Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel by George Ellis (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

Or, more specifically, underestimated him. He not only possessed superhuman strength — being able to stand in 15 g’s wasn’t supposed to be possible — he also was some kind of genius. To program a heat-sinker to actually trick a high-tech nuke also shouldn’t have been possible, definitely not in less time than it takes to make a cup of coffee. Batista must have been thinking the same thing, because she looked over and whispered “What just happened?”

“My bunk?” Edgar asked, holding his duffel bag, standing near the exit that led to the Stang’s main corridor.

“Uh, um take a right and third door on the left,” I managed, trying to suppress the adrenaline from the last five minutes. Edgar walked out.

I no longer had a visual on the two other ships, and the scan was clear. We weren’t being followed, for the time being anyway.

“Well, I like him,” Gary declared.

Batista swiveled her seat to face me. “So that just happened.”

“Which part?” I wondered aloud. “When he walked across the cabin in high-g? Or when he reprogrammed a nuke buster in like 30 seconds to do something they aren’t supposed to be able to do?”

“And the fact he’s even on the ship in the first place,” she added. “You gonna tell me what’s going on now?”

I wanted to tell her about Avery. She was a strong person, but there was no predicting what kind of emotions it would bring up. To be honest, I was a little troubled by my own lack of emotions about the revelation. Oh, I was surprised. But deep down, I was disappointed it didn’t bring me more hope or happiness. Maybe it would if I was able to see him.

“Crew meeting in ten minutes. Kitchen,” I said, buying myself some time. I rose to my feet, my bones and muscles aching from the stress of the high-g run. “I’m gonna check on our new crewmate.”

Chapter 8

As I approached the door to Edgar’s quarters, I realized he’d overridden my security permissions that allowed me to access any area of the ship. I was forced to knock loudly on the silver-grey graphite.

“Who is it?” he asked with an innocent tone.

Seriously? This guy was gonna drive me crazy. “Open up.”

I stood there, waiting. I was about to punch the door when it slid open. I stepped into the room. These weren’t the fanciest digs in the verse, but compared to the cramped crew quarters I saw on the Golden Bear, it was a total upgrade for Edgar. Privacy. A hundred fifty square feet. He even had his own bathroom. The room was steamy and smelled of lavender. Edgar had taken a shower and he apparently used the same soap as Desmond. Many ships had standard supplies like soaps and other toiletries. I was just surprised the baddest ship in the Tracer fleet had chosen lavender as its signature scent.

Edgar sat on the edge of his bunk, wearing just a towel around his waist and legs. The man was more muscle than water. I didn’t know if zero percent body fat was a real possibility, but if it was, this guy had it. At the moment, he was admiring busty women in red swimsuits as they ran across the beach in slow-motion.

Baywatch.

He had access to thousands of classic TV shows and movies courtesy of my uncle’s entertainment selection, and of course he chose Baywatch.

“So wholesome,” he noted. “It’s nothing like the Purples.”

The Purples were short pornographic videos strung together and organized by theme. Heterosexual. Homosexual. Videos of feet. You name it. If there was a style or fetish, there was a Purple for it. The videos got their name from the low-grade beam quality that made them easier to download and view while hurtling through space at a few hundred thousand miles per hour. The compression often gave them a purple hue that somehow made them even more depressing to watch.

The idea of entertainment as art had mostly died in the 21st century. Now the great majority of the video diversions available were either Purples, sports or news. Occasionally an industrious rich person would commission a movie to be made, but if people felt the need to spend time in front of a monitor, it was usually for porn or gaming.

“There are actually much better shows in the system,” I told him. “You should check out The Wire. Or Goonies.” I snickered to myself, thinking he was more like Sloth than Shrek.

He waved a hand. “This is perfect. Why are you bothering me?”

“Uh, because it’s my ship and I can bother you in your quarters if I want.”

“Thought maybe you came by to make sure I was settled in. Or to thank me for saving your life.”

Smartass.

“So I guess that’s a no on the thank you? I’ll remember that next time,” he said.

He didn’t even look at me when he was talking. Just kept his eyes glued to the monitor on the wall.

“It was good work,” I managed through gritted teeth.

Edgar nodded, accepting the meager compliment. He knew it was good work and didn’t need my validation or lame version of a thank you. “Anything else, captain? As you can see, I am trying to appreciate the on-board amenities for the short time I’m on board this heap.”

“Heap?”

“Fine, maybe it’s not a total heap. It has certain qualities I like.” Edgar motioned to the monitor, then he looked at me. “And some I could take or leave.”

I thought about telling him to undo whatever hacking wizardry he’d used to disable my security clearances, but I figured bringing it up would only encourage him to further compromise my authority, merely out of spite. So, I let it slide.

“Crew meeting in the kitchen in ten,” I said, turning to leave. He grunted a version of maybe. Walking out the door, I heard Hasselhoff warn the other lifeguards about a possible traitor in their midst. I understood the feeling.

* * *

I wasn’t used to providing meals for more than me and