Doomed Cargo

by Ian Cannon

  An explosion pounded the corridor. It took him off his feet as he reached his domicile. He looked back. A ball of expanding fire roared closer, hotter.

  Torian screamed and threw himself into his stateroom. “Close door!” He bellowed, voice cracking apart under panic. His door slammed as the explosion swirled airborn flame into his room, singing the oxygen. It engulfed him like a cocoon blasting his senses with the agony of burning to death. He heard only his own deafening wail before unconsciousness took him.

  The exterior couplers disengaged, and his quarters separated from Prolium’s upper decking. The evacuation cannon shot the pod away with tremendous power. In seconds, the pod with Torian in it was away.

  The massive bulk of the mothership slammed nose first into the overwhelming enemy structure and began crumbling. The keel bowed under extreme pressure until it utterly snapped sending a series of explosions across the entire vessel.

  Malice 1 reacted, its cityscape rising under the pressure of impact at its center. Complete city structures toppled into jagged mountains of scrap metals and alloys, the whole of Aphrodisia folding like a book.

  Ships scurried to gain distance—no plan, no plot, just complete reckless abandon. The corvette Metarkis jumped away with its inner-warp stream demarking its path into infinitum. Hektor Dawn followed. A thousand evacuation shuttles, jettison pods, a handful of zipping Condors and an array of privateer ships left streamers in their wake, everyone desperate to leave.

  Prolium erupted en mass, shattering at its seams and sending a ring-like blast wave across the entire battle arena. Everything became swallowed, breaking apart and exploding in clusters of fireballs.

  Aphrodisia was next, everything destructing at once in a single, vision-searing blast. In only moments, all that was left from the struggle of life and death was an expanding sphere of light that could be seen across every near planet of the solar twins.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tawny felt her life draining, teeth clenched, breath failing. All she could do was look into the sinister eyes of her killer as Xantrissa spilled a look of evil glee down into her.

  And then suddenly …

  “Get away from her!” rang across the control stage. The voice was shrill, but strong. Youthful, but seasoned.

  Xantrissa’s face changed. A look of curiosity crossed her, and she turned slowly leading with those vicious eyes of hers. She released Tawny’s throat gruffly, leaving her to gasp and draw fresh new breath on the floor.

  Tawny shook her head regaining her senses. Who had said that? What tiny, perfect voice had made such a demand? Tawny looked up with horror pouring from her gaze, seething from her every pore.

  No no no no!

  A tiny person stood in the shadow, two-toning the dark. No features. No movement. And then the dark shed away from her, and she was flushed in light.

  Sireela.

  The little orphan stood strong with her feet apart, her little dukes held up, ready for a fight. She said, “Mrs. Bitch.”

  Tawny felt her heart surge in her chest. She was beaten. She reached a hand forward crying with a small, hurt voice, “Sireela, no!”

  Xantrissa threw her head back with shrieking, horrible laughter that rang out like a death toll. She settled, looking at the girl from under a mean, slick brow. “N’halo…” she sneered.

  Sireela steadied her feet, steeled herself.

  Xantrissa stepped toward her, hissing, “Well, well, well. The little brat makes an unexpected appearance. Hello, little brat. You should have been dead a long time ago. Do you know what a real star-thorn you’ve been in my side? A real hitch in my strut.” She popped her whip in a show of intimidation. No explosion, just a flick and a crack.

  Sireela faded back a step. The Bitch continued pacing slowly forward.

  Tawny watched helplessly. Her eyes bled fear.

  Not the girl. No—not her. Why was she here?

  “I must admit, though,” Xantrissa continued. “I’ve never had a target quite like you. You remind me the tinniest bit of, well… me. Weaker. Not quiet as capable. Naïve and stupid, maybe. But with balls. A whole load of big, fat balls.”

  Crack!

  “Hunting you has created a revival in me. It has. You’ve made me see this moment in my daydreams, you little Sarcon witch. You know what moment I mean.”

  Sireela continued backing away, the Bitch stalking slowly forward.

  Xantrissa said with a sharp, growing voice, “The moment in which I flay your cute little face off your cute little skull!”

  Crack!

  Tawny tried to lift herself up. Had to help the girl, save the orphan. But her body wouldn’t respond to her will. It was empty. She flumped back down to the ground.

  “And now, the prophecy of your people runs smack dab into … me. Zero plane. Tisk, tisk, little brat.” Xantrissa wagged a finger at her. “Naughty naughty.”

  Crack!

  “You are out measured.”

  Crack!

  “You are out weighed.”

  Crack!

  “And now, you are outmanned.”

  Crack!

  She planted her feet. No more stalking. No more talking. There was only one thing left for her to do. “Now, you get to die, little one.”

  She reeled the whip back drawing as much power as she could and ripped off a shot. The hitch sprang forth with tremendous force, and the popper at its end glowing a deadly red, shot toward its tiny target.

  Tawny screamed, “NYOOO!”

  Sireela raised a hand with a startled yelp. The whip’s explosive tip laid around her arm, momentum broken, and wound itself around her wrist, no great crack, no concussion blast. Its energy spilled out to the floor like liquid gold and sizzled away harmlessly.

  Xantrissa gave her an oddly confused look. This had never happened before. This was new. She jerked back on the whip angrily, but the two were tethered together at a dozen feet apart. The scene between them froze, breath held, eyes locked.

  Sireela’s young voice rang out, tiny but clear: “You tried real hard. I know you did your best didn’tcha? It’s not your fault. My daddy always said, just because we fail, doesn’t mean we’re weak and stuff. You just ran all out of time, that’s all.”

  Xantrissa squinted at her, said, “What?”

  “It’s okay. The end is never what we think it is.”

  Xantrissa’s cold eyes grew into horror. Realization crossed her face.

  This was N’halo.

  She would become the destroyer of her destroyer.

  Or so said the prophecy.

  Xantrissa blasted a thunderous, evil scream of defiance and wrenched the whip back powerfully. Sireela released it, let the explosive popper at its end slip away from her tiny grasp. It carried across the space between them gathering momentum.

  Xantrissa realized her failure in a blink of time … and gasped, terror-stricken.

  A single second froze. Time drew out. Everything fell into an excruciating slow motion: Her whip’s tip snaked around. It came toward her in reverse fashion. Red flared at its tip. A concussion pulse gathered. It was her own hateful power. Her own maliciousness drove it. Xantrissa knew it. Her mind could conjure it. Her imagination could see it. Even her eyes dilated. But her body couldn’t react. Not enough time. N’halo was right. She’d just run all out of—

  CRACK!

  And

  BOOM!

  Xantrissa exploded. Viscera blossomed sky high. There weren’t even pieces, just ropy stretches of deep red splatter-goo. All over the place.

  Sireela looked away.

  Tawny shielded herself from the spluttering bits of debris as the Bitch’s leftovers fell down all wet and sloppy around her—splut splat splut splat. A moment later, silence fell. Heaving and sore, Tawny looked up slowly, not sure what to expect. A pair of boots stood before her, each releasing fingers of smoke into the air. One of them tipped over, fell down harmlessly. They were all that was left of the Prime Matriarch of the Obsalom Order, Bitch Xantrissa Vo
n’Domina.

  And beyond those smoldering boots, standing a mere dozen feet away with her little bity dukes up, was Sireela, N’halo of the N’hana tribe, rulers of the planet Sarcon.

  Destroyer of destroyers.

  They met eyes, Sireela’s big and innocent, Tawny’s looking on in awe. She grinned, tiredly—my little friend, N’halo.

  Sireela ran to her and dove into her arms. They hugged and kissed and laughed together in relief and joy.

  Something banged across the floor. The big, exterior couplers auto-detached the control stage from the tube rail. Auxiliary thrusters bawled out and they shot away, headed into the vast star scape beyond. A bright, silent light made them both wince and look back toward the city as it fell further and further away. Aphrodisia erupted into a big, dazzling star.

  It wasn’t how Tawny intended, but if Sireela was truly N’halo, then it didn’t matter. Nothing ever ends the way one thinks it will.

  And as for Benji … where was that bed slave of hers?

  Chapter Twenty

  REX could only do two things: Go straight, and turn right. So that’s what Ben had him do, especially once they watched the Malice 1 control stage disconnect from the tube rail and take off into space. And then the cityscape evaporated.

  The control stage, which had become nothing more than a glorified lifeboat, was under some computer mind’s command, and REX’s communications were down. Not knowing what that vessel had in its digital numen brain, REX kept his distance while Ben went down in the electrics bay trying to repair their comm systems.

  REX had the vessel in his sights, keeping pace. Unfortunately, the thing was picking up speed. It’d be reaching his maximum booster velocity any minute. Then he noticed a tiny vehicle dwarfed by the vessel’s size ascend the thing’s membrane. He recognized it.

  “Yo, Cap,” he said.

  Ben was halfway inside the fuse conduit fighting to squeeze himself toward the auxiliary box. He said with irritation, “What?”

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to have to open the bay doors.”

  Ben fell confused. “Why?”

  “Well, um, you know that flubbin’ space bike you were asking about earlier? Yeah, it’s on approach.”

  Tawny!

  “Oh!”

  He thrust himself out of the fuse conduit, into the cargo bay and up into the main hold through the lift. In the cockpit, he watched through the viewport as the bike neared while that disk-shaped lifeboat—all that was left of Malice 1—faded deeper and deeper away. It would fly on unmanned forever.

  And so be it.

  The bike slid up under the cockpit and into the bay.

  “Got ‘em,” REX said.

  Ben rushed to the cargo bay and dropped in as the carapace unfolded over the bike. Tawny sat straddled over the controls with Sireela hugging against her, riding behind. They both looked like they’d been worked like a Molosian labor mule—frazzled, bruised, and ready for rest.

  Ben blathered, “Thank gods.”

  He went to them and wrapped them both into his arms. Tawny squeezed him back, glad to be back in his clutches. Ben kissed her face, her lips, her eyes, then kissed the little girl on the cheek and head. There was something perfect about the trio, something ultimately deserved.

  “Are you two okay?” he asked.

  Sireela nodded her head. Tawny smiled at her, said, “Yeah, I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

  Ben gave them a sudden, confused look. “What, how—where did she …?”

  Tawny said, “Turns out, we have a stowaway, babe.”

  Ben looked at the girl wildly impressed, threw his head back and started laughing hysterically.

  The planet Molta-Danora

  Islets of Mondola

  REX lowered to the night beach stirring a cloud of sand into the air, and settled with his mag-spires standing vertical. Engines wound down, the bay door opened and Tawny and Ben stepped out with Sireela nestled between.

  Gadget sat in the same spot they’d left it, offering them the tinniest relief. Landing lights cut the night, beaming down at the sand from high overhead. At least Rogan hadn’t gone off half-cocked and flown the kids to another planet or something. As they approached, they realized why and froze to a stop.

  Rogan’s drop platform was halfway lowered from the cockpit, and he was suspended thirty feet in the air sitting on his little scaffold, feet hanging down kicking lightly in the breeze. He stared down at them with those monster eyeballs, not saying a word, just looking at them with an otherwise coldly dour expression.

  “Rogan?” Ben called.

  “Ben,” he groaned back.

  Tawny and Ben looked at each other, weary.

  “What’re you doing up there?”

  He snuffled at them and jerked a thumb at his ship. “Those little creatures in there got me stuck. And now I’m stuck. I’m stuck up here.”

  “How long?”

  Rogan shrugged, casting his gaze out over the black waters of Mondola. He could see the lights of the other islets shimmering distantly. He said, “Perdy view.”

  Apparently he’d been trapped up there long enough to have had any disdain drained from him. He was beaten into submission.

  “Oh, boy,” Ben groaned, and they moved to the passenger bay entrance. The ramp lowered and they entered the ship. It was remarkably quiet. “Uh,” Ben said, unnerved, and they stepped up into the admittance corridor. Light cut through the thousand little passage areas and ladder wells, fluttering in shredded fingers down through the steel grating of the levels overhead.

  A ghastly noise boomed at them loud and echoic, banging around in the steel environment, making Tawny reach for the blaster at her side and fan Sireela back behind her. The noise came again from somewhere at the end of the lower corridor—a long, wailing groan. There was a shadow casting against the bulkheads from the adjoining hallway. It was big and menacing, swaying back and forth with ambulation. Ben cocked his head at it. A creature came near.

  As they stared forward, it turned the corner, came into view. Tawny and Ben relaxed. It was one of the orphans skulking around like a big, bad monster with his arms over his head and groaning like some evil cave bear. He wore Rogan’s bug goggles encompassing his entire head.

  He came nearer saying in his best beast voice, “I am the eyeball man, and I come to eat you!”

  The boy bumped into Ben and stopped, probing his pant leg. He flipped up the goggles and looked up, noticed it was an adult and grinned, guilty as sin. “I got you,” the little boy said, and a sudden chorus of squealing and running rose through the entire environment. Kids scattered around through the upper walkways, each one switching from one hiding spot to their next.

  It was a game. Hide-and-go-seek. It had a theme. Rogan—the eyeball man.

  Tawny blurted uncontrollable laughter, and Ben gave her a cross look. She just shrugged, put her hands back to her mouth and continued laughing.

  “Give me those,” Ben said snatching the goggles from the kid. “That’s not funny.”

  Tawny said, “Are you kidding? That’s hilarious!” He looked at her in disbelief. “Oh c’mon!” Tawny exclaimed, “That’s funny! That’s funny, Benji.”

  With Rogan returned to his cockpit, they transferred the orphans back to REX and thanked him for his troubles with a thousand yield coin. It was the least they could do. Knowing Rogan was going to hit the bacca tables, Ben said, “I wan twenty percent.”

  Rogan nodded still casting a bitter look on his face. Ben rolled his eyes and transferred another thousand into his finance mol. “That better?”

  Rogan’s demeanor switched entirely as his face lit up, grinning wide. “That works!”

  It was resource allocation. Nothing was free. Especially in their line of work. Ben accepted that. And with Rogan, apparently nothing was cheap … except Rogan himself. Nevertheless, Tawny and Ben turned to leave but Rogan snapped his fingers, said, “Oh, I forgot.
” They turned back. “They’re expected at Fantigo Anchorage out past the Nevian Sea.”

  “Who?”

  “Them little monsters.”

  “What do you mean?” Ben said growing angry.

  “Came across a chap. Recruiter or something. He’s looking for youngsters—little people, like them ones you got. Said I’d play him a game of Poken for them.” He made a glum look. “The guy won.”

  Tawny cried, “You did what?”

  “Didn’t think you’d mind,” Rogan said getting defensive.

  “I told you not to go and—gah!” Ben yelled.

  Rogan said in desperate defense of himself, “He runs a thing, is all.”

  Ben scratched his head angrily with both hands. Poken winners wanted their pay, and they rarely accepted IOUs. He had to put his hand on Tawny’s shoulder to calm her. She was about to strike.

  “What kind of thing?” Ben asked.

  Rogan shrugged. He didn’t know.

  Figures …

  Ben looked at Tawny and said with deep irritation, “Okay, let’s go check it out.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because they’ll come after Rogan if we don’t.”

  “So what!”

  Fantigo Anchorage was a cluster of tiny islands studding the ocean in a large half circle, arranged with almost perfect symmetry. The main island was by far the largest, and sat in the center of the crescent like a conductor leading a band. It had a system of long bridges connecting it to each of the other islands with hover craft lights and tug barges showing starkly in the night. There was a multi-building facility large enough to be considered an entire complex. The place seemed new, clean, well-to-do. Tawny and Ben looked at each other skeptical. A guy like Rogan tipping them off to this place was almost comical to assume. On first glance, the place looked too good to be true—which meant it probably was.

  Or was it?

  REX banked down toward the facility. They landed on a wide tarmac where other vessels of various makes had been tucked into hangars or arranged systematically in an assembly area. A hover cart moved to greet them and a courtly gentleman with a teenage driver pulled to a stop as Tawny and Ben stepped down from their cargo bay.