Stalker's Luck: Solitude Saga, #1

By Chris Strange

EVEN AT THE END, JUSTICE MUST BE SERVED.

The Eleda system is dying. Cut off from the rest of humanity, the ancient machines that keep the colonies alive are breaking down, one by one.

Bounty hunter Eddie Gould intends to write the tales of the system’s last days with a pen in one hand and a gun in the other. Alongside his partner, ex-revolutionary Dominique, Eddie hunts a fugitive through the flickering neon and crippled life support systems of a doomed space station.

But a dark secret lies hidden in the space station’s twisting depths, a secret that will make Eddie question everything he thinks he knows about his past.

And in this place, truth and justice are only found at the end of a gun.

Hard, fast, and brutal, Stalker's Luck is a stylish retro-future tale of sin and desperation at the edge of space.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheeky Minion
• Release date: Jun 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513066912

Book preview

STALKER’S LUCK

THE SOLITUDE SAGA #1

Chris Strange

Cheeky Minion Books

www.Chris-Strange.com

Map of the Eleda System

Eleda System Map

Click image to enlarge.

View the high resolution version online: http://bit.ly/EledaMap1

1

In the cold light of the system’s distant sun, the Solitude dropped into orbit around a gas giant of pale blue. The Feds met the ship like they always did: with orders barked and weapons locked.

Behind the Solitude’s helm, Dominique Souza loaded her sidearm and eased into dock with the Feds’ orbital outpost. The maglock clunked against the hull with a shudder that ran through the ship and down Dom’s spine. The comm unit squawked instructions from the Fed communicator. Dom obeyed, shutting down the Solitude’s engines, releasing the airlock controls to the Feds, and powering up lights throughout the ship’s cramped interior.

Prepare to be boarded, the Fed’s voice crackled through the speaker.

Yes, sir. She switched the comm unit off. Motherfucker.

She unbuckled herself from the pilot’s seat and stooped to make her way down the corridor, pulling on her duster coat as she went. Her boots clanged on the walkway grating. The Solitude whined as the engines spooled down. Dom patted the bulkhead. Tell me about it, girl. Me too.

She stopped at the closed airlock, spread her legs, and clasped her hands together behind her back. An ancient computer buzzed on the other side of the airlock. The Feds were taking their sweet time. But something else tickled her hearing. A faint sound of screeching and synthetic beeps. Was the ship damaged? Had she docked her too roughly?

She turned on the spot, following the sound. Her eyes fell on a closed metal hatch. She sighed.

With a glance at the still-closed airlock, she took two quick strides to the hatch and hammered on it with her fist.

Turn that noise down, she yelled. We’ve got company.

There was no answer. Son of a bitch. She spun the handle and wrenched open the hatch. A cacophony of what she could only guess was supposed to be music assaulted her.

Inside, Eddie Gould lay on his bunk in a one-piece sleepsuit, one leg crossed over the other, bouncing in time with the synth music. His eyes were closed.

For the love of Man, get dressed, Dom said. And turn that off.

Eddie’s head rolled to the side and one eye drifted half-open. This is the new Sin Tower album. This is good stuff. The Feds might like it.

They won’t.

How do you know?

Get up.

Eddie sniffed and closed his eyes again.

Turn that off or I’m leaving you on Temperance when we depart, she said.

You wouldn’t.

It’s my ship. I do what I want with it.

Eddie’s eyes opened. He yawned and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. With a touch of the wall panel, the music went silent. How long until the Feds arrive?

She glanced back at the airlock. About five seconds.

Okay. Eddie stood, stretched, and groaned. Do we have any coffee left?

I don’t know. Hurry up and get dressed.

He ignored her and climbed out of the hatch. A warning siren sounded and the airlock began to hiss open. Eddie wandered off down the corridor, towards the ship’s common room.

Where are you going? Dom said.

Coffee, he said simply. Then he disappeared through another hatch and out of sight.

She took a step after him. I’ll kill that son of a—

She didn’t manage to finish the thought before a voice boomed out of the rapidly widening airlock. Show your hands!

She threw her head back in exasperation and raised her hands. Come on, gentlemen. You do this every time. What do you think I’m going to do?

Boots stomped on the walkway. Three Fed marines in grey fatigues swept past her, submachine guns tucked against their shoulders as they rushed through the ship. One headed in the direction of the kitchen. A moment later, she heard him calling through his vox. Hands! Put them up! Put down the cup.

It’s only coffee, Jack, Eddie’s voice drifted back. Take it easy.

There was a smash of metal clattering against the floor.

Hands!

You’ve gotta be kidding me. This your first week on the job, Jack? If you’re pissing your pants about a bit of coffee, I don’t think you’re going to make it to Friday.

Movement in the airlock drew Dom’s attention forward again. A white-haired Fed officer with a boyish face strode along the gangway and cast his gaze up and down Dom. His face was pocked with old acne scars. A heavy pistol was holstered to his belt. The slashes on his breast marked him as a lieutenant. No high-ranking officer would get stuck manning this outpost at the arse-end of Eleda space. They left that to the kids. The petulant ones that no one wanted back on Babel.

Big, aren’t you? the lieutenant said as he stopped in front of her.

It was going to be one of those days. I suppose so, sir.

There wasn’t any supposing about it. Dom was tall enough and broad enough to break the lieutenant’s back over her knee. And she was tempted to. But she just lowered her hands and tightened them into fists behind her back.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the marines wrenching open the hatch to her quarters. A moment later there was a crash of food bowls and cinevid files being swept to the floor. Dom cringed internally.

The lieutenant brought up his tab and scrolled through. "The Solitude. Registered at Carousel station to Dominique Souza. His eyes flicked up to her. That’ll be you."

Yes, sir.

And your companion is… He scrolled further. …Eddie Gould. Your husband?

No, sir.

Hm. He lowered the tab and called to his men. Anything?

Clear, came three replies.

Care to show me to your common room, Miss Souza? the lieutenant said. He glanced in the direction Eddie’s voice had been coming from. This way, I presume?

Dom led the lieutenant down the corridor and through the hatch. Eddie sat with his legs up on the table, arms folded across his chest. A metal coffee cup lay on its side in the corner of the small common room, brown liquid dripping through the grating. One of the marines stood over him, fingers twitching on his submachine gun. Between the four of them there was barely enough room to move.

Gather the others and wait by the airlock, the lieutenant said to the marine. With a final glare at Eddie, the marine shouldered past Dom and called to his friends. Eddie waggled his fingers at the marine’s back as he went.

The lieutenant took the last remaining seat at the table, leaving Dom to stand. She didn’t object. The Feds liked to remind everyone that they were in charge. They were all bluster, until they weren’t anymore. She’d spent her youth killing Feds, destroying their facilities, stealing their supplies. She’d probably killed three or four dozen if you included the ones who got blown to chunks by the bombs she’d planted. But that was the problem with the Feds. No matter how many you killed, there were always more.

The lieutenant stared at the soles of Eddie’s shoes resting on the table. Do you mind?

Mind what? Eddie said.

Putting your feet down.

He shrugged and lowered his feet to the ground. No problem, Jack.

It’s Lieutenant Pine.

Yeah? How about that? That’ll be three hundred vin, by the way.

What will?

Eddie nodded at the spilled mug. The coffee. That’s good stuff. Real, not synthed. Imported from Tarut. Expensive.

The lieutenant’s mouth formed a thin line. Dom threw a look at Eddie. He was going to get her ship impounded if he kept this up.

Well, I’m sure when you’ve successfully completed this job you’ll be able to replace your coffee without any trouble, Pine said. He brought up his tab again. Although I see Miss Souza is still paying off her considerable debt to the Federation. He smiled up at them. Perhaps you’ll have to be more careful with your expensive coffee in the future.

Eddie smiled back with all of his teeth.

Can we get on with this, gentlemen? Dom said before anyone decided to start shooting. It’s my understanding that Temperance only has about two weeks left before the last oxygen generators shut down and it becomes uninhabitable. It’s in all of our best interests to ensure the job is done before then.

Quite right, Miss Souza, Pine said. He tapped the screen of his tab and laid it on the table. This is your quarry. Roy Williams. Former leader of the White Hand syndicate, convicted on three dozen counts of murder, assault, torture, and extortion. Sentenced to life plus fifty at the Bolt supermax facility in the Outer Reach. Four months ago, Mr Williams enlisted the aid of a guard to smuggle twenty-six kilograms of IL-KEM high explosives into the Bolt. He used them to stage a breakout. That guard and twenty-two others were killed in the explosions. Five prisoners—including Williams—escaped on a hijacked Federation prisoner transport shuttle. Federation ships attempted to pursue, but Williams evaded them.

Yes, sir, Dom said. We’re well aware. We’ve followed the reports. But they don’t say why he fled to Temperance after they abandoned the shuttle on Segan.

Eddie peered at the tab. There’s no picture.

What? Dom leaned over the table. She glanced at Pine. You don’t have a picture of him?

Pine shook his head. We have been unable to obtain any recent civilian photographs of Williams. All municipal records were transferred to the Federation following his arrest. But during the breakout, it appears Williams had a fellow prisoner hack the local databases and wipe most of the records.

Dom understood now why the Feds had been so cagey ever since they’d taken the contract on Williams. The Feds were protective of their technology, but the truth was they didn’t really understand how it worked. It was all old tech, like the oxygen generators and the solar collectors and the grav drives that powered their largest ships and kept the artificial gravity operating in stations across the system. Technology from before the collapse of the Gypsy Gates, from before the Lonely Years, before the Gravity War, from the time when the Solar Federation was spread through thousands of systems across the galaxy.

The collapse of the Gypsy Gates had cut the Eleda system off from the rest of humanity. Now all they had left were the remnants of that age. The Fed databases, the stations, ships like the Solitude. They’d lasted three hundred years. But time had been hard on them. One by one, the remnants were breaking down. And the system was dying.

Not that the Feds wanted to admit that, of course. The party line was that the Gypsy Gates would one day reopen. That one day the Eleda system would be welcomed back into the arms of the Solar Federation, that these few million souls on the galactic frontier would once again be united with their billions of brothers and sisters of humanity.

What a crock of shit.

Eddie scrolled through Williams’ records on Pine’s tab. There’s not even any identifying information. Height, weight, tattoos, age, nothing. Are we even sure he’s a man?

Pine scowled. I’m informed that he is in his fifties with a strong build. He glanced at Dom. About your size.

That’s it? Eddie said. How many people are on Temperance?

Eighty thousand.

That’s just residents, Eddie said. How many tourists you got down there partying it up, dropping a few hundred thousand vin on roulette tables and hookers? Another thirty thousand?

More or less, Pine said.

Eddie pushed back his chair and picked up the spilled mug. I’m getting some more coffee.

"What can you tell us?" Dom asked.

Pine shifted in his chair like he was trying to decide whether to stand up and make himself taller. Not much. We lost all records of his known associates. Most of the ones we know of are dead. Williams is a dangerous man.

No shit, Eddie said as he poured himself another mug. That’s why we’re here.

We recently received a message from a man on Temperance who claims to have information on Williams. Reverend Benjamin Bollard. The address is in the file.

Great. A preacher. Just what she needed.

We haven’t been able to question him, Pine said. The Accord has seen to that.

Dom didn’t have to ask what accord. Since the Lyon Accord was signed, the Feds had control of inter-colony space, but had no jurisdiction on any station or colony except for Babel, the capital colony.

The higher-ups have seen fit to give you the sole contract on Williams, Pine said. So I’ll be monitoring your progress.

We prefer to work independently, sir, Dom said. She immediately realised it was a mistake. The lieutenant’s pinched lips pulled back in a sneer.

I’ll expect to be kept up to date, stalker, he said slowly, rising from his chair. And I expect you to do your jobs quietly and efficiently. I do not want business disrupted on Temperance. But I will not allow Williams to die on that rusted hunk of metal and sin without facing the Federation’s justice. Do you understand me?

Dom looked down on him, looked at his acne-scarred skin and the veins snaking through the whites of his eyes. She could smell the sweat rising off him. How many like him she’d killed. How many Federation uniforms she’d left drenched in blood. But they had her. She was on their leash. She was their dog now. So she barked.

Yes, sir. I understand you, sir.

Eddie strolled up behind the lieutenant, sipping his coffee. Reward. Remind me. How much?

Pine kept his eyes on Dom. Eleven point one million.

Plus? Eddie prompted.

Pine turned to Eddie and smirked. Plus the six point five million time sensitive bonus.

Eddie whistled and smiled at Dom. Sounds sweet, don’t it? What did I tell you? Last chance bounties are where the money’s at.

Come to think of it, Pine said to Eddie, I don’t recall your purpose. Miss Souza is the registered stalker for this contract. What is your job, Mr Gould?

I’m a writer.

A writer.

Uh-huh.

Pine glanced back at Dom, as if he thought he was being made fun of. And what does a stalker team need with a writer?

I’m what you call the moral compass in this motley crew, Eddie said. Also, I’m a pretty quick draw. No reason a stalker can’t be a writer as well.

I suppose not, Pine said. I don’t recall ever hearing your name before. Would I know anything you’ve written?

Eddie shrugged. "Maybe. Massacre at Fractured Jaw? The Slow Death of Louie the Liar?"

Ah. Pine nodded as if everything had become clear. I thought you meant you were some kind of reporter. But I see. You write for the dimes. Little stories to entertain the working classes, correct?

Eddie smiled and took another sip of coffee.

Pine gave his sneer a bit more practice, then nodded. Very well. You have your contract. I look forward to hearing from you. You will return to the outpost when you have Williams in custody. The Federation thanks you for your service. Good hunting.

He turned and strode back down the corridor and out the airlock. A moment later, the bootsteps of his marines clanged away. The airlock siren sounded once more. The door slid closed with a hiss.

Dom took a deep breath and forced the tension from her shoulders. She rubbed her forehead. Her head was throbbing. Fucking Feds.

He never paid me for that coffee, Eddie said. Who does that? Who spills someone’s coffee then doesn’t pay for it? It’s rude, is what it is.

Leave it alone. That’s not Tarut coffee. We picked up the whole sack for five hundred when we resupplied at Karm station.

Well, he didn’t know that. He tipped his mug in the direction of the airlock. How old do you reckon he was? Did you see the way he looked at you? I think he was sweet on you, Freckles.

I told you not to call me that.

It suits you.

I don’t even have freckles.

Eddie shrugged.

The ship groaned as the maglock disengaged. Out the port hole she could see the outpost’s gangway umbilical retracting back into the small Fed station. Beyond, the swirling blues of the gas giant Eleda VI filled space. A half dozen major stations orbited Eleda VI. They were all scheduled to die sooner or later. But Temperance would be next. If they didn’t capture Roy Williams before the station went cold, Dom’s bounty would go with it. And she’d be that much further away from paying off her indentured servitude to the Federation. That much further from being free of the Feds’ leash.

Don’t you need to—you know—pilot this ancient crate? Eddie asked, dragging her out of her thoughts.

She grunted and strode back to the ship’s helm. She could hear Eddie shuffling along behind her.

How long until we touch down? he asked.

Sixty-two minutes.

Dom climbed into the pilot’s seat and wiped the fingerprints off the cracked control screen. The screen was one of the few remaining pieces of Pre-Fall tech in the helm. All the rest had long been replaced by the chunky, temperamental systems Eleda engineers had been building to replace the old tech as it slowly failed.

She touched a button and—with a little urging—brought the solid fuel engine coughing back to life. When she glanced back, Eddie was squinting sceptically at the rumbling coming from above them.

It’s getting worse.

She’s fine. She’s a good ship.

Whatever you say, Freckles. I’m going back to bed. Wake me when we’re there.

Dom nodded and gave the manual throttle a gentle twist. Her stomach lurched for an instant before the gravity compensators caught up. There was a splash behind her. Eddie sighed.

I’m never going to finish a coffee again, am I? His footsteps quietened as he strolled back towards his quarters.

Hey, Dom called over her shoulder. Don’t turn that bloody noise back—

A flood of synth music roared out of Eddie’s quarters. Dom set her teeth and started the Solitude on a course for Temperance station.

2

When Dom banged on his door to announce that they’d set down, Eddie crawled out of bed, tucked away the tab he’d been scribbling on, and strapped on his gun.

He yawned as he tugged open his door and shuffled out through the open airlock. He never could sleep properly on the Solitude, especially not when they were taking the dark roads through the system. A two day stretch in one of them was enough to put his cheek muscles in spasm, the way the ship creaked and groaned and screamed through the compressed void of space.

Sleep would be on the menu tonight, a good sleep in a good hotel with real goddamn coffee in the morning. He started to whistle to himself at the thought.

He wandered down the enclosed boarding tunnel, casting glances out the windows at the ships docked next door. Temperance had always been a tourist station, a getaway for the soon-to-be-poor and the desperate-to-be-rich who came to test their luck. And the tourist docks were once more crammed with passenger ships, even in the station’s last days. Because of them. Different stations died in different ways. Some struggled, desperately attempting to jury-rig repairs to the life support systems, just to give themselves a few more days of life. On some stations they prayed. On others, the residents gathered with their loved ones and ate their last meals laced with cyanide. But Temperance was different.

On Temperance, they partied like it was the end of the world. And everyone wanted a bit of the fun.

Eddie emerged from the spaceport onto a shrewdly placed viewing platform and took his first look at the station’s interior. The sky above was covered with transparent panels, revealing the slow rotation of Eleda VI and the storms raging across its surface hundreds of kilometres away. Those panels would be hardened against all the usual threats to a station’s survival: meteors, debris, and of course, small arms fire. The ancients had learned that particular lesson early on, when the Second Colonial Expansion gave way to the Fracturing.

The station-wide lights were all off, casting the city into twilight. A grav train rocketed along an elevated rail that carried it swerving among billboards and apartment blocks. The spires of hundreds of towers were packed tightly through the city, the metal and plastic and glass exteriors glinting in the light of a thousand sparkling neon signs.

Slots.

Girls, Girls, Girls.

All-Night Stims.

Golden Hand Pachinko.

Eddie smiled and drew in a deep breath. The smell of broken air filters and desperation and cheap beer and spices and hair dye and broken stim vials and