Unbound

By Darryl J. W. Temple

The idea of space excites me.

Yet, as history tells us, has always been difficult for humans to reach. Myself included.

So why not experience that adventure by talking my way onto a pirate crew…

… And trying to abduct its notorious captain?

Little did I know who I was dealing with.

My name is Simon Fox and I'm fresh out of flunking freighter school. Don't tell anyone that by the way because I lied on my resume.

No one does that, right?

The pirate ship in question is called the Unbound. It's that piece of scrap metal on the cover and it goes from zero to sarcasm faster than mag travel. The crew are smelly, crazy and annoying. I also hope they can't read.

Anyway, you might be wondering why a space flunky is attempting this crazy mission.

I have a good reason, and it starts with a master plan and an entry hatch…

Unbound is a fun and light read, with lots of intrigue, space shenanigans and onions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darryl J. W. Temple
• Release date: Dec 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645185249

Darryl J. W. Temple

Darryl J. W. Temple grew up in Sale, Victoria, Australia, and spent most of his childhood obsessed with science fiction. An avid writer at an early age, he would spend hours on his mother's digital typewriter creating new worlds, centered on spaceships or giant robots. TV shows like Robotech and Teknoman were a large reason why he is obsessed with the idea of space. Darryl now lives with his wife in Perth, Australia, and can still be found writing about spaceships and giant robots.

Book preview

UNBOUND

By

Darryl J. W. Temple

Also by the Author:

A Dark Oceans Descent (Heridian Trilogy, Book 1)

Crimson Fall (Heridian Trilogy, Book 2)

Copyright © 2022 Darryl J. W. Temple All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-6451852-3-2

Version 301122

Cover design by: Darryl J. W. Temple.

Spaceship © Vasiliy Dmitriev // cgTrader.com.

Background image © Boris_JJ // Pixabay.com.

Kit bash models © Oleg Ushenok // cgTrader.com.

Nebulous Font © pobrenerd // FontSpace.com.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank my family for always supporting me and never, never sugar coating their feedback. My wife for not glazing over when I ramble about spaceships and writing, and my mother for beta / proof reading. This isn’t possible without you guys!

Contents

COPYRIGHT

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PART 1: NO CHAINS

PART 2: THE SMELL OF VICTORY

PART 3: OUT FOXED

PART 4: FOX HOLE

PART 5: PIRATE TIES

PART 6: DERELICTION OF LOOTY

PART 7: BIRD TOAST

PART 8: EPILOGUE

MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

CONNECT

SPECIAL MENTION

PART 1: No Chains

Nothing screams ‘new guy’ like failing to open the entry hatch.

Beside me, the humanoid reptile-avian raises what I think is an eyebrow, and I feel my face flush. He punches the rear bulkhead and with a hiss of hydraulics, the ship’s ramp lowers, the light from inside blinding me. The space dock flickers with shadows, and I step back.

It all began with an interview a day earlier, and there are two things I will admit to you. First, I’m terrible at interviews, the second, I’ll fill you in on that later.

Simon Fox, twenty-two, born 2172 in Apollo city, Vesta Moon, Trappist F, the avian says in one breath, leaning back in his chair. Then, with a deadpan expression asks, Straight out of freighter school. You’re a thrill seeker then?

Freighters aren’t fast… Oh, you’re joking, I reply, inwardly groaning.

He stares at me with a stony expression, causing me to sink into my chair.

I sit at an old industrial desk, cold brushed metal, stretching at least two meters, and in an office rented in a rarely used part of Apollo City. It resides on the ground level, surrounded by vacant offices and sparse food outlets. The creature opposite me shuffles papers, which I think is unusual considering my resume was electronically submitted. I try to see what the raptorin is looking for.

Just to fill you in on what a raptorin is, just imagine a humanoid covered in scales, with jade and violet feathers, and an elongated muzzle. They resemble a velociraptor but are referred to as ‘bird’ or ‘avian’ and aren’t known for their sense of humor. Personally, I think their jaded feathers reflect their personality.

Some conspiracy theorists think they were originally dinosaurs, but it’s never been proven. We, and by we, I mean humans, accidentally discovered the aliens about one hundred and ten years ago. It was a tumultuous meeting that I won’t spoil for you here.

So, the raptorin says in a deep, oppressive voice. "Why would a Decree spy want to join a small crew of reclaimers?"

That sets me back. My hands sweat and I fear the patches under my arms will reveal my true purpose. If he thinks I’m law enforcement, this will be over soon.

I’m not a Decree agent, by the way.

Before I can answer, a grin reaches the corner of his mouth and he says, I’m joking with you of course. He puts the papers down and stares at me. If I really believed that, this interview would be rather short, wouldn’t you agree?

Yes, of course, I laugh nervously. A spy wouldn’t have gotten lost trying to find this place.

Time keeping isn’t on your resume, I guess. Then again, neither are navigation skills so we’re lucky you’re not interviewing to be a pilot. He stares at me, and I struggle to hold his gaze before he asks, You served on a ship straight after graduating?

I feel the shakes fade and the lump in my throat clear. The Dracon. Strange name for a hauler, right?

Indeed. He stands and reaches out his hand. My name is Mr. Glide. You may refer to me as such.

So that was the interview, which ended with a positive call that night, offering me a position on the crew.

Mr. Glide now stands next to me, his bulk blocking out most of the light emanating from inside the cargo bay. I take a moment to admire the run-down cutter class vessel and wonder how an asymmetric ship can even fly. The left wing is far larger than the right, with a cockpit at the front and four engines concealed at the back. Glancing over the forward section, I can just make out the worn and flaked lettering of her name.

Unbound.

An ugly duckling, and I think her beautiful.

As the rear ramp reaches the ground, my eyes adjust, and two other crew members stroll down. Looking like a scar faced killer from the documentaries I watched as a child, the man in front gives me the chills. The ingrained fight-or-flight instinct in my brain tells me to run.

Then he grins, pulls his hands from his pockets and in a thick accent says, Welcome new guy, I’m Trenton, your resident gun for hire and all-round good guy.

Storyteller, more like, says another voice, stepping out from behind. Why don’t you tell the new guy what you did to the last one?

Trenton laughs. And this pain in my rear is Nelson Wasnotch. There’s a bunch of different things you can call him instead if you like.

Wasnotch is a stick figure of a man, mid-thirties and completely bald. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, points to the raptorin and adds, You’ve met…

Mr. Glide, I interrupt. He interviewed me. I want to say more but notice the held expressions on the men’s faces. What?

Both men burst out in laughter, tears falling from their cheeks.

I guess I can relax now, the raptorin says, playfully slapping my cheek. It’s just Glide, new guy.

I flush and feel the need to crawl under the ship’s landing struts. This is how you fit into a new crew, I guess.

Simon Fox is my name, I yell up the ramp to their backs as they board.

I pick up my bag and rush to follow. When I reach the top of the ramp, I notice an absence of vehicle in the modest sized bay.

As if reading my mind Trenton says, We’ve no need for rovers where we’re going, plus planet-side jobs are far too slow and bumpy.

Wasnotch is first through the interior door, followed by Glide, Trenton then me. After navigating through the engineering section covered in blinky lights, we arrive in the main compartment. On the left is berthing, with three doors, one of which is open, revealing a well-made bunk. I drag my bag over to it.

Not that one, says a female voice behind me.

Sitting at the galley table, a small and messy faced girl is engrossed in the electronic workings of a device I don’t recognize.

Mr. Glide, sorry, Glide, peeks over Trenton’s head and asks her, What are you doing with the toaster?

Without looking up, the girl sniggers and replies, I’m just modifying it, you know, that thing people do to improve things? Like what would happen if the captain kicked Wasnotch off the ship, in deep space, and under decompression?

The expression on Wasnotch’s face darkens, and he gradually backs away from the girl. She quietly reaches into her pocket, revealing a small, pointed device. Electricity arcs from its end and a crackling echoes through the compartment.

Don’t come near me with that thing again, says Wasnotch, disappearing towards the ship’s midsection.

The girl laughs hysterically and reminds me of a scary clown at the vintage circus.

He’s so creepy, she says, putting away the taser. If he creeps around me again, though, I won’t hesitate to jab him another one.

And this lovely human is Tinks, says Trenton.

And this lovely human has the middle bunk you were just about to claim, new guy. So, unless you want to swim with the space fishes, I suggest you bunk with Notchey.

I fight the urge to swallow and look intimidated.

Trenton continues, Tinks here loves to pull perfectly good technology apart and, in her opinion, improve it.

When I’m done with this baby, we’ll be able to make breakfast remotely from our comm units.

She tinkers with things. I get it, I say, realizing how stupid the statement sounds before I even finish speaking.

Oh, we have another genius! she exclaims. It’s actually short for Tinkerbell, you idiot.

Trenton places his hand on my shoulder and directs me to the first bunk. You’ll have to hot-swap with Wasnotch in the first bunk. You can leave your bag there.

I nod, open the door, and place my only belonging down inside the cabin. The smell of burned circuitry permeates the galley and I watch as Tinks begins soldering the components back together.

I have a question, I direct at Trenton. What exactly is my role onboard?

The serial killer faced man, grins and replies, Did you not ask that in your interview?

I feel so stupid. I knew it was coming, that red flush I always get when hindsight blindsides me.

I asked Glide a couple of times but only got a vague answer. He’s good at evasion, I reply.

You should see when it’s his turn to clean the galley, Tinks yells out, still head down in her project. Mr. Evasive.

"Let’s finish the grand tour of the ship and I’ll fill you in on your role," Trenton says.

I imagine quotation marks over his head with that last word. The way he pronounced it was highly unusual.

I’m not going to be the janitor, or anything am I? I ask.

"No, nothing like