Star Splinter

by J G Cressey

“Yep,” came the girl’s nonchalant reply.

  “Quite an achievement. I'm impressed.”

  Remaining at the closed door, the new arrival raised one of his long arms and extended a thick finger towards Toker and Eddy. “Unfinished business,” he grunted in a deep voice that sounded unused to forming words.

  “Round two, eh, fat head?” Eddy snarled before leaping off the bench and bolting towards the man. Fortunately for Eddy—or possibly the man, Cal couldn’t be sure—Jumper was as quick as ever and hooked an arm around the girl's waist, holding her at bay. The brute remained at the doorway and stared menacingly but also with a hint of astonishment as the pint-sized girl struggled in Jumper’s arms.

  Cal stepped forward and blocked the man's line of sight. “I don't know the full story here,” he said calmly, “but it seems you received a punch, and my friend Toker here received a punch. That sounds about even to me.”

  “Ain't nuffin even, an' it ain't none of your business.” As the big man spoke, the almost comical sight of the bobbing nose bandage did nothing to detract from the aggressiveness in his eyes.

  “He's right, Cal,” Toker blurted. Hopping off the bench, he shuffled around Jumper and the still-struggling Eddy and came to stand by Cal's side. “You're right, big guy, it's not my friend Cal's business, and it wasn't my friend Eddy's business to step in and throw punches either. It was just an accidental beer spillage though, right? I didn't get a chance to apologize for that before the fighting started. She…my friend Eddy, that is…she was just trying to stick up for me, you see…”

  The big man clenched his massive fist, causing his knuckles to crack.

  “Okay, I admit it,” Toker continued. “She's a little misguided in her methods, but come on, man… I'm sure an honourable bloke like you would've done the same for one of your pals, am I right?” Toker offered one of his best, pacifying, white-toothed grins but only got some sort of animalistic snarl in reply. “Come on, violence isn't gonna get us anywhere, is it, eh?”

  The man snarled again.

  “So, we call it quits, yeah?”

  Snarl.

  Putting away his white teeth, Toker sighed. Cal thought he may have even detected an uncharacteristic twinge of anger in his young friend.

  “Dude, look at yourself,” Toker continued in a somewhat harsher tone. “I mean, check out this situation. What’s violence gotten us so far, eh? I'll tell you what it's gotten us: one black eye for me and one broken nose for you. Not to mention your total humiliation getting knocked out by a little girl in front of your mates.”

  Cal raised an eyebrow. It seemed his young friend had reached his apologetic limit and decided the man wasn't worth any more of his kind words. The response was pretty swift. A look of rage morphed onto the man’s brutish face, and with a deep grunt, he took two surprisingly fast bounds forward and swung his great fist like an axe, Toker's head being the log.

  Having briefly turned to see Eddy’s reaction to his clever jibes, Toker didn’t register the fist until it was mere inches from his nose. Thankfully, it was at that point that Cal managed to pluck it from its plotted course and, in one smooth motion, redirect the brute’s arm until it reached an unnatural angle behind his wide slab of a back. There was a loud crack accompanied by a bellow of pain. Keeping the arm twisted, Cal used the big man’s momentum to spin him towards the cell’s heavy door then gave him a shove with his palms followed by a forceful boot to his backside.

  The stumbling giant did his best to protect his face with the one hand that wasn't tangled up behind his back. Unfortunately for him, his best wasn't good enough. The sound of his forehead connecting with the solid, steel door was loud enough to stir even the most inebriated of the cell’s occupants.

  Much to Cal’s disbelief, the big man didn't go down. Instead, he somehow managed to turn himself around—skittering slightly on the sick-slick floor as he did so—and stare with pure hatred in Cal's direction.

  Shit. Cal stared right back at him, doing his best to hide his surprise that the man wasn’t already unconscious on the floor. “I'd prefer you didn't try to punch my friend.”

  The man scowled, causing a few beads of blood to emerge on the angry red mark that had appeared on his forehead and trickle down into his nose bandage.

  “That was one seriously kick ass move,” Toker whispered over Cal's shoulder. “But I think you've just gone and made him all sorts of crazy.”

  “Uh huh, thanks for pointing that out,” Cal replied, glimpsing back briefly. “You think I should apologize?”

  “I’m not sure that would work.”

  “No shit. You better back up.”

  Toker barely had time to heed Cal's advice before the big brute charged forward. Cal noted, with some relief, that there was some lasting damage to the man's right arm, which now flapped pathetically at his side. Unfortunately, the left arm was still very much intact and was stretched forward, a huge clawed hand on its end eager for something to crush. Cal didn't let the hand get near enough. The power of his perfectly-timed front kick combined with the lumbering oaf’s considerable forward motion caused the big man to double up instantly, the foot in his gut causing a torrent of beer-infused breath to whoosh from his gaping mouth.

  Still bent double, the man stumbled sideways, desperately trying to refill his lungs. Cal's mouth twitched a smile as the stumbling man tripped on the prone form of an unconscious drunk and fell heavily into said drunk’s far-reaching excretions.

  “Cal, that was awesome!” Eddy squealed, having finally stopped squirming in Jumper's grasp.

  “Beautiful,” Toker agreed, shaking his head in awe. “Brutal, but beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” Cal replied without turning from his opponent. “You wanna take a turn?” Already, the big man had regained control of his lungs and was successfully, albeit clumsily, getting to his feet. With the help of a nearby bench, he heaved his great bulk upright and stood on remarkably steady legs. Cal sighed. The guy seemed freakishly robust, possibly the sort who could withstand this sort of battering all night—a body well used to high levels of abuse.

  He came at Cal yet again, carefully this time, looming closer with slow, steady strides while clenching and un-clenching his big left fist. The beating had simmered the man’s rage, and Cal wasn't overly keen on his newfound caution. People made fewer mistakes when they were cautious.

  “You're not much of a fighter, are you, big fella?” Cal said, attempting to rekindle a bit of that previous rage. “I guess size really doesn't matter after all.”

  The man remained silent, but Cal took encouragement from the scowl that re-emerged on the man’s face, which squeezed another trickle of blood from his wounded forehead.

  “I fear this is a bit of a mismatch. Perhaps I should rouse one of those drunks for you to tussle with, eh?”

  Another bead of blood trickled from the wounded forehead.

  “I would have suggested putting you up against my little friend Eddy here, but I guess she's already put you on the floor once today…and only one punch too, as I hear it.”

  Another trickle.

  “I feel for you, big fella, I really do. Being knocked out by such a delicate young thing must’ve caused quite a crack in the ego not to mention your reputation.”

  Trickle.

  “Still, it's not all bad. At least your mates got a good laugh out of it, eh? Probably be talking about it for years.”

  That about did it.

  The big man roared and, launching himself forward, put every ounce of his considerable weight into a wild hay-maker of a punch. Whistling harmlessly over Cal's ducked head, the punch only served to throw the man hopelessly off balance. Taking full advantage, Cal moved swiftly forward, slamming his elbow into exposed ribs and causing a satisfactory crack. The big brute howled part in pain, part in frustration. Cal slid under another punch, this one backhanded and slow. Popping up behind the disorientated man, he issued two strikes to his kidneys. There’d be no backing down now. The guy was an angry bull
, the sort who wouldn’t relent until he was, quite literally, incapable of doing so.

  As he dodged and swerved the continued attacks, Cal suddenly felt a pang of anxiety as pain flared in his own back. That bloody injury again. Would he ever be free of it? Losing his focus for just a moment, he suddenly found himself only narrowly avoiding another wild haymaker. Shit, keep it together. He was under no illusions as to what would happen if even one of those punches made contact. Similarly, if his back went, the giant would have no trouble making mincemeat of him. He’d have to finish this quick, but the man’s great height was proving problematic.

  In a moment of inspiration, Cal thrust his booted foot into the back of the man's tree trunk of a leg and managed to bring him to his knees. He then proceeded to wrap his right arm around the brute’s thick neck while carefully avoiding the massive left hand, which was clawing desperately at the air. Leaning forward, he braced the man's head with his other arm and applied all the pressure necessary and no more. Soon, the giant’s clawing hand became a flailing hand and shortly after that a limp hand.

  Finally, the big bastard lost consciousness.

  “I've never seen such an ass kicking,” Toker blurted, staring at Cal with a ridiculously wide grin. Eddy's grin was equally ridiculous and seemed to be disabling her speech.

  Cal let the sleeping thug flop to the ground, showing him far more kindness than was deserved by ensuring his head bounced off his boot instead of the hard floor.

  “Well done, Cal,” Jumper said simply.

  Could have turned out very differently, Cal thought as he rubbed at his burning back. He looked down at the thug and shrugged. “I thought the bastard would never go down.”

  Before anything else could be said, the cell door slid open again. The sound almost caused Cal to wince; the way things were going, if it wasn't the friends of the unconscious giant, then he half expected Viktor and Melinda to be led in. He was relieved to see it was neither. Instead, a thin, smartly suited man glided partway into the room. Cal knew immediately by his immaculate appearance and the respectful distance that the bouncers were keeping that he wasn’t a new cell mate.

  In an almost machine-like way, the thin man scanned the room and quickly fixed his gaze on Cal. Carefully stepping over numerous puddles of excrement, he approached without paying the least bit of attention to the unconscious brute at Cal’s feet. “I understand you’re the captain of the large cargo ship…” The thin man whipped a pic-slip out of his suit pocket and studied it. “Named ‘The Big Blue.’”

  “Abandon the the, and you’d be correct,” Cal replied coolly.

  “Good. I’m Randall Meeks.” The man shot out a hand at Cal.

  Cal silently shook it.

  “My sincere apologies for the conditions of this waiting room. I can guarantee you won’t have to wait amongst this filth a moment longer.”

  Cal found Randall Meeks’ words polite enough, but his expression was that of boredom and indifference.

  “Please follow me.”

  “May I ask what this is concerning?” Cal asked as Meeks began to negotiate a sick-free route back to the door.

  The thin man paused and turned back. “Of course,” he said with obvious irritation. “Mr. Hogmeyer, the man we have to thank for this wonderful city, wishes to meet with you.”

  This time, there was sarcasm. Cal suspected that Meeks had about as much love for this city, and the man responsible for it, as he did for the puddles of sick he was so desperately trying to avoid. Meeks continued on towards the exit and, upon reaching it, turned once again to see that Cal had no intention of following. With a sigh, he elaborated, “Mr. Hogmeyer has, shall we say, a certain admiration for your ship.”

  Cal nodded. “Well, that’s wonderful. I’d love to come and natter all about cargo ships with Mr Hogmeyer,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t possibly accompany you without my crew,” he said, indicating Jumper, Eddy, and Toker.

  The man smoothed his jet black hair with a thin, pale hand. “Very well, bring them along.”

  “Two others are still enjoying the pleasures of the Lucky Deuce.”

  Meeks shot Cal a thin smile. “Granger,” he barked. The big, bald bouncer who had herded Cal and Jumper to the cell looked up. “You know who these other two crew members are?”

  “Sure do. That’s my job,” Granger replied with a shrug. “A hot blonde and some scrawny kid.”

  “Well, go and fetch them, idiot, and don’t dilly dally.”

  The bouncer grunted and headed for the door.

  “Hey, Granger,” Cal called out as he stepped over the drooling head at his feet. “Careful not to touch the scrawny kid; the hot blonde is a little…over protective.”

  Granger snorted a laugh as he departed the room. Cal sighed as he watched him go. The next time he saw the bouncer, he was fairly certain that at least one part of his body would be smashed, snapped, or severely dislocated, maybe all three, at the hands of a certain hot blonde.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HOGMEYER

  Cal and the rest of the gang soon found themselves in the back of a wide, black hover car. Meeks looked decidedly uncomfortable as he sat facing them. The car was travelling at great speed down one of the many exterior roads that snaked around the metallic peaks and troughs of the vast, jagged city. The particular road on which they travelled was a good ten lanes wide—lanes that were rarely being adhered to by the multitude of other vehicles hurtling along around them. From tiny, one-man racing pods to huge, missile-shaped tankers, no matter their size, they all weaved and dodged at dizzying speeds. Above them, hovering billboards, similar to the one that had guided Big Blue to Lucky Deuces' docking port, buzzed through the mass of structures like giant, flying pic-slips. They were advertising everything from holographic enhancement bras to pleasure pod sustenance pills guaranteeing two extra days of uninterrupted pleasure or your credits back.

  Cal was paying little attention to the scenery; his mind was too consumed by the news of the apparent Carcarrion involvement in Earth's destruction. The information Captain Rail had supplied them couldn’t possibly be true. During the centuries of deep space exploration, humans had discovered many life forms, of which the Carcarrions were undoubtedly among the most advanced. This, however, was not saying a great deal. Most of the alien races discovered thus far held little more intelligence than the average four-legged pet. Even being at the top of that pile, the Carcarrions were still residing in caves and crafting crude tools and weapons from soft metals. To place them at the controls of an interstellar space vessel was ludicrous.

  The Carcarrions didn’t even qualify for the bottom rung of the military’s threat ladder, a ladder that really only consisted of human rebels and pirates. Cal remembered having had a good laugh with one of his sergeants when they’d been informed of the Carcarrions’ lack of threat rating. They’d mused over what that particular rating would have been had a fully grown Carcarrion been towering over the military adviser’s desk at the time of assessment.

  Cal still clearly remembered his first time seeing a live Carcarrion. It had been during a brief stopover at Delta Point 3, one of the military’s major alien research bases. Cal's encounter, although brief, had made quite an impression. It had been an adult female of average size seen through a hefty sheet of protective smart-glass. He’d been quite taken aback. It hadn't so much been the stature of the alien that had made it so striking; it was, after all, more or less human in shape and size, albeit a very tall, particularly well-muscled human. It was more the appearance of the creature’s strange skin—if it could be considered skin at all—that had taken his breath away. Until the alien had moved, Cal had thought he’d been looking at a statue, a figure flawlessly carved from jet black rock. It had such a solid appearance that he’d been surprised it could move at all. When it finally had moved, however, it was fluid, even graceful.

  Equally striking had been the Carcarrion’s, feline-like facial features. It had a flat, triangular nose that met a w
ide, lipless mouth, through which gleaming white fangs could be seen. The fangs had offered a stark contrast against the jet black skin but not half as much as its pale, silvery eyes. The hands had also been of note with three thick fingers and a thumb, each ending in a lethal point. More like powerful talons than fingers.

  Pound for pound, Cal had thought the creature the most formidable he'd ever laid his eyes upon. He shuddered at the possibility that such a physically lethal alien had somehow adopted a level of intelligence to match. If such a thing were true, it would be ill news indeed. Particularly as they seemed hell-bent on destruction. Still, Cal allowed himself some hope that the reports and word of mouth had somehow become distorted, resulting in some serious misinformation.

  As the car continued on, Cal became vaguely aware that Viktor was shooting questions about the construction of the city at Meeks. Rather than listening to the thin man’s reluctant, monotone answers, he decided to take his mind from the Carcarrion mystery by staring out at the strange sights whizzing by. The car was moving faster than any non-flying vehicle he’d ever been in. The fact that the magnetic force of the road was the only thing preventing them from spinning off into space was a little disconcerting. Occasionally, the road would intertwine dangerously close to trains and exterior tube lifts, so close in fact that Cal could see the faces of the smartly suited hordes inside. The expressions ranged from bored to miserable. In fact, he was having trouble spotting one smile.

  “So, this is the financial district of the middle class sector…” Meeks droned on.

  “I don’t get it,” Viktor interrupted. “Why can’t everyone just live together? How come you’ve divided the city up?”

  “Because, young man, not everyone is created equal. We can’t very well have the scum mingling with the upper class, or even the middle class for that matter. It simply wouldn’t do.”

  “But who decides who’s scum?” Viktor pushed.

  Meeks sighed and rubbed his forehead. Cal had a feeling Viktor was annoying the man on purpose; he’d taken an instant dislike to him when he’d suggested putting Melinda in restraints after the bouncer, Granger, had been carted off to the Lucky Deuce medical wing. Cal didn’t like to think what would have become of the poor soul given the job of trying to apply the restraints to the tall blonde. Fortunately, he had managed to persuade Meeks that Melinda was simply a shy girl who, after growing up on a fringe space colony, was understandably a little jumpy and uncommunicative. He’d gone on to explain that she’d probably just struck a lucky punch, and Granger had most likely dislocated his arm and broken his ankle as a result of the fall. Cal didn’t believe for a second that Meeks had fallen for his spiel, but fortunately, he’d seemed too tired to argue the point.