by Welch, David
“Striped lady, this man get you killed,” he warned.
Chakrika said nothing, just looked to the ground. The bartender pocketed the coin.
“City center, a brick building on the north side of the park. Red, covered in moss. There won’t be a sign,” he said and turned away.
They left the bar and the beer, getting back into the pickup truck. It buzzed to life as the inevitable rain began to fall. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Well, he was a charming guy,” remarked Rex as they drove.
Chakrika looked deep in thought, as if she didn’t hear him.
“Worried I will get you killed?” Rex asked.
“Yes. What if this ‘ambassador’ tells you nothing? Do you plan to actually go to this space, even with all the stories?” Chakrika asked.
“Probably finish crossing the quarter and do some trading with Achaea, see if these stories are real or just campfire tales,” he explained. “I’ll let you and Lucius know long before I go in so you can get off.”
“We get off and we lose eighty years of life,” she spoke. “You give us a taste and then dump us. Cruel.”
“I suppose. But if entering this ‘ambassador’s’ space will get you killed, would you rather have the fifty more years of life you could have expected a month ago, or get blown up thinking you’ll live another century?”
She thought this over, but did not answer. The storm continued as they pulled into the city center. Thunder roared again as they circled a large park. A dozen towering fig trees, at least a hundred feet tall, rose from a meticulously mowed lawn. Parrots and other colorful birds feasted on their fruit, freshly dropped to the manicured grounds below. Surrounding the park were buildings of grey concrete, covered in vines. More monkeys, also eating the figs, camped out on the roofs. One thin row-house stuck out. It was made of deep-red brick, half-hidden in vibrant green moss and running tangles of vine. It seemed the only man-made splash of color in the city.
“That’s the one,” he said, pointing. The thunder roared again. Then the ground shook.
“Was that the thunder?” asked Chakrika.
“Felt like a tiny earthquake,” Rex noted.
Another roar, this one followed by an explosion. The red brick building erupted in a billow of flame. Explosions rippled down the city center as bombs rained down.
“Shit!” Rex said, slamming on the brakes. A chunk of brick wall smashed into the pavement mere feet from his truck, sending a wash of pulverized concrete onto his windshield. He maneuvered around, driving as close as he could to the wreckage of the building, then stopped.
“What are you doing?! We have to get back to the ship!” Chakrika screamed. The far side of the park exploded in flame. The roar of engines, so very like the thunder of the growing storm, filled the air. Small craft zipped in and out of angry gray clouds. Tiny black ovals fell from them, bombs dropping randomly into the city.
“Come on, quickly!” he snapped.
Chakrika unstrapped herself and jumped from the truck. Fire leapt up on all sides of them as building after building exploded. Debris and concrete hurdled through the park, smashing limbs from the fig trees and scattering dozens of terrified birds. People screamed and ran from the burning structures. The monkey troops followed them, screeching in terror.
They reached the rubble of the brick building. Paper and furniture burned despite the rain. The upper floors had collapsed, leaving a rubble pile of splintered wood and bent metal.
Sticking out from the pile was a human torso, male. Rex rushed up, ignoring the pounding rain drenching his clothing. The body lay motionless, a thick, steel I-beam crushing the chest.
“Our guy,” Rex said. “Get him out from under here.”
“What? Are you taking the—”
“Sooner he’s in the truck, the sooner we’ll get back to the ship and off this damn planet!” Rex roared.
Intimidated into action, Chakrika started shoveling rain-slick debris off the dead man with her hands. Rex grasped the I-beam with both arms, throwing his weight behind it. The beam resisted, then broke free abruptly, sending Rex sprawling forward into the debris. Grumbling, he got to his feet. He brushed bits of ruined brick from his pants and then scurried back to the corpse.
Something stirred. He didn’t hear it; it was impossible to hear anything over the rippling explosions engulfing the city—he saw it. From under a wrecked patch of drywall, a figure emerged. A woman.
Chakrika noticed his stare and turned to look. Out from the rubble stood a tan-skinned woman with platinum blond hair, pasted to the side of her head from downpour. Her clothes clung to her skin from rain and from blood. She was banged up and cut, but otherwise unharmed. She saw them and rushed over to their sides. Without a word she began digging out the body.
An explosion erupted in the park. They crouched low, a hail of debris flying over them. Bits of smashed concrete pelted Rex in the back. He grasped the body around the chest and hauled it free. Chakrika ran ahead of him, opening the tail-gate of the truck. The strange blond woman followed like an obedient puppy, her eyes never leaving the body.
Rex muscled the body into the back, slammed the gate shut, and rushed to the driver’s side. Chakrika was already in the car and strapped in. Rex paused, squinting at something in the distance. One of the small ships had pulled into a hover over a nearby street. People ran terrified down the road. A black net shot from the ship, entangling a half-dozen people. The net closed in on itself and then jerked skyward. A cable retracted the net and the screaming people inside toward the hovering ship above. The reality of the situation dawned.
“Slavers!” Rex shouted, jumping into the truck. He gunned the engine, accelerating down the street. Chakrika put her window down, sticking her head out to look.
“There’s one after us!” she screamed.
He heard her gun fire. She shot helplessly at the pursuing ship with her pistol. Rex hit the accelerator, pulling away as a steel net struck the ground behind them. Through his rearview he could see the empty net retracting.
“God damn it,” he swore, jerking left. The maneuver banged Chakrika’s torso against the window frame. She yelped in pain and ducked back into the car.
“No problem shooting that thing now, eh?” Rex quipped as he swerved right. The pursuing fighter overshot.
“Can we get to the ship?!” Chakrika exclaimed, hyperventilating.
“I don’t know,” he replied, slamming on his brakes. Their attacker overshot, his net landing in a pile of rubble five yards ahead of them.
“Tell me we’re getting to the ship!” she screamed as he accelerated the truck forward. They shot under the retracting net, racing toward the spaceport.
“Damn it, tell me!” Chakrika bellowed, tears streaming down her face.
“OK, we’re gonna be just fine,” Rex dead-panned. He could see the spaceport’s terminal just ahead. Tracers shot upward, the spaceport bristling with defenses. A downed slaver ship burned in the parking lot, crushing a dozen cars beneath its weight. Their pursuer broke off, heading back to the city for easier targets. Rex maneuvered through the pads until he could see Long Haul. He drove onto the pad, up the door ramps, and into the cargo bay. Nearby two more slaver ships burned, riddled with holes. His gunner had been busy.
Jumping out of the truck, they ran around back. Chakrika’s face was a mask of tears, but she kept going with impressive resolve. They opened the tail gate. There waited the body.
And the woman who’d helped them dig it up. She huddled beside the corpse, clinging to it.
“What the hell?” Rex asked. He grabbed the foot of the corpse and pulled. The woman didn’t release her grip. Rex pulled one of his guns and aimed it at her head.
“Let go,” he demanded.
“This second cannot,” she replied in a melodious, feminine tone.
“Well we’re taking him,” Rex replied. “So either get out of the way or help!”
This apparently didn’t cause her any conflict. She jump
ed out of the truck-bed and grabbed his other foot. Chakrika stared, astonished, as the two pulled the body out.
Lucius appeared at the top of the stairs, an assault rifle over his shoulder. He slid down the ladder and moved up beside them.
“Had to borrow it,” he said, motioning to the gun. “Why do we have a corpse?”
“This is the guy we were looking for,” Rex said, dragging it into the bay. Chakrika dashed in behind them. Rex turned to the strange woman.
“We’re leaving this planet. If you want to go, now is the time,” he spoke.
“This second cannot leave this Master,” she replied with a curt nod.
“Who is she?” Lucius asked, hands tightening on the gun.
“I have no fucking idea. Give Chaki the gun and get to the bridge,” replied Rex, running for the ladder. “Close the doors!”
The computer complied. Lucius handed off the gun and followed. They rushed up the stairs and through the hallway, past the makeshift crib where Quintus lay crying. On the bridge they skidded into their stations. Rex jammed the vertical control forward before he had even sat down.
The ship shook as it rose, buffeted by the winds of the storm. Faint sounds echoing through the ship, barely audible over the steady sound of rain hitting the hull, told him the turrets were firing. A slaver craft streaked in front of them, pursued by ground fire. Orange tracer streaks shot ahead of them. Rex rotated the ship upward and punched the accelerator. They were pressed back into their seats as the ship rocketed away.
“Got a bugger tailing us,” informed Lucius. “I’ve got him.”
He squeezed his trigger. Thirty millimeter rounds shot out of the rear turret, the first dozen ripping past the pursuing ship as it barrel-rolled to avoid fire. Lucius squeezed again. This bunch hit, tearing through the front of the vessel and filling the insides with fire and ricocheting shrapnel. The craft exploded, the sound muffled by the thinning air. As it plummeted back to Cordelia, Long Haul broke free of the atmosphere, entering the blackness of the void.
A battle spun around them, the local Hastav fighters firing at slaver ships, each side blasting the other in a deadly, swirling dance. Rex paid little attention to them. Something else posed a greater threat.
Directly in front of them sat a ship twice the size of his own, the slaver mothership. A six hundred-foot rectangular ship studded with circular protrusions, antennae, and rear-mounted engine nacelles, it was clearly not designed to be a warship. But it moved to intercept anyway, slowly, firing its forward guns. Rounds streaked soundlessly at them, tearing into his armor. Muffled thumps reverberated through the ship as they hit.
“Twenty millimeter rounds are impacting our dorsal bow,” the computer stated.
Rex twitched his left foot to the left, sending the ship into a counter-clockwise spin. It shot forward, toward the mothership.
“Line me up with their engines!” Lucius shouted.
Rex twitched the ship to the left, continuing the barrel roll. The thumping sound slackened as the roll took them out of the path of many of the incoming rounds. On the viewscreen the targeting reticule aligned just forward of the slavers’ engine exhaust. Lucius squeezed the trigger.
Long Haul’s forward guns blasted away. The pulse cannon streaked out a dozen shots in as many seconds, white blasts leaping out at near the speed of light. Tracers from the thirty mils cut five converging lines through space. They tore into the engine compartments, blasting a hole through the ship’s thin hull. Explosions rippled within as the engines came apart.
Rex pushed Long Haul above the slaver ship, rotating the bow downward as he sailed past to keep Lucius’s fire on target. The guns poured it on, raking fire across the top of the ship, then punching into a second engine. Explosions billowed out through the breaches, dying off as they reached space. The rear of the slaver mothership broke free, hurtling off toward the planet below. Oxygen, debris, and slavers were sucked out of the front of the ship, into the vacuum.
“Jump drive status?” demanded Rex.
“Powered and ready. We are too close to the system’s star for a jump,” the computer replied.
“Set course for the nearest possible jump position. Max speed.”
“Course set,” the ship replied.
Lucius leaned back in his seat.
“What in Hades was all that?” he asked.
“Slavers,” spat Rex. “At least today they are. Tomorrow they could be pirates or warlords or whatever the fuck nasty thing they think up. If we hadn’t blown them up, that is.”
“Flexible in their evil,” Lucius spoke. “You were fortunate to get back.”
Rex nodded, a cynical part of his mind wondering if the Europan meant that he had been fortunate to get Chakrika back.
“Yeah,” Rex said. ”You may want to go talk to Chaki. She seemed pretty shook up.”
“Slave raiders have that effect on a person. Additionally, she and I are not involved,” Lucius replied, the last words as empty as the space around them.
Rex smirked and shook his head.
“Well, that may be. But this seemed different than your garden variety fear of imminent death. She could probably use some companionship,” Rex replied. “Besides, I have to figure out who our new guest is.”
* * *
“Six hours until jump,” Rex announced, entering the cargo bay. Chakrika had the assault rifle pointed at the strange woman, who knelt, statue-still, beside the corpse.
“What do we do with her?” Chakrika asked, the gun shaking as her hands shook nervously.
“Damned if I know,” Rex said as he descended the stairway. At the bottom he walked over and took the gun from her.
“Go check on Quintus,” he suggested. “You know Lucius has no clue when that kid is wet or not.”
Dried tears had traced red paths down her face, slightly darker than her skin. She nodded weakly. Rex chided himself silently for putting her life in danger, even though he didn’t see any other way he could have safely identified their man. He heard her feet on the ladder as he turned to face his newest passenger.
“And who are you?” he asked.
She got to her feet, but stood so immobile that she still reminded him of a statue.
“This servant is second to this Master.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“This servant is second to—”
“The Master, yeah, heard that. What is your name?” Rex pressed.
“This servant’s designation is Second,” she replied.
“Second, right,” Rex said with a roll of his eyes, “And you worked with this man?”
He nudged the corpse with his foot.
“This servant was assigned to service him in his duties.”
“As Ambassador,” Rex prodded.
“That was his chosen assignment. This servant was made to service him in these capacities.”
Rex cocked his head.
“Wait, you were made?”
“This line is designed to possess linguistic knowledge to serve the ambassador in his duties among the primitives.”
Rex nodded aimlessly at this and scratched his head. He decided to try a different track.
“Your Master is dead. What do you intend to do now?”
Her head turned to face him, confusion evident on her face.
“This servant does not understand.”
“What are you going to do?” Rex spoke. “He’s dead, and you’re on my ship.”
“This second will remain at the side of the ambassador,” she spoke.
“Even though he is dead?”
More incomprehension.
“You’re an odd duck,” said Rex.
“This body is not a duck,” she replied.
“Clearly,” he spoke, examining her. Whatever was wrong with this woman clearly was in her head. Her body seemed almost too perfect to be real. She stood nearly six feet tall, with long legs, full hips, and the type of breasts that usually screamed “artificial tissue enhan
cement.” There wasn’t the slightest indication of paunch to her stomach. In fact there didn’t seem to be too much body fat anywhere but in places the opposite gender would find attractive. Her face was delicately formed, with full, pouty lips, high cheek-bones, and deep, almond-shaped, lavender eyes. He almost believed that she had been made, since she resembled what many men would consider a perfect woman, physically at least.
“If you stay on this ship, you will obey my commands,” he spoke. “Crew or not. I can drop you at the next world.”
“This second will stay with the Master. She is bound to his will,” she replied.
“Sure, bound to his will,” Rex muttered. He sighed, figuring it was no use trying to get a logical answer out of the woman. He said, “See, he’s dead, and I possess his body. As you are bound to him, and I possess him, you are, via transfer of ownership of his body from himself to me, bound to me.”
She looked down at the corpse, thinking.
“This servant acknowledges that you posses that body of the Master. She is bound to serve your will,” she replied.
“Great,” he said, pushing away naughty male thoughts about what that last sentence might entail. “One more thing, do you understand pronouns?”
“This servant does.”
“Can you use the pronoun ‘I’?”
“This servant can,” she replied.
“Then try that. All this ‘this servant’ stuff sounds strange,” he replied.
“I will honor your will,” she spoke.
“Good. Now, before I haul this guy up, is there anything you’d like us to call you?” he asked, hoping against hope that she might answer differently this time.
“I am second to this Master,” she replied in her emotionless way.
“Great. Second. Can’t wait to meet Twenty-Seventh,” he quipped, moving to a hoist on the starboard side of the cargo bay. Chains hung from a pulley mounted on a track on the ceiling, next to the upper catwalk. Grabbing both chains, he pulled the hoist over to the body. He wrapped two chains around the corpse, grabbed the other side of the pulley, and heaved. Slowly but surely, the body rose. When it reached the top, he tied the chain off on a strut. Second sat there watching, her eyes glued to the corpse.