It was an obvious statement and yet Dirken found great comfort in it. An affirmation that they were still alive.
Dirken looked down and found the duffel still clutched in his left hand. But where was his blaster? Lost in all the tumbling. He looked around the cabin, but the room was filled with debris, broken panels, and covered in thick drifts of foam dust. So, too, were the weapons of the other crewmen they'd dispatched, their bodies thrown to the back of the cabin as well. Dirken felt around anyhow.
'TakTrak unbuckled himself, looked around in a daze, and briefly locked eyes with Dirken. As difficult as it was to read the face of a Corthian, the look was clear. Despair at the loss of his ship. Fear. Anger. Bewilderment. Dirken knew the feeling all too well.
'TakTrak then hobbled the two steps over to Feleesha and put his winged arm onto the woman's back.
"Feleesha, my dear…." Behind the synthesized translator, 'TakTrak's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Dirken wondered in that moment if their relationship went further than just pilot and captain.
The Corthian gingerly pulled Feleesha off the console. She was unconscious and bleeding from her forehead. Emitting a pained twitter, 'TakTrak put his hand on his pilot's neck to feel for a pulse. He seemed to relax. "Tough gal. You'll make it."
Dirken glanced to Yiorgos, and they seemed to read each other's thoughts. Time to go. They edged toward the door.
Andy moaned, seemed to wake, then passed out again.
'TakTrak whipped around and yanked his flechette rifle from the side of the captain's chair.
Yiorgos raised his mini-blaster at the same moment. It was a draw.
"Drop the blaster," 'TakTrak demanded.
"You first," Yiorgos replied. "You're outnumbered."
"This damned gig cost me my ship and my crew. I should kill you where you stand! If it were not for the fortune awaiting me, I would not hesitate. Do not tempt me."
Yiorgos hesitated a moment before complying. His blaster clattered to the floor at his feet, throwing up a puff of foam powder.
Andy tensed, ready to spring at the captain.
"Think twice, escort," 'TakTrak warned, his flechette rifle now aimed at the young man.
"You still think he's an escort?" Dirken asked.
"Yes, of course! I hired him and the Rigellian myself."
This confused Dirken. Andy was clearly part of something bigger, some secret society of AVA. How could 'TakTrak not know?
The ship groaned. A metallic whine. Then many things happened at once….
The Raptores rolled several more degrees to port.
All of them stumbled sideways. Andy rolled over with another moan.
Yiorgos lunged to his mini-blaster.
'TakTrak fired. Yiorgos's blaster exploded, blazed orange. The cyborg howled in pain.
Dirken swung the duffel around and slammed it into 'TakTrak's head, the heart emitting a clang as it hit him. The Corthian flung against the side of his captain's chair, but he recovered quickly. As Dirken tried to swing again, 'TakTrak bashed the rifle butt into Dirken's face.
Dirken fell back, his face aflame with pain and unable to see for a moment. When he recovered, he was looking down the barrel of the rifle.
"Do not do it, old rogue," 'TakTrak warned, his translator modulating weirdly.
Dirken raised the hand that wasn't holding the duffel.
Yiorgos groaned. Looking over to his partner, Dirken saw that the skin of Yiorgos's left hand was beet-red and inflamed from the exploding blaster.
"Yiorgos!" Dirken said, resisting the urge to rush to his partner.
"This job is not over yet," 'TakTrak said. "With the money I will make on this, I can buy a new ship. I need you alive, as much as it would give me pleasure to end you."
Yiorgos grimaced and stood up, his left hand clawed in pain in front of him. With his cybernetic right hand blown off and his biological left hand now injured, he seemed helpless.
Dirken slowly leaned down and felt Andy's neck. There was still a heartbeat, but he had gone into shock, his eyes going blank and his breathing shallow. Still, his wounds didn't seem fatal, and when Dirken touched his neck, Andy let out a low moan.
Keeping his eyes on Dirken and Yiorgos and aiming the rifle with one hand, 'TakTrak reached down to Feleesha's side and picked up a palm-sized device with a dish on it. He pressed a button and it displayed a holographic sphere in front of him: a blue and green topographic map with a dashed red line meandering through it to a circled location.
He gestured with the rifle. "Now, slowly step through the door to the gangplank. We're going on a little trek through the jungle."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
TREK THROUGH THE JUNGLE
Dirken and Yiorgos stepped through the corridor, dodging broken conduits and live electrical panels, to the gangplank. Dirken led the way. He considered his possibilities for escape or attack but ruled each one out. His choices inevitably boiled down to either abandoning Yiorgos and saving his own skin, which was definitely out of the question, or attacking 'TakTrak and hoping the Corthian didn't shoot the cyborg, or him, before he could land a punch. 'TakTrak still had the rifle at Yiorgos's back, and the cyborg was in poor shape to defend himself. So Dirken continued as ordered with the hope that a better opportunity would arise.
By some miracle, the gangplank mechanism still worked when he pressed the panel. It creaked open, gears grinding. Blinding sunlight spilled into the darkened corridor, making them all squint. A gust of hot, humid air hit them. It carried with it a myriad of smells: the sweetness of fresh oxygen, smoke from burning wood, and the vegetation of jungle. It was almost overwhelming after spending so much time breathing stale, recirculated air in spacecraft and the comet.
The gangplank whined with a metallic squeal and stopped. The angle of the ship wasn't quite right, so the gangplank halted about a meter from the ground.
"Go on!" 'TakTrak said.
Dirken gingerly tested his weight on the gangplank. Though there was some flection and a disturbing crunch of the gears, it was intact enough to carry them. He continued down, the Heart and its duffel bag in hand.
The Raptores lay at the end of a trench that it had tilled through the forest, with thick, clay-rich soil heaped in mounds to each side. Tree trunks and limbs, still sporting wide, emerald-green leaves, lay shattered along the margins and extended at least a kilometer away, some of them on fire. Looking back toward the engines, the stern of the Jen'torian clipper was a mangled heap buried halfway into a gargantuan pile of flaming debris and soil. Thankfully, the gangplank was upwind of the fire and the smoke billowed away to the east.
Dirken jumped off the end of the gangplank and landed on the harrowed earth, back on the planet where this all started something like three Earth days before.
Yiorgos and 'TakTrak got to the end and jumped down, then the Corthian checked his map. The hologram was difficult to see in the intense sunlight, but he seemed to understand it and pointed with his plasma flechette rifle toward the forest. "That way," his necklace translated. "March that way. It is not far, but in this jungle it may take longer than we think."
"And where, exactly, are you taking us?" Yiorgos asked.
"Your mother's birthday party," 'TakTrak replied. "She is wondering why you are late."
Yiorgos gave a wry laugh. "Ah, the joke's on you! She doesn't celebrate her birthday." He paused to scramble up the dirt embankment, grimacing as he had to use his burnt hand. "In Greece, most adults celebrate their name day. And she would wring my neck for not helping make the moussaka." He got to the top of the embankment and paused to sit on a tree trunk as 'TakTrak made his way up.
"Grease?" 'TakTrak said. "Is that a cyborg joke?"
Dirken and Yiorgos shared a smile. "Greece is a country name on Earth," the cyborg answered. "My mother is human, but my father was a classic Harley-Davidson Roadster, I forgive your confusion."
'TakTrak reached the top and motioned for them to continue into the forest. "What is a roadster? Is
that like a mechanic?"
Both of them chuckled. "Nevermind," Yiorgos answered.
"You didn't answer," Dirken said. "At least tell us what continent we're on."
"This is a place called the Yucatan. I don't know the name of the continent."
Dirken had to stretch his memory a bit, but Yiorgos answered for him. "Central America."
There was no trail to follow, so they pushed their way through the undergrowth. The going was very slow as they wound their way under vines and through thick ferns. Once away from the crash site, the canopy closed in to such an extent that the bright sunlight was reduced to a dusky gloom. Things scurried away in the undergrowth around them and tropical birds trilled, unseen, in the treetops.
"I think your cousins are telling you to let us go," Dirken japed.
"Very funny," 'TakTrak replied. "And I supposed your cousins agree with them?"
Dirken followed his pointing wing and saw a troop of lanky spider monkeys peering down at them from a branch, the whites of their eyes standing out from their black fur. One of them emitted a series of rhythmic whoops, like the cranking of a rusty wheel, and they leaped away through the canopy.
"Touché."
Rounding a low rise, the trio came to more smashed branches, the ground littered with ripped metal, insulating material, and scattered crash debris. Following it, they came to the shattered remains of one of the cargo cubes that had broken loose during the descent. As they watched, the door to the cube fell open and Sugarplum stumbled out, covered with foam bits from the top of her pear-shaped head to her broad toe pads. Her red negligee had been ripped to shreds.
The dazed Rigellian held her head with a red-and-yellow striped hand and moaned in pain. She blinked against the sunlight, looking around at the shattered branches, and then locked eyes with Dirken.
"Oh! Not you!" she exclaimed and ran back into the ruined VIP cube.
Dirken was rather happy she had made it, against all odds.
"Move along!" 'TakTrak commanded and pushed the rifle butt against Yiorgos.
"Don't be so pushy," Yiorgos said.
For hours they walked, and Dirken grew extremely thirsty. None of them had brought water. He and Yiorgos were quickly coated in sweat and breathing heavily. Corthians couldn't sweat, but 'TakTrak's beak was open, exposing his thin, lolling tongue.
Dirken wiped his brow, huffing as he climbed over a log so covered in saplings and bromeliads as to be nearly invisible beneath them. Though he was a Terran, Earth had never seemed like home. Humans may have evolved there, but he had grown up first on an asteroid base, entirely indoors, and then on Tesla, where the climate was more temperate and less variable, the air crisper, and the gravity a bit stronger. There were no jungles on Tesla.
Then Dirken saw an opportunity as he pushed through the undergrowth. A long, slender branch jutted out at face level. He glanced back, making eye contact with Yiorgos and then pointedly looking at the branch as he pulled it back. Yiorgos gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"I guess you like jungles, eh, 'TakTrak?" the cyborg asked, following Dirken into the undergrowth. Dirken pushed forward, bending the branch into an extreme angle.
"Yes," the Corthian replied. "Corthos is a very hot planet with many mountain ranges, going very high, and jungles between. The summits are cold, but below, it is very much like what we…."
Yiorgos abruptly ducked. Dirken let go.
The limb slapped 'TakTrak right across the eyes.
The Corthian shrieked and fired his flechette rifle. The plasma darts went high and wide.
Yiorgos slammed 'TakTrak into a trunk and kneed him in the thigh.
Dirken dropped the Heart and joined the fight. Grabbed the rifle. Wrestled for control.
'TakTrak kicked and flailed, then shut his beak and thrust it forward. The razor-sharp tip sliced across Dirken's right cheek and cut through his right ear. Dirken grabbed the beak and slammed the Corthian's head against the leaf-littered ground. Yiorgos head-butted 'TakTrak, his metallic forehead knocking 'TakTrak into a daze. Dirken yanked the rifle from the Corthian's hands and the duo backed away, barrel pointed at him.
"Any last words, 'TakTrak?" Dirken said.
'TakTrak raised up on his arms and said something, but his translator had been damaged further in the scuffle. His chirrups and trills were translated into the hissing and rasping of the Reptiloc language.
Dirken sighed.
'TakTrak cursed and fiddled with the translator, but the device spat out a dozen words in three different languages before finally sparking and going silent.
Dirken shook his head, laughing despite himself. He glanced over to Yiorgos, and the cyborg gave him a sincere look. Dirken knew what his partner was thinking. Despite the double-cross and privateering, 'TakTrak hadn't actually tried to kill them. Besides, he had to admit to himself that if the roles were reversed, he might well have done the same to the Corthian.
He lowered his weapon. "Get the fuck out of here, 'TakTrak."
'TakTrak seemed to relax. Then, from behind Dirken, a voice yelled, "Drop your weapon!"
He swung around with the rifle.
Behind him and at a slight distance stood ten silver-robed and cowled figures, each aiming a blaster at him and Yiorgos.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ROBED FIGURES
"I said, drop the rifle!" the figure in the center commanded, speaking with an Australian accent.
Dirken lowered the rifle, his eyes darting to Yiorgos's. His partner gave a subtle nod, grimacing. They were outgunned. So Dirken dropped the weapon and raised his hands.
Their hostage-takers wore silver robes that seemed out of place in the jungle, sparkling, modern, and festooned with communication devices and sensors. Their blasters were military-grade and new-looking, yet despite all the tech they employed, they used a length of hemp rope around their waists to hold the robes together and wore rough sandals, as if they couldn't make up their minds whether to look modern or ancient.
'TakTrak gave a series of angry whirls and clacks and stood up. He took two strides over to Dirken, started to step past, but then twirled and punched Dirken in the face.
Dirken returned the blow with an uppercut, knocking the Corthian back.
"Stop!" the Aussie commanded.
Dirken and 'TakTrak glared at one another, fists raised. "That was a sucker-punch, 'TakTrak. Low even for you!"
'TakTrak responded with an indignant chirrup and kept his fists raised until Dirken backed away.
"Yeah…. Probably wise you don't try a fair fight, 'TakTrak," Dirken said. "Corthian bones break easy."
The robed Aussie went over to 'TakTrak, who had picked up the rifle. A second followed her carrying a large case. She pulled a translator device out of her robe pocket, activated it, and handed it to 'TakTrak.
"We saw your ship go down," she said to him. "We feared all had been lost. Here is your payment, as promised." Her voice sounded very familiar to Dirken.
'TakTrak eagerly took the case and opened it, revealing a king's ransom in United World hundred-chit notes.
Dirken whistled. "So that's what it's worth to sell out an old colleague!"
'TakTrak tilted his head. He chirped a response, and the new translator interpreted it with an ironically sultry, female voice. "It's just business, Dirken Nova," it purred. He poked angrily at the device, and the voice changed, but now to that of a gruff, drill instructor sort as he spoke, each sentence shouted in stern exclamation. "I am sure you will be treated fairly! I was told they will not kill you — if you do as they say!" He paused a moment, shouldering his rifle. "It is just business, friend Dirken! I must attend to Feleesha and see if any others of my crew survived! Until next time, old rogue!"
'TakTrak gave a nod to Yiorgos, then the Corthian stepped back into the jungle the way they had come.
"Next time I won't spare you!" Dirken shouted after him, then he felt lame for doing so as he heard 'TakTrak clacking with laughter.
The silver-robed figu
res encircled Dirken and Yiorgos, keeping their distance, blasters aimed. One figure stood out from the others, armed not with a blaster, but with a broad-bladed sword in a scabbard and with a robe trimmed in sky blue. He had a salt-and-pepper beard spilling out of his cowl, but his face was still lost in shadow.
"So who are you?" Dirken said. "The Earth Welcome Wagon?"
The Aussie folded back her cowl, revealing blond hair and blue eyes.
"The bartender!" Dirken said, remembering the woman who served him his drinks at the Ruby Lounge.
She nodded. The others lowered their hoods, as well — all but the one with the sword. Dirken immediately recognized several of them: the handsome young ensign from the Excellentia, the bald and cowering slave who had been with the Bloodhawk as he entered the interrogation chamber, the bald-headed bodyguard with the cybernetic implant who had been with Governor Juarez in the musty, industrial hangar in New Miami. Even the greasy middle-man, Weed, who had recruited Dirken and Yiorgos on Mars at the Gamma Ray Gramma, which kicked off the whole mission. As one, they all raised their left arms in salute, their sleeves dropping to their elbows revealing a branded "A" on the undersides of their wrists.
"Hello again, mate," the Aussie said. "I knew you were the scrappy type. Figured you'd make it here more or less unscathed, though I 'spect you'll need another shot of Heraclean grog." She winked and lowered her arm, and the others lowered theirs as well. "We are the Acolytes of AVA."
Yiorgos asked, "Why would you follow a dead computer from a thousand years ago?"
She ignored the question. "Don't suppose you know what happened to a couple of our members who are missing?"
"I suspect I do," Dirken said. "The albino woman?" She nodded. Dirken continued, "She was killed by Eow after fighting with us… and saving our lives."
The Aussie looked down. "That was Birgitta," she said somberly. "And there was one named Andy. He was on 'TakTrak's ship with you."
"Yeah, the male escort. He was wounded, possibly mortally, by 'TakTrak. You know… the Corthian you just made fabulously rich."
The First Nova I See Tonight Page 19