Forbidden Delivery (Galaxy Smugglers Book 1)

by Amelia Wilson

  He’s unable to finish because I jump out in front of him, in a desperate attempt to escape.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” He cries out, trying to gain control over the wheel.

  “Let me out of here you creep!” In desperate times, I’m not the best with words. This is, of course, a desperate time. There’s not much left to say though, as I accidently swivel the wheel too hard, sending us careening again through the asteroids.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He cries out in a panic.

  “Take me back home!” I demand, fighting with him back and forth over control of the wheel.

  “You’re going to get us killed!” He shouts.

  “Anything’s better than getting stuck with a psycho,” I tell him. He knocks me to the side, grabbing the wheel and sending us into a hard curve to the right.

  “I’m going down,” he declares loudly over a small microphone.

  “Preparing for an emergency landing on Gemma Six. That’s Gemma Six for clarity. Any units within my range please respond.” Then, he turns to me.

  “Brace for impact, cargo!” He yells. Something tells me that there are no units within range, whatever that means. I clutch onto a thin metal bar next to me for dear life. Flames lick the sides of the glass on the outside of the ship, as sheets of wires and metal break apart from the ship.

  Through the cockpit’s glass window, I can just make out the surface of an orange planet getting closer and closer, as a wild roaring sound nearly deafens me.

  CHAPTER 2: WRECKED

  FALAX

  The last thing I remember is entering Gemma Six’s atmosphere. All the pressure from the entry must have made me pass out; keeping me from experiencing the worst of it, thank gods. I’ve prepared for things like this in the military before, but any crash drill I’ve gone through has been nothing close to the real thing.

  I wake up with a pool of blood around me, mixed into the burnt orange sand. I have a full body-ache, but I can’t tell if it’s from the crash or my wild romp at the pleasure hotel on Ranthrax last night, probably the first, I imagine. I’m able to sit up, and am relieved to see that I still have all my limbs, and that I still have my dick. It never hurts to check, in my opinion. I spit out a mouthful of sand, which just mixes with my saliva making a disgusting mess on my chin. Real smooth. There’s an extreme stinging sensation across my shoulder, and as I reach up to touch it I find out where the pool of blood is coming from. Thank gods it isn’t from my head. There’s probably not a doctor out here for miles. There’s no way in hell I will be going to see a desert shaman. I’ve made that mistake before and all I got was a horrible rash…everywhere, and maybe a curse or two placed upon me, which is definitely harder to clear up than a rash.

  I assess the damage, but I don’t need to look long to know that the ship is completely totaled. Luckily it’s just a borrowed ship; a simple cargo carrier from my home planet, assigned to me for this mission. The King can certainly afford pay for a new one. He’s got millions just like it back home. Scraps of metal are scattered across the desert, and I see that it’s just some ship rubble and me on this lonely planet.

  I was hoping to aim for Gemma Seven, you know, where there’s actually some civilization and they’ve fully advanced in their technology. Unfortunately that hotheaded cargo I was carrying knocked us off course during her daring escape, leaving us stranded on Gemma Six, which is certainly the more dangerous of the Gemma System. Oh, man! Where is that cargo anyway? Hopefully she survived the crash with just a few scrapes and bruises.

  I shuffle through the remains of my ship, my body feeling heavy and hot from the blaring suns above me. I try to turn over pieces of metal, chunks of wire that are fused together from the crash, and any panels or remains of rooms that she might be hiding under. Most Earth girls tend to comply when I tell them not to do something they’re not supposed to, but this one definitely challenged me. I silently hope that I don’t find her in pieces, scattered in the desert like my ship. Then I’d really be in trouble.

  I kick aside something familiar, a long metal rod with a thickened end, the device she tried to attack me with back on Earth. As I turn it over, my stomach lurches to find a splatter of blood. Not human blood, luckily, maybe Genurian. I recognize the gooey consistency, and the pale peach color. It’s enough to make me gag.

  After an hour of searching without any luck, I start to panic. I can’t fail this mission. I’ve had a perfect track record with my deliveries, and I’m not about to let some spunky shrieking harpy ruin that. I find a box of emergency supplies, and pull out my horizon visor. Stats glow around the display, checking for any signs of thermal change. It shouldn’t be too hard to find something cool in a scorching hot desert planet. Over one of the dunes, I’m able to see a small set of footprints, outlined in blue by my visor. Luckily they’re still cold, somehow. They spread down the other side of the dune, and I backtrack them to where I found the metal rod. They must have seen the crash and came here to raid it. It’s a miracle they didn’t find me, or perhaps they did and thought I was dead and therefore useless to them.

  This is great; the sand traders have captured her. Gemma Six is home to many a species, but the Genurians aren’t particularly friendly types. Seven-feet tall, and their rows of razor-sharp teeth make them one of the most dangerous species in the galaxy. They can travel long distances, thanks to their state-of-the-art cooling boots, which explains why the footprints were cold enough to show up on my visor. The Genurians will trade anything for coin, even people, and suddenly the blood on the metal rod makes sense.

  They must have tried to grab her and she put up a fight against them. I’m not surprised at all at this theory. I pack up my travel pack, filling it with equipment from my emergency container; a little battered from the crash, but still intact. I load up a canteen with the rest of the water spilling out from the plumbing side of the ship, not from the toilet side of course. Thanks to my ingenuity, I still have my blaster tucked into the front of my pants. Any species, Genurian or otherwise, wouldn’t dare reach for my crotch. As I press on towards the footprints, I kick aside the metal rod.

  There’s something about it that appeals to me. In a quick what-the-hell moment, I decided to take it along on my journey. Who knows? It could prove to be useful. I think they’re called “bats” on Earth. I always thought a bat was an animal to humans, which doesn’t really make sense to me why they would call something a name that already belongs to something else. I’ll certainly have plenty of time to contemplate this thought during my big hike as I follow the trail of footprints over the dunes.

  CHAPTER 3: FOR SALE

  BECCA

  I’ve been trapped in yet another room full of cargo. I can’t seem to really get out of situations like this, can I? Except I’d much rather prefer the spaceship playing pinball through asteroids than this cramped smelly room.

  After the crash, I had tried to get to my captor, who was still obscured by his cloak. Just when I was about to remove it, and finally identify him, I was attacked by a group of crazy-looking creatures - straight out of a science-fiction movie. They had horrible sharp teeth and piercing eyes. I tried to stay out of sight, but I was caught by the main leader of the group, and his scaly face looked right into mine as he opened his jaws and cackled with delight.

  He said something to the rest of the group in a guttural language that I didn’t understand. However, I did understand what he meant when he made a lot of crude gestures about the shape of my body, and I wasn’t up for whatever he had planned. I took the bat that was still attached to the figure on the ground and made a run for it. I didn’t get very far, the hot sand seeped into my sneakers, nearly paralyzing me with every step. However, before I went down I was able to land a hefty blow to one of them, and knocked them out.

  They managed to tie me to a strange space camel of some kind, and take me on a trek through the desert. I slept most of the time, hoping that I’d wake up and be back in my van, ready for another normal hike
in the canyons. Unfortunately, I’m in the middle of a waking nightmare. And here I am now, at some sort of strange cantina, dressed like some sort of alien prostitute. They have taken my clothes and force me to change into some sort of skimpy bikini, made of shiny colorful material. Definitely a shameful fashion statement, no matter what planet this is. My boobs keep slipping out of the sides of the top, and it’s impossible to divert the bottoms from where they shouldn’t be. It’s definitely fitting for the weather, but not for a place like this. I guess there are perverts on every planet. My wrists are chained to the wall, and I figure this escape is going to take some time. There’s another woman here, a blue-skinned alien, who’s also dressed like me and also chained to the wall. Long tendrils make up for her hair, and her skin is scaly. She looks somberly at her feet as she kicks at a loose piece of rotted fruit in front of her.

  “Do you know where we are?” I ask her, in a desperate attempt to know more about my situation. She looks up at me, her pure black eyes sad and tired. She says something to me that I don’t understand, then points to me and says

  “Earth”

  I nod at her, and she continues ranting at me in another language, passionately confessing something to me that I’ll never really know. When I try to interject, the door whooshes open automatically, letting in a flood of drunken laughter and strange alien sounds. Music plays, from a weird instrument that sounds like a xylophone.

  The woman looks at me, horrified, as a large burly creature steps in. His face looks like a fly’s, with bulging hexagonal eyes. A curling proboscis drips a nasty green goop in splotches onto the sandy floor. The woman cries out in terror as he gets closer to her, and he unchains her from the wall. She looks at me one last time, reaching out to me as if I can do anything to save her, before she disappears behind the door. I can hear the music swell, along with an alien voice announcing something. Cheers all around. What kind of sick event is this? I can hear the alien prattling, as if listing something. More cheers. I miss my van; my old rust bucket that is probably towed away by now for lingering in the parking lot too long. At this point I wonder if I’m ever actually going to get out of here. I start looking at the nearby cargo, trying to get some inspiration. Maybe there’s a loose nail I can use to pick my way out…

  Suddenly, I hear more applause and the door whooshes back open. The same fly-faced creature comes in, and I’m horrified to see that he’s coming towards me. He unchains me, and I take this moment to give him one last struggle for my life before I’m taken to who-knows-where. I get a good punch to one of his bulging eyes before he tackles me down, gurgling in pain. He calls out into the hallway, and soon more fly-faced guys come in to take me away. I kick and scream, I even try to bite, but it’s no use now. I’m taken down a hallway, where the music and the garbled yelling swell to a crescendo.

  I find myself in the middle of a crowded room, filled with the strange faces of all alien species. Some of them I recognize as the same species that brought me here. A slug-shaped announcer sits on a podium, holding an instrument that makes a ringing sound as I’m brought to some kind of stage at the front of the room. I’m tersely pulled up the steps by my chain, which I don’t like at all. I pull back at the chains in protest, and am immediately met with a much forceful pull that almost jerks me onto my stomach on the stage. The room quiets down, as the slug announcer hits a mallet on the podium. The fly-faced man, now with a shrunken eye, walks around me, pointing out my features, touching my hair. The crowd oohs as he points out my breasts and my curves. I try to cover myself up, but my hands are moved away.

  The room cheers, and the announcer prattles on in a rhythmic tone. A multitude of hands springs up all throughout the crowd. Some have tentacles, or insect like appendages. Most of them have a small red card with a symbol on it that they keep raising each time the announcer calls out something. Suddenly I have a gut-sinking feeling, as things slowly start to make sense.

  I’m at an auction…and I’m the item they’re bidding on.

  The bidding continues as a flurry of aliens climb over each other to get their word in. The announcer gets more and more excited with each offer from the crowd, a slurry of slime dribbling from his mouth onto the podium as he swings his gavel around in the air. It must be rare for Earth girls to make an appearance here. This, or it’s like this every day here. Two of the men break out into an argument, which erupts into a full-blown fistfight and I curse under my breath that I’m chained up during this perfect distraction. I notice the fly-men next to me each wield a staff, blue squiggles of electricity just waiting to zap me. I’ll have to keep quiet for now, but my mind is still calculating.

  The fight is broken up and after what feels like hours of alien negotiating over my body, someone steps forward: a mantis-like man, who towers over the rest. He holds up his card, declaring his bid. The crowd silences and I can only assume he’s paying an amount that’s impossible to beat. The slug announcer cackles, slime oozing from his pores as he does. He gestures to the mantis-man and repeats his bid. Nobody else has budged. By the tone of the announcer I think I can translate it to, ‘going once?’ Nothing from the crowd.

  Somebody say something; anything to just stall a little bit longer.

  “Going twice?” I assume the announcer says. The mantis-man watches me, his eyes hungry, ready for his prize.

  “Eight million tetzles!” I hear a familiar voice shout from the crowd. I almost melt on the spot as I notice a hooded figure crashing through the rest of the bidders. The announcer oohs at him, excited by this new development. The mantis-man, clearly disappointed, steps in and declares another bid. The announcer waves his mallet again, excited as the number rises.

  The hooded figure retorts with “Twelve million tetzles!” and soon the process begins again, with only the mantis-man and my previous captor arguing over me. Finally, the figure places his final bid. The crowd gasps, amazed at how this stranger could have so much money in a place like this. The mantis-man thinks, and eventually throws up his pointed hands and his red card in defeat. The announcer bangs his mallet, and the crowd roars as it makes a pathway for the hooded figure to come to the stage.

  He takes the chain from the fly-man’s grasp, pulling it so that I’m closer to him. I’m amazed that he even survived the crash in the first place. Then again, I’m pretty lucky myself…or am I?

  “What a prize,” he says, his eyes looking me up and down from above his mouth cover. I shrink away from his gaze, as if it’ll help cover me up. I can sense a hint of something else in them, mischief maybe. He turns to the announcer.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to pay you another time,” he says to him theatrically, “I’m a little broke at the moment.” Then, in the fraction of a second, he reaches into his pants, pulls out a gun and starts firing - right into the announcer’s head with a sharp ping.

  CHAPTER 4: SAFEHOUSE

  FALAX

  Of course I didn’t really have a plan before I walked into the cantina. I like to improvise most of the time. Even if I had had a plan, in this place, I think the outcome would still be the same - me starting a massive bar fight and making a daring escape. After shooting the slimy slug on stage, all hell broke loose. The flyboys almost zapped me with their metal prods, but luckily I was able to knock them down before they managed to get me; using the trusty metal bat, which I silently thank myself for picking up.

  I’m hiding behind the bar now, with my “prize” of an Earth girl next to me, chained up and looking ridiculous in her cantina getup. I’m contemplating if I should steal a couple of sips of the spilled over top-shelf stuff in between firing my blaster. I don’t have much time, so I settle for grabbing the whole bottle, screwing on the cap and throwing it into the girl’s arms.

  “Are you serious?” She asks me in her shrill voice. “You’re thinking about drinking at a time like this?”

  “You’ll thank me later,” I tell her, standing up for a second to take out another one of the bar creeps.

  Suddenly, the cr
owd becomes momentarily distracted by their own personal disputes, giving me a quick break to grab the girl and pull her down the nearby hallway. We duck into a kitchen area, tearing through the pots and pans of space sludge cooking on floor stoves. As we burst through the door, the light from the suns blinds us, temporarily disorienting me. The girl thinks this is the perfect time for her to pull away.

  “Nuh-uh,” I tell her, pulling her closer to me, “You’re not going anywhere.” She huffs at me, and her disappointed face is almost cute. It’s not worth it, I tell myself, and we walk through a nearby marketplace that’s stretched along a wide street, round mud buildings encasing them like a little city. This new crowd is completely unaware of what we’ve just been through.

  The girl is already pelting me with questions: “Who are you? What do you want with me? What was that back there?”

  I just ignore them for now, since they’re only annoying me even more. I can tell my silence is making her mad, but I tell her it’s best to keep her mouth shut around here, mainly so I don’t have to hear her whine the rest of the way. We pass by a clothing stall, and I swipe a few garments for her to cover up, a long tunic and some light pants. She’s going to need them out in this heat. We have a long way ahead of us, and I’d prefer my cargo to not be boiled to a well-done crisp by the suns.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a group of the Genurians is prowling around the market. I assume that these are the same ones who captured the girl in the first place.

  “Stay hidden,” I whisper to her, and for once she doesn’t argue with me, to my relief. I weave her in between the stalls of fruits and handmade jewelry, holding her hand so nobody can notice the chain attached to it. Despite her roughness towards me verbally, physically her hands are very soft and warm, as if she takes good care of them. But I don’t have time to focus on that. I have to keep my eyes on these traders.