The First Nova I See Tonight

by Jason Kilgore

  Yiorgos just motioned toward the door. The pirates had it.

  Crap, he thought. So much for buying my own ship.

  The walls were covered in scratched graffiti in a dozen alien languages, most of which he couldn't read, but he got the gist of it. It's basically the same sentiments you find in jail cells and brigs throughout the galaxy and as far back in time as there have been criminals. Scrawled over the toilet in Terran was "Flush twice — it's a long way to the captain's mess." And next to the bunk was written in neat Tau Cetian script, "The Bloodhawk can suck my galnar." Harsh!

  The room had a door made of steel bars with a rectangular slot for putting food through, and an old-fashioned key lock. There's no hacking that. On the wall opposite was an array of sensors and cameras and a number of long metal needles pointing toward the cells. Some sort of torture device?

  Yiorgos noticed Dirken's gaze. "The guards were quick to point out that if we show any attempt to escape, electricity will arc out from those needles and electrocute us instantly."

  "Lovely," Dirken said. "We'd have to get through the bars before we could disable them, but they'd fry us before we managed it."

  One of the cell walls, the one behind Yiorgos's bunk, was also made of steel bars. Another cell lay beyond.

  Someone was lying on the bunk in there. Someone with… lavender fur?

  "Is that…" He looked again, fighting back the pain in his head. "…an Ananak?"

  At the mention of her species, the Ananak rolled over, her cat-like ears rotating toward him. She was covered head to tail in plush, lavender fur that ruffled with a glossy sheen as she turned. Distinctly feline, she looked like a cross between a human woman and a panther, wearing a stretchy one-piece blue outfit that adhered tightly to her thighs and ran up the front of her svelte torso to her muscular neck. She clasped one of the bars with a hand that looked almost human save for dark pads on her palm and black claws that peeked out of the fur on her fingertips.

  She turned her face to the bars and opened her eyes with a fluid carelessness. They glimmered like amethysts around ovoid pupils. She regarded him with a mischievous grin, a dozen slim whiskers angling upward with the movement.

  "Is that… a human?" she japed with a voice like polished chrome, then she smiled broader, showing the tips of pearly fangs.

  Dirken swallowed hard, his eyes wide. He'd only once seen Ananaks: a pair of males, much larger and more muscular, acting as bodyguards for an underworld kingpin on Tesla. They had been more like pictures he'd seen of extinct tigers from Earth. But this one…

  He wanted to run his hand through her fur.

  He sat up, though he regretted doing so as the pain in his head flared. "You speak Terran. What's your name?"

  She examined him, deliberately, her eyes moving up his body to his face. "You first."

  "Dirken." He gave a sidelong smile and tilted his head. "Dirken Nova."

  Yiorgos rolled his eyes.

  She didn't answer. Instead, her ears turned and her gaze darted past the cells. A fraction of a second later came the screech of metal-on-metal of a bulkhead door unlatching and opening.

  Three pirates entered, including the Brit who had knocked him out and two Pleiadeans shambling behind him, hunched over and sporting a mass of little curved horns over angular scalps, their bodies very much like the fauns of ancient Greek mythology. Both of them wore translator necklaces around their necks. The Brit hadn't unholstered his weapon, but the Pleiadeans each brandished laser pistols. One held a set of magnetic handcuffs.

  "You there!" the Brit said, pointing at Dirken. His lurid grin strained at the red scar tissue that ran down through his face and lips. "It's time for ya to meet the Bloodhawk. He's got some questions for ya! "

  One of the Pleiadeans approached and said, "Turn around and present your hands through the bars," his words automatically translated by his necklace from his squeaky and not-at-all-imposing Pleiadean language into a stern and very masculine Terran voice.

  Dirken glanced to Yiorgos as he got up. The look they exchanged held an inner understanding.

  Attack?

  No, came the response with the slightest shake of the head. Then a tilt of the head, Later.

  Dirken looked to Yiorgos's right arm, the one with the plasma saber, then gave the slightest of nods. Understood. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and Dirken needed to learn more about the layout before they could attempt an escape. And where was the safebox?

  He approached the cell door.

  "Turn around, maggot," the human said. As Dirken followed the command, he looked over to the Ananak, but she had slid back against the wall and eyed the pirates coolly, the end of her long, furry tail wrapped around her knees, twitching slightly at the rounded tip.

  He heard the metal slot open, then the leathery hands of one of the Pleiadeans pulled his wrists out and the handcuffs were clamped over them, behind his back. The door was unlocked, he was pulled out, and it was shut behind him with Yiorgos still inside.

  As he was escorted out the door, Dirken looked back and saw the Ananak watching him leave, her gaze roaming down to his leather pants and back up to his eyes.

  It was the look of a hunter who'd just lost her prey.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BLOODHAWK

  Dirken's neck popped as the hulking Oranchian hit him across the face for the third time — a tight roundhouse.

  This time blood flooded into his mouth from biting his tongue. He spat the blood out onto a metal floor that had dried blood of different colors from many such interrogations.

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and dizziness and groaned. Every punch sent his body straining against the magnetic shackles and the rod he was bound to.

  Dirken reminded himself that the trick to being beaten in the head was to exhale and go limp just before being struck. It's when you tighten up that you get hurt the worst. Except for the jaw. ALWAYS clench your jaw if you don't want to lose teeth or have a broken jawbone. One should tighten the abdomen, too, but for some reason these guys didn't bother aiming there.

  Laughter. It came from the human pirate with the laser scar and British accent. The Pleiadeans, standing to either side of the dirty little room, had called him "Mom", but Dirken got the distinct impression that the word meant something very different in their language.

  He opened his eyes again, trying to ignore the little pops of light from being hit. "Mom" pushed the massive, gray-skinned and hairless Oranchian aside using a billy club. The beast grunted, clearly annoyed he had to stop. He stood three meters tall, stunk like a Teslan skunk, and had weeping sores and pustules all over his body. The "Oran pox" hadn't missed this beastly creature, nor most of his kind. Dressed only in a sort of loincloth, his stone-like body rippled with muscle. Oranchians were only good for three things: ruffians, heavy labor, and porn. Their species' prodigious organ was the highlight of many of the xenophile porn vids he'd watched, usually paired with an actress, often human, who would seem far too fragile for such a joining.

  "Come now, maggot," Mom said. "Don't make me have Grendel hit you again. That kind of entertainment is best saved for the gladiator pits where we'll sell you." He leaned down to eye level with Dirken and smiled, eyes sparkling, mouth full of rotting teeth. He poked Dirken's chest with the billy club. "Grendel's holdin' back, you see. If he really wanted to hit ya hard, he'd kill ya. The longer this goes, the harder he hits. So I'll ask ya again. What's the combination to that lovely safe of yours?"

  He didn't answer. Running his tongue along his teeth, none were loose… yet.

  Mom nodded to Grendel, and the Oranchian reared back to hit Dirken again.

  "Okay, okay!" Dirken shouted. Grendel stopped, frowning. Dirken sputtered, "The combination is "E-A-T-M-E."

  Mom listened intently, then gave a nod, smiled at his success, and started to turn toward the door. Then he stopped short, growled, and hit Dirken in the head with the billy club. "Very funny, maggot!"

  Everything went black fo
r a few moments, then stars popped in his vision again. Why is it always the head? he thought.

  When it cleared up enough for him to see again, he realized he looking out the open door. He saw in the room beyond a pirate with a laser cutter trying to cut through the safebox. Whatever the safe was made of, it was resisting even that.

  Then a figure stepped in the way and entered the room. It took a moment more to focus as his vision seemed to swim again, then Dirken realized he was looking at an Aquarian centaur. He had four stern eyes over a broad nose. Wore a red beret that flopped to one side. Overlarge earlobes swept down onto cheek ridges. No hair, but rather tiny scales covered his green-tinged skin. He had long arms that ended in hands that had a dozen thin tentacles on each hand for digits. His torso sat upon a quadruped lower body, lion-like with clawed feet, but covered in larger scales and no tail. He wore bright red, leathery clothing crisscrossed with a couple of bandoleers and pouches, two blasters, a pulse rifle strapped to the back of his lower body, and a large sword sheathed next to it.

  Dirken was pretty sure from his look that this was the pilot of the fightercraft, but this was confirmed when he heard his voice.

  "Step aside, Mom," the centaur said, calmly.

  "Aye, Cap'n," Mom replied, put his hand on his chest in salute, and backed away from Dirken and the centaur, as did the Pleiadeans.

  The Oranchian whimpered, averted his gaze, and cowered in a corner.

  The centaur moved forward with confident steps and smiled, showing his bright white, needle-like rows of teeth. An emaciated human woman in ratty black clothes walked behind him, shaved head downcast, holding a tablet with what looked like a spreadsheet on it. She wore a red metal collar. Slave, Dirken thought. She glanced up at him briefly. But instead of the defeated look that slaves everywhere had, her eyes focused on him with a note of recognition, then back down to the floor. But it wasn't her knowing eyes that attracted his attention the most, but rather the small, branded "A" on her wrist. He couldn't concentrate enough to remember where he'd seen it before.

  The centaur gave his slave the slightest of nods and waved her away. She obeyed immediately and disappeared through the doorway.

  Dirken winced against the pain pulsing through his head. "I'm guessing you're the 'Bloodhawk.' Funny, with a name like that, I thought you'd be avian, like a Corthian."

  The Bloodhawk didn't answer at first, but just kept looking down at Dirken, examining him. Finally he said in a baritone voice, "Captain Neenan will suffice. You're pretty confident for someone who is completely at my mercy. You won't divulge the code to the safe, even when confronted with an Oranchian and torture. So either you don't know the code or you are compelled by a more powerful force not to reveal it."

  Neenan stepped slowly to Dirken's left, examining him from a different angle. The centaur was surprisingly lithe for his size. "It is of little matter. I'll open the safe one way or another. It's the item inside that holds the mysteries. So nice of you to deliver it to me."

  Dirken groaned internally, remembering Yiorgos's admonishment that they should have stayed inside the Excellentia.

  "You told my crew that you knew the 'secret' of using the Heart," the Bloodhawk continued. "Pray tell, what secret are you withholding?"

  The heart? What is he talking about? He decided to play along.

  "Well, it wouldn't be a secret if I told you, now would it? The heart is a tricky thing. You're going to have to offer me something worthwhile."

  Neenan raised an eyebrow. "Your life isn't enough?"

  Even if he knew the answer, Dirken understood he'd be killed the moment he revealed it. Instead, he tilted his head and answered, "Well, there are a lot of different factors at play here. Remunerations. Government entities. Reputations…."

  Neenan cut him off. "Your partner's life." The Bloodhawk stepped around the back of Dirken. "I can offer remunerations. You saw what I did to your 'government entity.' And what good is a reputation when you're dead?"

  He stepped back into view to Dirken's right. "We know you are called 'Dirken' and your partner is called 'Yiorgos,' but neither of you were on the crew list for the Excellentia. No passengers. And the manifest doesn't mention the Heart."

  Dirken wondered how the Bloodhawk could have come across a crew list and ship manifest for a secret mission handled by Governor Juarez himself. And is there a real freakin' heart in the box? Ew.

  "Dirken Nova," he said proudly. He waited for a reaction, but neither Neenan or Mom showed any recognition. "Yes, well, we are very special to the fate of the safe and its contents. We're very close to the Governor, you see. Long associates. Yes, good friends. Great friends, really. He would be very angry to know how you're treating us." Then an idea popped into his head. "I'm sure he would pay a great deal to see us delivered safely along with the, um, heart."

  Captain Neenan chuckled. "A ransom, eh?" He stepped in front of Dirken and faced him again. "Well, there will certainly be a price for the heart, but whether the United Worlds wishes to be the highest bidder remains to be seen."

  Dirken pictured a mummified heart sitting in the safebox. So he wants to sell it. What the hell is it? It's time for some leading questions.

  "And what exactly do you think the buyer will do with it?" Dirken asked.

  Dirken yelled in pain as Mom hit him in the right arm with his billy club. "The Cap'n will be askin' the questions here, maggot!"

  The Bloodhawk just looked down at Dirken, but his eyes seemed glazed with thought. "Ancient enemies," the Bloodhawk muttered. "Some things are best forgotten. How much is it worth to the United Worlds to forget? And how much is it worth to their foes to bring it back to life?" Then he seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. "But you, friend-of-a-governor, are still worth nothing compared to the Heart."

  The pirate captain turned to Mom. "Beat him until he either gives us the code or he passes out. Then move on to the partner." The pirate captain then turned to leave, and as he stepped out the door he added, "Don't kill him yet. Later we'll flay him alive if we need to."

  The door closed with a slam. Then Mom and Grendel stepped back in front of Dirken.

  "Ya heard the Cap'n," Mom said to the Oranchian. "Beat 'im til he gives us the code."

  Grendel smiled, showing the wide, thick teeth of his species. Made a fist. Drew back for another punch.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CAGED DEAL

  Dirken arose from darkness into a haze of pain, like moving through clouds of a nebula, colors coming and going, each bringing another wave of ache.

  He started to open his eyes, but shut them tight against glaring white light.

  Dirken probed his teeth with his tongue. This time there were two loose teeth on the right side and a chipped molar on the left. "Crap." Clenching wasn't always enough, particularly when you're being pounded by a fist that's twice as large as your own.

  Gradually he became aware that he was lying on the same metal bunk, in the same cell where he had been before.

  "Ugh!" He put an arm over his eyes and turned. "Déjà vu. How many times must I wake up in pain in the same stinking cell, Yiorgos?"

  He squinted and looked over to the other bunk, but it was empty. He was alone in his cell.

  "They took him."

  It was the Ananak who answered. The sultry alien in the next cell slid into view from behind the divider and looked through the bars at him, one leg dangling from the bunk, lithe muscles flexing beneath the silky lavender fur.

  He regarded her as he massaged his stubbly, aching jawline. Her clothing adhered tightly to her belly, undulating over slim muscles and up over firm, athletic breasts just ample enough to excite him. Then he looked up to those amazing purple eyes. There was more than a hint of wildness there. A dangerous spark.

  She gave a thin smile, seeming to read his thoughts, her tail flitting back and forth under her bunk.

  "You look like hell," she said. "I'm guessing you met Grendel."

  She spoke fluently in the common Terran tongue
, but with a hint of offworld cadence that made her words slide together as if from one breath. It sounded almost French.

  Dirken nodded. "I'll be feeling his hospitality for a long time." He paused, then added, "You never told me your name."

  "Ananak change names depending on the company they keep and the situation. But you can call me Eow."

  She pronounced the name with a rhythmic vibration at the end that he knew he could never imitate. Perhaps no human could. But he repeated it as best he could. "Eow. You don't seem to have gotten the same treatment. Why are you here?"

  Eow turned away and laid her head against the bars, but her right ear was still angled toward him. She sighed. "I'm acting as a messenger for someone. Someone of great influence."

  "Ah," Dirken said, and shook his head. There was a ringing in his right ear where he'd been punched. "Since you're in here, I'm guessing the Bloodhawk didn't like the message."

  "He did not. But he knows better than to mistreat me. He can get more by holding me for ransom. I expected it. The Eridani Mafia would never do business with him again if he killed or beat me, and he'd be shut out of half a dozen key solar systems."

  Dirken sat up. "The Eridani Mafia! And who does this someone-of-great-influence happen to be?" There were a dozen wise guys he could think of, every one of which ran their own deals. He'd worked with a couple of them. Made a bundle, too. And then there was the don, Grimmag Ruby-Eye.…

  She looked back at him, then lowered her gaze, her fingers running up and down a bar as if stroking it. "I've said enough. And why are you here? Something about a safebox, I overheard."

  Dirken stood up, grimacing. He'd pulled a muscle in his upper back at some point during the interrogation. "I can't say," he replied, "except that we were escorting that safe and need to get it back."

  Eow watched him intently as he stepped over to Yiorgos's bunk and sat down, now right next to her with only the bars between.

  She examined his face, then reached through the bars and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. Her fur was every bit as soft as he'd imagined. His pulse quickened. He ran his hand along her arm, crossing into her cell. Beneath the fine fur was hidden hard, smooth muscle. He resisted the urge to go lower.