Staying alive, p.1
Staying Alive, page 1
part #2 of McCoy Chronicles Series
STAYING ALIVE
MCCOY CHRONICLES
BOOK 2
TOBY NEIGHBORS
Staying Alive: McCoy Chronicles Book 2
Copyright © 2022 by Toby Neighbors
ISBN: 978-1-952260-45-2
Mythic Adventure Publishing, LLC
Idaho, USA
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Cover
Staying Alive
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Toby Neighbors
ONE
“An automated scan won’t set off alarm bells,” Hutch declared. “Stop whining.”
“Your knee is jacked up,” Kitt added. “We’ve got to make sure it’s not broken.”
“It’s just a bruise,” Big Candy grumbled, although his knee was still swollen and he couldn’t put any weight on it.
“Don’t be so cantankerous,” Hutch said. “We’re trying to help you.”
The trio of brothers limped along the corridor toward the automated diagnostic booth that was part of the spaceport in Mede City on Darius Three in the Taxila system. There were people everywhere, and none paid them any attention whatsoever. Big Candy, as his name suggested, was a large man. He was a full head taller than his brothers. Kitt was on one side, Hutch on the other, supporting Big’s full weight as he hobbled along. They had been on world for almost a full day trying to convince Big Candy to get his leg checked out after the gambler had been tortured by the thugs that worked for the Rosenshield family.
“I don’t need help,” he complained.
“So we should just leave you here then?” Hutch argued.
The look on Big Candy’s face was part surprise and part resignation. He knew that if they left him he wouldn’t get far. So he focused on moving toward the med booth. There were big display screens built into the walls of the spaceport corridors. Videos played, and high-resolution images flashed. Mede City was a thriving metropolis on one of the oldest terraformed planets in the galaxy. Darius Three had once been little more than noxious rock that just happened to be orbiting in the habitable zone around Taxila, a bright yellow star in the beta arm of the Milky Way galaxy. But decades of constant growth had brought millions of colonists to the planet, which had flourished with the help of atmospheric processors and an aggressive seeding program that turned the dull, barren landscape into a lush world with varying ecosystems that supported thousands of species. Humans farmed large swaths of rich land, while saving over half of the planet’s surface as protected forests. New Mede was by far the largest city, with nearly twenty million people living and working in the metroplex.
“I’ll get my knee checked,” Big Candy finally said. “If that will make you feel better.”
“We’re trying to help you feel better,” Kitt said.
“Yeah, no one is enjoying waiting on you hand and foot except for you,” Hutch added.
“I told you all to let me see to myself,” Big argued, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice.
The truth was, after being rescued from Mace Sinclair on Varsog, Big had some mental trauma to deal with. His usual jovial manner was becoming more vicious. Big loved his brothers and was thankful they had risked their lives to save him, but he felt overwhelmed by the fear and pain that still plagued him.
“We’re here now,” Kitt said. “Let’s get you seen to. I’m guessing you tore a tendon in that knee.”
“I wish I could have been there to see Easy in action when he took down Oslo Djokovic’s goons,” Big said. “I’ll have something to say to that bastard when we meet again.”
“Let’s hope we never do,” Hutch grumbled.
“Yeah, let’s keep our eyes on the prize, as dad used to say,” Kitt said. “Once we get you fixed up, Big, we can finally do what we set out to do.”
They were talking about mining quartzite crystals on the planetoid in the center of an asteroid field known as the Fanning Belt. It was dangerous and illegal, but technically in contested space, which meant it wasn’t officially under the Galactic Union or the Independent Coalition of Planets. Not that it would be easy. Just getting there would require running the GU blockade, and then navigating the asteroid field, which would be impossible without the course that Hutch had discovered in an old navigation computer. He’d installed it on their ship the Saturday Night Fever, though it was really Big Candy’s ship, an elegant, old Endurance class space yacht that was fully restored with new hybrid quad engines. The Fever was well-built and solid, but none of that mattered if the coordinates in the old nav computer weren’t accurate. And the only way to find out was to run the blockade and actually test the intricate course through the asteroids.
“Alright, alright, I understand,” Big said.
They had reached the booth. It was a simple automated system. Big had to duck to get into the hatch, but once inside he stood up straight, holding onto a handle in the ceiling. The autodoc ran a full body scan. Healthcare was free on most civilized worlds since the invention of automatic diagnostic machines. Medicine was now the domain of robots, advanced pharmaceuticals, and medical engineers.
Outside the booth, Hutch went for coffee while Kitt waited on his brother. The diagnostic scan took only a couple of minutes, but if the damage wasn’t too bad the automated system could actually do laparoscopic surgery to repair Big’s knee. At least that was what Kitt was hoping for.
Inside the booth, a ring of scanners slowly descended. Big didn’t like doctors. He was one of four brothers crewing the Saturday Night Fever, and he was the eldest. At fifty-seven years old, he would have been a prime candidate for age reduction therapy. But that kind of medical treatment cost millions of credits. Big had just enough money in his banking accounts to support his bachelor lifestyle. He was a professional gambler, although he didn’t compete in sanctioned tournaments. Instead, he contracted with various resorts and casinos where he traded room, board, and stake in the games he played for a very generous cut of his winnings. His last stint on Esbe Four had taken a wrong turn though. He had beaten Desmond Rosenshield, the public face of the very old, unbelievably wealthy family. The kid had taken it hard. It wasn’t about the money, but his ego. He’d sent his goons to send Big Candy a message, and things had escalated from there.
Big and his brothers’ father, Eustace McCoy, had died at fifty-six years old, which meant Big Candy was already a year older than his father had been. Death was a near constant specter in Big’s life, yet he didn’t want to be dependent on medication and worse yet, moderation of his overindulgent lifestyle. The scan by the autodoc lasted ninety seconds, and now that it was over a list of issues that had been discovered appeared on a small screen. He was overweight, pre-diabetic, at high risk for heart disease, had too-high blood pressure and too-low vitamin levels. He could tap the screen for a prescription of various drugs to help negate the issues. He was also, as expected, a prime candidate for age therapy. And finally, he needed to spend more time outdoors in moderate climates and regular exercise. Big Candy ignored the warnings and the prescribed therapies. His focus was on his knee.
Olso Djokovic’s thug had smash-kicked Big’s knee. The pain had been nearly overwhelming and still flared when he moved his leg the wrong way. He could neither straighten his leg nor bend it completely. Putting weight on it was absolutely out of the question. The pain from his other injuries was minor in comparison. The autodoc showed that he had torn his patellar tendon, damaged the cartilage, and bruised his knee cap. There were two treatments available, the first being a quick laparoscopic surgery that could be done right then in the booth. It would repair the tendon, but would only be a temporary fix. The other would be to schedule a full knee replacement at a local surgical center where he could have the operation performed and receive post-op care and physical therapy.
Big Candy groaned and opted for the laparoscopic procedure. He had to unfasten his pants and lower them down to his ankles. It was strangely embarrassing to the gambler. The booth was private, but he knew the entire operation was being recorded. Fortunately, a sedative gas was sprayed in the booth. As Big stood up straight and took hold of the handles above his head, he felt slightly dizzy, but no longer concerned about anything. The raging pain in his knee dimmed to a dull ache. Then his thigh was injected with eight quick shots of local anesthetic. It was painful, but not bad, and the sedative kept him from caring too much. A few minutes later a robotic arm extended. It cut open the side of Big Candy’s leg. A small tube began to suck the blood and fluids that were released from the cut-away. Big was looking down and saw the operation begin, but couldn’t feel anything. It was like watching it happen to someone else’s body. The robotic arm extended into the cut, doing its work to patch the torn ligament and doctor his damaged knee. The entire procedure lasted less than ten minutes. The cut was sealed with some type of glue and covered with a small self-adhesive bandage.
A message indicated that he should pull his pants back up. More gas was sprayed into the booth to help negate the sedation. He fumbled with his pants but managed to get them pulled up. His knee was still swollen, but much less than before the operation. A small bottle was ejected into the booth’s medication chute. Inside were narcotics for pain and antibiotics in case of infection. Big took the pill bottle, stuck it in his pocket, and read
He needed a leg brace to help steady his knee. One could be purchased in a medical supply store or ordered for delivery. He was to avoid exercise for two weeks, then follow a carefully prescribed physical therapy regimen that would be sent to his PCL. Big pressed the button that opened the booth's door and found his brothers sipping coffee.
“Let’s get some real food for lunch,” he said enthusiastically.
“How’s the knee?” Kitt asked.
“Fixed it right up,” Big said. “I don’t see how you two can drink that swill all the time. It’s bad for you.”
“You’re one to be talking,” Hutch said.
“It’s rude to criticize someone’s dietary choices,” Kitt said with a grin.
Big leaned onto his brothers, but he could now put some weight on his bad leg. The local anesthetic was still working. His knee was completely numb. There was no doubt it would hurt later, but Big Candy was ready to take advantage of the brief window of feeling no pain.
“Alright, I saw a kiosk selling tacos,” Hutch said. “Come on.”
They led Big Candy forward. “I love tacos,” he said. “I may eat ten of them.”
“He must be feeling better,” Kitt said.
“Some things never change,” Hutch chimed in, and they all chuckled.
TWO
Easy McCoy moved to the door of his berth on the Saturday Night Fever. His hip was aching, and his ribs hurt with every breath. But the pain was just a reminder of his victory over Mace Sinclair. The security man had challenged him to a fight, and Easy had taken his lumps. Mace was strong and skilled, but ultimately Easy’s thirty years of experience in the Navy as a RAKE Operator had turned the tide.
In the center section of the ship, the salon as Big Candy called it, Tiffany was busy in the galley. Easy watched her for a moment, just smelling the coffee she had brewing. For a young woman on her own, she had grit. Not long ago she had been a slave, forced to do whatever her masters desired. She had been abused, overworked, and traded back and forth. It was more than enough to cause a person to give up on life. Yet Tiffany seemed completely unfazed by the horrors of her past.
“Morning,” Easy said, still in the doorway of his cabin.
“Oh, hey, you’re up,” she said. “We’re on Darius Three. Kitt and Hutch took Big Candy to get his leg worked on.”
“That’s good,” Easy said, feeling a stab of fear about his brothers being on world without him there to watch out for them.
The truth was that Mace Sinclair was still alive. Easy had broken his arm, and when Mace pulled a knife on him, Easy turned the blade on Mace, cutting his face and ruining his eye. That had been the end of the fight, but it didn’t mean the threat was over. Perhaps Mace would accept defeat and move on. It would be the smart thing to do. But Easy had a feeling neither Mace Sinclair, nor the Rosenshields, would let bygones be bygones.
“You made coffee?” Easy asked.
“I don’t drink it. Too bitter for me. But Kitt said you would want some.”
“Thank you,” Easy said. “That’s very kind.”
He walked over to the counter and sat down on one of the barstools. He was moving slowly and carefully. Easy took some pride in the soreness after a fight, but he didn’t want to make the pain any worse. By the time he was settled Tiffany had set a coffee cup in front of him and was filling it from the pot. Easy could tell that she was accustomed to waiting tables. It was just one of the many jobs she had been forced to do as a slave. And despite the fact that slavery had been outlawed in civilized societies for centuries, it was still a blight on the galaxy. Mankind had conquered space, but was still prone to the darker side of its nature.
“I love this ship,” she said. “It’s sort of retro cool.”
“Yeah, I think that’s what Big Candy was going for,” Easy replied, sipping the hot brew.
She leaned against the counter. She was still in the tattered clothes she had fled Trajan Station in. They were low-cut and revealing, but one of Easy’s brothers had given her a jacket. It was too big for her. She had to roll up the sleeves and fold the opening across her body like a bathrobe, which was cinched up with someone’s belt. Easy felt a pang of regret. They had let her shop on Varsog, but the clothes had been cast aside by Mace Sinclair’s people, and there had been no time to retrieve them. In fact, they had barely escaped the Zimmer system alive. The reinforcements Mace Sinclair had called in had been right on their heels as they raced off world and out of the system.
“We need to get you more clothes,” Easy said.
Tiffany looked down at the coat she was wrapped up in. “I’ve worn a lot worse,” she said.
Easy was sure she had. The girl was maybe eighteen years old if she was lucky, although he would have guessed sixteen just by looking at her. Easy was old enough to be her father. And he knew what his brothers wanted to do. They were on a civilized system. Tiffany would have to be handed over to the authorities to get her life back on track. It was the Galactic Union’s law, but Easy wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t her legal guardian, and four retirees certainly couldn’t give her the life she deserved, but he wasn’t sure the authorities on Darius Three could do any better.
“How come you’re not out there exploring the city?” he asked.
She smiled, and he could see a shadow of fear in her eyes. “I’d rather be here with you, I guess.”
“That’s crazy,” Easy said. He tried to keep the conversation light. The last thing he wanted to do was criticize her. “I’m an old man, and I’ve never been good company.”
“You might need help,” she said, wiping down the counters that didn’t really need to be cleaned. “I can do that, you know. Cooking, cleaning, picking up after you, doing laundry. I can be helpful.”
“Sure you can,” Easy said. “But there’s not much that needs doing. We’re all used to looking after ourselves.”
She tried to smile but failed. Her lower lip was trembling, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Please don’t,” she said in a quiet voice that sounded more like a child’s than a teenager’s.
“Don’t what?” Easy said. “No one is going to hurt you on this ship.”
“I know,” she said, a little enthusiasm rising in her voice. “That’s why I want to stay.”
It was Easy’s turn to feel worried. What did he or his brothers know about raising a girl? Easy had been in a few romantic relationships during his thirty years in the Navy, but he was always on the move, going from one mission to the next. Things never got serious and certainly never lasted long. And he didn’t have romantic feelings for Tiffany. In his eyes, she was just a child. Her hard life had rushed her maturity in some areas, while leaving others completely behind.
“You’re young,” Easy said. “You have a long, wonderful life ahead of you.”
“I ran away from Sitlik,” she admitted. “He won’t stop looking for me.”
“You’re ninety light years from Trajan Station,” Easy reminded her. “You can have a life here. Darius Three is a good planet. There’s opportunity here.”
“You don’t know what it’s like in the system,” she said, looking down and wrapping her skinny arms around her body. “It’s bad.”
Easy leaned back and thought about what she was saying. The truth was he didn’t know what it was like in the welfare system. But he had heard stories–everyone had. Some were good, most were bad. Tiffany would need to establish her identity just to get a job. Without that, she would fall right back through the cracks into an abusive situation.
“We’re going to help you,” Easy said. “Big Candy knows people. We can get you some documents. A new name. It will be legal, and you’ll have options.”
“I’ll be all alone,” she pointed out.
Easy was beginning to think the kid should be a lawyer.
“Well, I don’t know,” Easy said. “We’re going off grid on a mining expedition. It’s going to be dangerous, hard work. There’s no guarantee we’ll even survive the trip.”
“Sounds like an adventure,” she said, flashing him a smile that made him feel something he had rarely experienced.
