Chapter Six - MacLeash
Someone was calling him, but MacLeash had no idea who it was. The bright seaside of Turnberry beckoned him. The last time he’d walked that shoreline, Heather had sat on a rock near the base of a lighthouse. How he’d worked up the courage to speak to her, he never knew. Then, she came with him to the stars and died among them. The lighthouse grounded him, keeping the memory clear and vibrant as the dream faded.
“Captain!”
MacLeash opened his eyes, the briny scent of the shore vanishing as the dim cabin came into focus. Rolling to his side, he reached around the half-empty fifth of scotch and pressed the intercom button. “Yeah.”
“Need you on the bridge.”
MacLeash caught the urgency in Dana’s voice. He sat up and immediately regretted it. His head throbbed, and the room began to spin. Stomach gurgling, he grabbed the edge of the mattress in both hands and squeezed hard enough to make his arms tremble. The sensation passed. “What’s the problem?”
“We’ve got a potential conjunction about an hour out.”
“Then move us.” MacLeash shook his head carefully. “That’s how we get around junk, or did you forget while you were cooking for that prissy little engineer?”
There was a pause from the other side of the speaker. “This isn’t space junk we’re dealing with; it’s Remnant. I believe they’ve had some type of emergency.”
Let them die, MacLeash thought with a grin. “Not our problem.”
“It is if we want to get paid, Captain! Remember? Both ships have to capture and work together?”
MacLeash winced at the thought. She was right. “Do we have comms with them?”
“UHF is sketchy still. Lots of solar interference. It appears their protocol is down; we cannot lock on with any other frequency.”
“You tried direct laser?” MacLeash asked with a grumble.
“Also a negative,” Dana said. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” MacLeash said. “Give me a few minutes.”
A splash of water on his face and a clean set of coveralls made him feel better, but not completely himself. Once in the passageway, he heard two voices on the bridge. Anger filled his throbbing head enough that he stopped in the galley and raided the first aid kit. There was no aspirin or acetaminophen, but there was a handful of Valium, used for emergencies. He took two and dry-swallowed them, then made his way forward. Dana was sitting at her console, and the prissy man sat at the engineer’s console. From what MacLeash could see, the bastard seemed to know what he was doing.
“You let him out,” MacLeash rumbled.
Dana turned to him. “We’re on the capture checklist, so yes, I did.”
MacLeash grunted, moved to his console, and sat down. He pulled up his screens to look at Remnant’s flight path. The big ship was off axis and off course. “What happened over there?”
“No idea,” Dana said. She reached for the radio panel. “I’m about to open up with UHF; should be close enough to get them in five or ten minutes.”
“You have a maneuver planned to get us out of their way?”
Dana shrugged. “I’ll be able to take us out of their path, but if they restore their systems in the next two hours, they’d be able to capture before us.”
MacLeash rubbed his forehead with a brawny hand. Math had never been his strength, and for the millionth time in the last three days, he wished for Heather. She’d have told him with a look what he should do. “If we hold our course, what’s the chance we’ll hit them?”
“Fifty-eight percent,” Paul said from his console. The man didn’t turn to look at MacLeash, which was just fine. He wanted to punch the little bastard again.
“You’re supposed to be on the recovery plan, not trying to side-seat navigate,” Dana said.
“It’s just math,” Paul replied. “Sorry.”
“Hold our course,” MacLeash said. “When we’re a hundred kilometers out, recalculate.”
Dana nodded. “What about assisting them?”
“Remnant?” MacLeash shook his head. “That ship is bad luck. I’m not getting any closer to them than I have to.”
“What about the crew?” Dana said. “His navigator?”
MacLeash thought about Lew Holmes. A pretty girl from Australia. The color of her hair was the same as Heather’s. He’d bought her a drink when they’d met in port. Thought she was all right, until he learned she’d signed up to fly with Harris instead of him. “What about her?”
Dana turned in her chair. “I know you hate Harris, but there’s someone else on that ship, boss.”
“We’ll reevaluate at a hundred kilometers,” MacLeash said. The UHF radio clicked onto a frequency and he heard Lew Holmes’ soft Australian accent come through.
“Cardiff, this is Remnant. Do you read? Over.” The message came through with the traditional electronic termination beep. Holmes repeated the message before MacLeash could respond.
“Remnant, this is Cardiff. What’s your status? Over.”
MacLeash listened as Holmes talked him through their situation. The rebooting protocol and Remnant’s systems on lockdown. Until the reboot was complete, there was little Holmes could do. MacLeash looked at his first mate’s face and knew that if the situation remained unchanged, he’d have to do something to save Remnant or risk failing to complete the contract.
“Roger, Remnant. Do you have an estimate on your reboot completion?”
“An hour or so. Over.” Holmes sounded tired.
“Your captain around?” MacLeash asked. Not because he wanted to talk to the bastard, but the hunch that Harris was cowering in his cabin was too much to ignore.
“Negative, Cardiff. He’s busy right now.”
“My ass,” MacLeash said and grinned. Dana smiled back. He keyed the radio again. “Roger, Remnant. Hang tight. We’ll be in touch at one hundred kilometers out. Do you still have a visual on the target?”
“Affirmative.”
MacLeash looked at Paul. “Hey. You. You need imagery of that thing?”
“You’re not going to get it through UHF,” Paul said. He turned, met MacLeash’s glare, and licked his lips quickly. “Uh…yeah. When they get their systems up, yes.”
“Roger, Remnant. Let us know when you’re up and running.”
“And if we’re not? What then?” Holmes sounded scared. For a moment MacLeash was speechless.
He keyed the microphone. “We’ll think of something, Lew. Hold tight. Cardiff, out.”
MacLeash leaned back in his seat and looked at Paul Normandy for a long moment before he spoke. “You watch your tone with me, boy. That clear?”
Paul looked at him. “Or you’ll space me? Yeah, I’ve gotten that threat. But I hear you’ve got a situation on your hands, and you need my help.”
MacLeash felt his anger rising again; he gripped the armrests of his chair tightly. There was no sense letting the little shit provoke him, especially since he was right. “Yeah, we need you.”
“And I’m in.”
“In? On the deal?” MacLeash roared with laughter. “Like hell you are.”
Dana shook her head. “He’s in for three percent of the take.”
“Like hell!” MacLeash pointed at her, stabbing the air between them. “I make the deals. He gets nothing, and that’s final.”
“No,” Dana said. Typical. She always argued about the financial arrangements. “He needs to be paid. He has a family on Earth and has likely lost his job because you kidnapped him.”
“I kidnapped him? This whole fucking plan was your idea, Dana!” MacLeash said.
Paul looked at him, then at Dana. “Is this true?”
Dana took a breath, held it for a moment, and then sighed. MacLeash watched her, wondering what she was going to say. “Yes, it was my idea. But we need you, and we’re willing to pay you.”
MacLeash shook his head. “Whatever you told him comes out of your pocket, Dana.”
“You lied to me,” Paul said.
Dana closed her eyes and shook her head. “Fine, I’ll pay him. And yes, I lied to you. I knew we needed a nuke engineer. There wasn’t time to approach you.”
“Bullshit!” Paul roared from his chair. “You’ve cost me everything! What about my kids?”
MacLeash held up his hands. “Enough! You two can stop quibbling like an old married couple right now. Dana will pay you; it was her idea to bring you aboard…which I did.”
“After you beat the shit out of me,” Paul said.
“I said enough!” MacLeash rubbed his forehead again. Did he have time to hit the EVA tanks again? “How far are we from Remnant?”
“Eight hundred kilometers. Closing at three hundred an hour.”
“Two hours and some, then?” MacLeash nodded to himself as the math checked out. “Fine. I want a capture plan in two hours, and a plan to latch on to that flying cesspool so we can pull Holmes out if we have to.”
“And Harris?” Dana asked.
“Until that sonuvabitch talks to me, he’s not there, and he won’t set foot on this ship.” MacLeash stood and looked at Dana. “What’s his name again?”
“My name is Paul.”
“Whatever. Dana made a deal with you, so you’re in. Get the information we need as soon as you can. I want whatever advantage we can get.”
Paul squinted at him. “Why?”
MacLeash took a deep breath and was talking before he could stop himself. “That bastard killed my wife. Him and his super-smart ship. We have to work with them to get this contract paid, and that’s fine. It’s business. But I want to know what all the components are. Where we can get the best money. You understand that?”
Paul nodded. “What about the nuclear engine?”
“That’s your territory,” MacLeash said. “That going to be a problem?”
“Shouldn’t be.”
MacLeash stepped toward the prissy engineer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a nuclear device. You can’t be sure about them until you’re up close with it. It’s Pandora’s Box.”
MacLeash glanced at Dana, who shrugged. “I told you we needed him, boss.”
“Fine. Make us all the money you can, and you might get your three percent, Paul.” MacLeash turned to Dana. “I need to take care of a compressor in the cargo hold.”
Dana blinked, then nodded as she understood what he meant. “The one in Bay Twelve?”
“Yeah,” MacLeash lied. It was a code to help him maintain face as captain. He knew he needed a shower, some food, and time to sober up. What better way to do that than in plain sight? “Let me know when we’re close.”
“Roger,” said Dana, turning back to her console.
MacLeash looked at them—one he trusted, one he wanted to space—and headed down the passageway to his quarters. The gnawing feeling in his gut was growing worse. There were too many variables, and all of them swirled around Tyler Harris and the dark history they shared.
A captain’s intuition is his best asset. MacLeash heard the voice of his father as clear as if the man stood next to him. His father would never have put himself in a situation like the one where Heather had died. Do it right the first time was the man’s motto. But when he was wronged, his father would do anything to ensure he came out on top, and damn anyone who got in his way.
MacLeash smiled at that thought and pushed into his cabin. The prospects of the day’s work were indeed looking up. His mind worked to complete a new plan—one that would put Tyler Harris where he belonged.
Under his bed was a wooden box with a small brass lock. The key was on a chain around his neck, along with Heather’s wedding band. She never wore her rings inside a hardsuit, so while her remains were lost, the memories remained. Kneeling on the floor, MacLeash pulled out the chain and reached for the box. He worked the lock and opened the lid. Blindly, his fingers wrapped around the grip of the .45, the M1911 his father had carried in combat. He looked at the pistol, dropped the magazine to ensure there were rounds in it, and smiled.
As he moved to sit on the bed, his eyes fell across the picture of Heather. It was an accident, Ian. These things happen.
Harris is reckless and needs to be taught a lesson.
He doesn’t need to die.
MacLeash snorted at the thought. Did Harris need to die? If he died, he wouldn’t know the pain of loss. He wouldn’t linger in his bed unable to walk, or talk, or think, like MacLeash had done in the wake of Heather’s death. The smug little smile on Harris’s face after the inquiry came to his mind, and he imagined pulling the pistol’s trigger.
He wanted Harris to know pain and loss, regret, and the feeling of being totally, categorically, alone. Removing his ship, his safety net, and any shred of decency the bastard might have left would be a good start.
MacLeash thought of Lew Holmes, Remnant’s pretty navigator, and he smiled. If all things have a price, he wondered, what’s hers?
He set the gun on a shelf by the door and undressed. Throwing his dirty coveralls in the wash compartment, he spied the half-empty bottle of whiskey by his bed. His mouth watered for it, almost as if the bottle had called his name. Hands shaking, MacLeash went to the bottle and grabbed it by the neck as if to choke it.
He stepped into his private bath compartment, opened the bottle, and drank. Tears came to his eyes as the liquid burned his throat, but it brought him clarity. A little hair of the dog. He grunted to himself. He took another drink and started the auto-bath program. Satisfied, he hid the bottle in a storage bin and stepped inside. There were appearances to keep if he wanted Tyler Harris to believe anything other than the truth about him. MacLeash knew what he had to do.
Even if he didn’t like it.
* * * * *