"Broken Loose" - August 29, 2024
A prisoner has escaped a distant penal colony, and it has crashed into a lonely space station. Can the people in charge of the station find the prisoner in time?...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “Broken Loose.”
I have been a fan of pulpy sci-fi for years, and as a self-proclaimed Star Wars baby, I enjoy the fun adventure that the genre offers. “Broken Loose” is partly a love letter to the gee-whiz sci-fi I grew up on.
This story is included in my brand new science fiction anthology COSMIC TALES, which is available NOW in the Kindle Store. The anthology includes 15 tales of science fiction and wonder.
Check out the excerpt of the story below, and if you like what you read, pick up your own digital copy of COSMIC TALES, also coming soon in paperback.
-Kevin Carr
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Illustration by Brian Jones (@bjonesn77) from Pixabay
“Broken Loose” by Kevin Carr
If sound could occur in space, the ship would have screamed towards the space outpost. But, as physics would have it, the entire descent was silent.
The stolen cargo freighter shuddered in flight, dancing to sidestep the green blaster fire from the pursuing ship, a security vessel from Vragras IV.
The two pilots danced in space, one attempting destruction, the other attempting escape. The security vessel fired two shots in quick succession towards the center of the stolen ship, causing the pilot to jerk his ship slightly to the left. Although major damage – and eventual destruction – was avoided, the blaster fire struck the exposed metal hull. A bright shower of sparks erupted from the side of the ship. Escaping gas propelled the tiny shuttle out of control, causing it to spin madly as it bore down upon the space outpost orbiting the small orange moon.
Relentlessly, the security vessel followed.
• • •
Eugene “Jupiter” Annex spoke into the computer microphone: “Pawn to king bishop six.”
The console blinked, showing the move. Almost instantly, the computer initiated a counter move.
“Check,” the machine said.
Jupiter stared at the screen in disbelief. Then, he threw his hands in the air and barked, “Jesus! I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming! I’ve been up here too long.”
Suddenly, an alarm blared from the central speakers of his quarters. It was three short blasts, then a beat of silence, repeating. Although he had seen no action on this space outpost, and he had never been in a situation that warranted this signal before, Jupiter knew exactly what it was. How could he forget? It was drilled into your head during training: DEFENSIVE ALERT!
Jupiter leaped from his seat and ran out of his quarters and to the command post.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked Commander Henry Wiggs while bursting through the door.
“Better secure yourself, Jupe,” Wiggs said. “If you aren’t on duty, get yourself into a safe spot and prepare for impact.”
“Are we under attack?”
“Not exactly. But a projectile is on a collision course.”
Jupiter looked at the monitor to see a flaming shuttle spinning out of control, locked in on the energy signature of the station.
“Christ Almighty!” Jupiter yelled. “Can’t you shoot it down.”
“Not at this point,” Wiggs said. “The fuel tank’s ruptured, and the escaping gas is sending the thing in a spiral. It’s too chaotic for the computer to get a lock. Even so, it’s safer to just let it crash rather than risk igniting the engine core. It’s small enough to do only a little damage, but we are gonna have some major problems to the communications center.”
“Damn,” Jupiter sighed.
“Not much to do but wait.”
Wiggs walked over to an open chair at the science console and belted himself in. He reached over to a microphone. “Are the estimated impact areas evacuated?” he asked.
A faint voice came over the speaker: “Just got everyone safe a few seconds ago, Commander.”
Wiggs nodded and turned to Jupiter.
“You gonna strap yourself down, Jupe?” he asked. “It’s gonna hit grid eight, but we sure as hell are gonna feel the impact.”
Jupiter scrambled to a seat next to Wiggs and belted himself in.
The two men looked up to the approaching wreckage. Its spiraling course took it away from the main viewscreen as it zeroed in on a tower five hundred yards away. Behind the ship, Jupiter saw the form of a new vessel, following closely. This one was not out of control, but diving after the first one.
Two seconds after the spiraling ship whirled out of sight of the viewing window, it struck the massive communications tower. A tremendous rumble shook the command post. Any item on the counter – personal computer pads, paper, pens – shook and threw themselves to the metal floor. Alarms blared from speakers around the room, and computer screens flashed brilliant warning lights. A control board burst into colors indicating damaged areas of the station.
Jupiter felt his chair buck and roll.
Through the structure of the station outpost, Jupiter could hear the screams of tortured metal as the communications tower fell and ripped free from its supports.
The shaking of the room began to die down, with occasional reactions of aftershocks for a few seconds following.
Although the entire impact lasted only a few short seconds, Jupiter Annex felt as if he had just run a marathon in the deserts of the Dune planet of Ulgnst.
• • •
The pilot of the security vessel kicked the escape panel from the side of the cockpit. He emerged with a blaster in hand and a fully pressurized environment suit on.
Looking ahead to the carnage of twisted metal and scorched debris, the pilot squinted his eyes to search for the form of the criminal. He saw nothing.
Ahead was the remains of the stolen ship, with the cockpit ripped open. Although it was conceivable that the occupant was dead in the ship, he could take no chances. He approached silently.
When the security pilot was halfway between the two ships, he saw a shadowy movement. Spinning around, he saw the form scatter away in the debris. The pilot was about to follow when a shower of sparks spit from the security vessel’s hatch. A second later, a massive explosion rocked the area. The top of the security vessel ripped off in a silent volcano. The pilot fell to the ground and covered himself with his arms.
After debris stopped raining down, the pilot looked up. He checked the environmental conditions of his suit and then stood.
He walked towards a truncated section of a corridor and entered the hall. When he was sure he was past an area punctured by explosive debris, leaving it exposed to the vacuum of space, he pressed a panel on the wall. An emergency bulkhead slid down four feet behind him, sealing off the breached hull of the ruined communications center.
Moments later, a sharp hissing sound indicated the hallway had been pressurized.
The pilot removed his protective helmet and breathed in the sweet air.
• • •
Jupiter Annex led the security team down the main corridor. Each member carried a high-powered disrupter at their side and wore the standard visor helmet allowing them to see in any level of lighting. He held a small visual readout in his right hand. In his left, he held a tiny comm-link.
“Wiggs,” he said into the comm-link. “Give me a full visual readout of the wreckage site. Zoom out a bit. I only see a mess of rubble.”
“There ain’t much more to see,” Wiggs crackly voice came over the comm. “But, I’ll try.”
Jupiter sighed. He hated using comm-links, which were now only reserved for landing parties without full equipment capabilities. But, since the entire communications grid had been demolished in the crash, they could not afford the luxury of main computer hook-up through the microphones and speakers in their helmets. The main computer’s memory had been utilized for only pertinent emergency workings... and since the security and rescue teams could use the comm-links, they had to rely on them.
Jupiter squinted at the screen. The white snow of analog static sparked occasionally across it, a result of interference from the massive metallic structure of the station. From the angle of the camera, he could see the ruined ships. The first, already identified as a stolen shuttle via a galactic police report, was almost unrecognizable as a result of the crash. The second, a slightly larger vessel with security markings on it, had apparently landed safely in the rubble. But, two-thirds of the top of the ship had been blown off. Jupiter had asked Gloria, a weapons engineer for her estimate earlier. She had told him that someone had most likely instructed the computer to overload the ships hypercoils, which caused it to blow.
They had seen the security footage of two figures running from the wreckage, but the lights were so dim that no one could discern the identities.
Jupiter’s security team skidded to a halt when they rounded a corner. A large emergency bulkhead blocked the entire path of the hall.
“Wiggs,” Jupiter said in to the comm-link. “Is bulkhead 1408 supposed to be sealed right now?”
After a brief pause, the comm-link burst to life: “The main computer shows that it is closed, but it was manually closed after the impact. It’s not sealing off anything dangerous. You have several more bulkhead points to cross before you reach a hull breach.”
“Okay,” Jupiter said. “Keep that repair team on hold until we track them down.” Jupiter lifted his finger from the contact point on the comm-link and spoke to a member of the security team. “Open the bulkhead.”
She nodded and approached the panel. The rest of the team held their weapons ready for action.
However, just as she began to press the buttons on the wall panel, the bulkhead rumbled and slid upward into a waiting position. In the arched curve of the doorway, a tall man in a non-helmeted environment suit jumped back, startled.
“Don’t shoot!” he pleaded, holding his hands up defensively. “Don’t shoot! I’m on your side!”
Jupiter kept his weapon raised and said sternly, “Who are you?”
The man kept still, very calm. His hair had been slicked back and his face carried the shadow of at least five days. He looked as if he had not slept in the better part of a week. Massive bags hung under his weary eyelids.
“My name is Nelson Fraser,” he said, keeping his arms raised. “I am a member of the security team on Alpha-Wexzel II. You have a Beast loose in your station. He has already killed several guards and five galactic citizens. I was in pursuit of him when he flew into your communications tower.”
Jupiter let his weapon fall slightly, now only aiming at the man’s legs. “You mean,” he said, “that you were in the second ship?”
“Exactly. I was able to chase the Beast into these hallways. We have been playing a form of lethal tag in your network of bulkheads.”
Jupiter looked to the second of the team and nodded. “Garrison,” he said. “Please take Mr. Fraser into custody.”
Lieutenant Garrison nodded and approached Fraser, who squirmed in protest.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t take me into some back room for an interrogation session. I need to find this Beast. The entire crew here could be in danger!”
Lieutenant Garrison continued his work. After a quick frisking, he found a small blaster.
“You’re carrying a concealed weapon on a mining outpost, Mr. Fraser,” Jupiter said. “This is reason enough to restrain you.”
“I brought that on my ship,” Fraser said. “And I am identifying myself! I’m a security officer.”
“Do you have a Galactic permit?” Jupiter asked. “A permit that allows you to open-carry in a non-military mining outpost?”
Fraser shifted his footing and said, more sheepishly, “It’s in the ships computer.”
Jupiter sighed and lowered his weapon. Garrison had attached the magno-cuffs on the captive. The situation was secure for the moment. That gave time for Jupiter to think. The permit for the weapon could easily be in the ship’s computer. Most security vessels kept soft copies of any important documentation to save space. But for the moment, the excuse seemed too convenient. Most likely, the man was telling the truth, but Jupiter was not a head officer of security who took chances. The regulation book was his guide. It had kept him and his crews safe for a dozen years. He did not plan to change his methods for the sympathy of one unknown man.
“Mr. Fraser,” he began. “The current regulation is to detain and question any party entering a station carrying an unauthorized weapon. Your ship is not only unreachable at the moment, but the on-board computer is most likely shot. We must assume that the weapon is not issued, and therefore, you must join us for questioning.”
Nelson Fraser squirmed in place.
“You don’t understand,” he said softly. “The Beast is out there, somewhere in this maze of corridors. Your entire crew is in danger if it attacks. The Beast is unpredictable. Now, I don’t mind answering any questions you have as long as we first secure the Beast.”
“What Beast are you talking about?” Jupiter asked…