Salvage- The Series Box Set Read online

  Salvage - the Series

  By

  Larry Morris

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2017, 2018, 2019 by Larry Morris

  ISBN 9781087418841

  First book of the trilogy originally published November, 2017

  Cover art copyright © Johannes Gerhardus Swanepoel

  Cover art copyright © Cattallina

  This series is dedicated to my wife, Michelle, for her continued love and support. She continues to be my first stop for story content and my best critic.

  Many thanks to Michelle, Dawn, Leona, Wayne, Judy, Leo and Gus for all their help.

  In loving memory of Marilyn. A star among us that dimmed too soon, but is now shining brightly in another universe. We all miss you.

  Salvage

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Earth date May 2000, TRAPPIST-1 e

  Science Minister Moeller sat at his desk and looked out the window of his office at the three planets above the horizon. He never tired of the view. Theirs was truly a magnificent system. The giant, red sun was just touching the horizon to the left, casting a pinkish hue on the lake in front of his office. Two of the planets in view were quite high off the horizon while the third was in the process of rising. By the time the sun fully set, all three planets would be up and bright, reflecting the sun’s light. There was no other place he would rather be.

  They were the Anuu, an old species, explorers to be sure, but cautious of who and what they found. There were seven planets in their system; they inhabited two of them, the fourth and fifth from their sun. They had explored out about 250 light years from their system and had remote bases in four other systems. Two of those four systems were inhabited; the Anuu preferred to study new contacts clandestinely to make sure they knew what to expect when, or if, they decided on first contact. Those two species were the only sentient races within 100 light years.

  Moeller was reviewing the monthly reports from the four remote bases. Nothing exceptional to note, except there were in fact only three reports. One of the four bases had failed to report. Other notable excerpts were that the species on the third planet in the larger system was ramping up for another war, and the species on the single planet in the binary system was on the verge of discovering flight. He worried about what impact the species on the third planet would have on the local neighborhood if and when they acquired faster-than-light travel.

  His aide walked in with another set of reports.

  “Are we still waiting on the report from Alpha base?” Moeller asked.

  “Yes,” Toll said. “They’ve been late before, but not this late. Do you want to divert one of the scout ships to the base to check up on them?”

  “Let’s give them another 24 hours. If they haven’t reported in by then, reroute one of the scout ships to see if they are in distress.” He noticed the other reports in Toll’s hands. “What now?”

  “Sir, this is from the weapons division, it’s something you might want to consider seeing for yourself.”

  “A new weapon?”

  “That’s the way it turned out. A few scientists in the private sector were working on a new energy source and they stumbled on the concept.”

  Moeller glanced over the report quickly and whistled softly when he got to the last page.

  “Is this accurate?”

  “From what I understand. They’ve done one test and to say it worked would be an understatement.”

  “Let’s go, I’ve got to see this.”

  Moeller and Toll left the Science Ministry and walked across the darkening landscape toward the weapons design complex. Most of the complex was underground to protect the rest of the Science Ministry complex from weapons accidents. They entered the small reception area that was above ground and went immediately to the express elevator. Everyone recognized them and cleared a path. The research section of the facilities was the deepest, almost 2,500 feet underground, and it took the elevator a full five minutes to make the descent.

  Hollington, the lead scientist of the group on the project, met them as they got off the elevator.

  “Minister,” he said, “welcome to the research section.”

  “What’s this I hear about a new toy your section has come up with?” the minister asked and smiled.

  “Well, it’s a bad toy, for sure.”

  “Do you have a recording of the first test?”

  “Yes, we do. And that was the only test. After that, we would be hard pressed to find another viable test site.”

  “Now, I’m really curious. Let’s see this new weapon.”

  They made their way through several security doors and armed guards to a central laboratory. They sat at a small table where there was a portable projector set up and a small, round metallic device. Once they all got comfortable, Hollington dimmed the lights and started the projector. It ran for about 15 minutes and then the lights came back on.

  “Dear God,” the Minister said. “What was the size of the area affected?”

  “Approximately 1,000 miles in all directions and 15 miles deep.”

  “Total destruction? Like we just witnessed on the video?”

  “Yes. Nothing in that range was recognizable. It, well … you saw.”

  “Is this a scale model?” The Minister picked up the small, round object on the table and turned it over in his hands.

  “No, sir,” Hollington said. “that’s the actual device.”

  The Minister’s facial expression changed noticeably, like he had just picked up a venomous snake.

  “How is it activated?”

  “It takes a key, here,” Hollington pointed to a small slot. “And here are the timer controls. There is no minimum detonation time, so you need to make sure you have time to get to a safe distance. You can even do immediate detonation if need be.”

  “How many of these do we have?”

  “We had two,” Hollington said. “Now we just have the one you’re holding. We didn’t want to produce any quantity until we made the first test.”

  “You have my authorization to make a thousand in the first production run. We’ll see after that how many we think we will want. How long will that take?”

  “Well, right now we can only make about 20 or 30 a year. We need dedicated production facilities, more mining sites to mine the main ingredient, … and a few other items that I can’t think of off the top of my head.”

  “Fine,” the Minister said. “Start production with what we have and send me plans for whatever else you need. This could be the best defensive weapon we’ve developed in that last 200 years. We’ll find the funds somewhere.”

  Moeller and Toll made their way back to the Science Ministry main building in silence. Neither man had fully recovered from what they had just witnessed. When he got back to his quarters, Moeller made a cup of tea and went out on his private balcony that overlooked the small lake in front of the building.

  “Dol’nar,” Moeller said quietly.

  He patted his leg and the big jungle cat came running to his side from the adjacent room. Creeds were the only feline species on this planet, and this particular one had been his companion for almost 15 years. It had been a little thing, not a foot high when it wandered out of one of the big jungles and Moeller adopted it. As far as they could tell, the cat didn’t want to go back into the jungle; perhaps its mother had been killed by a larger predator. The cats could live to over 150 or 200 years, so this one would live long past Moeller’s demise. T
he big cat started to purr as Moeller scratched it between the ears. It was now probably three feet tall at its back and covered with dark spots the size of a man’s hand. Dol’nar was Moeller’s constant companion.

  The cat was long and lean and very short-haired. So much so that to the casual observer, it appeared not to have any body hair at all. Except, of course, for its trademark mohawk. A darker, longer tuft of hair that started in the middle of its head and ran down its back stopping almost at its tail. Most domesticated Creeds had their mohawk shaved because it usually gave off a rather pungent odor; at least to their owners it was pungent. The Creeds never noticed a scent at all. Dol’nar still had his mohawk and Moeller had left instructions that after he was gone, the animal was to be released into one of the largest game preserves they had, mohawk intact. There he could interact again with other members of his species in the preserve.

  He sat and sipped his tea and thought about what he had just seen. He had to make sure this technology never fell into the wrong hands. He would have to make it very hard to use, hard to even get to.

  He sipped his tea and thought. Dol’nar leaned against Moeller and purred.

  Chapter 2

  Earth date Sunday May 11th, 2042

  Rosie’s diner, Earth

  Cutter walked into Rosie’s and ambled toward the back of the diner and his favorite booth. There was a reserved sign on the table, but he knew it was for him. He had been having breakfast in this booth at this diner almost every morning for the past 15 years. He wasn’t about to change his habits now. He would like to think that no one else ever used it, but he knew better. He was sure it was open to anyone for lunch and dinner.

  He nodded to Rosie. She was behind the counter where she always was, wet towel in one hand, coffee pot in the other. She had bought the place after her husband died 15 years ago as just something to keep her occupied, and it turned out to be everyone’s favorite place to eat. It was right on US 441 in Florida, so she got all that traffic, plus a healthy dose of regulars who worked in and around the space port. The closest town was Okeechobee, just a little south of the diner, and she even had some regulars from there.

  She tossed the rag onto the counter and yelled to the cook, “Cutter’s here, put his breakfast on!” She grabbed a coffee cup, picked up a different pot of coffee and headed to Cutter’s booth. She sat in the booth opposite him and poured him a cup.

  “You get your new pilot yet?”

  “No,” Cutter said. “He’s supposed to show up today or tomorrow. I just hope he knows what he’s doing. Jake was good, it’ll be hard to fill his shoes.”

  “How long is Jake up for?”

  “It looks like at least a couple of years this time. He swears he didn’t know the girl was under age.”

  “He didn’t know she was the judge’s daughter, either, did he?”

  “No,” Cutter said, and shook his head. “Under age girl in a bar. Bartender an undercover police officer. Girl was the judge’s daughter. Sometimes, I think Jake just walked around in a daze most of the time.” Cutter took a drink of the coffee and smiled. “Hey, this isn’t your normal stuff, this is real coffee. Where did you get this?”

  “Let’s just say I recently acquired a supply of the real stuff for special customers.” She got up and went back to the counter where three or four other customers were seated. Coffee was just one of the things that was hard to get lately. The economy went south several years ago and hadn’t completely recovered yet. Not just America’s, but the global economy. Rosie offset the cost of things by growing her own where she could. She had her own chickens for fresh eggs, raised her own hogs for bacon and sausage and grew her own vegetables when she could. The vegetables were harder to grow year-round, so they came and went with the seasons. But real coffee was a new addition to the little diner, and it was a welcome one. She even had a few cows for milk and meat.

  Rosie brought his breakfast over and sat opposite him again. There was another waitress working the counter now, so she could sit and chat a while.

  “You know,” she started, “you could get your rating back and fly that rubbish heap yourself.”

  “Rubbish heap? That’s no way to talk about Salvage One. She’s one of the best ships in the business.”

  “And how many times last year did one of the service tugs have to make an emergency repair in orbit?”

  “Just twice,” he said. He thought a few seconds before continuing. “Both times were for older parts that would have failed eventually anyway. At least we were already in orbit both times. They could have failed on the way out or the way back in and either would have been catastrophic. Besides, I’m getting too old to fly all the time, you know that. I doubt I could even get my rating back at this point.”

  Service tugs were smaller, heavier ships used for rescue operations. They were available to anyone for a price and would fly rescue and repair missions. Cutter had used them twice last year for ion engine repairs that were made while his ship was still in orbit. In an emergency, the tugs could grapple onto a disabled ship and actually bring it in with them for a landing.

  “Well, you ought to give it some thought.” She got up to leave so he could eat in peace. “I think you could get it back. We both know you were a hell of a pilot back in the day.”

  “Long time ago,” he said as she started to leave. “Hey, don’t I ever get a bill for any of these breakfasts?”

  “You’ll get a bill when you stop letting me have first crack at whatever you bring back.” She left and ducked through the closest door that went back to the kitchen.

  For years, Cutter had given Rosie first dibs on anything they brought back from low-Earth orbit. Whatever she salvaged from his weekly trips had kept the little diner open some years; it was amazing what you could do with someone else’s old junk. And most of the stuff she took wouldn’t have brought much at the resale marts, so it worked out all the way ‘round.

  Junk was indeed a good word for it. Stuff that had been abandoned for years or decades in Earth orbit and was now clogging the space lanes. There wasn’t a month that went by without at least one story about a freighter on the way to the space station in orbit around the moon that had been hit by a large chunk of space debris and had to turn back for repairs. Thankfully, there had been only one fatality in all the years Cutter had been salvaging space junk. But that single fatality had kept them all in business all these years. The fleet was a loose collection of privately owned and operated, heavily shielded salvage ships. Some of them were almost brand-new, some were ancient, like Cutter’s. Old or new, they all mostly looked the same. They were nothing more than a huge cargo hold strapped to a rocket with grappling arms sprouting everywhere. That wasn’t really the way they looked, but that’s the way Cutter envisioned them. They all used ion propulsion now, so the big fuel tanks were a thing of the past, and the gravity assist units helped with takeoffs and landings. The newer ones could carry several thousand tons of scrap and survive a hit by a high-speed, baseball-sized piece of debris. The challenge for the pilots was to track and avoid dozens of larger scrap-missiles while the second person on board operated the grappling arms hauling in the larger pieces of debris. Simple, nothing to it.

  Coming on line next year were new ships that would address the thousands of tons of smaller paint chips and other small particles. Even though a paint chip was small, anything travelling at 25 thousand miles an hour could cause considerable damage. These new ships would act almost like old-fashioned vacuum cleaners and scoop them all up.

  All the ships used the facilities of the United Space Command’s space port in southern Florida, about a hundred miles south and a little inland from the old Kennedy Space Center; it was just about halfway between Okeechobee and Port St. Lucie. There were 15 pads available for private use and most of them, at one time or another, were used by salvage companies. The only rub everyone had to deal with was an inspection of the haul by USC after a salvage flight. USC said all they were trying to do was make sure n
othing sensitive made its way to the salvage resale marts. USC never said exactly what they were looking for, but everyone figured with all the spy satellites that used to be in orbit; sensitive stuff was probably everywhere. The USC had only instituted the inspections a few years ago, and no one was really sure why.

  Cutter savored every bite of breakfast. His usual was three eggs, bacon, potatoes and a biscuit. He remembered back around 2020, give or take a few years, a breakfast like this was probably eight or nine bucks. Now in 2042, with shortages everywhere, the same breakfast was close to $25. And he never saw a bill. He suspected he was the only diner eating a breakfast like this today. The weather had been good lately, so potatoes were back on the menu. A good breakfast.

  The other waitress came by with the clandestine coffee pot to fill his cup again and took his empty plate away. When she left, Rosie sat back down in Cutter’s booth.

  “I think your new pilot just came in for breakfast.”

  “Where?”

  Rosie pointed to the other section of booths by the windows. There was someone sitting in the last booth in the row that looked to be about 21 or 22. He was tall, from what Cutter could tell from him sitting, and lean and blond.

  “Send him over to my place when he’s done, and I’ll see what he’s got. Jake and I were supposed to do a salvage run day after tomorrow, so I’ll check him out on Salvage One this afternoon.”

  He started to get up to leave and Rosie put her hand on top of his on the table. “Be nice to him, Cutter. You need him to fly that relic of yours.”

  Cutter patted her hand and stood up. “I’ll try, but I make no promises.”

  He walked past the booths by the windows on his way out and grumbled to himself. He swore the kid looked about 12 or 13. This was going to be a long day.