Space Fever: McCoy Chronicles Book 1 by Toby Neighbors
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This week’s chapter:
Title: Space Fever: McCoy Chronicles Book 1
Author: Toby Neighbors
Genre: Science Fiction
Chapter 1
“Here’s the receipt for your one-time payment, Chief,” the General said, handing Easy his certificate of service. The senior officer seemed bored as he wrapped up the retirement ceremony. “Thank you for your service. You are officially dismissed.”
Master Chief Edgar Zacchaeus “Easy” McCoy took the flimsy paper in his calloused hand. He was more used to holding weapons than receipts, and he didn’t bother looking at it. He saluted the general out of respect for the Galactic Navy, not for the officer in front of him. The bored general might not think much of Easy ending a thirty-year career, but it was important, and Easy wanted to do it right. The general waved a hand in the air. It was the kind of lazy, undisciplined salute that a drill sergeant would have thrown a fit about. And much like the rest of the ceremony, if it could be called that, it was done with halfhearted disinterest. Easy turned on his heel and left the office. He was in full dress uniform with a chest full of medals earned in combat. He was used to being knee-deep in mud and blood, but he doubted the General had ever been in real danger or suffered more than a paper cut in his career.
Easy walked down a short hall, through a waiting room, then out into the concourse of the Galactic Navy shipyard. His rucksack was packed full of his belongings, and a heavy crate on tiny wheels contained the only possessions that Easy had acquired in the three decades since graduating high school and joining the Navy. He stuck the receipt in his pocket without looking at it, picked up the rucksack and slung it over one shoulder, then took the handle of his hardcase and started walking.
There was a line at the central dispatch station. Easy waited his turn, and when he finally reached the stressed-out petty officer processing the Navy personnel passing through the shipyard, he handed his official ID to the overweight man.
“Master Chief McCoy,” the officer said, finally looking up from his console directly at Easy. “Retired! Congratulations, Chief. You’ve got full privileges. We’ll find you a spot on any transport as long as it isn’t on a combat tour. Where do you want to go?”
“Home,” Easy said simply. “Esbe Four.”
“The Skara Brea system,” the officer commented, focusing back on his terminal. “If you’re ready to leave now, there’s a cargo ship leaving for that system in one hour, down on Bravo deck, gate 39.”
“That works,” Easy said. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your retirement, Master Chief. Don’t spend that pension payment all in one place.” “Copy that,” Easy said, taking his ID back and heading for the lift that would take him down to Bravo deck.
The shipyard was essentially a giant space station. Part dock, part administration facility, it serviced the massive interstellar warships of the Galactic Navy, as well as the thousands of cargo ships that helped supply humanity’s military effort across hundreds of systems. Easy rode the open-air gravity lift down Bravo deck. It was essentially a tube with its own gravity generators. Easy stepped off into open space, holding his rucksack with one hand, and his rolling hardcase with the other. He gently floated down past Delta and Charlie decks until he reached Bravo, where he managed to step past the invisible barrier back into normal gravity without losing his balance.
Long docking arms formed the gate, and Easy also had a long walk to reach the ship he would be riding on. But after thirty years in the military, Easy was accustomed to tight schedules and showing up on time. He moved down the open concourse with purpose and reached his gate in plenty of time to make his flight. He slipped his ID card into an automated reader. It chimed, opening the door to the docking arm. A long, narrow hallway led to an airlock that opened onto the crew section of a Class D cargo ship.
“You McCoy?” a crewman in dirty coveralls asked.
Easy nodded.
“There’s a lounge down that way. You can rest there while we finish loading and make our maneuvers.”
“Thanks,” Easy said. “What’s the ETA for Esbe Four?” “We’re taking a load of alloy girders for the space station in the Skara Brea system. You’ll have to catch a shuttle to wherever you’re going from there. We’re four and a half hours from the jump point. That’s all I know for sure.”
“Thanks,” Easy said, adjusting his rucksack that was slung over his shoulder. He started for the lounge.
The ship was exactly what he expected: small, cramped, dingy, and on the verge of being worn-out. Cargo ships were working platforms where crew lived for months at a time while they ferried goods across the galaxy. Easy was a former RAKE or Reconnaissance, Acquisition, and Kinetic Engagement specialist, a Special Forces Operator who was used to spending months hidden on backwater planets when on mission. He could find a way to survive in almost any environment. Many naval vessels were a mix of pristine and practical. And he had spent most of his military career on the lower decks where function was king, and form was whatever happened to be the most practical in a given space.
The lounge was a mix of dining room and passenger type spaces. Easy took a seat on a padded chair that was bolted against the deck and the wall. It wasn’t going anywhere. Right next to the chair was a rack built into the wall itself. His hardcase slid into a slot under the rack, and his rucksack went on top. There were simple bungee cords with S hooks to batten his luggage down.
Once his gear was carefully stowed, Easy pulled out a Cherry iLink Z from the inside pocket of his dress uniform jacket. The device was new, purchased to replace his military grade Personal Computer Link, or PCL as they were called in the Navy. He powered the iLink on and let it sync with the ship’s network.
From there he could download private messages and access the ship’s destination log that showed how long he would be in transit. “Forty-four hours,” he whistled quietly to himself, thinking he should get comfortable for the long trip to the Skara Brea system.
He pulled his one set of civilian clothes out from the top of his rucksack and stepped into the little bathroom across from the lounge. By the time he finished changing there was another passenger on board, a tall and lean man with a black pointed beard. The passenger didn’t look up as Easy walked past and packed his neatly folded dress uniform into his rucksack. The man seemed obsessed with his PCL. But it was only natural to glance up when someone came into a room. To a former soldier used to assessing every situation for danger, the failure of the man with the pointed beard to look up was a red flag. But all Easy could do was wait to see how the situation played out.
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