by Tristan Vick
With a toss of her long brown hair, she smiled at them both and asked, “What’s so funny?”
Both Danica and Lianica looked at each other and blushed. Lianica was the first to respond. “Nothing of importance, Your Grace.”
Jegra squinted at them both then let it go. “Right.” Turning on her heels, she beckoned them to keep up with her. “This way, ladies, if you’d be so kind.”
The entrance to the shuttle bay parted and Jegra strode across the flight deck to her shuttle craft. Both Lianica and Danica climbed into the strange, five-point light fighters, which looked like skewed stars drawn by a child rather than combat spacecraft.
As strange as they appeared aesthetically, however, being Dagon fighters meant they were armed to the teeth with far more firepower than any other vessel their size. Jegra knew that having them as an escort would send Novac Tamoran a clear message not to mess with her.
Jegra climbed into her shuttle, settled into her seat, and looked out her view portal at Dani and Lianica, who were settling into their cockpits. Tapping her controls, she shut the clamshell doors and then brought the main engines online. The ship’s system hummed to life and the blue repulsor beam droned with a deep pulse that sounded like a washing machine undulating a rinse cycle, but instead of tossing around clothes, it tossed around particles and created a blue static-bubble which enabled the ship to lift off the flight deck.
Her fingers danced across a various assortment of colored buttons, red, yellow, orange and green, all of the blinking in response to her touch. The maneuvering thrusters ignited with small two-second bursts, and the shuttle gradually turned toward the inner wall of the ship’s hull.
Using a new technology they’d acquired, the ship’s hull melted away, as if made of liquid metal, and revealed the open expanse of space to her. Jegra tapped the controls again, her shuttle’s primary thrusters came on, and the small white vessel shot out of the hangar and into open space.
Both fighters, distinctive in their five-pronged design, trailed closely behind the empress’s shuttle. Once they were fully away, both fighters took the typical escort flight pattern and buzzed Tamoran’s clunky freighter that hung before them like a massive, angular, deformed shark.
Accompanying either side of Jegra’s shuttle, her wingmen let off a few warning blasts at the giant pirate ship. Green bolts of energy streaked across Tamoran’s bow, practically singeing it, alerting him to their presence, and to the fact that the Empress wasn’t arriving unarmed.
The energy bolts flew past Novac Tamoran’s ship, nearly scorching his paint off, they passed so close, and then continued off into the blackness of space. Eventually their energy would dissipate as entropy sucked the life out of the plasma bolts, but that’s why disruptors only really worked in close combat. Laser canons worked a little better at long distances; their controlled beams were continuously fed power from the ship. But only battle cruisers had enough power to charge super massive lasers required to do any serious damage. And, of course, there were high yield missiles for those medium range attacks where disruptors weren’t enough but super lasers were overkill.
Jegra received a communications hail from Tamoran’s vessel and brought up the audio. “This is the Empress of Dagon,” she started, not giving the caller a chance to speak first. “I’m en route to your ship. You will permit me to board or be destroyed.”
“Why of course, your grace,” Tamoran’s voice replied in a glib tone, the comm crackled softly, signifying the fact that his technology was rather dated. “I welcome you aboard with open arms.”
Jegra tapped the button and cut the chatter and then sent out an encoded message to both fighters. It simply read, “Keep company until mission complete.’” Two WILCOs came across the monitor in reply.
Jegra slowed her craft to docking speed and hovered in front of the pirate vessel’s large hangar doors, which opened with a clunky, aggravating slowness. Their heavier-than-usual weight meant that Tamoran had reinforced the entire ship’s hull with extra plating to shield it from disruptor fire. She imagined it could take a heavy beating, if need be.
Once the hangar doors were fully retracted, she brought her ship inside and looked for a place to set down. Unlike her brand new, clinically clean vessel, Tamoran’s landing bay looked like a veritable salvage dump of spare parts and random junk. Finding a place to set down proved to be a bigger challenge than she had anticipated.
As the hangar doors began to close again, she saw both fighters streak past the gradually narrowing opening as they ran circles around Tamoran’s vessel. Buzzing around the ship like a couple of menacing wasps, the fighters acted as a quaint reminder that should he try anything disreputable, he’d be shot out of the sky and turned into the same type of space debris that littered his landing bay floor.
Eventually, she found an opening large enough to accommodate her craft and set the shuttle down on the landing pad. The retractable landing arms of the craft unfolded just in time, and the ship landed with a soft clank. The hydraulic limbs whined with resistance as the ship sank down then was pushed upright again as the ship automatically steadied itself. After locking into position, the hydraulics decompressed, letting out a hiss of air, and no sooner had the air settled than the clamshell doors swooped open and Jegra stepped out.
She did a quick scan of the hangar, searching for hidden threats, but found it was empty. Not so much as a greeting party to meet her; she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign.
She shrugged and pinched the form-fitting dress at her hips, giving it a firm jerk to stretch out any wrinkles that may have formed when she crouched under the clamshell door, and stepped down on the three retractable stairs as she came onto Tamoran’s ship. Straightening her posture, she pushed out her chest and glanced around the room one more time just to be on the safe side.
She imagined Tamoran was playing it safe. He knew what she wanted, and he wasn’t going to get in her way. Then again, with a man as unscrupulous as Novac Tamoran, it was sometimes hard to tell when he was being cunning or when his cowardice simply compelled him to act in his best interests. He could, after all, simply be biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
She headed to the entrance and stepped through the large sliding doors that led out into the corridor. Once inside the long, branching veins of the ship’s anatomy, she tapped the bracelet on her wrist and brought up a holographic display of the ship’s technical blueprints; the display itself also happened to be blue.
With her free hand, she stuck her fingers into the projection and spread them wide. Cutaways of the ship’s interior decks incrementally spread apart and hung suspended in midair. She briefly studied the layout of the ship and then reached in and pinched one of the sections as though she were reaching into a dealer’s deck to pull out a card. As she brought the selected layer to the top, the remaining layers folded back up and vanished from the projection. The main cut-out contained a blinking red dot that signified the location of Emperor Dakroth.
[*Genetic signature identified*] the computer voice chirped from her smart-bracelet. She double tapped the blinking red dot and then a thin green line traced its way through the blueprints of the corridors, highlighting for her the quickest path to the emperor’s location.
“I’m coming, darling dearest,” she said in a dry and scathing tone. She still hadn’t forgiven him for the death of Abethca, and for what he’d done to Dani. If anything, he was lucky she wasn’t coming here to finish him off. And even though he deserved a less than merciful death for his crimes, she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer like him. Although, there was no denying the fact that she was a killer.
But, even as life in the arena had hardened her and taught her to survive, it had also taught her honor. Something Dakroth knew little of. Of all the alien life she’d encountered, with all their various customs and cultures, Dakroth was, by far, the least honorable man she knew. And although he’d likely take that as a compliment, she wasn’t here to set him straight
. She was here to fulfill her duty as Empress and Protector of the Lord Emperor. Once she had fulfilled her obligation, however, as far as anyone was concerned, she was through with him.
Jegra navigated her way through the corridors, following the projection until she arrived at the brig. Standing in front of the doors, she twisted her bracelet and the hologram flicked briefly and then cut out. She took in a deep breath, puffed up her chest, and said to herself in a hushed tone, “Here goes nothing.”
The doors slid apart to reveal Dakroth lounging on his cot behind a light blue, glowing security forcefield. He had his cheek perched on one palm of a bent arm, propping his head up as though he was expecting her. If not her, then someone else; a concubine, perhaps. Or that red-headed cunt, Ishtar Bantu.
“It took you long enough, my dear,” he said with a less than appreciative smile. It slid off his face as easily as it had slid on, and she merely glowered at him.
“Be glad I came at all.”
Dakroth pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. Steepling his fingers in front of him, his elbows planted on his knees, he leaned forward and pressed his fingertips against his chin in contemplation. His eyes lingered on her and then another grin appeared, harder to read this time, but what she assumed could only be amusement settled onto his pursed lips. “And yet here you are.”
Miffed at his nonchalance and lack of gratitude for her coming to rescue him, Jegra stormed up to the control panel on the wall and smashed her fist against it so hard the metal plating of the panel caved in and sparks shot out irritably as the circuitry hissed with great protestation at its mistreatment.
The damage done, the containment cell’s energy shield flicked indiscriminately and then fell away.
“Where are your clothes?” Jegra asked, eyeing Dakroth’s mostly naked blue body from head to toe. He only had on a loincloth made from a Candorian cotton mesh, which was just translucent enough to reveal the outline and contour of Dakroth’s groin.
Catching her eyeing his junk, he walked past her and said, “Come along, wife. We don’t have time for any lovemaking.”
Disgusted at the mere thought, Jegra scoffed and turned to protest. “I wasn’t thinking about…I was merely….Gah! You’re infuriating.” She threw up her hands and gave up, feeling the very attempt to correct him was a futile endeavor, and then turned and followed Dakroth from the brig and out into the corridor.
With vigor in his step, he strode confidently down the corridor in the wrong direction. Jegra cleared her throat and poked a thumb over her shoulder. “This way, Your Majesty.”
“Right,” Dakroth replied, quickly came about, and marched on in the correct direction, once again taking the lead.
“By all means, after you,” Jegra said with a full helping of sarcasm. She even gestured for him to go on even though he was already well ahead of her.
After a few moments, they returned to the hangar and the doors slid open. They entered the shuttle bay to find Novac Tamoran waiting for them along with Ishtar Bantu and an entire security contingent armed with blasters.
“Now, now, my dear. You didn’t really think you could just welcome yourself aboard, break out my prisoner, and take off without paying a price, now, did you?”
“And what price would that be?” Jegra asked, raising one eyebrow yet keeping her voice calm and steady.
“What is the Lord of the Galaxy worth to you?” Tamoran asked with a sneer. He could full well sense the tension between her and Lord Dakroth and plucked her strings like a master manipulator testing to see which one might snap. After a long pause, he added, “I’m perfectly happy to let you both go, of course. But I believe Emperor Dakroth and I have an agreement. Isn’t that right, Your Majesty?”
Jegra looked at Dakroth, who shrugged. “What’s he talking about?” she demanded to know.
“As payment for handing me safely over to you, he wants his own battlecruiser.”
“And let me guess…to save your own skin you promised it to him.”
Dakroth waved his hands about defensively. “At the time I really didn’t have much of a choice. How was I supposed to know you’d come for me? For an entire year you’ve ignored my calls and dodged my advances.”
Jegra balked. “Well, whose fault is that?!”
“Come, darling. Let’s not be so emotional.”
Slowly, Jegra clenched her fist. Her whitened knuckles automatically popped from the strain of her own strength. “I’ll show you emotional,” she growled through gritted teeth. This gesture caused Dakroth to bite his tongue and take a cautious step away from her.
Eyeing him once more to make sure he stayed in his place, Jegra turned and marched up to Tamoran. The security detail raised their weapons and trained them on her, but Tamoran simply raised a hand, gesturing to them that it was unnecessary, and they lowered them again.
Stepping up to him so that they were nose to nose, Jegra said, “Fine. You’ll get your battlecruiser. Anything else you want to run by me before we get off this filthy rust-bucket?”
He took a deep breath and brushed down his flowing, leather jacket. “My associate here,” he added, nodding his head at Ishtar Bantu, “would like something in return as well. And seeing as I’m indebted to her for saving my life on more than one occasion, I promised her she could have anything she wanted. Anything.”
It was the final “anything,” with the stressed inflection, that unnerved Jegra. She turned and glared at Ishtar Bantu, who merely grinned at her, the ends of her mouth curled up maliciously.
“And what would that be, precisely?” Jegra asked, not breaking eye-contact with her sworn enemy–the woman who had killed Abethca, Ellia, and who had left Jegra bleeding out on the hangar deck of the Nyctan battle cruiser after a vicious attack on her life.
“She wants a rematch with you. Mano a mano, no holds barred. To the death!” Tamoran announced in a gleeful manner. She could picture him rubbing his hands together in excited anticipation of the prospect of an all-female death match.
“Is that all?” Jegra asked, turning the question to Ishtar.
“No,” the red-skinned woman replied. Looking down she slid the palm of her hand across her stomach and let it rest on the lower abdomen. “I also want you to let me keep our baby.”
“Our baby?” Jegra squinted at Ishtar as she tried to decipher her meaning. “Whose baby?” That’s when it dawned on her. The videogram she’d received aboard the Shard. The way Ishtar looked into the camera as though she were looking into Jegra’s eyes just to spite her.
She did a double take between Dakroth and Ishtar and then huffed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jegra spun around and shot Dakroth a furious look. “I’m sure you and your deranged mistress will be happy together raising the perfect little sociopath.”
“It’s not what you think. She seduced me and…”
“And you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Oh, I know all too well about your womanizing ways, dear husband.”
“You sound jealous,” Ishtar remarked, the sneer on her face tightening with malicious delight as she watched the sting of the news prick at Jegra’s emotional heartstrings.
“No,” Jegra answered. “Just disappointed that he’d stick his dick in that festering radioactive garbage heap that is your cunt.”
The insult did little to wipe the smile off Ishtar’s face, which peeved Jegra even more.
Although her relationship with Dakroth was a strained love-hate kind of affair, she had assumed that he had at least the same amount of feeling for her as she had for him. But, apparently, she was mistaken.
She shot Ishtar a cold, hard gaze. “You do realize, Red, the emperor cannot allow an illegitimate heir to the throne. Which means that abomination you call a child is as good as dead.”
Ishtar chuckled from deep inside her throat and the sound came out her nose in a nasally, almost mocking sort of way. “Oh, my dear Jegra. You really are clueless, aren’t you?”
Jegra didn’t know what she me
ant by that, but noticed the atmosphere in the room shift to something more hostile. A tensing in body language. A change in posture. A cold calm fell over everyone, the kind of calm you experience in sporting competitions as you wait for the gun to go off or the whistle to sound. Everything slows incrementally and then one’s focus becomes razor sharp. It was like that.
She took a step back from the red-skinned woman and scanned the faces in the room, feeling in her gut something was about to go down. Finally, she settled on Dakroth, who slowly drew away from her as though she were marked by the plague.
“My dear Jegra,” Dakroth said with a sinister grin. “I’m afraid our relationship has been what one might call bittersweet. But Ishtar has talked some sense into me.”
Jegra laughed out loud. She caught herself mid chuckle and forced herself back to seriousness and the quietude that accompanied it.
“You’re a loose cannon,” he went on. “Unpredictable. Emotional. Volatile. And I can’t have you being a thorn in my backside for the rest of, well, whatever this is,” he said, wagging a finger between the two of them. “Which is why I regret to inform you, my dear, I am requesting a separation.”
“A separation? Why not just divorce me if I’m such a pain in your backside?”
“Because,” Dakroth growled through a clamped jaw and a strained grin, “an emperor must sign off on a divorce. But a separation? Well, that’s all on you.”
“So, you need a scapegoat. Someone to blame for it not working out, other than yourself.”
“You guessed it in one.”
“Typical,” she replied with sunken eyes that flamed red hot with the rage of a woman scorned.
Ishtar let out an annoyingly perfectly timed laugh and redirected Jegra’s attention back to her. She brushed her lip with her thumb as though she had just finished eating a delectable, creamy desert and grinned coyly at Jegra.
“What’s so funny?” Jegra leered at Ishtar, waiting for her to explain herself.
“Oh, nothing,” she said dismissively. Then, pulling out a blade from behind her back, she held it out and pointed it at Jegra. “Now, Your Majesty, how about we finish what we started at The Cove when you sucker-punched me and threw me off that ledge. Just you and me. Here and now.”