my ship.”

“But the crystals and your future production?”

The master-builder paused and his soft green face scrunched. He pressed the button on his desk and the office door punched open. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Excellent. I’ll need three atmosphere suits.” Mach understood the motivation behind the request. He didn’t fully understand the sticky politics on Feronia, but knew enough that the master-builder would be keeping his hands clean by using outside assistance. If the heist went wrong, they’d be accused of being pirates.

Getting the crystals would take careful planning.
 

The orcus’ ruthless reputation spread way beyond the Feronia system.

Mach slung an atmosphere suit over his shoulder, provided by the master-builder, and crossed the landing strip. Babcock and Sanchez followed with two more spares.

His pulse quickened through a mix of the thought of owning the Jaguar
and trudging under the oppressive afternoon sun that baked the top of his head. The team split was a straightforward decision. Babcock and the two JPs would take a crash course on the controls and engineering deck. Sanchez and Adira, the two most capable in a fight, would join him for the heist.
 

The rep inspecting the Phalanx-E stood outside it and tapped on his pad while looking at the asteroid damage on the side. Black dints and scrapes peppered the heavy armor.
 

“You can drop your little game,” Mach said. “Speak to your boss.”

The feronian jobsworth ignored him and continued to survey the outer structure. Mach continued inside and dumped the suit behind the cockpit.
 

Adira shook her head and smiled. “It’s never straightforward with you, is it?”

“We’ve got our hands on a badass ship. But there’s a catch. We need to complete a little mission to seal the deal.”

“A little mission?” Adira said and cocked her right eyebrow.
 

“I’ll explain in a moment.”

Sanchez and Babcock dumped their suits. Both JPs glanced down at them and back to Mach.
 

“What do you want us to do?” Lassea asked.
 

“You two and Babcock are going to take a crash course on the Jaguar Mk1. Which, with some luck, will be our new ship.”

Danick sat forward and clasped his hands together. “What kind of spec is it?”

“Two-point-five APD and fifty-five HPL,” Mach said, pleased that something had at last got the young JPs’ juices flowing. “It’s armed to the teeth and being prepared for you at this very moment.”

“Wow,” Lassea said. “That’s as good as anything in the CWDF, but we’re not qualified to pilot it.”

“Are you willing to learn the ropes?” Both JPs nodded. “You’re qualified in the Carson Mach school of flying. Congratulations.”

“Suit up and come with Squid and I,” Babcock said. “I’ll provide assistance, after I’ve looked around the engineering deck.”

Danick and Lassea sprang from their seats, like two children having Christmas presents revealed to them for the first time. Some old customs were still celebrated in the Salus Sphere, but had no deeper relevance than a day off and the exchanging of gifts.
 

The JPs suited up and left with Babcock.
 

“So what’s the plan?” Adira said.
 

“We need to get our hands on some fusion crystals. The orcus control the supply and transfer it from the mine to the compound on the edge of the city every evening.”

“We’re holding up an orcus convoy?” Adira frowned. “We haven’t got any weapons.”

“I’ve got in touch with an old contact and we’re meeting him in twenty minutes,” Sanchez said, before giving one of his sly grins. “It’s an orcus gang member. He’s trading us three SamCore Vipers.”

“Vipers!” Adira said. “The CW dumped them when my grandfather served in the war.”

“They’re the most reliable weapon SamCore have ever produced,” Sanchez said.

Mach patted him on the shoulder. “Nice work. Let’s scout their building and the route from the mine. We’ll take the easiest option.”

“Are you expecting any easy option?” Adira asked.

“No, but the alternative is leaving in this twisted bucket of crap.”

***

Adira dressed in an atmosphere suit and they headed for the meeting. Mach knew if they were to bring down the Atlantis ship, the Jaguar gave them the most realistic chance.