The Star Pirate's Folly

Chapter 12: Tuggernaut

Inside the roaring-loud confines of Tuggernaut #7, the Beard watched in horror as the gravity generators' temperature dials crept into the red. The gigantic tethering node on the back of the ship blasted a continuous thrumming rope of mint-green energy into a stable portion of the comet, altering its trajectory by a fraction of a degree at a time.

The countdown read one minute.

Particles of rock, ice, and dust constantly pinged off the ship's new paint job, and Tuggernaut's bright red skin was scored with tiny pockmarks and scars. The ship shuddered as one of the grav generators hiccupped, throwing it off balance.
 
The Beard sprang into action, his fingers flinging desperate commands into the ship's computer; he vented heat from the near-molten generators, spewing blackened cooling gel into space, and rerouted coolant from the engines to replace it.

The green rope of energy momentarily flickered and faded, but crackled back to life when the generator came online. Tuggernaut corrected its position as though nothing had happened, and the familiar steady rumbling of the generators resumed.

"Close one, bud," breathed Tattoos over his suit's comms.

The Beard shrugged. "Matter of time."

"C'mon man, we ain't dead yet. You got this."

Another weak lift of the shoulders. As if in response, a violent quaking began to jar them in their seats. The temperature gauges soared to critical levels.

The reality of the situation sunk in when Tattoos saw his more experienced partner's helpless indifference, and he sat back heavy in his seat.

"Never thought I was gonna die in this thing," he said. "My first big boost."

"First and last. Sorry, bud. I tried, but—"

"Nah, man," said Tattoos, waving away the apology. "Just always figured I'd end up getting vented back on Optima or shanked on some prison cube or something, y'know?"

Tattoos pulled a flask from a pouch on his suit and waggled it at his partner. The Beard cracked a grin, and they both unclasped their helmets and tossed them behind the seats.

The ink-stenciled young man unscrewed the cap and offered the Beard the first drink, who accepted with a grateful bow of his head. He swirled the liquid inside the thin flask and smelled the sweet sharp bite of lotus.

The countdown read thirty seconds.

#

Starhawk brooded over a mug of warm lotus wine as he sat in his command chair on the bridge of his flagship, half-watching the feed of Tuggernaut #7 working the comet. He was supposed to have a whole fleet of the damn things, but only one crew showed up.

The stolen civilian vessel trembled from strain as the overclocked gravity tether struggled to haul Orpheus into a slightly different orbit. Three, even just two of those suckers and they'd be sailing smooth.

But after the others failed to show, Tuggernaut #7 had to go under the wrench for some modifications. The result was a high-penetration gravity tether with enough pull to tease Orpheus into a new orbit closer to Surface. Theoretically.

Starhawk's First Mate Zeeda stood three paces behind him, arms crossed, leaning her hip against the side of her chair. A minute earlier she'd started tapping her fingers against her arms, probably anxious to ask him something. She tended to wait before speaking, stewing her thoughts, second-guessing. Patient, loyal, but lacking confidence.

"Should we prepare new calculations, sir?" she asked.

"We haven't passed our window yet," said Starhawk. "Why would I want that when my boys are still—"

The faint jade glow of Tuggernaut's gravity tether flashed bright for a moment, sputtered, then finally surged with power as one of the generators overloaded. The tether's snaking stream flooded with excess energy, yanked hard on the comet, overpowered the ship's brakes, and dragged the whole craft savagely into Orpheus.

Tuggernaut #7 rocketed into the comet with stunning speed and smashed against the unflinching mountainous terrain, crushed instantly. A shower of ejecta exploded from the impact site—chunks of shiny red steel sparkled when the sunlight caught them.

"Alright, Zeeda," Starhawk sighed. "Why don't you get the brains working on our new trajectory. Don't bother with the salvage drones, we'll have to break off soon."

"Sir."

Zeeda turned on her heel and stalked to the rear of the bridge where two men dressed in civilian clothing held a hushed conversation as they consulted several onscreen charts and maps. They went quiet as she approached, and the older of the two stepped forward.

"We'll need those numbers now, Chuck," Zeeda said.

"Charles. It's Charles, not Chuck. Have you stopped fiddling with its orbit yet?" The man, long-faced with dirty blond hair and a thick beard, spoke with irritated condescension. "We can't make accurate predictions if you're still—"

"Yeah, it's done," interrupted Zeeda, and returned to her post.

"Finally," Charles said, mumbling to his apprentice as he turned back to his data. "Can't believe this ridiculous plan is working. We're all going to die, you know."

#

As Orpheus twisted and spun along its new trajectory its ancient bones shifted into unfamiliar new positions. Onward the comet rolled through space toward the sun, gaining heat, spewing more gas and debris as it went.

Craggy black peaks which had stood for millennia fractured from the pent up primordial fury of geysers beneath, ejecting great chunks of packed dust and ice into the comet's misty coma.

Behind Orpheus stretched two tails thousands of miles long, one a radiant cloak of gaseous particles billowing in the stellar wind, the other a sweeping trail of broken ice and rock.

Its unwelcome cargo had peeled off thousands of miles back. They detached their proboscis-like tethers from its skin and vanished within moments into the empty blackness behind, the whole swarm moving as one. The parasites had introduced an element of chaos to its eternal circuit, and instead of following its previous well-traveled path it careened along a tighter orbit toward the distant star Lux.

The blue planet Surface, once a far-off speck, grew in size and brightness with each moment as the rogue comet rushed on. Faster, faster Orpheus plunged to the center of the system, an unchained force of nature barreling along nearly perpendicular to the neat circular orbit of Surface. Orpheus was a minefield on the loose.

#

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