Galaxy's End: Book One LeRoy Clary (dark books to read TXT) 📖

If she had been caught, we all would have. So, why had we risked our freedom and possibly our lives to escape with her? We were still in jeopardy today, and now we had managed to include every being on the ship.

Maybe the answer lay in Fang’s words. I said, “Why were you willing to give up the reward for the chance of joining us? I mean, we’re not an organization or society. We’re just friends who met a new friend.”

“You are far more than that but have yet to realize it. Yes, I was, and am, willing to forego the substantial reward offered to remain with the four of you. Hopefully, I will integrate myself with your group.”

I snorted softly and noticed him flinch and withdraw a little. He needed an explanation of my action. “It seems to me you have already become one of us. I haven’t discussed it with the others, but don’t think I have to. Welcome to the family.”

He snorted much as I had, and a spray of snot hit my forearm. I left it there.

We sat in silence for a long while.

Concealed speakers came to life. “Fang, can you please join us on the bridge right away?”

It was Captain Stone's voice. We leaped to our feet and raced to the hatch. I pushed the button and the door opened almost instantly. Inside, Bill and Stone looked at the monitors mounted on the walls instead of us.

Bill said, “Lock the door behind you.”

He sounded like Captain Stone issuing orders, abrupt, and expecting to be obeyed. He stood erect, his shoulders back, and there was an air of confidence I’d rarely seen.

Fang said, “What’s happening?”

Captain Stone answered without ever taking her eyes off the monitor. “Twice, I’ve seen a flash of red on the screen, at the very edge, as if a ship is following us at extreme range. Maybe coming into range now and then just enough for our equipment to detect it. From the position, it seems to be directly behind.”

Fang said flatly, not asking a question, “You think it has more sensitive equipment and is following.”

“That’s my idea. Longer range sensors would allow it to detect us while we can’t detect it, unless if moves too close,” she said. “But this ship had good equipment, better than most.

Fang said, “Are you listening, Bert?”

“Of course,” the response came from the speakers.

“Then, see what you can find out about how to increase the sensitivity of our array if such a thing is possible. I already have a few ideas,” Fang said as he climbed to the command chair. He began tapping buttons and speaking in words and phrases that sounded alien but were computer-talk. I recognized some of the words but not in the context that he used them. He was changing parameters and options on the software.

Fang looked up. The monitor image shimmied and settled with the new instructions. There was no red dot. He issued more instructions.

Bill was working at another terminal. He spoke over his shoulder to Captain Stone, “We are now at our maximum speed.”

Not understanding much of what was happening, I stood as if an ignorant child who was in the presence of geniuses—which was not far from the truth.

Bert said, “Fang, I’m sending you a file marked ‘increasing field sensitivity for MK-8’.”

Fang said, “Got it.”

Captain Stone said, “Listen up. Our last course change is pointing directly at Heshmat, the asteroid where the Guardia is right now. We may be leading whoever is behind us there.”

Bert said, “So, send them a hyper-space message. Detail what you want the Guardia to do and bill the transmission to this ship. It’s a cheap price for the owners to pay for you giving them back their ship.”

Captain Stone said, “I’ll be right there.”

She left with a smile. Such a simple answer, but with the cost of hyper-space messages and quantum computing, she would never have come to that decision.

Bill came to my side. He leaned closer. “Even if the ship behind catches up and destroys us, this is worth it.”

Poorly worded but true. I understood what he meant. The trip into space aboard an old tramp of a ship, the excitement of running and escaping, only to be chased again kept us on edge.

In contrast, our lives back on Roma had often consisted of sitting inside whatever shelter we’d devised and planning how to get our next meal. We generally slept late and stayed up late, since most of our schemes worked better at night. In between, we took a lot of naps to pass the time.

A few tenths of a credit had bought enough food to feed us. Not the best quality of food. Usually, either unsold leftovers or poorly cooked, like bread too dark on the bottom to sell to people with credits to spare.

Our go-to for earning quick credits was that I, with my light fingers, approached someone from behind, generally a tourist, and removed an item from their pocket. A travel-pass or ID worked well. I’d drop it and continue on my way.

Bill would rush up from the other direction, his arms waving and fingers pointing to the object I’d dropped. He’d reach it first, bend and retrieve it, and hand it to them, usually telling them it was his pleasure to help.

There were times when they simply thanked him and moved on. More often than not, they insisted on a reward. Bill shuffled his feet and hung his head as he protested that they were giving him too much for his small, good deed.

That routine had fed the two of them countless times over the years. It didn’t hurt anyone, and the reward was usually enough to buy food for a day or two.

Now, he was talking and acting