The Long Forever. Eugene Lambert

tell Murdo what I overheard.

      The guy licks his shrivelled lips, plainly wishing he’d kept his gob shut. And starts up again with his I’m-only-a-blind-old-scrapper-and-don’t-know-nothing routine.

      ‘These Syndicate guys, was it them who destroyed this place?’ Murdo gestures around at the devastation.

      Dumb if you ask me, as the blind scavver can’t see him.

      ‘Don’t make us ask again!’ Cam snaps.

      ‘Okay, okay. It was the Syndicate. Who else? But you can’t tell anyone I told you. If word gets back to them –’

      ‘Relax. It won’t,’ Murdo says, waving at Cam to back off. ‘I’m an old friend of Cobb, the guy who owned this place. Don’t suppose you know what happened to him?’

      The man grunts. ‘Dead. Like the rest.’

      Takes a while, but Murdo eventually worms the full story out of the guy. An outfit calling itself the Syndicate has blasted and slaughtered its way to the top of the many criminal gangs operating in the Vulpes sector. They’d come calling and told Cobb he worked for them now. Cobb didn’t fancy that and had told them to go to hell.

      ‘Always was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch,’ Murdo says.

      The scavver shrugs. ‘And now he’s a dead son-of-a-bitch. That’s what happens when you mess with them Syndicate guys. You want my advice? Steer well clear.’

      We’re slogging back to our freighter when it hits me. ‘Hey, maybe Shanglo wasn’t a complete bust. We could flog the darkblende to this Syndicate mob.’

      Murdo shoots me a glare like I’m the biggest gom ever.

      ‘And what if it’s their darkblende? You heard that scavver guy. They run pretty much everything now.’

      ‘Any other great ideas?’ Cam says, all mocking.

      I go to snarl that we can ask our skinny prisoner, but remember in time that he’s light years behind us by now, frozen inside the jettisoned escape pod with his gobby mate.

8

       BLAST FROM THE PAST

      With riches at stake, Murdo doesn’t give up easy.

      Over the next few days we set down on three more worlds. On the first his contact had been taken out like Cobb. The second made no bones about working for the Syndicate now and wanted nothing to do with our darkblende, just in case. On the third world his contact had done a runner. Frustrating as hell, but it’s not all bad. We’ve been able to buy supplies and fill our aching bellies. Anuk had him load us up on working clothes too so we’ve ditched our ident-camp rags and look less out of place. Money is called creds out here too, but there’s no minted coins like on the Wrath, only numbers stored in weird little plastic devices. You scan the creds on and off. We scavved some off the freighter’s old crew and Murdo knew how to use them.

      On Barzahk, a desolate and wintry mining world where surface temps can’t be arsed climbing above zero even in summer, we get a scare. And then, at last, a break.

      Our scare comes as Murdo’s lining up our descent to the surface. Sky’s in the co-pilot seat again. I’m watching from behind them. Our lights are dimmed and I’m drinking in the view of Barzahk below. One second Murdo’s tapping away at a control panel, the next he’s cursing.

      ‘We’ve got incoming.’ He jabs a finger at the display before him. ‘It’s a fraggin’ warship. ComSec!’

      The screen shows an outline of the planet below, with our yellow dot orbiting it. The bigger red dot that Murdo points out is closing in from our right side. I peer through the side viewport and spot a tiny speck.

      ‘There! I see it.’

      Murdo gets busy at his panel. The display dissolves, reforming to show a brutal-looking spaceship.

      ‘Can we outrun it?’ Sky asks.

      Murdo shakes his head. ‘Doubt it. Too late to try. We’re already well within range of their blast –’

      A shrill alert from the comm system interrupts him.

      ‘Freighter in Barzahk orbit, this is Combine Security cruiser Nantahala. Identify yourself immediately and make ready to be boarded for a routine inspection.’

      A woman’s voice. Casual. Assured.

      ‘Crap!’ Murdo thumps his head back into his headrest.

      Sky lashes out at him. ‘Well, do something!’

      ‘Like what?’ he groans.

      Nantahala woman repeats her demand, curtly this time.

      My racing mind comes up with a desperate idea. ‘Maybe being caught by ComSec isn’t so bad? We could come clean and tell them everything. Wrath, idents, the Saviour exploiting us. It’s not our darkblende, is it? And we haven’t done anything wrong. All we’ve done is escape.’

      Murdo and Sky both scowl at me.

      ‘Why not?’ I say, as bile fills my throat.

      ‘Because, Kyle,’ Murdo says savagely,‘ComSec play rough and they wouldn’t listen. They’ll just hang us as smugglers. Oh yeah, and escaping from a dump world is a hanging offence too. Good luck confessing to that.’

      But now Sky makes us jump by letting out a loud yell.

      ‘The cruiser’s breaking off !’

      I drag my eyes back to Murdo’s screen. Stabs of blue light flicker at the cruiser’s bow. Thrusters? Slowly but surely it swings around and shows us its stern. Next thing, a massive flare of blue overloads our screen as it lights up its drive. By the time the screen’s working again, all it shows are stars and a blue dot that’s getting smaller fast.

      Murdo grunts. ‘Well, how about that?’

      ‘Never said goodbye or nothing,’ Sky says, grinning.

      ‘Rude, I call it,’ I croak, playing along, while relief sucks the bones out of my legs and sets them shaking.

      Murdo flicks the display back to the Barzahk system. The red dot that’s the cruiser streaks away from us.

      ‘Not hanging about, are they?’

      ‘Good!’ I say. ‘What do you suppose happened?’

      ‘Might be something to do with this. I’m picking up a broadcast on the emergency comm channel.’

      He taps at his panel and speaker-hiss fills the flight-deck. Amongst the buzz and crackle, I make out a new voice. Whoever he is, he sounds seriously tense.

      ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday . . . heavy two zero zero nine out of . . . chhhrrr . . . inbound Thessalus six . . . chhhrrr . . . being pursued . . . unidentified raider . . . I say again, we are being pursued . . . chhhrrr . . . interstellar coordinates are . . .’

      ‘Thought so. Distress call,’ Murdo says, and kills the signal. ‘Whoever those raiders are, if we bump into them the drinks are on us. They’ve saved us.’

      ‘Too right,’ Sky mutters.

      ‘Wonder what will happen to the freighter?’ I say.

      ‘That call will have taken days or weeks to crawl its way here at light speed,’ Murdo says, intent on his controls again as he starts our descent to Barzahk’s surface. ‘Whatever played out, it’s all over by now.’

      ‘So why’d the cruiser clear off ?’ I ask, confused.

      ‘There might be survivors who need picking up. And they’ll be looking to chase the raider down.