Tempus Interruptus: Dwarves in Space, #1

By SE Zbasnik

Time's unraveling across the galaxy and the only hope are two people who'd rather kill each other than work together.

Drake Bane is a low-class smuggler and general grit in the galaxy's wheels of progress. He finds himself on the wrong side of a goblin mob boss and gets the choice to either steal an ancient relic or test space decompression up close. When his ship's impounded as collateral he's left to sneak his way onto a ship without bothering to get to know the captain or its cast of interesting characters. Too bad or he'd have skipped right past and saved himself a major headache.

Captain Variel Tuffman's got her own secrets which she's not about to share with a smuggler that lied his way onto her ship. All she wants is to ditch the guy before the couple on her ship who think they're on a cruise vacation catch on. It all goes wibbly wobbly when an ancient artifact impales itself onto her hand and she can't get it off. The crew is sent careening across the galaxy on the run from a bunch of species' militaries and the dwarven antiquities board. At the heart of it all is a hole in the galaxy that no one's ever seen before or can explain and it's getting bigger. When the captain starts speaking gibberish and snaps in and out of comas, their only hope may be the relic jammed in her hand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellen Mint
• Release date: Jan 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393516200

SE Zbasnik

S. E. Zbasnik has a degree in genetics, which means there may or may not be a horde of monkeoctopi doing her bidding to take over the world. She recently won the Top Ten Handmaid's Challenge on Wattpad where hers was chosen by Margaret Atwood herself. Along with her husband and black lab, she spends a lot of time with her skeletons -- don't worry, they're only Halloween props.

Book preview

TEMPUS INTERRUPTUS

a

Dwarves in Space Novella

By

SE Zbasnik

The Next Books In The Series

Dwarves in Space

Family Matters

Free Radicals

Copyright © 2019 by SE Zbasnik

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2019

ASIN: B07MGC5NQK

A hearty thanks to those who gifted us the greatest invention of humankind: the taco.

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CHAPTER ONE

SEE THE GALAXY! Make your own hours! Great benefits!

Comm Tech Barrus recited the ad under his breath while drizzling the last of the lukewarm noodles into his mouth. The great benefits gurgled beside his raised feet that kept knocking into the plastic control panel, his coffee long over boiled. His own hours wafted into the endless void of space, each one adding up to three years of his life. Someone had to fix the downed ether buoys in the middle of wyrmless space lest a harried trader in a five piece suit miss one second of a conference call and galactic war broke out. And it’s not like SkyTalk was going to invest in cheap gnome labor. They prided themselves on only hiring humans; poor, busted down humans who’ll take whatever scraps they get to pay off student loans.

The quiet of the stars gave Barrus time and a half to think, which was the problem. On the edges of the galaxy, while zipping from one wyrmpinch to another, or trapped for hours inside a hissing suit tinkering with a comm buoy, he discovered to his chagrin there wasn’t much inside his gasping mind. Most of his thoughts circled back around to what awaited him for dinner and how he’d probably mount a hamburger when his tour ended and he finally got back home.

One of the trademarked SkyTalk klaxons bleated from beside his pile of noodle wrappers. Sighing, Barrus dropped his shoes and inched forward to glare at the console dumbed so far down even the clinically brain dead could understand it. The little button marked ‘Engine: Make Go’ flashed thrice. He tapped it, trying to coo the fading fuse back to life. For a moment, the light returned to normal, the engines still humming beneath him. He leaned back, savoring his minor victory, when the button’s light gave up the ghost and cut fully out.

Great. Something else for me to fix. The repair ships were an investment for technicians, as well as the uniform coated in noodle stains, and his training. Because of the cost, techs who finally succumbed to space madness were quick to pawn theirs off on the next unlucky sot to take the job. His had probably been in service out in the dark parts of space since before he’d been born. It kept together thanks to duct tape, spit, and coagulated noodle sauce.

Wiping down his face, Barrus reached for the bucket of fuses then paused as another alarm went off - more pained than the first. His hand dropped towards the diagnostic macro when the entire control console lit up like a rave on Soulday.

What the shi-

The invisible fist of the galaxy punched Barrus out of his chair and threw his body across the floor into a bulkhead. His head bounced twice, denting flimsy metal and cheaper plastic. Cabin lights flickered in rage, strobing in time with the dying brain of the ship. All around him machines rose from their slumbering grave - tech equipment, a sticky screwdriver, even his infernal toaster - bleating in agony for attention only to fall back to silence. A cacophony pounded through his temples but left no noise in his ears. He screamed against the smothering silence, but his voice skipped over the vowels and shuddered up and down octaves. Finally, the lights failed and blackness reigned through the silent cabin.

Barrus stumbled to his knees, his hands pressing into his ears. Something wet dribbled down both of his palms, which he smeared across the deck trying to right himself. Where are those fucking emergency lights? He hunted in the total dark for the latch to the torches, smashing his thumb into the uprighted chair legs. There were protocols on where to store emergency equipment, protocols no one followed because they were never needed. This was the easiest low paying job in the galaxy short of putting the little antennae on robots. What in the shit was going on out there? It couldn’t be a concussive blast from another ship. No one in their right mind would try to steal from a SkyTalk repair shuttle. Best pirates could hope for would be some long outdated tech, a bored tech who’d probably try to join with ‘em, and a pile of stickers they had to slap onto the probes with each repair.

Pulling open the hatch and rutting around, he tossed aside a few K-rations and an emergency breather to pick up the torch. Just as he was about to flip the switch, the emergency lights rose. Throbbing red lights bathed his cabin like the inside of the bedroom of a teenager who enjoys long night walks in cemeteries. Took ya long enough, he muttered to himself but still kept hold of the torch. Rising to his feet, he peered across the console, every single button dead.

Fan-fucking-tastic. This is going to take hours to reboot, he groaned to himself, a hand tugging on his oily hair before he glanced up and out the view screen. His shriek rattled the noodle cup until it plummeted to the floor.

Where dark space and a smattering of stars should be, a hole twisted through the insides of the galaxy, silver metal poured into the edges like one of those puzzle illusions meant to mess with the eye. The hole or whatever it was rolled at a constantly changing speed, and sometimes reversed direction. Staring too long into it made it feel as if the back of his eyeballs were itching. Barrus reached for his chair to fall down into it, forgetting it tumbled along with him in whatever explosion created that universe-destroying scientific nightmare. His ass smashed to the grating, but the pain didn’t register. Images, data points, a pinched woman’s droning all dredged up from his brain what little he knew of a black hole. Scary. Bad. Certain death. Kiss your grav insurance goodbye. But this thing was walking distance from his ship, and he didn’t feel any gravitational pull. By space standards the ship was stationary. This couldn’t possibly be a black hole, or anything he’d ever seen before.

He laughed to himself at his good fortune. Whatever terrifyingly new space phenomena it was, at least it wasn’t having any effect or trying to kill him. No tentacles snapped out to shred his shuttle apart, nor did the demons of the beyond fly free and yank him in to join them. Rising off his bruised hocks, he tried to prod the console to life. If this was never seen before, something like this had to have a major finder’s fee. Maybe they’d even name it after him. The Mark Barrus hole! It’d have to be worth enough vids to get him out of this—

A noise skittered down the hallway. The hallway attached to a fold down bed that also passed as a dining room on his one man spaceship. Barrus swung around, trying to hunt down a nonexistent knocked can or loose toolbox rolling across the floor. Gripping the torch tighter he swallowed down the stomach in his throat and called out, Hello! Is anyone there?

He felt relieved and foolish when nothing answered back. Right, just getting jumpy—

I said, who are you? echoed through the ship, the sound warped as if it was run through one of those kids toys that messed with gravity.

Fucking hell! Barrus cursed, spinning around to find the voice’s owner. I…I’ll have you know you’re trespassing on SkyTalk property, whoever you are.

Shining the weak torchlight down the hall, Barrus tried to peer into the hellfire of the emergency lighting. It could be his imagination, or a week of eating expired noodles, but he swore a shadow blacker than the air moved deeper inside.

Who are you? Barrus called out. What are you doing here?

This isn’t funny, echoed back, the voice peeved.

I said, who are you?! Barrus screamed, rage at being spoken down to overlapping the terror.

Boots shuffled just out of sight, the shadow moving, but no more voices mocked him. Perhaps it was a rodent that snuck onboard knocking scattered cans about, or he was finally losing his mind to space madness which caused him to hear voices. That made perfect sense. A complete and utter mental breakdown is preferable to—

A clicking noise reverberated in the shadows and a light burst from the back of the ship. It trembled in the air and the voice, a familiar voice, mumbled, Oh shit.

You can be tried for trespassing. Strung up for stowing away, Barrus growled, trying to get the upper hand.

You’re trespassing, the voice mocked him.

This isn’t funny! Barrus shouted back, waving his torchlight in loping circles. Rage wiped away common sense, and he stepped towards the man nearly mocking him to his face. He slid closer, trying to steady the light, and kept talking, Don’t resist. You have nowhere to go but space. I’ll be lenient on you. They’ll be lenient on you.

Fucking hell! the voice shouted. Barrus was close enough now he could see the shadow was man sized and probably not an alien. Its own torch light burned Barrus’ eyes and he blinked against the assault.

Tell me who you are! Barrus shouted once more. There were tales of wanderers — star dusters they were called — people who couldn’t afford passage back down to a planet that were left begging for scraps off any passing ship to survive in the trenches of space. Some turned to stowing away for passage or even looting. They could also be powerfully strong courtesy of years of low-grav madness.

That can’t be, the unexplained voice said.

Barrus steadied his hand and lifted the torch light towards the head of the shadow. It almost slipped from his fingers, his throat constricting from the scream lodged in his throat as he stared into a mirror image of himself. The same three week stubble, the black circles under the eyes, even the chipped tooth glared past him.

No, Barrus muttered, sliding his foot back, that can’t be.

A voice whispered behind him, They’ll be lenient on you.

Barrus spun around. Standing beside the console were another three copies of himself. One was hunting around the ground for the torch in his hand, another was glaring through him, and the last sat in the chair eating the same noodles digesting in his stomach.

Oh shit.

CHAPTER TWO

DRAKE BANE FLASHED his patent pending megawatt smile at the troll so filling the doorway it nearly merged with it. Trolls by and large, were mostly large, by and by. They used that to their advantage, relying upon the tactics of intimidation and glowering to get what they wanted in the universe. This one took it to the extreme by actually sewing skulls upon his shoulders. Not real ones, but resin things that looked like they belonged in a museum display. The guard didn’t even bother to look down at the nervous human trying to play this meeting off as if it was all his idea. His idea. Sure. Because so many people would willingly walk right up to this door for the fun of it. Drake flexed his fingers and risked a glance at the missing nail. Those things were stubborn as hell about growing back.

Is he here? a chipped voice echoed around the troll. Its telltale trill froze Drake’s blood. People said that upper register nearly out of human range could burst your brains out of your nose if done loud enough. The troll glanced behind himself and bobbed that rock for a head.

Send him in.

The boss says…

Drake waved the troll aside and jutted his chin out, I heard her. Now please, unless you want me to crawl under your legs, move aside.

The bodyguard leaned down as far as the impenetrable grey troll hide allowed, and the beady black eyes glared into Drake’s, but his impudent blue had already moved on. Grumbling deep in its gut, the troll landslide shifted aside.

Despite being on a space station, a false sunlight hovered past the woman behind the desk. Impressive, but expensive to maintain the kind of outage needed for such an illusion. Shit, she was the one behind half of all the illegal activities along the troll-goblin borders. Pirating, racketeering, smuggling, fixing races, racing fixes, and — worst of all — gru gambling. With the kind of coin she shat out before breakfast, she could buy herself her own little planet instead of holding court on this piece of coprolite station, but there was tradition to maintain. One thing their kind loved was tradition, and three piece suits, and inviting guys to go fishing before plugging them in the back of the head(s).

A pinching of rouge circled around her giant black eyes ending in a point to the side. The green skinned nose, dagger shaped, was pierced with three different sparkling gems from worlds long since gutted and left as desert planets. What little of hair goblin’s had was wound in a twist and draped across her suited shoulder.

My lady Oless, Drake began, bowing deep and flailing his arms in obeisance.

Skip it, Mr. Bane, she muttered, her claws tapping across the crimson desk. You know why you’re here.

It was all a big misunderstanding, he said his eyes darting up to her from his bow. A small jest done in the heart of the moment.

Rather than deliver the goods to my associates you seem to have… Oless paused and shouted to her body guard, What was the report, Lichtor?

The troll cracked his head sized knuckles while answering, Bragged to three corps officers and handed it over to the guard in exchange for them not tossing his puny ass in prison. That ‘puny ass’ had gotten him out of plenty of scrapes, and then into just as many after his conquests found they weren’t the only ones.

Right. That, Oless answered. Drake watched himself reflected in those bottomless black eyes. With only his own guilty visage glaring back at him, it was easy to see how goblins did so well in the organized crime business.

Now see, what you don’t have is the full picture. Your contact never bothered to show, very rude that. Could have dead dropped ahead that he’d be late. It’s the proper procedure in such matters. And I, I needed to keep the vials of enzyme cool, so I slipped into a bar. They have ice. Drake danced about the room while spinning his tale, his arms punctuating the important points that exonerated him. Except, after dumping the ice in the baggie, these two men - huge men the size of… he paused and turned to look at the bodyguard, bigger than trolls, spotted the vials and threatened to end my life for them.

Not much of a deal, Lichtor snorted.

Drake ignored him, A minor scuffle broke out, so the bartender panicked and called in the corps. What could I do but play the innocent and wounded party lest it somehow lead back to you, Oless?

The goblin only blinked once, her boxy forehead puckering as she listened to his tall tale. I see. A curious story because what I have is first hand evidence that you became so inebriated you missed the contact’s window, stumbled into a new bar, and bragged to the first uniformed female you spotted.

That’s all hearsay, Drake insisted. You can’t trust that stuff. I was there. I know what really happened.

Oless’ eyes flickered up and the door behind Drake slammed shut. He tried to not picture it as the lid to his coffin while the troll’s grin carved across his granite face. I can pay you back! Drake shouted, filling the silent air with the first platitude to enter his head.

With what? You have nothing to your name save an ancient cruiser scrapped twice over.

I… Drake hunted around the tiny room that passed for the greatest goblin mob boss’ office. Crates were stacked five a piece, the wood labeled as ‘Contents: Marbles.’ He rather doubted that was what was contained within and didn’t want to know judging by the pungent odor. A slow fan beat down the occasional attempt at exhaust fumes onto his head, but trying to break out through there would end in him chopped to a hundred tiny pieces. It’s not like those tiny vials could have been worth much, right?

A crack reverberated from Lichtor rolling his neck muscles against his shoulders, the dangling arms comparable to a tree trunk. He’d last about a half a second before the troll smeared his boneless body across the floor. Oless tapped her long fingers against her folded arms and said, Each sample of the M6-KL enzyme could help manufacture a literal tons worth of Unicorn.

Shit, Drake muttered to himself. He had no idea what he was carrying, he made it a rule to not ask. Oless’s black eyes danced up to her bodyguard and one hundred pounds of troll fist grabbed the back of Drake’s coat collar. He scrabbled to dig his puny human nails in but they only bent against the troll hide. Lichtor caught Drake’s kicking legs and hurled the human’s back down upon the blood red desk. Breath cracked from his lungs, Oless’ brass plate digging deep in between two vertebrae.

A few of the others in the game used to whisper about Oless’ seat of power. They said that back in the early days her desk was brown as any other wood throughout the galaxy.