Starblazer

by Spencer Maxwell

  Raucous notes rang out from bands playing in the nearby bars. The sounds clashed together and created a cacophony not so pleasant to the ears. He put his transmitters on low, but the bass still thumped and the sound, although muted, still came through.

  “My favorite song, sir,” Spex said.

  “Not mine. I prefer the peace and quiet.”

  “Like the Xovian countryside?”

  “Not much of a countryside anymore,” Ryze answered. “Twenty years ago, maybe.”

  Ever since the First War ended, Ryze knew he’d never go back to his home planet. He had fought, some might say valiantly, but his troops were no match for the ever-growing Celestial Dominion, and they had ultimately failed. Going back would only remind him of that failure.

  Out of the slums and into the heart of the city now, Ryze glimpsed the Hub. It towered over all the nearby buildings. Hoverers whizzed past and around the spire like bugs around discarded food. The spire was tall and skinny until your eyes settled on the top. That was where the bulk of the mercenary business was carried out. There, the structure turned into a large sphere, like a planet.

  Ryze took the elevator toward the top. He talked to no one, though the place was full of people.

  Once he reached his destination, he stepped through the entrance to Mazar Quen’s office.

  His secretary, a buxom human female, looked up. “Mr. Quen’s on a conference call right now. He’ll be with you short—”

  Ryze Starlo waited for no one. He pushed through, the hover cart in tow.

  “Not the most polite gesture, sir,” Spex said into his helmet.

  “Since when have you ever known me as polite?”

  “A valid point. However, I do know you have a soft spot in that stony heart of yours, Ryze. Your actions on the planet Ypso proved that.”

  “Shut up, Spex.”

  Mazar Quen’s office suffered from a bad case of over-decoration. There was a suit of armor in one corner covered in cobwebs, stacks of books on the floor like a miniature metropolis, old weapons on the walls, paintings, vases. In the center of the room sat a large metal desk, so polished you could see your reflection in it. Behind it, facing the wall-to-wall back window, Quen sat in a high-backed chair, one you’d expect to see in a king’s palace and not in some low-down, dirty businessman’s office. If the story he had once told Ryze was true, Quen had stolen this very chair from a king somewhere in the Varsk system. Ryze didn’t believe it one bit. Quen was the type of man who hired others to do his dirty work for him, people like Ryze himself. And Varsks, as braindead as they might be, were great warriors. Quen would’ve been gutted as soon as he stepped one foot into a Varsk palace.

  In Quen’s ear hung a long-comm, its curly cord dangling down toward the receiver parked on the desktop. He was speaking Bocc, his words coming so fast and furious that Ryze could hardly pick them up. Ryze knew some Bocc, enough to get by, but he missed out on the bulk of this conversation. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for a visit; he was here to collect his frags and find another job. Whether that job came from Quen or some other facilitator, that didn’t matter, either.

  Ryze walked toward the desk, leaned over, and hit the button on the receiver that ended the call.

  “What the—?” Quen babbled, turning around.

  When he saw who it was standing in front of him, his brewing anger abated. He put on a sly smile.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said pleasantly.

  “It’s me, and I got your bounty.”

  “Felia?”

  Ryze nodded his helmet in the hover cart’s direction. “See for yourself.”

  Quen stood up. He was a heavyset man with an oddly skinny face. Human, but where from, Ryze had no idea. Tattoos of dark ink ran up from under his shirt collar, stopping at his ears. Runes that meant nothing to Ryze but something to someone.

  “I take it he’s dead and not stunned.”

  “You know me so well,” Ryze said. “Even though you can’t see my face right now, trust me when I say I’m smiling.”

  “I bet you are. How was it?”

  “The same old, same old.” Ryze pressed the button on the cart, and the top retracted. The inside was gummy with his blood. Ryze grimaced. If it hadn’t been for Felia’s unfortunate accident, there would’ve been no mess. “Spex, remind me to clean this thing when I get back.” Or burn it…

  “Yes, sir,” the AI answered.

  “What happened?” Quen asked.

  “Bastard didn’t want to come easily. I gave him the chance, I always do, but he pulled out a weapon and I shot it before he could use it on me. Damn thing blew up in Felia’s face, and as you can see, took off a few fingers. I left most of them on Ypso. Figured you wouldn’t be needing them.”

  “You figured right,” Quen said. He walked back to his desk and hit his comm button.

  “Yes, Mr. Quen?” the secretary answered.

  “Get BC up here stat, I don’t want this garbage stinking up my office.” BC stood for Body Collection—another staple in the bounty biz.

  “Right away, sir.” The comm clicked off.

  Quen closed the cart’s top. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “I hope he’s suffering.”

  “Well, he definitely suffered before he went, that’s for sure,” Ryze confirmed.

  “That is quite an understatement, sir,” Spex chimed in.

  Quen looked up at Ryze, blinked as if he were surprised the bounty hunter was still there in his office.

  Ryze didn’t budge, didn’t move at all.

  “Right,” Quen said, “your payment. I’ll make sure to transfer the agreed-upon amount as soon as I can.”

  “How about now?” It wasn’t a question. "I should charge you extra for what happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “Another bounty hunter, a Rovik, attacked me on my way back to the ship.”

  “You seem to be faring quite well,” Quen said. “Besides, we both know those types of scavengers are an occupational hazard. It’s all part of the job.”

  “Pay me, Quen.” Ryze had already stayed longer than he intended and had no desire to stand around and chat until the sun rose.

  “I’m your boss, Starlo. Don’t talk to me like that. Without me, you wouldn’t have work.”

  “I’d manage.” Ryze took his helmet off. He wanted to make sure Quen saw how serious he was. Plus, the scars never failed to intimidate.

  On cue, Quen took a step back and with a sigh, sat down. He pressed a different button next to his comm, and a holographic screen shimmered up from the desk. With a few presses of ghostly-looking buttons, the money was transferred. As this was all happening, two droids came and picked up Daxen Felia’s body, leaving the hover cart empty save for his blood and Ryze put his helmet back on.

  Seconds later, he received a notification in the upper right corner of his HUD.

  “Money transferred, sir,” Spex said.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Ryze said to Quen. He nodded toward the man and turned to head out the door. “Let me know when you got another job.”

  “Of course.”

  Ryze began walking.

  “Oh, Ryze—one last thing,” Quen said. “You’re from Xovia, right?”

  The mention of Ryze’s home world was a shock to the system. Except for twenty years ago, Xovia didn’t get brought up in a lot of off-planet conversations. He faced Quen again, his head tilted. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Have you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “About the Dominion moving in on the planet. A whole fleet of Battlers was spotted in Xovian space. I figured you’d know. If not, I’d figured I’d tell you.”

  I bet you love delivering bad news, asshole.

  “Thanks,” Ryze said. He kept his voice calm. Somehow.

  “I should have another job soon.”

  “You know where to reach me.” With that, Ryze left. His walk out of the Hub and back onto the crowded streets of Coliseum went by in a blur; he hardly
remembered moving. His mind was full of thoughts and memories of the past, when he had fought for Xovia against the Dominion’s fledgling army—before a madman had deemed himself the God-King. So long ago. Back then there was an alliance of planets opposed to the rising dictatorship, but it seemed the galaxy had given up.

  A frequent thought of Ryze’s: the First War was all for nothing. The God-King won, claimed his stake of Xovia, and forced them to bend their knees. All that came out of the useless fighting was death and destruction.

  But now Battlers were hovering around the planet? For what reason?

  It didn’t make sense. The God-King couldn’t take back what was already his.

  Ryze got to the ship, but he didn’t immediately take off. He settled in his quarters, stripped down into a casual flightsuit, and hung his armor and weapons up in his closet. The armor was dirt-caked and dusty. He would need to clean it off before he put it back on. Repair that forearm piece, too.

  “Where to, sir?” Spex asked.

  “I…I don’t know,” Ryze answered. He sat on the edge of his bed and pressed a button near the nightstand. The wall across from him retracted, revealing a small viewscreen. “Spex, do me a favor and search the Holo Net for top stories pertaining to Xovia.”

  “Of course, sir. Searching now.” After a short pause, Spex said, “I have found over five million results.”

  “Whittle that down to reputable sources.”

  “Whittling, sir.”

  “Put what you find on the screen,” Ryze said.

  But the screen remained black.

  “Spex?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think you’ll like what I have to show you.”

  “Spex, I’m this close to pulling your plug. Don’t make me do it.” Ryze was only half-joking.

  The screen blinked on. It showed an aerial view of Xovia’s capital city. The castle was burning and missing large chunks of its structure, while surrounding buildings had been obliterated into nothing. In the lake adjacent to the city, the smoldering wings of Xovian fighter ships stuck out from its surface, and lifeless pilots and gunners floated nearby. The screen cut to a different image. Dead Xovians lying in the streets, their bodies burned and twisted by cannon fire. A limping father carrying his young daughter as they ran from cybersoldiers clad in black armor. Next came a barrage of white blaster fire from their weapons—

  And more dead bodies.

  Ryze’s stomach twisted, and he suddenly had to fight the urge to lie down. “No more, Spex.”

  The screen blinked off, but the images continued to burn in Ryze’s mind.

  “I am sorry, sir,” Spex said.

  “I don’t get it,” Ryze said. “When we lost to them all those years ago, they signed a treaty. That treaty was to protect the planet from any more needless bloodshed. And now…this.”

  “I’d expect nothing else from the God-King,” Spex said.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Shall I begin setting a course?”

  Ryze shook his head. “No. I’m going to bed. One night in Coliseum won’t hurt.”

  “Would you like some music, sir? Something soft and soothing?” Spex asked.

  Ryze chuckled without humor. “We’ve been together how many years, Spex? I can’t even tell you, but it’s been a long time, and sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

  For the rest of that night the thought of flying to Xovia nagged at the back of Ryze’s mind, but what could he do? He was just a coward with an outdated ship, and it took a lot more than that to save the world.

  Seven

  The Battler Calamity hung in the air above the burning castle, blocking out the sun, and it looked like black death.

  From the bridge, Ace Silver stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down as a battalion of his finest warships raided the city and reduced it to ash. A slight smile twisted his lips. He loved war. He loved death.

  “Captain, she’s here,” the chief officer said.

  “Excellent,” Ace replied. “Send her up.” He turned around now and surveyed the bridge. Home sweet home. There was hardly a place in the known universe that Ace Silver felt more comfortable. To his right hovered a holographic rendering of the planet known as Xovia. In truth, he thought it was quite beautiful. The mountains, the lakes, the wide-open expanses of land, and of course, the capital city.

  But he also thought the city looked better engulfed in flame.

  Clustered around the walkway, sitting in front of holoscreens, the bridge crew worked tirelessly. Navigators called out coordinates while lookout officers scanned for nearby threats. Ace knew there would be none. Xovia’s army had been largely depleted two decades ago while the Dominion’s had only grown.

  Ace leaned toward the communications officer, a rail-thin woman with yellow hair. He had forgotten her name. “The queen?”

  “Nothing yet, sir.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Ace said. He smiled. Here, commanding his own Battler, he had free rein. Halfway across the galaxy, the God-King sat in his throne, meaning Ace didn’t have to answer to anyone. He liked it better that way.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I don’t need her alive. We’ll find what we're looking for whether she continues breathing or not,” Ace said. “Once we obtain the artifact, I want her dead.”

  “Affirmative, sir,” the communications officer replied. She then set about relaying the message to the leader of the ground troops, typing in binary—the language the killing machines best understood.

  Behind him, the bridge’s door slid open, and Ace turned around to face the woman who had just recently docked on the Battler. The smile on his face was still there, but the woman didn’t return it.

  “Miss Jennix,” Ace began, “it is a pleasure to meet you in person. Your legend is well known among us.”

  The Thrathan woman stood seven feet tall. She was agile in her movements, but beneath her armor, she possessed wiry muscles and a boundless strength. Thrathan warriors were among the best in the galaxy, and the majority of them were female. Etched on each side of her face were dark tattoos, six dagger-like shapes in a row—the brow, the cheeks, and just below the mouth. Her eyes glowed a vicious red, smoldering like the last embers of a fire. They were the same color as her hair, which was long and corded like rope. Her skin was blue.

  “You can call me Akyra,” she said. “Anyone offering this many frags is a friend of mine.”

  But she didn’t sound too friendly.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Akyra.”

  “We agreed on half before the job and half after I get what you’re looking for,” the mercenary said. “Correct?”

  “Correct.” Ace turned to his chief officer and said, “Transfer, please.”

  The officer saluted and brought up a holo. “Transferred, sir.”

  “Wonderful,” Akyra Jennix said. Now came the smile, showcasing the Thrathan’s pointed teeth.

  Looking on, Ace found it hard to keep his own grin. He had heard many stories of the Thrathan warriors. They were not born with such teeth; no, they filed and shaped them like so upon entering warriordom, and it was said they could tear the hide off a full-grown elanty without struggle. Another story talked of how they often dined on the flesh of their enemies. Thinking of this brought an uncomfortable shudder down Ace’s spine.

  “You will find everything you need to know about your mission on this,” he said, handing Akyra the small rectangular drive. He had heavily edited the information on it to hide the true nature of this planetary raid.

  The Thrathan took it and plugged it into a port on her belt, next to a blasgun big enough to pass as a rifle to a human like Ace. “Wonderful.” She walked forward on the bridge, past Ace, and looked out the viewscreen. “Looks like you already made my job a lot easier.”

  “That we did,” Ace said.

  “Pity. Such a nice place. Ah, well, all in the name of conquest, right?”

  He couldn’t tell if the me
rcenary was poking fun at him. Her voice was slightly playful—as much as a seven-foot Thrathan’s voice could be playful—but he found himself growing angry and impatient with her. No one poked fun at the Dominion, the empire he had worked so hard to help conquer.

  “The sooner, the better,” Ace told the Thrathan. “I would hate for the God-King to be displeased.”

  Akyra turned, her eyes narrowed. She had gotten the hint.

  The last time an alien displeased him, blood was spilled mere inches from the throne, Ace thought, the smile returning to his face.

  “All right,” Akyra said. “I’ll be on my way. Do me one favor, though.”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell your bucketheads I have the lead, because I won’t hesitate to disintegrate them,” she said as she walked past Ace and exited the war room.

  Watching her leave, he nearly signaled for the guards to gun the woman down. There were plenty of other mercenaries willing to do the job, and plenty of others who wouldn’t disrespect him so blatantly. How dare she.

  Ace took a deep breath, composed himself, and the urge passed.

  The God-King would be most displeased if she was dead—he had recommended the Thrathan himself, assuring Ace that she was the best money could buy—and Ace would hate to displease his king.

  A few minutes later, watching through the viewscreen, the Thrathan’s ship swooped down on the city and into the chaos.

  Eight

  The attack started in the night. An army of Battlers came out of QJ and surrounded the planet.

  Jade heard the screams of her people above, despite the thick metal separating her from the outside world. She was underground, in a shelter. Wylow was with her, and she somehow had managed to remain calm, her face impassive and relaxed.

  “The pilot is waiting for us,” Wylow said. “We must go before they break through.”

  Jade wouldn’t move. She stood in the large stone corridor that led to the hangar. Cobwebs dangled in the corners and around the lights. They flickered whenever a bomb went off. She touched the crystal on the chain hanging around her neck. All this for a measly rock. Still, the artifact gave her comfort. She needed that.