Vance Tyraid Joins the Space Pirates

VANCE TYRAID JOINS THE SPACE PIRATES

Douglas Hankins

Copyright 2014 by Douglas Hankins

Smashwords edition

COVER ART by ROBIN HANKINS

SMASHWORDS LICENSE STATEMENT

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

1.-Eutemia

2.-Andromeda

3.-Kleopatra

4.-Ortonia

5.-Goldenmoon

6.-Space Pirates

7.-Puthgar

8.-Trinidad

9.-Sticky Situation

10.-Consequences

11.-Induction

12.-Truly Alone

13.-Jupiter Bugs

14.-Mars

END NOTES

VANCE TYRAID JOINS THE SPACE PIRATES

1EUTEMIA

Vance Tyraid stared silently at the stars through misty eyes, pondering his soul desire; he wished to go home. They were now on their return trip, with over four months left on their journey, but each minute was more tedious than the last. Exactly twenty months, three weeks, four days and six hours had passed since he and his father had left Mars. He was woefully aware of that because the atomic clock displayed every second, every minute and every hour with grim, cheerless numbers. Still, the stars never moved and the only frames of reference were the tiny red dot of Mars too distant to distinguish and the giant, gaseous Jupiter, continuously enormous a hundred million miles behind them, never smaller no matter how much time passed. Using those references, Vance wasn't convinced the ship was moving at all.

But it wasn't only the unyielding loneliness of space or even the aching homesickness which brought stinging tears to his eyes; it was because he missed his mother. Even as much as he wanted to go home he wanted his mother back, but that could never happen. Once, he thought that time in space would heal his heart, but lately he realized nothing could remedy the loss of his mother, or the sting of knowing she had been murdered.

Every day Vance struggled to deal with his mother's murder as the memory never faded, but this day was the worst because it was her birthday.

Vance was only ten years old, and his entire life so far had been managed, scrutinized and directed by his parents. He was raised by the smartest people to come from Earth; Rigsby and Eutemia Tyraid. They were the only scientists who could save Mars by building a generator which would convert the thin, toxic winds currently blanketing the red planet to a clean breathable atmosphere. They were regarded as the only hope to free Mars from the tyranny of Terracorp; the faceless Earth Corporation which enslaved Martian colonists by restricting their air and working them in hazardous and often fatal environments; also the soulless corporation that murdered his mother. The hatred in Vance's heart manifested itself in more bitter tears and an unmanageable knot in his stomach.

With a deep breath he tried to shake it off. He strolled a few feet from the porthole, deeper into the tiny garden. Vance was in, what he liked to call, the greenhouse where a few small herbs and flowers grew, and one scraggly tomato desperately clung to life. The plants were a deterrent against his boredom, and it was pleasant to feel the soil in his hands, but one thing grew in the garden that kept him tranquil. It was a thick-stalked sunflower plant as tall as him; almost five feet, and its fragrant blossoms were bursts of velvety bright pink. It was his mother's favorite flower and all he had to remind him of her. She called them Morningstar because they always bloomed at dawn.

Vance plucked a bloom and held it to his nose, inhaling the familiar aroma. His mother always smelled of Morningstar. The scent was part of her.

Martian colonists claim that Eutemia Tyraid tossed a handful of sunflower seeds into a frozen patch of sand and three days later some odd green sprouts appeared. Within a week dozens of them were four feet tall and blooming. When the plants were potted and brought inside they produced an aroma reminiscent of all the flowers on Earth. The downtrodden colonists couldn't get enough of them. Fortunately, the Morningstar flowers thrived in the thin Martian atmosphere and unyielding soil. Soon they inundated every region from the ice caverns at Hellas Plantia to the barracks at the base of Olympus Mons. In this way, Eutemia Tyraid, Vance's mother, became the first real trailblazer of Mars. She brought hope to those starving for air and a new beginning to those who had traveled so far from home.

The fragrance of the Morningstar blossom brought a meager smile to Vance's face. He felt he might be able to endure the remaining time in the desolate expanse of space between Jupiter and Mars. After all, there were only four months, sixteen days and twelve hours until they reached home. At least, that's what the grim atomic clock displayed.

The Eutemia lumbered along at twenty-two thousand miles an hour, barely keeping up with the mass-driver which pushed their precious cargo one thousand miles ahead of them, the one item in space which could save Mars; thirty million metric tons of the purist gold ever found in the Solar System. Rigsby Tyraid spent years detecting and finally locating it orbiting Jupiter. It was only one hundred and thirty miles wide, a mere speck compared to Jupiter's other moons, but it was slow and at the edge of the gravity field so it would be easy to snatch away.

After Rigsby discovered the gold he had to acquire a ship for his wife and son, but all of his funds had been depleted by the construction of the Atmospheric Generator, which didn't work without the Jupiter gold. Terracorp refused to further invest in what they considered an impractical application and they abandoned the project. But Rigsby refused to give up. He used his reserve resources to build his own vessel from discarded sections of supply ships and unused fragments of freighters found strewn across the Martian plains. He assembled the ship at the top of Olympus Mons, the tallest volcano on Mars, rising fifteen miles above the desert.

The colonists, who had suffered for ten years while the Atmospheric Generator was being built, became impatient and restless. They had to purchase their air by meeting quotas in the ice mines, which was dangerous work under severe conditions. Living in the underground barracks was brutal; stale air, unclean food and overcrowding had become unbearable. Many had died and all were ailing. They blamed Rigsby Tyraid for their plight and despised him. When the ship was launched the colonists believed they had been abandoned and the dream of an Atmospheric Generator had all been a lie. Some called him crazy, others were just glad to be rid of him. A universal hatred for Rigsby Tyraid was born and matured throughout the Inner Solar System, but no-one could predict what he would actually find.

But there would be plenty of time to reminisce later. Right now Vance needed something to do. He was bored, fidgety and tense. He detested the blackness of space outside and the polished steel inside the ship. The steady vexing hum of the engines gnawed at his patience and if he didn't design some new diversion he was going to jump out of his skin.

That's when his father came in. Rigsby Tyraid was tall and slender with thinning grey hair. His tired eyes scanned the greenhouse and saw Vance.

There you are. Rigsby said. I've been waiting for that transducer pack all morning. We need to be ready for the increased turbulence as we leave the gravitational perimeter of Jupiter's orbit. The increased mass won't be constant during the transition and we need accurate conversion sensors. The calculations will differ greatly because we'll be dealing with escape velocity instead of approach velocity, and we have the increased mass of our cargo for which to account. We're nearing the point of no return, Vance; don't make me tell you again.

Vance paid no attention; he rolled his eyes with boredom.

Rigsby sensed his son's tedium. He tried to keep things positive by constantly devising tasks to occupy his young mind, but he also felt the pain and loneliness which weighed heavier on them both every day. Rigsby was running out of cheer, and they still had a long trip ahead of them.

It really is getting closer. Rigsby said, referring to Mars, putting his arm across Vance's shoulder. I promise you'll see a difference next month.

I know, dad. Vance said without much enthusiasm. He paid more attention to the flower than to his father. "An increase in size is only perceptible when contrasted with previous sightings. It's always bigger next month."

Rigsby recognized the anxiety in Vance's tone and it touched a part of his own troubled soul. He could tell by Vance's red eyes that he had been crying again and it tore at his heart. It was killing him that he could do nothing to remedy his son's torment.

The Morningstar is getting big, isn't it? Rigsby said, changing the subject. Your mother's favorite.

The smell reminds me of her. Vance said. It smelled different on her, though.

She bought homemade perfume from some crazy widow whose daughter ran away. Your mother felt sorry for her, so she traded some air for it. Rigsby said. Your mother always smelled nice, though. Vance, did you know that a human's sense of smell is most closely linked to memory? Rigsby lectured. Often used in hypnotherapy, it has been clearly documented that smell has awakened repressed memories from deep within the childhood psyche, frequently resulting in...

Vance wasn't listening. He breathed out a heavy sigh.

Rigsby patted his son's head, mussing his scruffy brown hair and peering into his chestnut brown eyes. Rigsby recognized that Vance was growing up fast, and had just spent the last two years trapped in this steel crate with his inattentive and fanatical father, chasing a delusional dream. When they left Mars Vance was still a boy, but he had grown six inches since then and was leaving his boy-thoughts behind. Rigsby realized that by being obsessed with this mission he had missed a chunk of his young son's life, a chunk he could never get back.

Rigsby and his wife, Eutemia, had left Earth together years ago to help settle Mars during the Great Expansion. When the Earth's resources dwindled, volunteers were sent to Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the Inner System and the most massive object on Mars, climbing over fifteen miles into the Martian sky, to initiate colonization. The miles of empty lava tubes were perfect for an artificial environment. They accommodated the miners, geologists and builders. Rigsby and Eutemia were environmental scientists; their mission was to oxygenate the atmosphere. That mission didn't end the way they had planned, but they did have one success; Vance.

Rigsby and Eutemia were undeniably Earthlings, frail and flawed, burdened with the scandal and disgrace that the blue planet breeds, but Vance was pure Martian, born with no ties to Earth. He was their new start, their bright future; he wasn't the first child born on Mars, but he was their child. He was just a human boy, but his beliefs were unique and inventive, uncorrupted by conspiracy and greed. By the time he was three he was reading mathematics and solving intricate problems. On his fifth birthday he built a telescope so he could see Earth. He wanted to know what it looked like so he could avoid it.

He usually showed boundless spirit, but since his mother's murder, he kept his spirit bound up tight and locked away. Some days it seemed he would never get it back.

You know she loved you very much. Rigsby said. You've got her eyes. She always said you had the brightest eyes in the universe. She was right about something else, too. You are undoubtedly the brightest boy this side of Mars.

Vance turned away, clutching the Morningstar to his chest.

I wish I remembered her more clearly. Vance whispered. Some mornings I only remember her fragrance.

Her fragrance is a part of you, Vance. Rigsby said, some emotion rising from within him. Your mother is a part of you. You are everything she believed in. Her love and kindness, her hopes for a better future are all in you. You are the best parts of her. If she could see you now, she would be so proud.

If only we left a day earlier. Vance said. She would still be here.

Don't you think I regret that every day?Rigsby barked, a little too sharply. That was the worst day of my life!

Rigsby was angry with himself again, but he calmed down with a deep breath and a reminder that they were still six months from home. There would be plenty of time to argue about that day when they reached Mars.

An aching moment of grief ticked by, not unlike every other lonely day when something reminded them of her; it was often quiet and sad aboard the Eutemia. But today, his mother's birthday was worse than last year.

It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't so boring. Vance said. I'd give anything for some excitement.

Be careful what you wish for, Vance. Rigsby said in a low voice. You might just get it.

Nothing could be worse than this, Vance muttered, no matter what I wished for.

Rigsby had never heard such sadness and anguish in his son's voice before, nor seen such despair in his eyes. He needed to help Vance now. It was time for something extreme.

Hey, buddy. Rigsby broke the silence, nudging Vance roguishly. How'd you like a turn on the mass-driver?

Really? Vance brightened. He faced his father with some cheer. By myself?

You've earned it. Rigsby smiled, delighted to see passion returning to his son. It needs an unexpected two degree correction. The fusion engine might be slipping. You should be able to adjust the trajectory manually. If that doesn't do it, we'll run diagnostics tomorrow. Simple adjustments like these influence the entire journey, Vance, because if you remember yesterday's lesson on long range trajectory and the ...

Thanks, dad. Vance interrupted, giving him a hasty hug before dashing for the door.

My pleasure, Rigsby called after