The Lonely Void

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. On board the ramshackle vessel known as The Gadabout, however, the old adage failed to hold true. Ezra let out a remarkably lengthy, and frankly impressively articulate, string of profanities as a large cube of compressed junk toppled off a high shelf in the ship's storage hold and landed directly on the big toe of his right foot. The pained cacophony he let out was sufficiently noisy to easily carry to the vessel’s other two occupants.

The first was an incredibly large individual by the name of Lefeur. He was a member of the Tarkor race and acted as the muscle for the small crew. Broad shouldered and imposing, with four powerful arms, a somewhat lupine head, and thick, brown, leathery skin. He was in the process of attempting to remove a clog from The Gadabout’s biological waste disposal unit when Ezra’s shout cut through his concentration. One of his large hands slipped and dislodged a pipe from beneath the unit. Immediately the room was filled with the particulate of a particularly foul-smelling geyser of various forms of excrement. Lefeur valiantly attempted to stem the flow, all while letting out his own string of vulgar words to add to the growing din.

The second was a young girl of roughly thirteen or fourteen named Spindle. She had a roughly cut bob of pitch-black hair, deep brown eyes, and a slender, wiry frame from which she got her name. She acted as the ship’s primary mechanic, and was currently heavily engrossed in making repairs on their only somewhat operational plasma cutter, a delicate process for which neither of her crewmates were well suited. She noted the chorus of agitated shouting, a mild hint of annoyance passing over her features, before tapping the small node underneath her right earlobe. The music playing through her neural implant immediately got louder, drowning out the irate men and allowing her to get back to work in peace.

Ezra himself was in the process of hopping about the cramped storage hold, while simultaneously stabilizing his now certainly broken toe. He had long, oily brown hair which he tended to keep tied in a loose ponytail. His hazel eyes were almost always bloodshot, either from a lack of sleep or a particularly impressive hangover, and despite not being able to grow a true beard, he always appeared to be in desperate need of a shave. This rather unimpressive sounding man was the captain and technical owner of The Gadabout. Though that claim was still disputed if were you to ask the loan agencies of the Heden Tae space station, the Axium United insurance company, or the Cordaga family crime syndicate. After a solid minute of nonstop and increasingly creative expletives, Ezra finally settled down enough to carefully push the junk block over to the side and hobble his way out into the hall.

The Gadabout was by no means a large vessel. Its layout consisted of the storage hold at the stern. Two bunk rooms for crew on the starboard side. The biological waste disposal unit room, as well as a cramped workshop/life support access room on the port side. A narrow ventilation corridor under the main hallway that allowed access to the ship’s engines and artificial gravity generator. And lastly the cockpit looking out over the bow. The only doors that allowed access into or out of the ship was the large bay door at the rear of the storage hold, and the airlock that sat between the port side facilities. The bay door had been securely welded shut, however, following an incident where they cracked open of their own accord while coming in to dock several months prior.

Ezra made his way to the workshop where Spindle was quietly dancing whilst performing tool maintenance and knocked loudly on the wall. “Spindle, I need ya to go an get the first aid kit.” Spindle made no reaction, she simply continued to rhythmically bob her head and shoulders around as she scrubbed rust off the old machine. “Spindle!” Ezra said again, much more loudly this time. When she still didn’t respond, he picked up a nearby wrench and hit it against the door frame with a loud clang. She immediately looked up from her work, spotting the exasperated look on his face, she tapped the node under her ear before asking “what’s up, Ezra?” “Kindly be a dear and fetch me the first aid would ya? And then check the o2 filters, it smells bloody awful in 'ere.” She gave a nod and began rummaging around one of the nearby lockers. Ezra turned back into the hall only to come face to face with the towering form of Lefeur glowering down at him. Ezra was by no means a short individual, nor was he prone to being easily intimidated, but Lefeur easily stood at least eight feet tall, and with his hairless, lupine like snout snarling down at him, he couldn’t help but take an involuntary step back. This action was made even more necessary by the fact that Lefeur was covered head to toe in a vile brown sludge that Ezra didn’t want to think too hard about, and was currently dripping on the floor of the hallway. “Wrench.” Lefeur growled, holding out his lower right hand, his upper arms crossed in a clear sign of impatience. Having cleared his initial surprise at Lefeur’s unseemly state, Ezra now found it incredibly difficult not to let out a burst of laughter at his friend’s misfortune. Clenching his jaw to try and control his face, Ezra proffered up the wrench he had used to smack the door frame. “Got the shower and the bog mixed up again didja mate?” He said, unable to contain his massive grin. Lefeur said nothing, but shot him a scathing look. He made sure to snatch the wrench out of Ezra’s hand with enough force to cause some of the waste matter dripping off of his body to splatter onto Ezra’s coat and face. Ezra fought down a gag as Lefeur stalked back into the wash room. “That’s fair, big guy.” he called after him. He felt a light tap on his shoulder as Spindle offered him a greasy rag and the very slap dash first aid kit they had on board. “Preciate it.” He said, taking the rag and wiping off his face and coat. It left thick black stains behind, but compared to what had been there previously he considered it an improvement. He offered her the rag back, but she simply shook her head and pointed to a sealed bin in the corner. They used it to store any garments that were especially soiled, at least until they could stop at a station which offered laundry services, or else harvest enough ice to justify cleaning it on board. He tossed it inside the container, took the first aid kit from Spindle with another word of thanks, and left the room as she tapped beneath her ear once more and began attending to the life support systems.

Ezra continued to hobble his way down the hall. The bunk room which he shared with Lefeur was across the hall from the wash room. Ezra noted with relief that whatever catastrophic incident had taken place in there, Lefeur had at least managed to keep it contained inside. It didn’t help the smell much though. Once he was inside his room he sealed the door behind him, lessening the smell at least a little bit. He took of his shabby tan coat and tossed it onto the floor near the lower bunk, plopping himself down with a pained grown of relief. He gingerly took off his shoe and examined the damage. It had swelled up quite nicely and turned a marvelous shade of purple. Ezra flipped open the first aid kit and rummaged around through the bandages and suture kits until he found their precious bottle of Genesis corp patented fix-it-kwik spray. He gave the bottle a little shake and lightly sprayed around the base of his toe. The relief was instantaneous. The color returned almost to normal and the swelling decreased dramatically. It was still definitely broken, but if he didn’t attempt to strain it too much it should be properly set back within a week.

Fix-it-kwik was a miraculous invention pioneered by the Genesis corporation in response to the difficulties presented by attempting to treat injuries, even minor ones, in a low to zero gravity environment. Early variations proved remarkably effective at alleviating the fatigue, joint pain, and nausea that frequently came with interstellar travel. More recent batches were even capable of triaging more debilitating injuries such as broken bones or severe lacerations. Such injuries can be devastating for those who make a living in the stars. Four to six weeks to recover from a minor break could mean the loss of one's ship for many spacer crews. A standard bottle of fix-it-kwik could cut that down to a fraction of the time. The high-end varieties were supposedly capable of repairing severed limbs and organ damage. This made fix-it-kwik an indispensable tool that every spacer crew should have on hand. This would have been revolutionary, were it not for the fact that the Genesis corporation knew just how invaluable their product was, and as such even a basic bottle was liable to cost you an arm and a leg. Premium line bottles belonged exclusively in the domain of the super elite.

Ezra himself had only managed to acquire the meager bottle he had during an under the table deal with the Cordaga family. It had been part of a forward payment to retrieve certain “special cargo” during a sanctioned salvage tour of the armiger class ship the Muldoon. Attempting to smuggle any kind of contraband, or failure to report salvaged munitions of any kind to the shipping guild’s customs office when docking at a port of call were grounds for, but not limited to:

1. Immediate confiscation of all spacefaring vessels.

2. Immediate incarceration for a duration to be determined by a senior guild official after submitting an evaluation of the contraband goods being smuggled.

3. Forced enrollment into an indentured servitude rehabilitation program after a sixty-day incarceration period.

Ezra was no stranger to smuggling, but he was leery about jumping into bed with the Cordagas. They tended to shoot first and ask about the details later whenever business deals fell through. That said, the pay they offered was simply too good to pass up. One bottle of fix-it-kwik up front, as well as five-thousand credits invested in ship repairs. Three more bottles to be handed over upon successful delivery of the Muldoon’s munition stores, as well as a buyout sum of twenty-thousand credits. With that kind of money, he could finally pay off the Gadabout and get the debt collectors off his back. With that in mind, he made his way up to the cockpit. Glancing into the washroom as he walked by, he could see that Lefeur, his back to Ezra, had mended whatever leak had sprung in there, and was currently in the process of cleaning the place up. Ezra tried his best to walk quietly past him, but Lefeur nevertheless through up his upper left hand and flipped him the bird. A quaint expression Ezra had taught him early in their partnership, and one which Lefeur made nearly daily use of. Ezra just chuckled and sidled into the cockpit.

The cockpit was, much like the rest of the ship, very compact. It had two seats for the pilot and copilot, and standard small craft flight computer. By and large the day-to-day travels of the ship were handled by an on-board computer. The only time Ezra had to take over with manual controls were when they had to get within tether range of salvage projects. Ezra settled himself in the pilot’s seat and kicked his injured foot up, gazing out into the great black expanse with a hint of boredom. It was then that he noticed a small white light flashing on the dash. He had comms messages waiting. With a groan he leaned forward and pushed the small button to play whatever recordings had been left. “You have, three, new messages. Message one:” the automated computer voice droned. “Heeeeey hey hey, EZ going, how are you, my guy?” Ezra groaned and dragged a hand down across his face, pulling on his eyelids. “It’s Drake! I've got news that’s gonna blow your socks off! You remember that Tolan rig job I was telling you about? Well, it, is-” “Next message:” the computer chimed as Ezra slapped the button again. “Hello, this is Jerome Johnson with Axium United, we have been attempting to reach you regarding your ship’s extended warranty-” “Next message:” “Ezra, it’s Pete, I am ready to meet at the rendezvous. Comm me as since as you get this message.” “End of final message.” With that the computer went silent. Ezra frowned slightly. It wasn’t usually normal to send open wave communications, especially for jobs like this. He looked at the clock he had slapped on the dash. It was set to GST, or galactic standard time, and according to its display they weren’t running late for the meet up. Just then a blast of cool, fresh smelling air filled the room. He hadn’t realized how bad the stench had been getting until he couldn’t smell it anymore. He started biting his thumbnail, thinking hard about Pete’s message. It was absolutely too late to back out now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take precautions. He leaned forward again and punched his middle finger onto the intercom button. “Spindle, Lefeur, come on up to the cock pit. We need to ‘ave a chat.” He released the button and brought his hand up to his mouth, quietly rubbing at his stubble while staring out into the wide expanse.

It didn’t take them long to arrive. Lefeur had largely finished fixing up the washroom, and the intercom patched directly into Spindle’s neural implant. “Whatcha need, boss?” Lefeur asked, a dainty towel wrapped around his waist and dripping water onto the floor. Spindle darted around and plopped into the other chair, spinning it around a couple time as she crossed her legs underneath her. Ezra looked at the towel, then up into Lefeur’s oblivious eyes, then back at the towel, then back to Lefeur, before promptly deciding to ignore it. “Got a comm from ole Petey, says ‘es ready to hit the meet up, problem is we already ‘ad an arranged time an place, so calling to double check over an open wave comm is just kind of a stupid thing to do.” Lefeur narrowed his eyes and crossed his upper arms (the lower ones were still holding his towel up). “Think we should cut and run?” he asked. “It’s too late for that.” chimed in Spindle, cupping her chin in her hands. “The Cordagas have already given us the advance payment, and even if they hadn’t, you don’t just cut and run from them.” “Girl’s right.” Ezra said, waggling his finger in agreement. “Besides, not observing the fact that we’d be blacklisted from every port this side of the Fulmary system for crossing the Cordagas, the payouts just too good to pass up.” “So, what’s the plan?” Lefeur asked. “Plan’s real simple, we go through with the deal as agreed upon, but we do it smart like. Spindle, can you double check an make sure that every last bit of munition we picked up is disabled proper?” She nodded. “Great, get to it.” Ezra said, jerking his thumb down the hallway. Spindle hopped up and immediately forced her way past Lefeur, nearly taking his towel with her, and scampered down the hall. Lefeur grumbled as he caught and quickly readjusted his towel. “As for you ya big lug. I want you to warm up the cuber and keep it hot. If I give you the signal, you scrap all the special cargo faster than a Tarkorian broad pumps out a new litter, got it?” Lefeur chuckled and gave him a thumbs up, at which point his towel promptly fell to the floor.

A few hours later the Gadabout coasted up to the customs blockade surrounding the Heden Tae space station. The plan was simple, slip past customs after they scan a storage hold fill with scrap. Meet up with Pete for a ship-to-ship transfer away from the docks. Then head down to the station to collect their payment. Normally ship to ship dockings were frowned upon so close to port, but at a station as busy as Heden Tae was, it often become necessary to conduct business just outside the port instead of in the port. Otherwise, many trade vessels would be left stranded for days waiting for their turn to dock, and for a spacer, that delay could mean death, metaphorically speaking at least. As long as Ole Petey was just a little green about how this business worked, everything should be fine. But Ezra still felt like he was sitting on a bed of eggshells as their ship coasted up to the customs vessel.

It was a small, two-man jumper. The kind of ship that couldn’t travel far from a base of operations. As The Gadabout halted itself, the little craft floated right in front of the cockpit. A moment later, a white light blinked on the dash. Ezra immediately pressed the comms button, and the voice of a stern young man sounded in the cockpit. “Ship name, serial number, captain’s name, purpose of visit.” Ezra took a deep breath before rattling off the pertinent information. “Ship is the Gadabout, serial number is XZB729564IK22229093Q, captain is Ezra Monticue, purpose of visit is to return a completed salvage tour for the Muldoon.” there was a pause from the other end. “Do you have documentation approving aforementioned salvage tour of the Muldoon?” the customs officer said. Ezra quickly keyed in a few buttons in front of him “Transmitting the file now.” Ezra said politely. Another moment passed. “Received, please stand by.” Ezra let out a sigh of relief. All that was left was a quick scan and then they were through. About five minutes passed as Ezra twiddled his thumbs. He couldn’t see inside the other vessel, but he knew they could see him. It was important that he presented a calm, aloof demeanor. “Mr. Monticue, we have a slight error in your documentation, we’re going to need to perform an on-site inspection of your craft. Please prepare your airlock, we will be docking shortly.” A bead of sweat formed on Ezra’s brow as he smiled at the faceless cockpit in front of him. “Absolutely, no worries whatsoever, I’ll meet ya there in just a mo.” The ship drifted off to the Gadabout’s port side and the comm connection clicked off. “Well, shit.” Ezra said.

He immediately jammed his middle finger onto the intercom button and said “Lefeur, like your life bloody well depends on it. Spindle, jam the locks and make it convincing, I’ll be right there.” He spun out of his seat and hobbled down the hall to the airlock. Spindle already had the console controls panel off and was fiddling with the wiring inside. From the storage hold he could hear the tortured screech of the cuber being pushed to its limits. Shortly thereafter, there was a dull thud outside the airlock, followed by a sharp hiss. A beat, and then the door in front of him juddered, but failed to open. He looked down at Spindle with a questioning look. In response she simply gave him a thumbs up. A moment later there was a banging on the other side of the door. “Mr. Monticue, we need you to open the door and submit your ship for inspection.” Came the disgruntled voice of the customs officer. “I am so sorry, the door’s all jammed up. ‘appens from time to time on these older models. We’re working on it, just sit tight please.” Ezra turned and poked his head out into the hallway, looking into the storage hold. He could just make out Lefeur hoisting a small pile of boxes into the cuber. That was good, there weren’t many left. “Mr. Monticue, please transmit your ships computer code and we will manually override the door controls.” Ezra locked eyes with Spindle as they shared a flash of panic. “No need, I guarantee that will not be necessary. We got the best engineer this side of the galaxy and she will ‘ave that door open momentarily.” “Sir I’m really going to need you to-” “After all, wouldn’t want to rush it and damage the connector bridge you chaps are on, right? No, it’s really best we do this properly.” He heard an annoyed groan from the other side of the door as the sound of the cuber stopped. Ezra peaked his head around the corner again. Lefeur gave him a thumbs up which he quickly returned, then gestured for him to get back to his room. As soon as he lumbered past, Ezra patted Spindle on the shoulder. She immediately clicked two wires together, and the airlock door slid open. On the other side were two very disgruntled looking men wearing the official uniform of the shipping guild. Both of them wore sidearms at their hips as they walked into the airlock. “See, what’d I tell ya?” Ezra said cheerfully, holding out his arms. “Nothing a little ingenuity and patience can’t fix.” Neither of them commented, instead shouldering past him into the hallway. “We’ll let you know if we have questions.” With that, they headed into the storage hold.

What followed was an incredibly tense half hour as the two customs officers carefully inspected every inch of the small craft. Despite their remarkably thorough search techniques however, they were unable to turn up anything of note. They grumbled an insincere apology for the inconvenience, and returned to their craft. Ezra returned to the bridge and sat back down, cursing under his breath. He waited till they were well away from the customs blockade before muttering, “Well that couldn’t ‘ave gone much worse.” He heard Lefeur’s lumbering footsteps come up behind him. “Well, what are we gonna do boss?” Ezra buried his face in his hands and shrugged. “Ya know what big fella, that is a real good question, and I wi-” “Boss.” Lefeur was pointing at the comms light, it was flashing. Ezra gave it a solemn look for a moment, sighed, then pushed the button. “Ezra speaking.” he said. “Ezra, it’s Pete, where the hell have you been. I expected you to call me hours ago.” “Don’t usually talk the dirty details on open waves Petey, why don’t we save it for the bedroom yea?” There was a brief silence before Pete’s voice cut through the room, a tinge of panic in it now. “No time for being coy, Ez, The Cordagas bribed customs for a fraction of what they offered you, they're gonna seize the cargo if you try to bring it through. Meet me at the new coordinates I’m sending you now.” Ezra went sheet white. “’Preciate ya Petey. Gonna ‘ave to call you back later though.” He closed the comm line. Floating just ouside the cockpit was a sleek black vessel, stamped with a sun and moon locked in manacles, the symbol of the Cordaga family.

Five minutes minutes later Ezra, Spindle, and Lefeur stood outside the airlock. The tension was thick enough that even their plasma cutter would have struggled to get through it. The airlock door hissed open and a trio of heavily armed individuals walked in, they were each dressed for a vacuum and carried high caliber rifles. The only reason Ezra didn’t break down and beg for mercy was because the fourth man was wearing a three-piece suit. He was clearly in charge, and if he was here, they didn’t intend to scrap the ship and its occupants. At least, not yet. The man was impossibly handsome, his eyes were too blue, his black hair was too perfect, and his posture was too upright. He clearly came from the kind of money that could buy a premium can of fix-it-kwik, that much was certain. “Hello, Mr. Monticue.” Damn, even his voice was perfect, thought Ezra, he would definitely be a top artist if he chose to sing. Maybe he already was. “My name is Daniel Cordaga,” Ezra snapped himself back to the reality of the situation. “I understand you were going to meet with one of our family's' runners, a Mr. Peter Graham, is that correct?” Ezra could only gulp and nod. "Well, unfortunately it would seem that Mr. Graham’s vessel suffered catastrophic damage in a particle storm on the way here. Both he and the vessel were lost.” He spoke with all the remorse of someone remarking about a mold that had to be scraped off a coolant pipe. Ezra wondered if he would have time to warn Pete, probably not, he might not even last through the conversation. “Luckily though, we were able to track your ship’s broadcast signal as you came through customs. So, I decided to be generous and come pick it up myself, save you a trip to port and all that hassle.” Daniel gave Ezra a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So, if you’d be so kind as to direct us to the goods, we’ll be out of your hair in a moment. I already have the rest of your payment waiting on my ship.” Ezra gulped, he could see the look in Daniel’s eyes, Daniel knew that Ezra didn’t have the goods, and he was excited for what came next.

Ezra swallowed hard again, before finally finding his voice. “I don’t ‘ave them.” “What was that?” Daniel said with a smug grin. “I. Don’t. ‘ave. Them. I lost them in transit, I was going to meet up with Pete and figure out ‘ow to get some more, maybe make a trip back to the Muldoon before anyone else gets there.” “Is that so?” Daniel asked, his eyes cold. “Very well.” His smile abruptly returned. “Glad to see that you’re a man of action. Just pop on over there, pick up the agreed upon amount, plus a little extra to cover the additional fuel costs you’ll be racking up. I believe three days should be more than enough time to make it there and back. Although,” He leaned in close to Ezra, “If you’d rather not risk another, transit accident, you could always pay us back the six-thousand you owe us for repairs right now?” Ezra swallowed hard yet again, but kept his face calm. “Wasn’t it five thousand?” Daniel gave him a devilish smirk. “Consider it interest for the delay.” Ezra had to bite his cheek to stop from shouting, he tasted the tang of copper in his mouth before saying. “That won’t be necessary, we’ll be there an back in a jiffy.” “Excellent!” Daniel said, clapping his hand with an impossibly graceful movement. “See you in three days.” He gave them all a wink before turning and leaving. Ezra knew the man’s words were both a promise and a threat.

He waited until the Cordaga craft had detached and moved a distance away before he raced back to the cockpit, grumbling in pain as his toe throbbed against the hard metal floors. “What’s the plan, boss?” Lefeur asked as Ezra plopped down in his seat and began punching in comms information. “You and I both know we picked the Muldoon clean of all the good stuff.” “We’re not going to the Muldoon, that was just to buy time. Come on you bastard, pick up!” he shouted at the computer. But Pete didn’t pick up, and the Gadabout’s computer eventually gave up on trying to find his signal. “Dammit!” Ezra yelled, slamming a hand onto the console. He buried his face in his hands and began breathing heavily. “Ezra,” Spindle asked, timidly placing a hand on his arm. “How are we supposed to come up with six-thousand credits in three days?” “We can’t, I should ‘ave know better, there’s no such thing as a job that conveni-” His head suddenly shot up, startling Spindle as he began furiously entering in a new comm I.D. “Ezra?” “It’s a crazy bloody idea, but crazy is all we’ve got right now.” The comm line clicked through, and an energetic voice chimed in from the other side. “Heeeeey! My man EZ going! What, is, up?” Ezra rolled his eyes but spoke firmly. “Drake, I need you to tell me more about that Tolan rig job. I'm in.”