Maverick Stand

By Marjorie King

Knox is done waiting.

Teacher has targeted Knox's crew one too many times. Knox isn't going to wait to end this any longer.

With the help of Amalie's predictions and IAS's soldiers, Knox and the Maverick crew are going to make their final stand. This ends now.

The final chapter of the rollicking Maverick series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Starscape Media, LLC
• Release date: Aug 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218054502

Marjorie King

Engineer. Author. Book dragon. Nature lover. Marjorie King loves Firefly, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Asimov. House Ravenclaw (with a little bit of Slytherin). On her website, www.EngineerStoryteller.com, she posts reviews of her favorite SciFi/Fantasy books. Mmm, books. Occasionally she posts recipes on her blog too. Mmm, food. She can sometimes be spotted in the wild... literally, since Marjorie loves hiking National Parks across the US.

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Marjorie King

Maverick Stand

Book 4 of the Maverick Adventures

First published by Starscape Media, LLC 2022

Copyright © 2022 by Marjorie King

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

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To my boys

who have brought a lot of laughter

and great memories to my life.

Contents

1. An Average Day of Deliveries

2. Maverick

3. Predicting Loops

4. Douglas and Nicolai

5. Maverick Schemes

6. Informant

7. Siege

8. Regroup

9. The Hold

10. New Uniforms

11. New Prediction

12. Someone Still Out There

13. TG at IAS

14. Inventions and Plans

15. Termites

16. Lysander

17. Computer Bugs

18. Getting Into Position

19. Douglas’s Time

20. Take Flight

21. Moving In

22. The Closet

23. Getting the Family Home

24. Funeral of a Salesman

25. Passing the Baton

26. Last Meeting

Free Prequel: Maverick Origins

About the Author

Also by Marjorie King

1

An Average Day of Deliveries

Knox pushed his pile of crates through the spaceport. Not that it took much strength. His wife, Ximena, also the ship’s mechanic, had rigged some hover brackets that fit on the four corners of the crates. A hundred-centimeter air gap sat as a cushion between the bottom crate and the floor. A child could have pushed these crates, even though they weighed over a ton.

But a child couldn’t have protected the shipment from theft, not on the rough spaceport landing dock. All around the dock, captains barked orders, mechbots buzzed from one repair to the next, human mechanics powered up loud machines, and hired hands cussed back and forth. Plasma pistols armed hips, and knives hid inside clothing. But as overwhelming as the raucous was, the smell overpowered even that. Machine lubricant, soured food shipments, body odor, chlorine cleanser, and the worst of all—mantle mud. All of it fought for dominance in Knox’s sensitive nostrils, attacking his adaptation.

Knox pulled the filters out of his pocket and put them up his nose.

Bad today? Alex asked with that grin of his, the one that poked a deep dimple in his right stubbled cheek.

Bad every day, Knox said and kept pushing the crates forward.

A few months ago, Alex had decided to grow a short beard hoping it would make him look older, and wouldn’t you know, it worked. Mostly. Alex still wore his curly black hair in that short ponytail, and even the stubble couldn’t hide his dimple. But the other space truckers had treated him with a little more respect lately.

Alex walked ahead, keeping watch on the dock workers. Knox and his crew shipped custom goods—food or plants that would spoil quickly or a rush job for a wealthy client. His goods couldn’t take their time in the space barges; they needed fast delivery. That quick turnaround came with a nice price tag. But since Knox’s shipments weren’t cheap commodities, that attracted attention from space pirates. Hence the look out or two.

TrysKa, Knox’s pilot and the second watch, followed a safe distance behind, checking for stalkers. She wore her crisp navy uniform and walked with a smooth motion more akin to dancing. Her corkscrew curls circled her head like a halo, and her brown umber skin reflected the dock’s overhead lighting. More than one trucker checked her out after they passed, but they all knew not to touch. TrysKa was an adapted soldier trained by IAS just like Alex and Knox. She could defend herself quite well, thank you very much.

Knox and Alex passed the last row of space fighters and only had the short walk to the energy shields when a plasma shot fired. A searing hot bullet of superheated gas flew straight for Alex’s face. It passed right between his eyes and out the back of his curly head without hurting a thing. Alex’s head, which should have been an explosion of burnt shards, was completely unharmed.

The crate of grubs behind him, however, wasn’t so lucky. It burst open. Fat white worms and tons of charred guts exploded like fireworks. The plastic splinters of the crate shot outward, hitting several people and raising a lot of cussing. Hot grub flesh hit several space truckers. The floor sounded with a chorus of splats as the smaller bits slowly rained down.

Knox twitched his right arm. His thin plasma pistol shot out of his right jacket sleeve into his hand, safety off, but he never had the chance to raise it. And the attacker didn’t have long to look confused at Alex’s unharmed state.

No! TrysKa screamed but too late.

Three dock workers, a captain and two hired hands, opened fire on the assassin. His body went up in flames from the molten gas. He was dead before his charred remains hit the floor.

A person couldn’t just fire off a plasma gun in the middle of a spaceport.

What the fuck! A trucker yelled and jumped out from behind one of the spaceships.

Similar yells in several languages rang out around Knox. Workers turned sharply with guns in hand, searching for the threat. Then came the silence.

Someone tried to off Knox, the captain yelled, holstering his gun. Everything’s fine now, go back to work.

Normal chatter rose back around the dock. Knox grimaced. With a twitch of his right hand, his pistol disappeared back up his sleeve. No one had ever succeeded in sneaking up on him before. No one. The assassins hunting him had improved.

If I hadn’t put in those filters, Knox said, I would have smelled him coming.

Alex watched as his hands and boots started to dissipate like smoke. That’s right. Alex wasn’t actually there. A hologram of him had been projected to make it look like Alex was walking next to Knox, keeping guard. The flesh and blood Alex was reclining in the ship’s cockpit wearing VR glasses. His voice and facial expressions had been transferred to the hologram, but his walking and body language had been extrapolated by an algorithm.

And if I had been here in person, I would have heard him. Alex’s adaptation was nocturnal, better hearing and sight in low light.

But those were excuses. Knox had detected space pirates sneaking up on him before, even with the filters in his nose. This young man had done something to mask his smell. Maybe he’d done something to muffle his noise too. Whatever suit or technology he’d worn, however, was burnt to a crisp. No clues remained to tell how the stalker had pulled off his stunt.

Well, our little trick worked for a month anyway. Only Alex’s face was left as he turned to look one last time on the dead teen. Then he disappeared completely.

Knox turned to TrysKa who was also disappearing. She had been a hologram too.

He was just a kid, TrysKa said of the dead assassin.

I know, Knox said as the last of TrysKa disappeared.

He was a hologram? asked one of the space truckers pointing at where Alex had stood.

Obviously, the captain said. And it saved his life.

Tiny mechanical spiders, hiding between Knox’s crates, pulled back into the recesses of the boxes. They’d been the source of the holographic projections, another pet project of Ximena and Alex.

Knox nodded to the captain and pushed his remaining crates to the energy gates. No use trying to gather the lost grubs. Already workers behind him scooped up the spoils. The living moth worms would sell for top dollar on the black market. Pollinators were always in high demand on the Six Planets. They were all still in the process of being terraformed and desperately in need of plant pollination.

And the blackened grubs were an abundant source of protein. Cooked bugs and grubs were a staple of daily cuisine.

Knox approached the energy barriers alone, without his projection of Alex or TrysKa as company. The barriers, large electromagnetic fields, stood guard between the landing docks and the rest of the space station. The barriers blocked any stray shots that might escape the landing dock, because beyond those fields lay civilization. And that world had to be protected from Knox’s.

The energy gates lined up from the largest—three story high—on Knox’s far left, to the smallest—just big enough for a couple of people—on his far right. He approached the gate just the right of center, the one marked 10-50 Shipments. Knox waited for the barrier to lower and let a foreman exit, his crates being pushed by a couple of hired hands. He nodded to the two workers, both men he’d hired in the past, and ignored this particular foreman, an asshole. Then with a grunt, Knox pushed his own crates into the safe zone.

The safe zone was the buffer between two energy fields. Double barriers always stood between the landing dock and the civilian market of the space station. Otherwise, plasma fire might escape and kill an innocent visitor, which station security actually cared about. The workers of the landing dock could kill each other all day long as far as security was concerned.

The barrier behind Knox activated, and for a few precious seconds, Knox stood in protected silence. The landing dock behind him and the unloading stations before him swirled like oil on water. Knox looked back over his shoulder at the ground where the young teen’s body had laid but already the remains were gone, probably disposed in the station recycler. Nothing was ever wasted in space.

Poor fool.

The kid was just following the orders that had been brainwashed into him. Knox knew exactly why the teen had shot Alex, or more accurately tried to shoot Alex.

That young man was one of the kids who had been rescued by a man who called himself Teacher. A man who took children out of human trafficking and slavery—a noble deed—but then used them to perform his assassinations and attacks. Teacher brainwashed those kids into thinking they owed him their loyalty and lives instead of letting them return home. Knox had nicknamed him Psycho Shakespeare because the psychopath renamed his rescued children after Shakespearian characters.

Did those children and teens even know they could go home? Probably not. So they blindly followed his commands to their own deaths.

No, Knox didn’t blame this dead teen for his actions. He didn’t blame any of them. Psycho Shakespeare was the only one to blame here.

The gate before Knox dropped and sound returned. Merchants argued over prices, captains grumbled over tariffs, security guards insisted on searches, and under it all the space station hummed its mechanical tune.

Knox pushed his shipments forward again. He delivered the topmost boxes—live worms, fresh avocados, and sunflower seeds—to the counter for the New York City dome. Next, he dropped off the box of small lemon saplings for the Dallas dome. Finally, the large crate of vaccines went to the Methodist Medical Center in the Newark dome.

Knox stopped at the claims counter to file the digi-paperwork on the lost grubs. That would normally have cost him hundreds, but that’s why he had business insurance. Most captains didn’t bother with the expense of insurance until a lost shipment cost them their ship. Then it was too late.

Without picking up more goods, Knox turned his back on the check-out counters and returned to the landing dock. This had gone far enough. He was no longer willing to wait for the perfect time to confront psycho Shakespeare. Knox of all people knew the strategic importance of moving the right pieces at the right time.

But too many pieces had been sacrificed along the way, on both sides of the board. Knox walked past the sooty spot on the landing dock floor, the only memorial to another lost soul.

It was time to end this game.

2

Maverick

Knox walked down the wide center aisle of the landing dock, past the rows and rows of small star fighters. He removed his filters and endured the bombarding odors just in case another assassin stalked him. Knox kept his hands loose and swinging by his side, ready in case of attack. His plasma pistol weighed slightly under the right sleeve of his jacket.

After the space fighters came the small crew cargo ships. Knox counted three rows then turned right. Fourth ship on the left, his Maverick. Knox didn’t stop to admire his beat-up workhorse though; he had work to do. He marched up the ramp into his ship.

Raise the ramp, Knox said from inside the cargo bay, and it started its creaking ascent.

Maverick’s cargo bay was packed end to end with crates and shipments for delivery. They left a passageway only wide enough for Knox to sidestep through. He had almost reached the end when the boxes shifted behind him. Knox couldn’t turn his broad shoulders, so instead he just swiveled his head back.

The boxes floated out into the passageway, supported by hoverbrackets. At first, they completely blocked the view. Then they drifted back overhead and returned to their spot. In the hallway now stood Knox’s petite wife, Ximena.

Pockets covered her beige overalls. Most of them were snapped shut, but a few burst at the seams with little styluses poking out of one, a flashlight hanging out of another, and…that wrench was huge.

Knox couldn’t help the smile tugging at the side of his mouth. Damn she was cute. Her dark eyes glared from her bronze face. Her black hair was pulled in a braid that went past her pretty little ass. In recent years, silver strands had laced their way into the braid.

Alex told me he was shot, her rich brown eyes flashed anger that echoed across her bronze face.

Technically his hologram—

Knox.

OK, so she wasn’t in the mood for banter.

If he’d actually been there in person, he would have heard the attacker.

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

Knox sighed. Yeah, I’m done playing this game too.

IAS sits there safe and sound, while psycho Shakespeare sends his assassins to take shots at my family.

Knox’s left eye winced. That was one way of looking at the situation. Not the most accurate way, but there was no way in hell he was going to argue with Ximena in this mood. It didn’t accomplish anything apart from Knox sleeping on the bench for several nights.

How many attempts in the last two months? Ximena said, throwing out her arms and hitting the boxes on both sides. How many?

Eighteen.

Ximena blinked. Oh. Wow. I hadn’t been keeping count.

I have. And it’s time I called them. Knox shuffled to his wife’s side and kissed her on the forehead. I’ll take care of this.

When? After your next shipment?

You know me so well.

She set her jaw. Alex pulls that off better than you.

It’s his dimple.

At that, she finally smiled. With those flames put out, Knox turned his nose back to the cockpit and side shuffled out of the tunnel of crates. Behind him, the boxes slipped past each other with only a