Pivot

LOCATION: Earth-Sun L2 (Checkpoint Zero)

STATUS: Vector Deviation

The silence in the cockpit was heavy.

The Mighty Sparrow was drifting away from the checkpoint, ostensibly leading the Marley fleet toward Earth.

Himalaya Market was staring at the pocket of Phoenix’s flight suit.

-A distress beacon, Market repeated slowly. That you just found. Now in the cargo hold. Where you can’t get to it.

-Right, Phoenix said, keeping his eyes on the scope. Scavenger. Junk man. He reached for the throttle to get around L2 and on a course for Earth. You could’ve asked to have the cargo hold cleared and put it in storage for me at The Tumble or at a Storage Point on the way. Storage Points were basically orbiting self-storage units, along all different kinds of orbits. Popular targets for raid attempts.

Market’s hand shot out. It moved with the terrifying speed of a Pristine. He grabbed Phoenix’s wrist, pinning it to the console.

-Don't insult me, Scavenger, Market whispered. His voice wasn't melodic anymore; it was cold.

-I know what MTC encryption looks like. Warden May saw a Targeting Emitter.

Phoenix tried to wrench his arm free.

-Let go, Market. You’re going to crash us into the convoy.

-You sold us, Market realized. He looked at the fleet of rusty ships following them on the sensor screen. Two thousand bodies in tin cans.

-You’re leading us to slaughter.

-You were leading the fleet to slaughter. I'm saving your life, Phoenix snapped. Earth is a dead end. Radio the Marley and tell them to seek sanctuary with May. The NEC won’t do dirty work for the MTC, not with food prices this high.

Market’s eyes widened. He looked at Bit, strapped into the co-pilot seat.

-And the boy? Market asked. Was he part of the deal?

Phoenix hesitated. That split second of silence was enough for Himalaya.

The radio crackled. It was Delavan.

-Sparrow, you are drifting off vector. Correct course immediately. You are leaving the protected corridor.

Phoenix looked at the scope. The Cold Moon was powering up its main engines, ready to pounce.

-Earth is a dead end, Phoenix snapped.

-Then what do we do? Market hissed.

Phoenix looked at the Orrery on his dash. He looked at the debris field, the Halo, shimmering in the distance. It was a suicide run for a normal pilot. For a scavenger, it was a highway.

-We run, Phoenix said.

He punched a sequence into the comms panel.

-Marley Actual, this is Phoenix. Return to Checkpoint immediately.

-What are you doing? Market shouted.

-Running, Phoenix said, slamming the throttle forward, not toward Earth, but down and perpendicular to the ecliptic plane.

The Mighty Sparrow screamed. The ship pulled 4Gs instantly, slamming Market back into the jump seat.

On the sensors, the Marley fleet fractured. The Marley, confused and terrified, began to turn its lumbering bulk back toward Checkpoint Zero, the smaller ships kicking around like cans around it.

But Delavan didn't care about the refugees anymore. He saw his asset running.

-All units, Delavan barked through the radio. The Sparrow has gone rogue. Intercept and disable. I want the pilot alive. Use the grapplers.

Three fast-attack drones launched from the Cold Moon’s hull. They were unmanned, high-thrust interceptors designed to chase down smugglers.

-Hold on, hold on, hold on, Phoenix muttered rapidly. Hold on.

He threw the stick hard to the left. The Mighty Sparrow rolled, venting gas to kill its momentum. A railgun round from the lead drone flashed past the cockpit glass.

-They’re shooting at us, Bit yelled in excitement, covering his yellow drone-helmet with his hands. Boom! Boom!

-They’re trying to disable the engines, Phoenix yelled back.

-Drop the chaff, Phoenix ordered the ship.

-Chaff dispensers are empty, the computer replied politely. Please schedule a resupply.

-Yil! Phoenix cursed.

-Bit! Under your seat! Manual release, manual release, he tried to explain. The red lever, pull the red lever!

The kid fumbled under the seat, finding the lever and yanked it with both hands.

-Yeehaw!

The cargo bay doors cracked open. Phoenix didn't have chaff, but he had garbage. A cloud of assorted waste, spare parts, and empty oxygen tanks tumbled out into the void behind them.

The lead MTC drone slammed into a frozen canister of sewage at 5,000 miles per hour. It disintegrated in a flash of sparking metal.

-One down, Phoenix grunted, sweat stinging his eyes.

He checked the rear view. The Cold Moon was turning. It was too big to chase them into the debris field, but its main cannons were tracking.

-Where are we going? Market shouted, clutching the crash webbing. There’s nothing here but the Halo.

-That’s right, Phoenix said, aiming the nose of the ship toward the thickest, deadliest cloud of spinning wreckage. We’re going into the trash.