by Caleb Fast
“A little excessive, but well deserved,” The voice of one of Richardson’s guards sounds.
“We’re going to blow a hole in the containment wall while we are here,” Reed reports after a moment.
“Very well,” Clive says as he begins worrying about Trix. Srin had been her friend, possibly her only friend on Paradise, and now she was gone. He then turns to T, “Let me be the one who tells Trix about her friend,”
“All yours boss,” T replies, “I hate breaking the news anyways,”
“We’ve breached, the wall, and now we are giving Jennison her going away present!” Reed shouts.
Clive watches as the 180s depart from the new gap in the prison’s outer wall and turn their attention toward the administrative wing of the prison, where Clive could see the flames still billowing out of the window of Richardson’s office. In a moment, the fighters send everything they had at the base of the building, clearly intent on destroying Jenniston’s office, and anyone who was unfortunate enough to still be in there. The building finally collapses on their third pass, and Clive shifts his attention to the other side of the prison, where he can just make out the form of the ground transports, which are all making a break for the breach in the prison’s wall.
“That’ll do it,” Neche reports as the fighters circle their kill.
“Alright, let them be,” Clive orders, “We don’t want to risk hitting any of our people down there.”
“Roger that,” Reed calls.
The fighters depart from the prison for the second time, leaving much less standing than they had just a few minutes ago. After watching their approach for several moments, Clive turns his attention back to where he had seen the ground transports. Several more vehicles are now following the first few, which had already disappeared under the dense jungle canopy. As Clive watches, a pair of hovercrafts also emerge, quickly overtaking their counterparts below.
“That’s a beautiful sight,” Clive muses to himself.
“Moving to our rendezvous in orbit,” T informs Clive as the ship’s engines hum a little louder at the increased effort.
“Executing flyby,” Reed reports as the 180s draw close and scream past the cockpit window.
Several of the pilots wave to Clive, and he tentatively waves back with a smile. He was free. More than free, he had control. Control over his life, control over his friends’ futures. He dwells on that for several moments, wondering where he should lead everyone. We need somewhere quiet, out of reach, and out of the Coalition’s grasp, Clive thinks. He taps the comm-unit next to him to contact the Captain, after a moment the Captain answers.
“So, is this the Clive Ranger? The son of Martin Ranger?”
“Yes, I was—"
“Clive! I met your father when I was just a boy, he visited my planet because of the war that was going on. He—”
“I was wondering if you would join us on the bridge,” Clive interrupts, escape was more important the old times. The Captain had earned his trust for the time being, due to the lifesaving warning that kept them from a short-lived flight. Clive then adds, “Bring your crew too, please. We can talk about my father later, right now we need out.”
“Understood, I’ll be there in a moment.” Belmont replies.
So, this man knew my father… Clive fondly thinks back to the little bit of time he had with the man. There were the games of catch, the games he had bought tickets for, there were the hours of conversation while he was away. My father likely saved this man’s life. And I was willing to have him killed, Clive thinks. Not even a day had passed, but it feels like the plan had been hatched years ago, all of the emotions that had driven Clive’s reasoning were gone and seemed alien now. So much had happened in such a short period that his desperate plan seemed so distant. What a selfish plan, Clive realizes, thinking of the crew of at least fifty on board that could have been slaughtered.
A man in a Captain's uniform walks onto the bridge, flanked by several uniformed crew members who relieve the current skeleton crew of men who were more than willing to get away from the controls. Clearly, this was Belmont, an old man with greying hair a thick, well-kept beard, and a powerful build. He approaches Clive and inquires, “What did you need, Mister Ranger?”
“Where’s somewhere safe we can escape to? We all need refuge, and I bet your relations with the Coalition are toast.”
“That they are.” He says, and then continues with a chuckle, “I called in my resignation to Jenniston as we left, I think she wanted a two-week notice.”
Clive lets out a laugh, happy to have a lot of humorous companions to get him out of the jailhouse blues. He stops his laugh short, realizing it was unlike any laugh he had made for the last few years. It feels free, relieving, he could let it loose and not fear punishment for it.
“As for a safe haven…” Belmont pauses in thought, “I’ve been scanning the star maps for new trade routes lately. Coalition regulations forbade me from many of the planets, but that doesn’t matter now.” He walks to the large center Navi computer and the screen flashes to life with the Milky Way.
Clive looks at the image as icons started popping up. He notes one that looked like a treasure chest, pointing at some of the icons he asks, “Now what does a treasure chest, a parrot, and a book have to do with anything?”
“Nothing!” Belmont exclaims happily, pointing toward an icon of some creature Clive hadn’t seen before, he continues, “This icon is us. This leaf is where we cash in after pickups. It’s the Battistand system, the Coalition’s capital. And this one here,” he points to another star, “This here is the Serina system, that’s where I’m from, and where we deliver aid to the still struggling people. This one is the Alexandria system, the Republic's home. And halfway between Alexandria and my Serina is Earth…”
Belmont continues talking, but Clive stops listening as he thinks of Earth, That’s where my dad died… That worthless planet. The people who live there deserve their rotting homes. Then again, the reports said it was a band of pirates that blew the ship out of the sky. Clive only hated the pirates, but he usually just lumped everyone into the same group, it was easier that way. Clive then remembers Belmont was still talking, so he tries to piece together what he missed, which didn't seem like a lot.
“And this is a system called The Guft,” Belmont continues, he hadn't noticed Clive’s lapse in attention as he rattles off the facts he knew of the galaxy. He continues, “This of course was influenced by the indigenous Guft, which are pretty fun, once you get to know them. Very friendly, very helpful. Great company. Oh, and this one here, the pizza, that's where we picked up the cook, it’s called Frazia. Most everyone from there takes up cooking as their career. Four out of ten chefs are from there.”
“But where can we lay low for a while?” Clive asks, growing desperate, the amount of hostile systems was overwhelming. The Coalition keeps a firm grasp on every planet under its rule, and it seemed like they control just about the whole galaxy. Clive continues, “All the systems you shown us are Coalition, minus Alexandria.”
“That’s a good point,” Belmont says, still looking at his map. Then his eyes light up and he shouts, “I’ve got an idea!”
“Which is?” Clive asks, concerned.
“Let’s do this scientifically.” Belmont announces with a grin. He closes his eyes and flicks the map like a spinner of a child's game. The starmap blurs into a whirlpool of colors as it spins, Belmont waits several moments before he starts talking again, “And... we... will… go… Here!”
The Captain drops his finger near the border of Coalition and Alexandrian space, luckily on the Alexandrian side, and also only a few days’ warp away. He opens his eyes and peeks at the system he chose, “I hear there’s a must-see cantina there. At least, that’s what I hear from smugglers. They call the system Strehim.”
“That means refuge,” Clive says with a chuckle, remembering what his father had taught him of the Albanian language right before he died. He continues, “Let's go
there.”
“You’ve got it,” Belmont agrees with a smile.
At Clive’s order, Belmont's crew begins to turn the ship to their heading. Addressing the flight crew he orders, "Don't go straight to Strehim, we need to throw off any potential tails. Let's go to the Antrix system first. We will go to Allur, there’s almost no garrison there."
Clive knew that the Antrix system was close, but not so close that it would be checked by the Coalition before the closer systems were. He assumed they would be able to wait there two days before the Coalition visited, provided they hadn’t changed their protocols since he was brought in.
“Copy,” The man at the helm nods.
“Inform the escorts of our heading,” Clive continues.
“Roger,” A woman at the comm station replies before rattling off some coordinates into the microphone.
Clive notices the captain's comm receiver blink, and he accesses it, "Clive here,"
"Clive, we need you in the infirmary," Jenessa's voice beckons over the comm, "We have multiple casualties, Richardson is the worst off."
“Good for nothing planet,” Clive mutters under his breath as he races off to the infirmary. From what had had gathered from the little bit he heard over the comms during the battle, Richardson risked his life for some inmates. If this was true, Clive knew he owed the man at least an infirmary visit. He caught up to T and Apollo and orders them to make sure no one did anything fishy on the bridge in his absence. Following the occasional sign, Clive quickly works his way to the deck which houses the ship's infirmary. Halfway there, Clive sees a light flash red, and jumps into a seat that had swung out to the wall.
“Brace for jump to lightspeed,” Belmont’s voice calls over the ship’s comms.
Clive fastens his harnesses and holds on. He didn’t know just what kind of power the ship had at light speed, but if its sublight engines were any indication, he was in for a surprise. Seconds later he finds out just what kind of power the ship had as he sinks deep into the fairly firm seat. The light requesting him to sit switches off after several moments and he continues towards the infirmary. Working his way down a couple levels he finally sees the Med Bay. Here, several of Richardson's guards who are patrolling the halls greet him with a salute.
"You come to see Richardson?" One asks.
"Yes," Clive says, catching his breath, prison rations left a man with hardly enough energy to get the day's work done, much less escape the prison. The Coalition had spent years perfecting their starvation rations to get the maximum amount of work at the lowest cost.
"The doc says he'll live. He saved a few of your boys out there."
"That’s a relief. And I figured he did as much, may I enter?"
"Yes, yes. Go ahead."
"Thank you,"
Clive steps into the infirmary once the doorman made room for him to pass. Once inside he sees Richardson on the white surgery table in the center, face down. A man who appears to be a doctor probes inside of his back with some tweezers. Every wall is lined with various polished cabinets that reflected images of each other. Next to the doctor a table covered in various tools await their turn as the doctor works his magic. On the other side of Richardson stands Jenessa, who looks rather displeased with the doctor. Clive listens to the pained breathing of the man on the table who evidently was not drugged up for the operation. Clive stares dumbfounded at the deep, and plentiful scars crisscrossing Richardson's back. This isn't his first time he's been stitched up, Clive thinks, impressed. Jenessa looks up and gives Clive a nod of thanks for arriving so quickly.
"There you are," The doctor says as he triumphantly takes a splitter of a bullet out of Richardson. He adds it to one of the piles of bloodied shrapnel on a tray next to his tools. The doc then washes his hands and rummages through a drawer until he finds what he wanted: a knife, some bandages, some antiseptic, and a bag of dehydrated fruit. He pops the bag open, pouring some fruit into his mouth. Chewing loudly, the doc goes about dressing Richardson’s wounds. After a fairly short while he was finished, he had done a pretty good job.
Richardson sits up slowly, straining against the pain of multiple gunshot wounds, and also a little haphazardly, likely due to the strong sedatives which evidently were just now setting in. Once Richardson is sitting all the way up, he snatches the doctor’s remaining fruit while the man rifles through some files. He smiles mischievously as he finishes the bag, then places the emptied packet back before the odd doctor had a chance to catch him in the act. It seems Richardson was already blending in with the crew. Jenessa helps Richardson put on a new shirt, taking her time as to not cause the man any additional pain. Clive hands Richardson a new pair of pants, which he pulls on without too much issue.
"Thank you,” Clive finally says to Richardson, “I owe you one.”
“Owe me one?” Richardson presses, a twinkle in his eye as he continues, “You owe me two, I was shot twice!”
Clive laughs at Richardson’s remark as he thanks the doctor. Once he did, he, Jenessa, and Richardson all leave the infirmary, stopping just outside to watch the doctor as he turns to finish his snack. He picks up the packet, looking inside he frowns, scratching his beard in thought, he goes about searching for another unfinished bag. We may all be adults, but who doesn’t love a practical joke from time to time? Clive thinks as he stifles a laugh watching the doctor emerge from the infirmary with a new snack. When Richardson and Clive turn to leave, they see Jenessa disappear around a corner down the hall.
“So, who’s in charge around this place now?” Richardson asks.
“I believe I am,” Clive announces, as he starts down the hall. Richardson, who is limping, follows Clive closely, he is surprisingly spry for someone who had just gotten off the surgery table. Richardson had probably grown used to pain, with as many scars as the man had. They continue with their voices down, still unsure of how much they could trust the crew, “The captain followed my orders, as did his crew.”
“Now that just seems too easy. Aren’t you afraid we might get betrayed?”
“You checked him off as friendly, I owed you the benefit of the doubt.”
“You have him under watch up there though, right?”
“Yes, one of your guys and one of mine. I’m going to ask for a few more favors of him to see just how willing he is. There aren’t many people out here that are in it for free.”
“Well, I did try to give him a few of the diamonds you paid me with. I thought I could reimburse him for his generosity. He denied.”
“I see. Well, what do you think, should we trust him?”
“You’re the man in charge, it seems. I still trust him, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to keep an eye on the bridge and outgoing comms.”
“I see. Well, I will put you in charge of security, you keep an eye out for anything out of place, I need to tend to my people.” With that, Clive leaves Richardson and makes his way to the galley to assist the cook who is preparing a meal for nearly a hundred, starving people. He jogs down the halls, trying to recall the mental map he created of the freighter. He had spent many years on the streets after the Coalition threw him and his caretaker Lydia out of his family’s penthouse. Due to his life on the streets he learned how to map new areas quickly, and thoroughly. Moments later he found himself in a cloud of aromas. Real food, Clive thinks as his mouth waters.
Chicken, Clive identifies the main course, the door slides open in front of him, and Clive sees a creature with only one arm, where the other should have been there was a stub that serves the chef just as well. He had an orange/brown skin tone and eyes on either side of his massive, gecko-like head. He stands about seven feet tall and he was clearly the very talented cook the captain had claimed he was. The chef swings his head to-and-fro taking in the scene of everything before him, he doesn’t miss a beat as he notices Clive.
“Hello stranger,” He says in a deep, friendly voice. He tosses a large package of spice toward Clive, “Pour that into the pot on your left.”
“I’m the one called Franz,” The chef says patting Clive’s shoulder with his stub, “Who are you?”
“I’m Clive,”
“So, you’re the one in charge of all these escapees?”
“Yes… did they do anything?”
“No, no. I was just wondering if you would miss one…” He pulls a good-sized bone from the gravy, with a giant smile as he pulls the same prank on yet another person. Some jokes never get old to some, this was one of those.
Clive remains silent as a look of horror overcomes his face, but after taking a second look at the bone, he sees it isn't human. The entire crew was like one of those comedic families, definitely going to lock my door tonight, He thinks remembering the man from earlier that had rushed to the nearest head from the communal area with an array of drawings on his face, behind him two crewmembers were laughing with pens in their hands. He put on a straight face and says to Franz, “Of course not.”
Franz drops the bone, the smile disappearing from his face, he turns to Clive, “You serious?”
“Totally,” Deciding the joke had run its course, Clive reassures the cook, “No, I’m just kidding, I knew that wasn’t one of my people’s bones.”
They both laugh, Clive’s a newly found worry free laugh, and Franz’s a booming one. They continue preparing the meal in silence for several minutes when Clive suddenly asks, “So, what’s up with all the practical jokes?”
“The captain insists on it, ‘Keeping everyone on their toes’ is what he calls it.” Franz informs Clive as he continues cooking, “It also keeps us occupied for the long trips, scares off the cabin fever.”
“Oh,” Clive nods falling silent again. It seems Franz was done talking. The two continue cooking their massive meal for the many inmates who had been on starvation rations their whole time in the prison. Some had suffered for weeks, others for years, but everyone would feast like kings tonight. Clive knew they would all get sick from suddenly eating again, but he also knew they would enjoy their first meal of freedom. He would warn them not to overeat, but he knew that the warning would be disregarded. A good time almost always outweighs the consequences.