The Goodall Marauders

By Gretchen Rix

All that stands between Captain Carmady and an exceptionally ugly death is his First Lieutenant Joan Chikage.

And she will not budge.

The Goodall Marauders, book three in the Goodall series of science fiction mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gretchen Rix
• Release date: Jul 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370796977

Gretchen Rix

Gretchen Rix--I write Texas cozy mysteries in the Boo Done It series set in Lockhart, the barbecue capital of Texas. Tag line: Where there's more than indigestion brewing.I've worked as a bookstore clerk, a newspaper writer, and a book reviewer. I've had jobs as a professional typist, a truck dispatcher and a health insurance claims processor. I learned a lot from these jobs. But my true inspiration for these mysteries was our family's stubborn, huge, skittish and always-hungry dog Boo Radley. This dog could drag anybody into an adventure.My sister and I created and ran an international ghost story writing contest. It lasted four years. Now I no longer ever desire to be a magazine editor. I go to science fiction conventions. I'm a member of RWA. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I take the motto "Keep Austin Weird" seriously even though I live 35 miles away."Talking to The Dead Guys" is the first in a series of murder mysteries about a dog, strong women, and small-town living (or is it dying?). Check out all my books at http://rixcafetexican.com and my blog at http://gretchenrix.com.

Book preview

DEDICATION

For my sister Roxanne Rix. And thanks to my critique partners Phil McBride, Wayne Walther, Todd Blomerth, Tammy Francis, Janet Christian, and Rebecca Ballard.

Also to my friends Dianne Stevenson, Carole and Mike McGregor, and my aunt Billie Rix.

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1

Maybe this really was the day they’d go up in a blaze of glory. Explode in a fiery ball of ochre and dissipate afterwards into clouds of people dust.

Chikage hoped not. Thought she’d been sent out to save everybody, not aid and abet in their deaths.

But everyone knew Captain Carmady courted destruction. Even before she’d joined his crew, she’d heard the stories.

He’d not hesitate to put the Goodall on the line, if it served his purpose. And all her crew. Plus that of the Horne.

Why the hell had she ever signed up with him?

Joan Chikage, the last surviving lieutenant from the deep space cargo ship Goodall, had all the time in the world to ponder that idea.

In the two seconds or so it took to teleport her and Nestor from Carmady’s private quarters to—somewhere else.

They were supposed to stop Captain Matchett from killing everyone. To foil whatever it was he had in store for the Goodall crew. At least, that was the supposition.

Chikage should have been using the stretched-out time anomaly that occurred when teleporting to make a plan. A plan to save everyone. Instead, she found herself thinking about Carmady, in all his incarnations.

When she first boarded the Goodall, Carmady had often drawn her aside for long talks.

Okay, he talked. She listened.

He talked philosophy, he talked literature, he talked politics. He rambled on about history. He really rambled on about the loneliness of command.

And it was during those instances she first learned to evade his casually roving hands.

Not that he ever forced anything. Yet, always there was something in the back of those blue eyes of his that made her sad she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—

Mostly, she wasn’t ever alone with him anymore.

If she heard his whispery voice in the passageways, Chikage changed direction. If for some reason he touched her, she disguised her reaction and never, ever returned the caress.

She’d seen more of Carmady these last few days than the whole last six months of duty. And it had unsettled her.

The captain sitting on his bed, struggling to wake up, his black hair tousled from sleep. A warmth in his blue eyes Chikage rarely saw anymore.

Thank God he’d had that damned cat Tiberius in his arms. She’d been afraid of Carmady then. Afraid she’d reach out to him instead of backing away.

And then when she’d brought her crew to safety.

The captain coldly dismissing her to the attentions of those soldiers. Standing for just a little longer than necessary at the entrance to the cargo bay before limping away.

So she couldn’t possibly miss his point. Again, with that damned cat in his arms. The cat she’d saved for him.

She meant nothing to Carmady. Maybe the Goodall didn’t, either.

Once, there had been long talks about navigation. Hours spent with Carmady pointing out the stars. Telling her the history of the sector. Drinking coffee with her as if they were friends.

He’d even instructed her in taking apart a sextant, and then in putting it back together. The bright shiny bronze of it remained seared into her memory, as had their camaraderie.

But always, always, right afterwards had come the shunning. A sharp shove instead of a playful touch. Cutting her off whenever she spoke. Passing her in the corridors with no more than a cursory glance.

Banishing her to the bowels of the Goodall to work on beetle research.

Warm blue eyes more often cold and cutting and dismissive, and at worst, dangerously amused. Especially dangerous when combined with that slight smile he used to disarm the unwary.

Chikage realized that the real question should have been why hadn’t she left. Not why had she signed up in the first place. Chikage knew the answer, even if she tried pretending otherwise.

Carmady needed her. She wasn’t going to abandon him.

Chikage tensed. Forced herself away from thoughts of Carmady and his haunted eyes. Damn it! Teleportation was taking too long. It had never been this long. Something was horribly wrong.

She’d been transitory for minutes, not the seconds it should have taken. And there was nothing she could do about it. Chikage and Nestor were at the mercy of Captain Carmady’s alien device.

All she could really do was think.

Maybe Nestor was faring better, plotting the rescue of the Goodall.

Odd that the captain had sent her and the tattooed twin instead of the soldiers he’d brought onboard. Maybe he’d teleported them, too, and she just didn’t know about it.

Chikage felt like she was trapped in one of those old style ship coffins. Six-feet by three-feet—she didn’t know how deep they had to make it. Her arms paralyzed at her sides the way they were.

Chikage tried moving her head. Her whole body was frozen in place. She felt nothing. Not cold. Not warm. Only irritated. And helpless.

Fear blossomed in her veins all of a sudden.

From the nothingness of the teleporter beam, her body woke to the tingling of blood moving towards her heart. Sluggish at first, then racing.

She coughed, bringing up the slight coppery taste of blood. She coughed again, bending forward with the force of it. Unconsciously reaching out for Nestor for support.

His facial tattoos stood out in sudden dark relief against his slightly lighter skin. Chikage saw stars where there had only been pockmarks before.

Just as they connected, both fell straight down into the cargo hold of the Goodall. Thank God it hadn’t been from more than ten feet over the deck.

Nestor barely missed landing on one of the Jersey cows milling around amongst the Horne refugees.

The smell of new-mown hay assailed Chikage’s nostrils. Before she could sneeze, the stink of just-pooped cow dung overpowered the allergen.

Chikage fell into the arms of one of the soldiers from the destroyed spaceship. His neatly starched uniform shirt scratched her skin when he nearly collapsed with her.

As Chikage clung to him in dismay, she silently cursed Carmady. He was supposed to have sent them after these people’s captain. Not back into the cargo hold.

The crew of the Horne blamed them for the destruction of their ship. There was no telling what they’d do.

Cows mooed loudly from over by the exit. From the opposite side of the cargo hold came the affronted shriek of a cat.

The soldier who’d caught Chikage abruptly dropped his hold on her. She flailed wildly for a second or two, and succeeded in regaining her footing. Suddenly, screams, curses, and loud laughter dominated the noises in the hold.

Had she imagined Tiberius screaming? And the cow mooing?

Both Chikage and the Horne soldier turned to stare.

From the exit at the other end of the hold, Horne survivors deftly slid out of the way of something rushing toward the pair of them. Something about that rustling and clicking seemed familiar to her.

Chikage took a wild guess, and was right.

Beetles.

Many more than there should have been. But not the deluge she’d experienced before. All heading her way. Their jeweled backs reflecting light onto the Horne refugees.

There! One was yellow, a color Chikage hadn’t seen before. But these had to be the same beetles that had been in her possession yesterday. Her very own experimental rhinoceros beetles. The ones she never wanted to see again.

Chikage knew she’d end up back with the little suckers. Like they were bound together by fate. Or by the capricious captain of the USS Goodall.

Chikage braced herself. If any of them ran up her legs, she’d go mad and squash them into mush.

Eyes tightly shut, Chikage missed most of what happened next. She felt the whoosh of the teleporter as it re-entered the hold. Heard the sharp report of a laser pistol discharging. Smelled something burning.

Felt the jab of someone else’s weapon in her back, which knocked her off her feet. Then she fainted. Came to, staring up at Captain Matchett calmly contemplating her from his advantageous height.

With his laser weapon, he pointed wildly back at his own crew before taking an abrupt aim at something Chikage couldn’t see.

You only thought you saved the cat, he said, triumph clear in his voice.

Matchett released the shot. A red light flamed outward.

There, he crowed. Got him.

2

The cry of anguish exploding from Chikage’s throat at the thought of Tiberius dying shocked her into abrupt silence. If Captain Carmady were anywhere as close to madness as she suspected, the death of his priceless cat would push him over the edge.

And he was already at the lip of that edge.

That was part of it. The rest of it was genuine sorrow for the loss of Tiberius.

As hateful and destructive as he could be at times, having a cat on the ship had enriched her life. Had saved her life, actually.

And if what Carmady had said about the cat’s monetary worth were true, Tiberius would have made the whole component of the Goodall filthy rich.

Chikage found herself remembering the cat’s habit of head-butting those few crew members he loved. How he felt close and warm in her arms. His little heart-shaped face, his green eyes.

The soft purring noises he made. That paw thing he did. The black stripes in his gray fur that made him look like some sort of wildcat. The silkiness of it that made her want to keep on stroking him.

Or was it hair? It was certainly cat hair that kept getting up her nose.

But then there was how he regularly pissed all over her clothes and her blankets. The way he marked the walls of the ship. That musky smell that never went away. Never.

He bit. He clawed. He screamed for attention all times of the day. And all night. Not that there was really a day or night in deep space.

Absently, Chikage rubbed the scars on her forearms. Long slashes in her white skin that created small ridges. Souvenirs left behind by the cat.

And wondered if maybe it was something else making her wail her heart out, and not the cat’s extermination at all.

Assuring herself that, of course, it was the cat’s untimely death causing her grief. She wasn’t that sort of monster.

Captain Matchett signaled for one of his people to come over, then holstered his laser pistol. His larger-than-life presence dominated the immediate space.

His laughter drowned out Chikage’s small sobs. Look at him go, he declared, whooping with delight.

With delight!

Burned to a crisp. Look at him go!

Chikage covered her eyes instead. Didn’t know what to do, but she wasn’t going to look at a dying cat. Prayed quietly for his soul. Tiberius’s soul, not the captain’s. As far as she could see, the man had none.

Matchett was so manically elated. And it didn’t make sense. The cat would have been worth a small fortune.

But for some reason, Captain Matchett had killed it. Then lost all interest in the two Goodall crewmen amongst the Horne refugees in the Goodall’s cargo hold.

Maybe he thought he was back in his own ship. His destroyed ship. The ship that didn’t even exist anymore.

He pranced. He waved his arms in the air, he shouted hallelujahs. The deck rang with the tap, tap, tapping of the captain’s boots.

Chikage watched Nestor approach. He looked professional. Was walking slowly. Carefully. Keeping his eyes forward as if he had a job to do and was going to do it. Horne crewmen got out of his way.

When he reached Chikage, and Matchett still ignored him, Nestor gently pulled her out of that captain’s reach.

Chikage’s eyes clouded with more tears as she let Nestor take her away. They tasted salty on her lips when she rubbed them off.

That was a goat he fried, Chikage, Nestor told her when they were far enough away. The excited and loudly shouted conversations of the refugees guaranteed they couldn’t be overheard by their captain.

He must have seen shocked concern in her eyes because he elaborated. They shot it to eat for dinner.

Chikage didn’t believe him. Even a goat would have been enormously valuable. Though that did explain the delicious smell rising from the smoke over there. Chikage had never eaten much barbecued meat, but that’s what it smelled like.

I know you think it was Tiberius, but it wasn’t. He’s over there in the hay with the cows.

To his credit, Nestor didn’t point, so Chikage tried to keep from looking at the cows. If Matchett hadn’t already thought of Tiberius as a way to get to the captain of the Goodall, then she didn’t want to be the one giving him the idea.

A goat?

"Yes. The Horne crew’s already tired of eating our rations. I’d walk you over there and show you, but we don’t want to draw Matchett’s attention back to us right now."

Chikage leapt to the illogical conclusion it seemed her companion alluded to. "You