Tasty Tidbits: 9/22/09 Excerpt - The Devil You Don't
To commemorate the news of an upcoming release, today's excerpt is from the story The Devil You Don't, which will be appearing in the 30th Anniversary commemorative anthology The Stories In Between, which celebrates the iconic indy bookstore Between Books, in Claymont, Delaware.
To find out more about the collection itself visit the publisher's site at http://www.fantasistent.com/books/anthologies/between.html
(The story is a continuation from a previous story, Carbon Copy,
which was published in Space Pirates, by Flying Pen Press)
And now...the excerpt!
_______________________________________________________
Sarge gave a sharp nod and turned to a storage locker. As he swung the hatch open, Kat gasped and found herself beside him before she'd realized she'd moved. Though she'd never personally set eyes on the unit, she knew what she was looking at: an auxiliary black box. The Groom's ABB, in fact, she had no doubt, now that she was close enough to read the etching on the pure black unit. Thank you, Sakmyster! she sent the thought winging in the direction of the GEC and the former comrade who had trusted her judgment enough to flaunt pseudo-Trask's orders. The rescue team must have intercepted it when they'd come to get her.
She could feel the shit-eating grin spread across her face as she looked up and met the eyes of her commander and her team mate. Their expressions surely matched her own.
"We've got him!"
With eager hands she reached for the unit only to have Sarge step in her way.
"That was them not trusting you."
Kat blinked. Gave her head a shake. Opened her mouth to ask what the heck he was going on about. Then it registered that he was answering her earlier question and her jaw clenched shut.
"That was them trying to determine if you had a grudge . . . or a conflict of interest. . . ."
She remained silent, breathing deep and getting her temper in hand.
"Well, soldier," he said, "do you?"
A few more deep breaths. Really deep. She focused hard on not buckling beneath Sarge's continued stare. "I guess that depends, sir."
"On?"
"If they are on our side or the pirates'."
He gave a slow nod and stepped aside.
With care she drew the battered microsatellite-or microsat-from the locker. "Did we do that?" she asked, running her hand over burn scoring and a hefty dent down the left side.
"They take that kind of stuff out of our budget when we don't play nice," Scotch said from the back of the transport. "Must have been our pirate, though how he knew it was there and why he didn't just haul it in and dump it somewhere else, I couldn't tell ya."
Kat grunted and continued to examine the unit. It was important to make sure she wouldn't wipe the core trying to access the information they were after. The external access was all but obliterated. She would have to crack the case. "Hey, Scotch. Grab my kit, will you?"
The tools landed on the bench beside her. Carefully she turned the unit over to access the bottom. The tech team that had designed this particular ABB model allowed for methods of quick and dirty access that would not endanger the internal circuits. Taking out her microtorch she cut away the base along designated markings that were her safety zone. With the final burn she switched off the torch and set it aside to lift the battered housing away. As she suspected, the primary ports were useless, but there were several more inside for cases just such as this. Again she wondered what had done such damage; even as far back as the late 1990s black boxes were known for being near indestructible and the technology had only improved. This unit was top of the line, evidenced by the fact that the receivers were still operational despite the abuse to the shell. And yet someone had clearly tried their best to turn it to ash.
Powering up her tablet computer-a specialist's unit, with more bells and whistles than a hero's parade-Kat networked the units and did a hard burn of the data. Her field computer was made for such things, and yet the transfer was taking forever. There was an impressive amount of data on that ABB.
"Almost done?” Sarge looked on edge. “We have only so long before they wonder what we're doing in here."
"Sorry, Sarge; there's a lot more here than I expected."
Scotch sprawled across the opposite benches. "We could always muss up Kittie's clothes a bit and let them think what they want."
If she weren't crazy-busy Kat would have made him pay for that one. Of course, she cheered herself with the thought that there was always later.
Finally, the dump was done. Not soon enough, though; from the front of the transport the comm squawked.
She stole a moment anyway to scan the data, searching for Trask's last coordinates before powering down. The comm squawked again and Sarge cursed, giving Kat a look. Quicker than spit she disconnected her machine. He took it from her and stowed it in the locker he'd taken the microsat out of earlier. She watched him a moment, then turned her attention to the gutted ABB in front of her. She had no clue what to do with it. As she was trying to figure that out, a hand came into her field of view. In it was a timed charge. Armed.
"Take it," Sarge said. "Slip it among the circuits and weld the housing back together. We'll launch it from the rocket shaft. If they ever find any of it they won't recognize it from any other bit of debris."
Kat did as she was ordered. When she was done Scotch slapped a separator charge on one end for propulsion and jettisoned the evidence.
The comm squawked again and Sarge moved to respond.
"Sergeant Daire; go ahead."
There was a pause, then a crackle. "Sergeant, deck crew reports rocket fire from your vessel; explain."
Everyone tensed even further. They all recognized the voice. It was Colonel Corbin.
"Sorry, sir," Daire said, his voice calm and completely reasonable. "My tech noticed some computer anomalies at docking. My specialist was attempting to correct the matter when a system glitch fired off the launch tube."
"A technician will be down immediately to check it out."
"Thank you, sir. That will not be necessary." Sarge didn't even flinch. "The issue has been resolved. My specialist is finishing her report now, complete with diagnostics."
Kat swore she could hear the officer's teeth grinding in frustration, but if so, his voice didn't betray it. "Very well, Sergeant. Have a copy sent to my office."
"Yes, sir. You'll have it in five minutes."
The comm went dead.
To find out more about the collection itself visit the publisher's site at http://www.fantasistent.com/books/anthologies/between.html
(The story is a continuation from a previous story, Carbon Copy,
which was published in Space Pirates, by Flying Pen Press)
And now...the excerpt!
_______________________________________________________
Sarge gave a sharp nod and turned to a storage locker. As he swung the hatch open, Kat gasped and found herself beside him before she'd realized she'd moved. Though she'd never personally set eyes on the unit, she knew what she was looking at: an auxiliary black box. The Groom's ABB, in fact, she had no doubt, now that she was close enough to read the etching on the pure black unit. Thank you, Sakmyster! she sent the thought winging in the direction of the GEC and the former comrade who had trusted her judgment enough to flaunt pseudo-Trask's orders. The rescue team must have intercepted it when they'd come to get her.
She could feel the shit-eating grin spread across her face as she looked up and met the eyes of her commander and her team mate. Their expressions surely matched her own.
"We've got him!"
With eager hands she reached for the unit only to have Sarge step in her way.
"That was them not trusting you."
Kat blinked. Gave her head a shake. Opened her mouth to ask what the heck he was going on about. Then it registered that he was answering her earlier question and her jaw clenched shut.
"That was them trying to determine if you had a grudge . . . or a conflict of interest. . . ."
She remained silent, breathing deep and getting her temper in hand.
"Well, soldier," he said, "do you?"
A few more deep breaths. Really deep. She focused hard on not buckling beneath Sarge's continued stare. "I guess that depends, sir."
"On?"
"If they are on our side or the pirates'."
He gave a slow nod and stepped aside.
With care she drew the battered microsatellite-or microsat-from the locker. "Did we do that?" she asked, running her hand over burn scoring and a hefty dent down the left side.
"They take that kind of stuff out of our budget when we don't play nice," Scotch said from the back of the transport. "Must have been our pirate, though how he knew it was there and why he didn't just haul it in and dump it somewhere else, I couldn't tell ya."
Kat grunted and continued to examine the unit. It was important to make sure she wouldn't wipe the core trying to access the information they were after. The external access was all but obliterated. She would have to crack the case. "Hey, Scotch. Grab my kit, will you?"
The tools landed on the bench beside her. Carefully she turned the unit over to access the bottom. The tech team that had designed this particular ABB model allowed for methods of quick and dirty access that would not endanger the internal circuits. Taking out her microtorch she cut away the base along designated markings that were her safety zone. With the final burn she switched off the torch and set it aside to lift the battered housing away. As she suspected, the primary ports were useless, but there were several more inside for cases just such as this. Again she wondered what had done such damage; even as far back as the late 1990s black boxes were known for being near indestructible and the technology had only improved. This unit was top of the line, evidenced by the fact that the receivers were still operational despite the abuse to the shell. And yet someone had clearly tried their best to turn it to ash.
Powering up her tablet computer-a specialist's unit, with more bells and whistles than a hero's parade-Kat networked the units and did a hard burn of the data. Her field computer was made for such things, and yet the transfer was taking forever. There was an impressive amount of data on that ABB.
"Almost done?” Sarge looked on edge. “We have only so long before they wonder what we're doing in here."
"Sorry, Sarge; there's a lot more here than I expected."
Scotch sprawled across the opposite benches. "We could always muss up Kittie's clothes a bit and let them think what they want."
If she weren't crazy-busy Kat would have made him pay for that one. Of course, she cheered herself with the thought that there was always later.
Finally, the dump was done. Not soon enough, though; from the front of the transport the comm squawked.
She stole a moment anyway to scan the data, searching for Trask's last coordinates before powering down. The comm squawked again and Sarge cursed, giving Kat a look. Quicker than spit she disconnected her machine. He took it from her and stowed it in the locker he'd taken the microsat out of earlier. She watched him a moment, then turned her attention to the gutted ABB in front of her. She had no clue what to do with it. As she was trying to figure that out, a hand came into her field of view. In it was a timed charge. Armed.
"Take it," Sarge said. "Slip it among the circuits and weld the housing back together. We'll launch it from the rocket shaft. If they ever find any of it they won't recognize it from any other bit of debris."
Kat did as she was ordered. When she was done Scotch slapped a separator charge on one end for propulsion and jettisoned the evidence.
The comm squawked again and Sarge moved to respond.
"Sergeant Daire; go ahead."
There was a pause, then a crackle. "Sergeant, deck crew reports rocket fire from your vessel; explain."
Everyone tensed even further. They all recognized the voice. It was Colonel Corbin.
"Sorry, sir," Daire said, his voice calm and completely reasonable. "My tech noticed some computer anomalies at docking. My specialist was attempting to correct the matter when a system glitch fired off the launch tube."
"A technician will be down immediately to check it out."
"Thank you, sir. That will not be necessary." Sarge didn't even flinch. "The issue has been resolved. My specialist is finishing her report now, complete with diagnostics."
Kat swore she could hear the officer's teeth grinding in frustration, but if so, his voice didn't betray it. "Very well, Sergeant. Have a copy sent to my office."
"Yes, sir. You'll have it in five minutes."
The comm went dead.