Switcher's Rhapsody

By Kate Steele

Tarl Mengs, navigator of the Starship Brizo, never expected his vacation would end with a near crash landing on a backwater planet like Peldar. Resigned to days of boredom while his shuttle is repaired, an unexpected meeting with a cute and sassy Adarian lands Mengs in a world of trouble. It seems Switcher has stolen a prize from a pack of poachers who will do anything to get it back.

Stranded and on the run, Mengs and Switcher face life threatening danger to save a species on the verge of extinction. And that’s the easy part. Who knew wrestling with a budding relationship would be even harder!

Publisher’s Note: Switcher’s Rhapsody takes place in the same world as Kate Steele’s Gimme Shelter (Set in Stone)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019

Book preview

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Chapter 1

The approaching ion storm will engulf the ship in forty-five seconds.

I know, I know, I know! That calm, reasonable, electronic female voice was driving Tarl Mengs nuts. "Computer, mark forty seconds and initiate countdown. And for Creator’s sake, kill the klaxons!"

Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…

Elbow deep in an engineering control panel, he rerouted functions and bypassed circuits at a frenzied pace. A deluge of anxiety-driven heat suffused his innards, rising to flush and dampen his skin with a sheen of perspiration. Why, oh why, oh why, did I not listen to Jacks and take that shuttle engine refresher course with her?

Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight.

Selecting two tiny core connector cards, he switched them and plugged them back in. Because I’m a fracking navigator, that’s why! I hope this shit doesn’t blow.

Warning. The configuration you have employed may damage the system.

No kidding, Mengs muttered. Electricity charged the atmosphere. A primal shiver shook him as the fine hairs on his body responded to the increasing static. With feverish haste he made several more adjustments.

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.

Mengs’ stomach threatened to heave. He swallowed hard and reached for a fuser with a pinpoint laser tip.

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.

Careful to keep the fiber-foil coil in place, he fused a rerouted damper circuit into position. Sweat beaded his forehead. A drop threaded its way through the fine hairs of one eyebrow. He shuddered, blinked at the sting of salt as it seeped into his eye and kept working.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Heart pounding, nerves jangling, breaths short and harsh, Mengs engaged the panel seal…

Five. Four. Three.

… and punched the activation key.

The engine roared. The shuttle bucked and slammed forward. Mengs lost his grip on the safety rail, tumbled across the deck and crashed into a wall. Winded and stunned he lay there listening, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Nothing exploded.

He drew in a long, much-needed swallow of air. Computer, report.

Danger from ion storm avoided. Increased speed has taken the ship four point seven two nine parsecs off course. Main engine circuits are damaged and offline. Secondary drive activated. Nearest planet with adequate repair facility: Peldar.

Peldar! We didn’t just overshoot our destination, we burrowed straight up the ass end of beta sector. There goes my fracking vacation. Muscles shaking from an overdose of adrenaline, Mengs levered himself up from the deck. Still… He rubbed his bruised hip and grinned. That was one hell of a ride.

* * *

Seventeen Standard Hours Later

Well, frack a fracking frack-head. Mengs ran his fingers through his hair. Even over the ringing clang of a metal shaper, his ears noted the familiar muted melody of ironwood beads as they tapped one against another.

Woven into several slim braids nestled among the thick strands, the dark burnished wood beads with their hand-carved symbols paid homage to the ancestors of his Gulrian family line. Their intricate designs were not only beautiful, but musical. With a light rap, each bead revealed its individual tone. Their placement in Mengs’ dark, olive-colored hair assured that each time they touched, no matter in what order, the song they created would be soft and lyrical -- a soothing reminder of home, harmony and family.

Distracted from his thoughts by the hiss and spark of a fusion rod, Mengs turned his head. Against the bright light, his lids narrowed and hid the deep burnt-orange color of his eyes. With another soft curse, he turned away to peruse the shabby interior of the repair port.

Run by a Fratkin quintet, the place was a mishmash of discarded parts, disorganized tools and mystery odds and ends. Four of the five were hard at work, two elbow deep in the guts of a gaudy-colored purple and chartreuse single-seat flyer while the second pair was dismantling the port cell of a logo-emblazoned intra-planetary shuttle.

Mengs’ own shuttle, borrowed from the Starship Brizo on which he was navigator, sat unattended and awaiting repair. Its minimalist outer markings and sleek design made him proud. No cheap or vulgar displays for the Brizo or any apparatus representing that ship. Captain Zen Ahbramez insisted on straightforward business dealings, and an outward presentation of understated class that spoke volumes. As a result, he and his crew suffered no lack of clientele.

A tangy stench drew Mengs’ attention and his nose wrinkled. The smell of hot metal, catalytic cleaner, burnt rubber and Creator knew what else cooked up an atmospheric soup that coated his tongue. If spitting had been an option he’d be doing it, but his momon had raised her children to be civilized. A thing in this situation, Mengs viewed with some regret. Where’s Jacks when I need her? he muttered. Oh yeah, on vacation. Just like I’m supposed to be. He rolled his eyes at the wasted sarcasm.

What was that?

Nothing. Not a thing, Mengs answered as he turned to face the speaker.

The fifth member of the Fratkin quintet shrugged. Anyway, like I was saying, it’s gonna take a couple days. I gotta send for parts. Those burnt circuits of yours are a special order. You can’t just jury-rig something like that and I can’t carry every fracking part for every space going vehicle under the suns. Ya know what I mean?

Sure, sure. So listen, is there a decent place to stay around here? Some place close to a bar where I can have a few drinks without getting my throat cut?

The Fratkin smiled. It was only the shape of his gleaming white teeth -- blunt and rectangular rather than serrated -- that kept Mengs from reaching for his scorch pistol. To say Fratkin were less than attractive was being generous. Short and dumpy, they had egg-shaped heads with a layer of wispy fuzz at the broader top. Set in an oval face, their mouths could form a grin like no race Mengs had ever encountered. It was literally ear-to-ear, a gaping crater of a smile only a mother could love, and Mengs had his doubts about even that. Like his counterparts, this Fratkin was dressed in a stained one-piece coverall that did its best to make him appear even shorter and rounder.

Unaware of Mengs’ less-than-flattering appraisal, the Fratkin answered, Devenes. Six blocks down. The rooms are clean and won’t cost you your last credit. Bar across the way, Similfis. As long as you mind your own business you shouldn’t run into any problems. The owner doesn’t tolerate trouble, but if he thinks you deserve what you’ve started he won’t interfere. The thing he will do is take the cost of any damages out of your pocket. Or out of what’s left of your hide if you don’t have the credits to pay.

Sounds fair. Thanks. So, you think a couple of days, huh?

Yeah. If I order the parts now. I just put in an order for a new shipment and those can be included if I let them know within the next couple hours.

Great.

Half for the work and parts in advance.

No problem. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Mengs slipped a hand in his pocket, dug out his Credit Transfer Unit and handed it over.

The Fratkin slid the tip of the short rectangular wand of the CTU into a handheld transaction recorder. He punched a few buttons, then returned the CTU to Mengs, who accepted the return, pressed his thumb over the ID patch at one end and triggered the holo projector. A bluish beam of light appeared. It shimmered, fanned out, flattened and solidified into a semitransparent invoice. The amount deducted from his account made Mengs wince, but it was no more than expected. Next time he came anywhere near an ion storm he was giving it a much wider berth. If catching just the outer sliver of the thing caused this much damage, he shuddered to think what would have happened if he’d cut it any closer.

Resigned to his fate, Mengs retrieved a duffel with a change of clothes and a few toiletries from his shuttle. He