Totaled: A Starship Fairfax Prequel Story Read online

  Contents

  Preface

  Totaled

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  Author's Note

  Preface

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading this copy of Totaled, a Starship Fairfax prequel story! I really hope you enjoy it. If you do, please consider leaving a review. :) You can also pick up a FREE copy of The Trials of Io, another Starship Fairfax prequel story, when you sign up for my author newsletter here.

  That’s all for now. Enjoy reading—

  Best,

  Benjamin Douglas

  Totaled

  Totaled

  A Starship Fairfax Prequel Story

  The Kuiper Chronicles

  By Benjamin Douglas

  Copyright 2017 Benjamin Douglas. All rights reserved.

  The author’s permission is required for any reprinting, distribution, or recording of this content.

  All persons within are fictional and not intended to be representative of any real persons.

  1

  The ship’s computer was acting up again, Dolridge was sure of it. There was no reason for the unauthorized persons alarm to be going off. Not this far out from port. If there had actually been any unauthorized persons aboard, they would have been detected hours ago, back in the Kuiper Belt. There weren’t any ways to get around the scans. So why was the computer insisting on telling him otherwise?

  To aggravate his splitting headache, of course.

  “Sir?” That new officer was looking at him again. Did she have to do that? No one else bothered anymore. They all had the courtesy to look at their feet and pretend they hadn’t seen the red circles around his eyes, the patches of stubble on his face. Around the rest of them he’d learned not to care what his face said, what his posture betrayed. But now she was looking at him, and something inside told him to sit up straight and project confidence. If only he could remember how.

  She cleared her throat.

  Right. The alarm was still going off.

  “Yes, officer…” He squinted at her, trying to recall her name. Yeah, right. As if there was room for new names in his omelet of a brain.

  “Caspar, Sir.” She saluted. He grimaced, but returned it. “Shall I send a squad to check that out, Sir?”

  He squinted again. “Squad?”

  “Security, Sir.”

  Oh. Right.

  He waved a hand. “Sure. Send the techies while you’re at it, though. More likely a crossed wire than a stowaway.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  He watched her punch in a few commands at her console. She was good at her job, he had to give her that. It was odd, seeing someone display competence. Maybe he’d been floating on the fringes in this tin can for too long. Too many hours lost in the bottom of a flask.

  Or far too few.

  “Officer, um…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to recall the name she had just given.

  “Caspar, Sir.”

  “Right. Caspar, you have the bridge.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll be in my cabin until o’eight-hundred.”

  “Aye, Sir.” Her eyes refocused on her console. Good. Keep them there, Caspar. Let an old man keep what little dignity he had left while making excuses to go lose himself in his cups.

  He probably shouldn’t be leaving the bridge—not when the Captain had left him in charge of the ship. But where was the need for an XO when there were no orders to give? Nothing interesting was going to happen on this trip. It never did.

  2

  The alarm blaring overhead brought him slowly to his senses, mingled as it was with the alarm that always sounded in his dream. In his nightmare. He shook himself from sleep and fell onto the floor, cursing as he spilled what passed for scotch down the front of his uniform.

  “Commander Dolridge to the bridge,” a distant voice kept repeating. The com. He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the overwhelming desire to vomit, and slapped at his wall console. A ding from the computer alerted him that someone was waiting outside his door. The ding was louder than the com, so he answered the door first.

  It was that eager officer.

  Light spilled in around her and he flinched, blinking.

  “Sir.” She saluted. He growled as he held up a hand, covering his eyes.

  “What is it, gunner?”

  She pursed her lips. Oh, had he upset her? Good.

  “Nav computer was doing a sweep and picked up Earthers this side of the rings. Three regent-class, probably armed to the teeth. Bogies, Sir. Out-of-bounds.”

  He dropped his hand and propped himself up straight in the doorframe. “Earthers? Here?” She just stood there, watching him. Waiting for him? To do what? Push the power button and restart the Nav? It was obviously on the fritz. No way anyone but Kuiper-friendlies were pushing battleships around out beyond Saturn. “Sounds like the ship’s computer going the way of the buffalo.” He pressed his lips shut for a moment, swallowing bile.

  She quirked an eyebrow, confused. “Buffalo, Sir?”

  “Yeah, you know. Big. Hairy. Extinct.” He stumbled out into the hall and the door hissed closed behind him. These kids. He wasn’t an XO; he was a nursemaid. Clearly he would have to go back to the bridge to smooth some feathers. His gung-ho gunner probably had half the crew readying for battle.

  “Sir, are you feeling alright?” She called after him, watching him still. Always.

  “I’m fine,” he snapped.

  “Do you want me to call battle-stations, or should I—”

  He spun around so quickly he saw three of her, and he had to hold a hand out to steady himself. “I’m sure you’ve done enough, gunner.”

  “Officer Caspar, Sir.” She was quieter now, thank the stars. But she sounded defiant. Maybe she should. They both knew he had no right drinking this much while on duty. But did she have to take every little blip and blop from nav so seriously?

  “Caspar.” He sighed. “You are relieved of bridge command.” She opened her mouth, and he raised a hand to stop her. “Thank you for bringing this… situation… to my attention. You may resume your post as munitions officer.”

  “Sir.” She saluted and he completed his walk down the hall, trying to stop the walls from bending.

  On the bridge, he fell into the captain’s chair like a sack of potatoes, wheezing. “Somers.” His tactical officer turned slowly. His face was set in a permanent scowl, his back hunched over a belly a bit larger than the fleet typically encouraged for active officers. He, like the XO, wasn’t used to being needed out here. The roles seemed vestigial, spillovers from more active sectors of the system.

  Somers waited. “What’ve you got?” Dolridge said.

  “Sir?” The fat man pursed his lips. “Just between us? Bad knees and a runny colon.”

  A few half-hearted snickers from the crew. Dolridge sneered. “I bet that’s true. C’mon. Why is that alarm still sounding?”

  It was truly stunning, the lackadaisical way his crew moved. No one responded to his question. He heaved a deep sigh and muttered a curse.

  “Alright. Somers, I want you to triple-check the info coming in from nav. Run some scans.”

  The fat man took a raspy breath. “Which scans would you—”

  “Are you my head tactical officer or aren’t you? Get creative. Mix it up. Just confirm that this is or isn’t good intel.”

  The tension was broken by the bridge doors hissing open. In stepped Caspar, saluting. “Sir, munitions inspection complete. Ready for anything.”

>   “Thank you, officer,” he grumbled, waving the salute back at her. She took her seat beside Somers.

  Dolridge slapped at the console in front of him, pulling up his head of security on the com. “Officer Marx, come in.”

  Silence.

  He tried again. Nothing. He bit on his tongue, still fighting the persistent tug of nausea. If anyone onboard had a bigger drinking problem than the XO, it was probably the chief of security. A fine pair they made. There were reasons men got shipped off to wander out in the boonies, he supposed. They weren’t ever supposed to need an active security force, either.

  “Marx, I don’t care if you’re lying in a puddle of your own… . Just come in already.”

  He could all but feel the young gunner’s eyes burrowing a hole between his shoulder blades. She must be itching to speak up and offer to go check on the man. Itching to prove herself. Show how much better she was than all of them. It made him even more sick, but also a little sad. Maybe a little wistful. Hadn’t he been hungry to prove himself, once? Hadn’t he been young and full of hope?

  All things die.

  He spun around, avoiding her eyes. “Alright. Caspar.”

  “Sir?” At least she had the good grace to sound surprised.

  “Since our good Mr. Marx appears to be indisposed, I want you to head down to security, get a team together, and get the ball rolling.”

  “The ball, sir?” Her eyes were wide like a child with an ice-cream cone, and he almost laughed in her face. Probably for the best that he didn’t. His laugh was known to make children cry.

  “The investigation, Officer Eager. You know. The supposed unauthorized person or persons onboard?”

  She smiled ear to ear, like an idiot. Like a complete buffoon. Like a perfect angel. He shook his head.

  “And get a techie on nav. I want that alarm shut down and a full diagnostic.”

  “Yes, Sir!” She saluted again and left the bridge, leaving him in the company of Somers and the let-downs.

  Oh, well. It could be worse. He could have a whole crew like Caspar.

  3

  An hour later, things were both better and worse. The alarm had been quelled, for starters. And Caspar hadn’t found any stowaways—not yet, anyway—so there was that. Maybe the best news should have been that, after a conclusive series of manual sweeps, tactical had definitively denied the presence of any Earth warships.

  But Dolridge didn’t feel good. Not that he remembered what ‘good’ felt like, per se. But he felt uneasy about the whole stinking thing. Because without a reboot or anything, apparently even nav was now reporting all clear. That just didn’t make sense. Real or not, tiny armadas didn’t just disappear into the vacuum of space. Something was wrong.

  He fastened the top button of his uniform shirt and splashed a handful of cold water on his face, then left the lav, heading for the Captain’s quarters.

  Old Gray didn’t drink the way Dolridge did. But he certainly did love his solitude. And out here, patrolling the fringes of Kuiper-Colony space, that was okay. A crew hardly needed a captain, because all the crew needed to do was keep the ship moving.

  Their current course was a wide solar orbit about ten AUs beneath the orbit of Saturn. They were basically a high-cost security camera, set in place to monitor any inner-system ships that tried to enter Kuiper-space from below. And whatever excitement was to be had between the colonies and the inner forces seemed to stay up on the orbital planes. People just didn’t fly down here. The only UFOs they ever came across were hunks of space junk.

  Their cargo hold was a testament to this. It held the ruined remains they’d scooped up: bits and pieces of other starships; empty escape pods; dated, irrelevant fighters. It was a service they provided to the fleet.

  So they were on duty in the sewer of the solar system, and Captain Gray was the plumber. He didn’t care for it much, so he spent most of his time cooped up in his cabin with his private library. Which left Dolridge to preside over the let-downs and to babysit the occasional green officer sent their way for an inauspicious first tour.

  His com beeped and he answered.

  “Sir? It’s Officer Caspar, Sir.”

  Ah. Speaking of the green ones.

  “What is it, Officer?”

  “Maybe nothing, Sir, but we’ve been unable to validate a log entry from—”

  “If it may be nothing, it can wait. Dolridge out.” He snapped off the com and buzzed for entrance. The doors slid open.

  Captain Earnest Gray sat in his antique armchair beside his faux fireplace, an ancient trade paperback in hand. His feet, clad in velvety red slippers, were up on a stool, ankles crossed. Dolridge suppressed a sneer. Captains shouldn’t cross their ankles. Not when an officer could see.

  “Dolridge.” Gray acknowledged him without raising his eyes. “How’s the run?”

  “Smooth as butter, Sir. That is, we’re gliding along fine. But, ah…”

  Gray glanced at him from behind his book. “Spit it out, XO.”

  “It’s probably nothing, Sir.” He blushed, hearing Caspar’s voice in his own. “A few quirks here and there. Nav thought she spotted a bevy of Earth ships, comp sounded the UP alarm. Both came to nothing. Scans complete, system recalibrated, nothing. Still, just thought you should know.”

  Gray pursed his lips. “Didn’t we have a specialist come in to debug before we left Pluto?”

  “Aye, Sir.” Dolridge raised his eyebrows. “Guess they must have missed something. I’ll keep an eye on her for a relapse.”

  “Mmm.” Gray’s eyes found his book again. Dolridge inclined his head and turned to go. “Gavin.” Dolridge stopped cold. He hated it when people called him that.

  “Sir?”

  “What about our new munitions officer… Caspar?”

  “What about her, Sir?”

  “She doing alright?”

  “She’s doing enough. Maybe too much.”

  “Hmm.” The captain brought his book down. “She was top of her class at the academy. I hear the jealousy of an old spacedog.”

  Dolridge cracked a half-smile in spite of himself. “With respect, Sir, it takes one to know one.”

  Gray nodded. “Were we young once?”

  The XO shook his head. “Not me, sir. Someone else just borrowing my face for a while.”

  “You know, she reminds me of someone we once knew.”

  Dolridge clenched his jaw.

  Gray’s voice sank to a whisper. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Sir.” Dolridge’s voice had gone cold. “I’ll be on the bridge.” He left the captain in silence.

  4

  The problem was, it was his fault. Had been. No words would ever change it.

  It was the sound that had stayed with him, would always stay. The sound of her body meeting the floor. He’d been on the com with her when it had happened. Wasn’t even a military engagement. Not an honorable death. Just an inspection on a freighter that had gone wrong when the pirate-loving smugglers had panicked and decided to open fire on the authorities. In all his years of flying, Dolridge had never seen anything else like it. No reason, no thinking-it-through. Just sheer, animal panic, and boom. People died. His people. She had been making her report to him when they’d attacked. Shot her in the back. She never even knew.

  The report had gone from mundane details to blaster fire to a dull thud. It echoed still.

  There should be a law against taking your own child on a starship. Oh, there were rules. But rules could bend and break, and frequently did when the right palms were greased or the right names were dropped. So when, five years ealier, an impressive up-and-coming officer had been requested by her father to serve under his command, the assignment had been made.

  Now there wasn’t a day he didn’t see her face or hear that sound in his mind.

  He turned the corner, and for just a moment thought he was seeing her in front of him, standing there, arms crossed. He stopped mid-gait and stared, blinked. No. It was just Caspar.

>   “Report, Officer,” he growled as he walked past. She turned and walked with him.

  “Sir, invalid log entry just before we left port. Comp shows a ‘Dr. Sarel’ checked in to hitch a ride past the rings. Only, security says there’s no such person aboard. We think the alarms were triggered by who or whatever came on in his place.”

  Dolridge froze. “Are you telling me there is an unauthorized person aboard this ship?”

  Caspar nodded. “That seems to be the case, Sir. But security is puzzled. I’ve had the comp review all footage from the passenger section, and there haven’t been any—”

  She was getting more and more difficult to understand, the words beginning to blur together. She paused, peering at his eyes.

  “Sir? Can you hear me?”

  A fog was creeping into the corners of his vision.

  “Sir, get down!”

  She grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust him to his knees, then pulled him down to his belly. Together, they lay on the floor. A cough racked his body. His head cleared a little.

  “Gas?” he croaked, his throat struggling to open.

  Caspar nodded, blinking away tears and coughing.

  The vents in the corridor lined the wall along the ceiling. They seemed to have some clean air down by the floor, but who could say how long that would last? And the door to the bridge was a full twenty meters away—could take some time in a belly crawl.

  Dolridge rolled onto his back and tore his shirt open. Buttons popped, askew. He wrangled out of it and tied it around the lower half of his face, up above his nose, like a bandana. Caspar did the same. Then together, they crawled on forearms and knees.

  He’d once prided himself on his physical fitness—back when he’d been an up-and-coming young buck serving the Council of Kuiper in espionage missions. Now, the most exercise he got in a day was strolling from the bridge to his cabin. His throat and eyes burned from the poison, and his lungs screamed in protest, but he forced himself to take short, shallow breaths, trying to get by with as little air as possible so as not to imbibe any more gas.