Part IV – Plan A

This is Part III of the serial space western The Ghosts of Blackmoon Rift. It is also available for download in RTF format here. Or click here for a complete listing of episodes.

Standing in the darkened alley, Torr surveyed the junk yard with its ominous signage.

“One moment. Let me see if I’m following the plot here so far,” he said. “Captain Zero, you’re the only pilot in Ander’s Gap who will fly me to Blackmoon.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else who says they will, Professor,” said Crash seriously, “because they’re probably crazy.” Miss Kitty rolled her eyes.

“But,” said Torr as if he hadn’t heard, “your ship has been impounded by Federal Agents in this junkyard we see before us.”

“Hah!” scoffed Crash. “Those shuttle-monkeys call themselves Federal Agents?”

“And,” continued Torr, “the proprietor of said junkyard is one Daniel Black.”

“Are you alright, Professor?” asked Miss Kitty. “You ain’t blinked nor taken a breath in near a minute.”

“Who also,” Torr rattled along, “happens to be a very large man with a bristling beard who goes by the name of Black Dan and whom the Captain publicly humiliated several hours ago.”

“It really is kind of freaky how you aren’t blinking at all, Professor,” said Crash. “Makes my eyes tear up.”

“Furthermore,” squeaked Torr, “This being the lawless frontier, you propose to break into this guarded facility owned by the aforementioned extremely angry man and attempt to steal this spacecraft, an activity which I have no doubt is entirely outside the purview of my research grant.” Torr’s voice had been rising in pitch throughout this speech, and on the word ‘grant’ it choked off on a high note.

Kitty and Crash glanced at each other, and then said “Yep,” simultaneously.

Torr closed his eyes and fell over.

Part IV – Plan A

Previously: Young archaeologist Egan Torr is looking for a lost artifact rumored to be on the frontier world of Blackmoon. A local black-hole wrangler named Miss Kitty and a devil-may-care scout pilot named Crash have agreed to help him out, but the Feds have impounded Crash’s ship in Black Dan’s junkyard. And since Torr and Crash have already run afoul of Black Dan, he’s not likely to let the ship go without a fight.

Miss Kitty and Crash rushed to his side.

“Uh, you alright, Professor?” asked Miss Kitty.

Egan Torr’s eyes flew open. He took a deep breath. Then, in a voice that was steady, if still a bit shrill, he said, “Yes. Let us begin.”

“OK,” said Crash. “I have a plan.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” said Miss Kitty as she hauled Torr to his feet.

Crash ignored her. “Alright. The Professor here can sneak across the junkyard to the impound lot and create some sort of distraction; you know, maybe involving antimatter. Miss Kitty, you take out the security system – you’ll probably want some sort of EMP device for that. Meanwhile I can break into my ship with my security codes. Once I have her fired up, I’ll swing back for you two – you could wait on the roof of one of the buildings for my fly-over.” He snapped his fingers. “It might be good if you had some kind of hook,” he added.

He paused as if waiting for applause.

“But -” said Torr.

“What about the guards -” said Miss Kitty.

“And Black Dan -”

“There’s a dog -”

“Ship’s probably locked down -”

“Don’t have an EMP -”

“Not very good with a hook -”

“And look here,” added Miss Kitty, “You can’t fly your ship through that.” She pointed at the bristling forest of spires and nose-cones that brushed against the low canvas dome. A lone robotic drone zig-zagged among them, occasionally dipping down as if to examine something, then speeding away.

“And that, Little Miss Kitty, is where you’re wrong,” said Crash loftily. “I’ve flown my baby through much worse.”

“That’s what worries me,” snapped Kitty. “I’d just as soon not fly through anything.”

Just opposite the three was a twenty-gallon drum propped up against the other side of the fence. It was oozing something green and glowing and unhealthy looking. Suddenly the little drone that had distracted Torr halted directly above them, paused for a moment, and fired a small projectile before zipping away into the dusky night. Something attached itself to the canister with a plink. Egan Torr blinked, then returned his attention to the argument at hand.

“- a fine plan,” Crash was saying, “and with a little luck and a little backbone from certain people…” he trailed off letting the implication hang in the air. Miss Kitty ignored it.

“And what about Black Dan?” she demanded. “He ain’t gonna just sit there while we un-park a ship from his lot.”

“Tie him up,” said Crash.

“What?” said Miss Kitty. “Are you serious? Who’s doing that? And with what?”

“You are,” said Crash. “What’s the point of that fancy piece of rope of yours anyway?”

“My lasso is for wrangling objects inside the gravity wells of black holes,” said Kitty fiercely. “Last time I checked, tying people up wasn’t part of my job description!”

“Listen,” said Crash, “all I’m hearing here is negativity. Has anyone else got a better plan?”

At that moment the junkyard lit up with an unearthly blue glow. There was a whoosh and a clattering, as if hundreds of pieces of junk all across the yard were resettling themselves. The oozing canister by the fence had vanished along with, Torr surmised, dozens of similar objects all across the junkyard.

“Yes,” said Torr quietly. “I’ve got one.”

With the help of Miss Kitty’s superconducting lasso and a conveniently placed girder, the trio soon found themselves over the fence and inside the junkyard.

“Alright,” said Crash, “how many of these darts do we need?”

“As many as we can find,” said Torr. “They’re designed to tag small toxic waste items for teleportation into space, so we’ll need quite a few to get them to shift something as large as your vessel. Better to err on the side of caution.”

“Lots of tag darts,” said Crash. “Got it.”

“And we probably only have an hour or so before the next teleportation cycle. You don’t want to be holding onto a tag dart when that happens. Anything or anyone touching one will be transported directly into hard vacuum.”

“Then we better get cracking,” said Miss Kitty. “We’ll meet up at the impound lot on the other side in 45 minutes.”

“Er, are you sure it’s such a good idea to divide our forces?” asked Torr. “Because you never know what -”

Miss Kitty didn’t hear. She was already sprinting away into the maze of space junk. Crash charged off in the opposite direction, piston leg thumping.

“- might be out here,” Torr finished lamely. He was on the wrong side of a barbed security fence. He had no weapon or way to call for help. A darkened maze of scrap spread out before him in every direction.

He was all alone.

To Be Continued…

(Part V is here.)