Hijacked on a Moon Trek: Saturn Night Fever: Sky Crimes and Misdemeanors, #3

MOON UNIT CREW AND PASSENGER MANIFEST

AstroNovas: aerial military squadron.

Cat: Sylvia’s robot built to resemble a cat. Acts as an alarm clock, computer, flashlight, and more.

Champion, Zeke: Son of spaceship repairman. Expert on hacking and space drone technology. Friend of Sylvia Stryker.

Champion, Hubble: Spaceship repairman. Zeke’s dad.

Dusk, Mattix: Space courier. Taught Sylvia Hapkido fighting style in exchange for repairs and modifications to space pod.

Doc Edison: Head of Medi-Bay. Cranky. Low tolerance for secret missions. Drinks whiskey.

Faarstar, Omicron: Baddest space pirate renegade of a new generation of evil, Inheritor to Cheung Qidd’s space pirate network. New threat to the galaxy. Dangerous and dirty. A little stinky too.

Gremlons: alien race that lives on Colony 7. Pink. Lack the ability to defend themselves. Usually work in the entertainment industry. Have fifty teeth and are cagey. Shrink when scared.

Grey Aliens: interchangeable and indiscernible aliens who work as space pirate henchmen. Often tattooed with markings to indicate ownership and a way to tell them apart.

Grey One: The first grey alien to appear in the book. Has a 1 tattooed on his hand.

Grey Two: The second grey alien to appear in the book. Has a 2 tattooed on his hand.

Grey Three: The third grey alien to appear in the book. Has a 3 tattooed on his hand.

Grey Four: I know you’re smart, so I’ll let you figure this one out on your own.

Ivi: Female Martian. Communications lieutenant aboard Moon Unit Mini 7.2. Small, green. Wears false eyelashes but is otherwise hairless.

Kentaro: Medic. Injured in war between Mars and Venus. Walks with a limp. Owns T-Fal, his personal robot.

Marshall, Vaan: Youngest member of Federation Council. Sylvia’s first love. Recused himself from the vote to convict Jack Stryker for collusion with pirates. From Plunia, the same planet as Sylvia.

Neptune: Head of security on Moon Unit Corporation. Tough guy. Big muscles. Believes in word efficiency. Thinks nobody knows his secrets. Is wrong.

Pika: pink Gremlon alien. Troublemaker. Friend of Sylvia. Kidnap victim.

Qidd, Cheung: Evil space pirate. Serving life sentence on Colony 13. Terminal.

Rune, Rebel: Engineer aboard Moon Unit Mini 7 series. Highly recommended, last minute hire.

Stryker, Jack: Sylvia’s dad. Has been serving time in a Federation Council prison. Recent intel suggests he is not guilty of the crimes he’s been accused of. At this point his guilt and or innocence are unconfirmed.

Stryker, Sylvia: Space Academy dropout. Half Plunian and half Human. Smart. Has photographic memory, lavender skin, and excellent problem-solving abilities. Grew up on dry ice farm. Hates space pirates. Has tiny problem blindly following orders and does not like Martians!

T-Fal: robot belonging to Kentaro. Assembled from recycled non-stick aluminum cookware, including pressure cooker head and rice cooker torso. All settings have been reprogramed for tasks more robot-like than cooking rice (though one setting had remained, since robot’s owner enjoys steamed rice as a snack.)

Williams, Hale: African American physician who performed the first prototype open-heart surgery.

Yoka: pink Gremlon boy. Short and plump. Spokesperson for Gremlons on board ship. Possible troublemaker.

1: IMPACT

When Neptune said I fought like a girl, I did the only respectable thing. I hit him. That’s not to say it’s a good idea for dropouts from the space academy to strike their newly-appointed superiors, but in this case, he deserved it.

In the two versions of the story that will be told of the incident, at least one will contain the fact that technically, I was in training. Technically, the only reason we were on the helipad on the corner of Neptune’s property was because the helipad was a convenient place to practice. Technically, I was being paid a small sponsorship fee to test the durability of new uniforms designed for Moon Unit Corporation, and technically, the only way I could fully know if the uniforms were durable were to see how they held up when I threw a punch.

Neptune’s version might include slight variations.

"In case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl," I said.

Neptune was bigger, older, and more experienced than I was, and he probably had more important things to do than spend the day teaching me defensive maneuvers. But never graduating had left me with relatively few channels to advance my learning.

After Moon Unit 6 returned from Venus, Neptune contacted me via the comm device implanted in my ear and offered me free room and board in exchange for lessons to pick up where my interrupted education had left off. I’d dropped out when my dad was arrested so I could help my mom with the family dry ice mines. Neptune’s offer to teach me gave us both something of value. I’d accepted, more for me than for him. I’m selfish that way.

You know why you were almost incapacitated on our last moon trek? he asked. Because you dropped your guard. You thought size and skill were enough to beat your enemy. You fought fair. You fought like a woman.

Oh, so now I’m a woman? I countered. I grew up fast.

It wasn’t that Neptune treated me like a girl or a woman. He treated me like a student. And most of the time I was okay with that. But the voice in my head that I didn’t want to listen to wondered why someone like Neptune spent time training someone like me. It was a voice that hadn’t had much to question since my dad was arrested.

Any attention paid to me usually had strings attached. Retribution for my dad’s crimes, or the novelty of my half Plunian background in a world where lavender women were now rare. More than once I’d fended off advances when I saw where they were headed. I developed a thick skin and narrowed my social circle to a very tight group.

But despite the fact that Neptune was a muscular wall of taciturn authority, or maybe because of it, I was attracted to him. I doubted it was the black military-issue cargo gear he wore (did he buy his clothes in bulk?) or the intimidating stance he’d perfected long before I met him (arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart). I’d never been attracted to men in power—in fact, power was a pretty tried-and-true turn-off. I didn’t know what it was about Neptune that made my lavender skin glow at the least opportune times. I only knew it was important to me to prove to him that I was different. Today, different meant throwing a non-girly punch.

He grabbed my wrist and closed my fingers into a fist. His hand was twice the size of mine—tawny against my lavender coloring. You have to toughen up, Stryker. You’re smart, and you learn information fast, but instincts don’t come from a book.

I learned how to fight by an accredited Hapkido master. Or have you already forgotten that I dropped you with a sweeping kick because you underestimated me?

He let go of my fist and pointed at me. Don’t let that go to your head. Success is built on failure. If you learn anything from these lessons, learn that. Failure is your friend.

I thought failure wasn’t an option? The flight director of Earth’s space shuttle program said it, right? His biography was required reading.

You didn’t read the book. That’s a made-up quote from a movie script. The flight director liked the line so much he used it for the title of his biography. Lesson number two: check your source. I thought you knew that by now.

I didn’t tell Neptune that I hadn’t read the book because the course took place after I dropped out. I’m pretty sure lesson number three is to keep your weaknesses to yourself.

Repeat it back to me.

Blah, blah, check your source.

Repeat what I told you about failure.

‘Failure is my friend.’

Remember that. He turned around and walked a few feet away from me and then turned back. If you think you can fight because you dropped me—once—then you’ll get complacent. Don’t forget what happened the last time you got complacent.

How could I forget? I almost died. It didn’t help that the fight had been four against one or that my oxygen supply had been cut off, rendering me helpless. My opponents knew my weakness and used it against me. Nothing fair about it. I didn’t want to admit it, but Neptune was right. I’d falsely assumed I could defend myself without too much effort, and my false sense of confidence had worked against me.

Go again, he said. He bent his knees slightly and prepared for my attack. I swung my arms forward and backward, giant half circles to limber up my shoulders, and felt a seam tear. Hold on. Uniform malfunction. Moon Unit Corporation thinks they can cut corners by using a different supplier, but the last six uniforms I tested fell apart.

Where?

Shoulder.

Turn around.

I turned and pointed to where I’d felt the split. What am I supposed to tell them this time? ‘Looks good but you can’t throw a girly punch’?

I felt Neptune tug the split fabric together. Even though I wasn’t looking at him, just the graze of his fingertips against my shoulder blade made me flush.

Why are you wasting your time with uniforms?

Someday the name ‘Sylvia Stryker’ will be synonymous with space uniforms. After our trip to Venus, the publicity company who planned the hype around the Moon Units contacted me to wear test their prototypes. It’s a little cash on the side between treks and all things considered, I can use the money. I can’t crash here forever.

I knew Neptune wouldn’t pursue the conversation. He understood my predicament: no planet, no family, no home. He was with me the night space pirates destroyed everything I’d ever known. The only reason I agreed to train with him was because there’s a certain security in spending time with someone who prioritized silence over small talk. I could learn a lot from Neptune and I knew it.

He could learn from me too. I wasn’t sure he knew that. Yet.

Neptune’s loner lifestyle suited him, but I was glad that he begrudgingly allowed me to coexist on his property. Not one to mooch, I made sure to bring what I could to the table. Enter Mattix Dusk, space courier (and my Hapkido instructor) who traveled between the thirteen colonies under Federation Control, to pick up and deliver anything that needed to be picked up or delivered. I introduced the two men and they worked out a mutually acceptable deal. Mattix had use of the helipad and a place to crash while on the Kuiper Belt. Neptune had access to Mattix’s courier contacts and suppliers. And for the foreseeable future, I had not one but two mentors who could further my education.

Where Neptune was tall, tawny, and solid muscle, Mattix looked like a piece of worn leather in loose-fitting castoff clothes. Tanned skin, bleached hair worn in a ponytail, and ragamuffin clothes suited him. His job as courier put him in front of shady characters, and he passed along his two most important pieces of advice: look like you have less than the other guy and learn to take care of yourself.

Whatever direction my lesson was supposed to go was interrupted by a swiftly approaching space pod. I looked at the sky and watched it glide toward us. It was the Dusk Driver, the space pod that belonged to Mattix.

I smiled and waved while backing up so he could land. As his space pod drew closer, alarm bells rang out from the nearby towers. His speed was too fast. He was going to crash. And if I didn’t get out of the way, I’d burn up in the wreckage.

Neptune reached the same conclusion before I did. How do I know? When I tore my attention from the incoming space pod to tell Neptune something was wrong, I saw him charge toward me. The impact knocked me to the ground.

Either Neptune knew what was happening and wanted to save me, or he was trying to make a point.

From the bank of dirt alongside the helipad, the space pod jerked to a halt and then hovered two feet above the ground. Mattix knew better than to approach at the speed he had, but he’d compensated for the potential accident by activating the ship’s invisible buffer: a two foot bumper of static electricity that kept the exterior from contacting another surface. It operated much the same way as two magnets held in close proximity. The dueling forcefields pushed away from each other, making it impossible to touch. Mattix wouldn’t have activated the buffer shield unless something was wrong.

I scrambled to my feet and, keeping my center of gravity low, approached the space pod. Mattix wouldn’t allow anyone else to navigate the ship without reason, which made what I saw even scarier.

The ship was being flown on autopilot.

2: TRAINING MISSION

I pulled my goggles down to protect my eyes from the clouds of dust swirling around and tried to look inside. The buffer kept me from getting too close. But I didn’t have to be up close and personal to see that the interior of the space pod was empty.

There were a few reasons a space pod would be flown without a pilot. Return to home base had been activated. Someone else had programmed it for diversion. Or something had happened to the driver.

There was only one option I liked, and even that came with a slew of questions.

What do you see?

The pod is empty. Dashboard panel lights are blinking white.

Random or in a pattern?

I squinted through my goggles and waved my hand in front of them to clear away the dust. Pattern. It’s a message.

Decipher.

Neptune was using this as a teachable moment. I turned toward him and rolled my eyes, though between the space goggles and the dust, I wasn’t sure he could see them.

Quit rolling your eyes and decipher the message.

I stared back into the space pod. The pattern of lights blinked for several seconds and then repeated. After three sessions, I had it down. The ship has been compromised. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Details in passenger.

Neptune pulled me away from the pod and stepped up to the window. The invisible buffer pushed his legs backward, but his strong thighs countered the resistance. Where I hadn’t been able to get any closer than a foot away, Neptune was right up against the fiberglass exterior.

Dismantle the drive, he said over his shoulder.

He took this teachable moment thing seriously. I went behind the ship and squatted down by the exterior reactor. Mattix’s pod ran on dilithium crystal rods which were inserted at the back of the vehicle under a hinged panel. The small size of the ship made it lightweight and fast, but it couldn’t travel long distances without the potent fuel source. I used a retractor to unscrew the panel and remove the rod. As soon as it was out of the fuel chamber, the buffer turned off, and the pod fell to the ground. A larger puff of moon dust exploded by my gravity boots and then filled the air. I slipped the mouthpiece to my oxygen tube between my lips and inhaled.

Neptune, either unprepared or mistakenly believing he was invincible, coughed. He jogged a few feet from where the pod landed and leaned over, inhaling less cloudy air.

One of the main rules of a security team: don’t leave a team member behind.

I pulled a splitter out from a pocket, fitted it onto my small oxygen tank, and joined Neptune. I held out the mouthpiece and kept my thumb on the button that would split the release of clean air between us. He put the mouthpiece between his lips and I pressed the button. Ha! My own teachable moment! I stood a little straighter and grinned (as much as I could with breathing apparatus in my mouth).

After a few hits of oxygen, Neptune removed his