Starship Rogue series Box Set

by Chris Turner

  “I knew you’d be pleased, lord. Hundreds more tanks are back there. Maybe no more of these live bugs that I could see. The other tanks are cracked and drained of their life-giving fluids. There was a fleet of mantis-like ships.” He filled Mong in on all the gory details.

  Mong stood rapt and hungrily drank in the information like a kid learning about the birds and bees. “It’s a food factory!” he rasped. “A human-processing plant. We’ll assemble teams to investigate. The technology is staggering. Look at the accessories on their tops. Full-fledged feeding cables with intact circuitry.”

  The Star Lord’s fleshy lips pursed in satisfaction. Mong was in high spirits. “A gold mine out there. Enough to study for years. Enough to defeat my enemies and ensure my rule of the galaxy.”

  He let his gaze pass over the nearest Mentera, the black, hulking locust with red eyes, quivering antennae and sharp pincers. His jaw hung in awe. “Incredible. They are such beautiful specimens.”

  I gazed in horrified incomprehension. Walking, mutant grasshoppers which enslaved humans for centuries and this fuck worships them like some totem god of the past? It was beyond lunacy.

  “Excuse me, but am I missing something?” I croaked. “How can a vampire that fed on countless humans be ‘beautiful’?”

  “They were an advanced race,” he declared in a defensive voice.

  Was it adoration I heard in that tone?

  “They were scavengers. Soul-sucking parasites.”

  “So you think,” Mong sneered. “But they knew how to establish their supremacy and become all powerful.”

  “As you intend? You’re insane!” I peeled off my mask and threw it on the floor.

  Mong flashed me a sadistic grin. “Perhaps, Rusco, but I prefer to think of myself as a visionary. Your opinions of me mean less than dogshit. Congratulations on your first salvage. There’ll be more to come.”

  Chapter 18

  Hadruk had two lackeys escort one broken-fingered Rusco out across the common grounds. Pagodas and prayer halls nestled amidst banyans, garden fountains and trim lawns. We waited at the stone terrace of a minor shrine for some time. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the archaic deity to which it was dedicated. We traded no words and they kept me under close watch. Mong met up with us and dismissed his men. He beckoned me with a gracious hand toward the main lecture hall with its red-and-white peaked roof. I studied the man’s swarthy face, wondering what went on behind that complex skull of his.

  “What now?” I asked. “No new journey to locust land?”

  “Since you have shown sense,” Mong said, “you’ll get a bonus. I invite you to attend the lectures of the ‘brotherhood’, the brotherhood of the future.”

  “Where’s Blest?”

  “Your comrade’s being taken care of. Quit asking about him. I plan to make a better man of you. That’s what you’re here for…for that you should be grateful.”

  I snorted air through my nose. None of the residents ambling about, monks or nuns or whatever they were, seemed to have any official status here or occupation. They wore no weapons at their belts. All were plainly dressed, in smocks and robes without frills and for the most part quite ordinary. But I could tell something was wrong with them. They walked funny, like stilted starlings, and they looked out of their eye sockets sideways, as if something had been done to their brains.

  “No guns?” I muttered.

  “Firearms are prohibited at Othwan,” Mong explained, “with the sole exception of me and my lieutenants.”

  “Hmph.” I absorbed the information. “Not so good when a disciple goes ballistic and clips the headmaster in the forehead.”

  “You’ve a morbid imagination.”

  “Well, you can thank my mother for that. Her genes.”

  Mong ignored the remark. “Step up the pace, Rusco. We’ve a big day ahead of us.”

  I noticed loudspeakers strung up on every building. From time to time a singsong voice would come over announcing the time of day:

  “One o’clock and all is well! Residents of the Brotherhood, please proceed to Prayer Hall #1. Seva duty, as a reminder, will commence an hour earlier, since the Celebration of Silence is slated for 2100. Brothers and Sisters must observe absolute silence until 0900 tomorrow morning.”

  I chortled.

  Mong turned me a scowling look. “I run a tight ship here, Rusco. Schedules, rules, strenuous physical activities, group sessions. Discipline invites obedience and cultivates an ordered mind.”

  I gauged the territory, its lush opulence, careful attention to detail. Not a grass blade out of place. Ever an escape plan brewed in my mind. We stood roughly in the middle of the grounds. The odious ‘Temple of Light’ sprawled behind us, about five hundred yards to the east, laced in fine mist from the river. About the same distance to the west, the elegant prayer hall of acolytes loomed. Various pagodas with peaked roofs and ornate wooden scrollwork carved on their lintels, spread across the grounds; residents or followers milled about in numbers, steadfast in their business which seemed solitary and internal, judging from the glazed-eyed faces and the bird-like mannerisms.

  The background whine of cicadas dulled my senses, as did the odd hoot of a grey tree monkey, or something like it, swinging in a nearby banyan. My mind absorbed the various-colored birds and the large butterflies flitting from bush to bush. All a so-called utopia.

  The common ground or lawn, with its various bushes, terraced walkways, white-walled shrines wrapped in ivy, small gardens with fountains and ornamental boulders, created no less the illusion of a peaceful community. The final, definitive touch, the small, burbling creek that bisected the oval grounds and ran down to the river. Behind us terraced paddies rose before the domed hills of Othwan.

  Mong beckoned me. “Here we are, Rusco. You’ll like it here.” We approached the prayer hall where a group of individuals stood, conversing in hushed tones and holding books.

  “Listen, Mongo, I don’t want to swap bible stories with your hermits and balding pilgrims.”

  He touched finger to lip. “Is that what you think of them, my meslars?”

  “What in the hell else are they?”

  He nodded and snapped his fingers at one of the members of the group—a brown-skinned woman with hand drum and small, wizened, chipmunk eyes. “Kazu, come here please.”

  The shaven-headed lady approached, all gleaming pate with stubble bristling from her chin. The drum vanished and hands pushed together in a loose scarlet and green robe.

  “Yes, lord?”

  “Take Mr. Rusco to the ‘inauguration’ pagoda. See that he’s cleaned up and outfitted properly. I’m thinking it’s time he learns the Seven Serums like the other recruits. Truth, Pain, Vice, Love, Hate, Renunciation, Emptiness. How they slip off the tongue. I have a feeling, Pain, with a capital P, will be Rusco’s bugbear.”

  “As you wish, lord.” The meslar bowed. She had a glazed look of emptiness, as if juiced on something. Myscol? Some happy drug? I hated that pervasive hush about these men and women. Looked like a bunch of busy little badgers. The men probably hadn’t gotten laid in a decade, if they’d ever been laid before. Judging from the look of ‘Kazu’, I didn’t blame them.

  “I think you’re proud of that hair, Rusco,” remarked Mong. “We’ll take it off today sometime. You will wear simple clothes—an acolyte’s smock, gown and garb and say goodbye to your ‘streaked purple’ look. Acolytes undergo strict ordinance, ritual, fasting once every ten days and every day only one meal and no food after sunset. Toughens a body up. Needless to say, no extracurricular activities among males and females, as it dilutes the power and purity of worship.”

  I gawped. What a bunch of baloney. “How do you expect to win over any recruits to your pagoda club under these strict rules? What if I have the hots for Kazoo?”

  “It is traditional, Rusco, the way it has always been. Study the religions and sects of the past. My advice for you is to follow the ordered regimen. The penalties for disobedience are severe,
as you can guess. I hope this gives you enough of an incentive to take the program seriously. I expect nothing but enthusiasm and acceptance of the teachings.”

  Mong turned to leave, but paused with a thoughtful look. “I’ll let you in on a secret—because you gave me the amalgo, I tender you this ‘gift’ my master told me about years ago. It was about emptying one’s mind, going deep inside and probing the deepest layers of being. I laughed at my master, disrespected his mystical message. The last laugh was on me. I tried out this ‘spiritual purification’ and my mind became empty, one-pointed, a powerful instrument of execution.”

  “Sure, Mong. I believe you. I really do.”

  He clapped his hands. “So, shall we? You’re first up in the Medicine Wheel. Really this is a favor I’m doing you. If you do well, you’ll rise high in the realm of the brotherhood.”

  I wagged my head in bright enthusiasm. “It’s everything and more I’ve ever wanted to do in my life.”

  Mong slapped me on the back. “Excellent! Sister Kazu will brief you on the technique. Please keep your eye off her behind.” His expression grew dark, and the Mong I knew returned in full force. “Do anything you want here, Rusco. But do not ridicule the teachings. My wards do not appreciate it. They can be downright nasty when due respect is not bestowed.”

  I gave a nod, seeing no need to goad Kazu or these other fucks into torturing me as Mong already had.

  Mong strode off. Was the man confident I wouldn’t get into trouble? I laughed. I heard the chanting deep in the prayer hall. Low, guttural sounds rendered in monotones in some language foreign to my ears. A shiver of unease ran through my body. The rumbling unison of the subdued figures portended evil purposes and practices, endorsed by Mong.

  “This way,” Kazu said, a singsong lilt to her voice. She beckoned me toward that house of chanting prayer.

  I held up a hand, trying to keep my eyes off her wonderful ass. “I need to take a dump badly. Where’s your crapper?”

  She frowned, then nodded, pointed to the communal facilities back behind where Mong and I had come from. I took my long-legged strut there but she stalked along with me, her busy chipmunk face working hard.

  I turned and leveled her a cold glare. “In private please, Kazoo.”

  She pinched her lips in a frown. “I’ll be waiting back of the facility hall. No funny moves, Rusco, for your sake.”

  “As you wish, Kazoo. I’ll be the embodiment of purity and chastity.”

  She scowled and stared at me with hard eyes.

  I shuffled off down to the patio-stoned terrace bordering the communal facilities. When I was around a bend, I gave a grunt of satisfaction and tossed off my polite bearing.

  I peered at my broken hand, grabbed my index finger, counted to ten, pulled hard, yanked it straight. “Motherfucker!”

  I waited until the ripples of pain had subsided.

  Sweating in profusion, I left the background agony behind and hissed air through my teeth. I waited a full two minutes, then yanked on the finger next to it, straightened it as best I could. Then the pinky. More waves of pain. I dug through the dense shrubbery, gritting teeth and cursing, then found some tough twigs, enough to make a crude splint so my fingers would at least not move. Some of the stems of these green leafier plants I could use as string to tie my fingers together. I smelled like grasshopper spit afterward, but it was better than suffering from chronic, crooked finger syndrome for the rest of my life.

  I scanned the layout of the grounds once again. The compound’s gates and six-foot-high barbed-wire fence were well-monitored. There was some ringed tower over to my left behind the prayer hall, a lookout post that likely housed sentries on the eye alert for wandering, recalcitrant acolytes. I caught a glint of movement there, rifles, binoculars? Mong had said no weapons were allowed here, but then again, what did that mean? He said his lieutenants bore arms. Maybe he wasted precious lieutenants guarding the place, gazing out on the yard, on the watch for troublemakers like me.

  I doubted I’d have an easy time reconnoitering the hangar some mile or more off. Though something told me, I’d have to discover what was inside, at least use whatever was there to make my escape, like a ship, for example.

  Not much I could do now, with old Kazu pacing and gnashing at the bit a few dozen yards away.

  After slashing cold water on my face, I returned to the dutiful meslar who led me across the lawn to the chambers adjoining the prayer hall. Four meslars took me to a room, some sort of dressing room, and off came my ponytail and purple-dyed hair. They garbed me in orange and brown robes like the other novitiates. I ran my fingers through my crop of bristles, whistling through my teeth. Last time I had a buzz cut, I think was in my rebel years. Or perhaps when I had to jack that space trailer out in Gazeus, posing as an energy monitor or some damn thing. Could have been both. Did it matter? A blur now. Change, Rusco, change. At this point in your life, you’re due for some. What’s a little hair gone, compared to a broken hand and some torture?

  Kazu shoved a book in my hands then flashed me a stern glance. “You are looking better, Rusco. These are the first Five of Seven Serums on the Path of Attainment. Please memorize them and adhere to the strictures.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says Master Mong.”

  I scoffed at that. “Be a cold day in hell when ‘Master Mong’ gets me to—”

  “Silence. Your opinions are of no value here. We have a 31 hour day on Othwan so you’ll find our program especially strenuous. We will proceed to the inauguration. You may join the current group of acolytes.”

  The loudspeakers emitted a gong-like resonance, a call to attendance at the prayer hall.

  We assembled in the auditorium. I saw figures from all quarters gathering, moving like robots. I could only think of moths fluttering toward a bright light. Perhaps a hundred and fifty initiates, men and women, mostly men. No children. Kazu shuttled me inside and gave me the once over while passing me to the ten monitors dressed in long white and brown robes, then she took a place at the front.

  I grabbed a cushion from the side like everyone else. We sat in cross-legged silence. Plunked on our cushions facing the front in an ordered grid, with exactly two feet between each novitiate. The spaces were marked in red tape on the polished teak floor.

  The prayer hall was smaller than the main Temple of Light, one third I’d say, with a proportionally high ceiling and white stuccoed walls with varnished pine beams scrolled with ornate eagles, falcons and majestic birds, none of the disturbing, warlike elements of the former temple and its lurid glass tanks. In fact, this hall stood in stark contrast, following the old Zen tradition of minimalism I’d seen on other terraformed worlds. I put on my best smile and mask of cooperation, listening to what old Kazu had to say.

  “Close your eyes,” she said gently over the lightly amplified speakers. “Focus your attention on the third eye point. Empty your mind. Let your spirit relax and slip into emptiness. Let your breathing come to a placid rest. Relax into a deep state of inner silence.”

  There were sighs and shifting of legs, noseblowing and coughs. I looked around with a crooked grin.

  A stern monitor eyed me and approached with a sharp gesture. I held up a hand, nodded, squinting as if to comply.

  “Focus, pilgrims, focus,” Kazu said. “Mong’s mission is a bright blip on your horizon. Your future is at stake. Let the inner tranquility transport you to a higher dimension.”

  I yawned. It was nice to get a breather after all the intensity of the past days, hunting aliens and killing Skugs, but after a while I could not help my mind from wandering. I kept wondering how I could garrotte Mong and flee this nuthouse while these fucks sat in their mental masturbation with eyes closed. If I could sneak out and make a break for it… I opened one eye. A simpleton’s plan, Rusco. Monitors ranged the hall, scanning the rows of acolytes with cane whips in hand. These whips had metal-edge flails. I could see them glinting in the dim sconce light. One poor schmuck at the front had th
e bad luck of wavering in his seat and a flail came slashing down on his shoulders. He let out a miserable wail. The female attendant who had administered the blow grunted then raised the weapon again. The guilty aspirant sat up in rapt attention. A painful lesson on the path to enlightenment.

  The others stood with backs ramrod straight, keeping silent, maintaining equanimity, if not in more rigid attention now. They pretended as if nothing had happened. A weird scenario, if you asked me. Gave me the chills. Suffice it to say I stayed quiet and played the obedient monk. I did feel a new strength come over me as if there were a concentrated force of mental power in that hundred and fifty or so gathering doing their mediation, but soon a thousand qualms plagued my brain. Where was Wren? I doubted Blest or Volia were sitting as comfy as I was.

  Twice I caught myself nodding off, barely saving myself from a cane-lashing.

  The session came, thankfully, to an end, though after what seemed endless hours. We filed out, many of us blinking like owls and looking very zoned out. I had to admit I did feel refreshed, more than after a good sleep. My ears buzzed with the sounds of silence. There was a peculiar alertness to my brain as if I sensed every sound around me, even the cicada huddled behind the manicured boulder. Maybe, just maybe, I needed more sleep and this tranquility was my natural state?

  Or maybe Mong had some subaural brain stimulators or brainwashing devices running on half power in that Zen cult room of his? What the fuck did I know?

  The sun hurt my eyes after coming out of that dim lighting inside. I sure couldn’t wait to get back to prayer session for more breath-taking excitement. The romp through cricket world on amalgo transit seemed almost a letdown compared to this nail-biting adventure of sitting with pins-and-needle ankles for hours on end. That said, I would not want to trade places with Lady Volia or Blest any time soon.