HAB 12 (Scrapyard Ship) by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page A

recently hacked, too easy. The overheads lighting was off, they live like vermin . The hold, basically empty, was as wide as the ship with access from either side. A haze filled the air, smoky, like airborne soot. He squinted his eyes against the darkness. In the distance a small fire burned. Three silhouetted figures spoke in low tones. There they are, like little piggies . His instructions had been explicit. No energy weapons that could be detected, no loud noises either.
    The seaman pulled a long slender knife from his sleeve. He was brought up to have one or more hidden weapons upon his person at all times. He’d seen others in his clan pay the ultimate price for not being prepared. Hell, his own uncle had been gutted while taking a crap—lesson learned the hard way.
    He stepped out of the darkness. Flames of the small fire illuminated half of his face.
    “Fires are not allowed onboard this ship,” he said
    Glenn looked up and saw the knife. “They sent you.”
    “I’m afraid so,” he replied. As awkward and unskilled in the art of killing as the young seaman was, the three elderly Craing overlords were no match. Their throats cut, each died watching their lifeblood spread across the deck plating.
     

Chapter 12
     
    Jason was the first to arrive at the rock outcropping. Easily three hundred feet in diameter, he’d shifted to an open clearing close to the middle of the site. He was unprepared for the untouched natural beauty of the place. Behind him the sheer rock face continued up another five hundred feet to the top of the cliff. A waterfall fell into an azure pool, causing a mist to rise and eventually dissipate in the warm air above. Looking straight out, away from the cliff face, Jason saw a small forest of trees—several precariously angled out over the far edge of the rocky ledge. Rizzo was the next to appear; then, one by one, everyone else arrived.
    The rhino warriors spent little time goggling over their new surroundings, preferring to get right to work preparing the campsite. Multiple tent-like enclosures, called Retractable Camp Modules, or RCMs, unfolded from small, paperback book-sized contraptions in mere seconds. A fire was built and soon shish-kabob skewers were sizzling over the open fire. Traveler had informed Jason that rhino warriors required much nourishment, primarily meat—and they needed to eat often. They’d brought along provisions but had made it clear they would hunt and eat from the land itself in HAB 12. Subsequently, four of the rhino warriors had arrived from below carrying expertly butchered Serapin carcasses. The meat was carved and prepared with spices and rubs that they’d brought with them.
    Jason could not imagine a more secure site. Just the same, he would not be taken off-guard again. With the exception of Dira and Ricket, a revolving sentry duty of two rhino-beasts and two SEALs was instigated. As darkness fell over the camp, the team took up seats, mostly tree stumps and rocks, around the fire. The rhino-beasts shared their Serapin kabobs and, to Jason’s surprise, the meat was succulent and full of flavor. Sitting next to Billy, who tore chunks of meat off with his teeth, a phrase came to mind— to be consumed by his conquerors.
    Rizzo broke the silence. “Hey, Cap, any chance we can hit that pool before we head out tomorrow?” he asked, looking over to Billy to see if he too was open to the prospect.
    Jason looked over at Billy; the smoke from his cigar hung in the still night air.
    “Only if we make it quick. We’ll take a few minutes in the morning, but then we have to double-time it to make up for time lost. Truth is, we could probably all use a bath.”
    On the other side of the fire, Dira and Morgan sat shoulder-to-shoulder deep in conversation. Jason had purposely avoided any eye contact with her, still embarrassed from his early morning scrutiny. What was he thinking, anyway? If Alliance regulations were anything like those of the Navy, there were