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

away was another door leading to what I assumed was a viewing room.

“Sabotage?” I asked. “Who is he?”

Jeffries’ eyes gleamed for a moment, then he narrowed them in a stern warning. “Follow my lead and we won’t have any problems.”

“As long as I get paid,” I said. “But just so you know, I don’t have a stomach for the rough stuff. No torturing the prisoner when I’m around, please.”

Jeffries snorted and motioned for the guard to step aside. Then he pushed open the door and immediately began speaking, as if he was in the middle of a conversation.

“Well, you’re in trouble now,” he told the woman sitting in the metal chair in the otherwise empty room. Her hands were bound to the chair with magnetic restraints controlled remotely by security personnel. Jeffries held up one of the remotes. He hit a button and the restraints tightened.

My first impression of the woman was that she looked tired. Electric blue eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep. She wore weathered navy cargo pants and a white tank top, her dark brown arms covered with tattoos. One side of her head was shaved, the other had dyed blonde hair flowing out of it like a fountain. She was late 20’s if I had to guess.

“How’d I do that again?” she asked, throwing a grin my way. “Is he gonna tell me?”

Jeffries shot a glance in my direction to suggest I should plant myself in the corner. I obliged, leaning against the wall, my eyes fixed on the prisoner. She had to be one of the engineering crew, and judging by her demeanor and physique, I guessed a mechanic.

“We found your tool kit inside the engine room,” Jeffries told her.

“Congratulations,” she spat back. “You do know that’s where I work every day, right?”

“Such quick wit. You know, most mechanics aren’t very smart,” he teased, as much for me as for her. “But you, Batista…you know how to turn a phrase. That makes me like you even less. A traitor and a smart-ass.”

“Traitor’s a strong word,” said Batista. “Let’s assume I did sabotage the ship, which I didn’t by the way, because you wouldn’t have found any evidence. But if I did, would that really constitute treason? It’s not wartime and we’re just a transport ship, besides. I mean, you clearly deserve a higher duty than to preside over a lowly transport vessel, but the fact remains that’s what we got going on here. No, I’d say a year or two in prison, at worst.”

I was beginning to like this woman. She knew it, too, casting me another smile. “I just feel bad you brought this poor kid into it. You got a name, wrecker?”

Wrecker. Unlike most of the other people in my profession, the moniker never really bothered me. It didn’t much describe what I did, as I spent more time fixing ships and towing them for repairs than I did scavenging them or bringing them to wreck yards.

“Don’t answer that,” Jeffries ordered me.

“Denver Boyd,” I said, ignoring him. Then I smiled back at Batista. “And you don’t have to apologize. I get paid whether I find out what you did to this ship or not.”

Batista sighed. “Guilty until proven otherwise. Sad.”

I stepped forward, Jeffries glaring at me, his face red and trembling. The only thing stopping him from having me tossed from the room was that he clearly hadn’t made any progress, so he was willing to see where this went.

“How long have they had you in here?” I asked, sympathetic to her cause.

“Three days,” she replied, yawning for effect.

“A day and a half before they called me. Interesting.” I winked at Jeffries and moved closer to Batista. I put my hands in my pockets and searched her face. If she was guilty, she wasn’t giving anything away.

Still, I had a working theory. I kept my eyes on Batista, but addressed Jeffries. “Let me guess. No problem with life support.”

“None,” Jeffries answered. “Only the propulsion system.”

“Which means this wasn’t a suicide mission. Whoever did this planned on being aboard a while,” I explained. “Just wanted to cripple the ship.”

I wasn’t positive, but I could’ve sworn a hint of satisfaction glinted in Batista’s eyes.

“Where were you headed?” I asked.

“You know I can’t answer that,” he quipped.

I turned and shrugged. “How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what’s going on? Are you carrying any out of the ordinary cargo?”

Apparently out of patience, Jeffries signaled to the two-way mirror. “I guess I missed the part where you were some kind of investigator. You’re a goddamn wrecker, so all I care about is if you can fix the ship. Our friend here doesn’t seem to want to lighten her sentence at all by talking, so you’ll just have to figure out what she did yourself.”

I nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to, well, investigate.”

Batista chuckled and gave a nod of approval. I shared a brief moment with her, then followed the guard out.

The lower deck was warmer than I expected it to be. I turned to the 405’s chief engineer, a condescending woman named Harber. She was watching over my shoulder as I surveyed the propulsion system.

“Always this hot in here?” I asked, trying not to stare at the pronounced unibrow she had going on.

“No,” she sneered.

“Care to elaborate?”

Harber studied me for a bit. She was clearly frustrated she couldn’t figure out the problem and they had to call in someone half her age to fix it for her. No doubt she had some kind of academic background. Maybe a physics specialist or high-achieving engineer grad from one of the federation’s top science academies.

And here I was, an uneducated wrecker, grilling her about the engine room in her own ship.

“We attempted to spin up the turbines, but the heat dampers failed,” she said. As she explained what happened, something gnawed at the back of my mind. Something was off about the whole situation…and not just the mechanical issues.

I realized Harber had been staring at me