Seventy by Liana Brooks

Author:Liana Brooks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: space exploration, space travel, terraforming, short sci fi stories, quick reads
Publisher: Inkprint Press
Published: 2019-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE MAKING OF

Seventy

This was originally part of an anthology call. They wanted exploration of new planets, I had to find the backstory for Red Planet Refugees, and somehow this is what happened.

The story never made it to the anthology, but it was my first published short story, in an e-zine that went defunct in 2013. It’s been printed, reprinted, and here it is again: the story about scientists who have seventy days to live.

Read more by Liana Brooks!

PRIME SENSATIONS

“Unidentified vessel, we are Waste Hauler 133 out of Darrian 6. We carry no trade or crew,” the ship’s AI droned in a bored monotone.

Lana dropped into the waste hauler’s modified control booth and took over. “Unidentified vessel, be advised. I steer like a drunken moose, alter your course.” The reverb over the frequently patched comm lines made her sound like an old man with a lifelong bitter-root habit.

Sweat dripped down her nose. The waste hauler had a hull thirty years older than she was, and an environmental system older than that. It had survived two major system wars by being too worthless to target. And Lana was well aware that, as a debtor working off her ransom to the Iloni nation, she was slightly less valuable than the ship.

The comm crackled and she thought she heard the word “boarding.”

“Unidentified vessel,” she replied, “I am deaf and blind. I give you no authorization to come near this vessel. If you keep to your projected course I will have no choice but to heartlessly smash your hull because of physics.”

The other ship tried to respond.

Lana grimaced and tried to compensate for the ancient communications array. “Mass times acceleration, un-identified vessel. I can’t slow down in time.”

“Waste Hauler 133, this is the Marsail out of Port Tael, flying the flag of the Exaner Confederation. Prepare to be boarded.”

Black holes and dark nights! Port Tael was a pirate station, taken by the outer rim unification during the Apex War, and currently under stars only knew which warlord.

She leaned against the rough metal of the control booth. They probably wanted to pick over the hauler for parts. Stars knew there was enough wreckage welded in to rebuild a fleet. She should probably get dressed.

Lana sniffed her armpit. Maybe a shower was in order. And clothes. And snacks. The Marsail wouldn’t cross paths with her hauler for a few more hours, and it was the most exciting thing to happen since she’d been taken as a prisoner of war three years ago.

A shower and change of clothes later, Lana watched as the Marsail managed to land on the bulky waste hauler with a finesse Lana would have envied a few years ago, back when she’d thought her rift rat piloting skills would be enough to win the attention she craved.

It never had.

She tossed a boiled nut into her mouth and watched the pirate crew’s slow progress through the hull. If there’d been someone to bet against, she would have wagered they’d go for the hard metals compartment, maybe grab some radiated shielding or a new engine converter.

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