Constellation (Blood Empire Book 1)

by Robert Scanlon

  I see bared red teeth everywhere as they turn as one and advance towards me. I draw the gang’s attention by stopping and raising both of my arms. One of which terminates in a metran-gloved hand holding a neuroblaster, the other a somewhat-illegal—okay, highly illegal—laserSword. Perhaps not quite as deadly as Papa’s EMP-slug-equipped version my brother, Mitch, had stolen from somewhere on this very planet a while back.

  To a gang of street-armed Rykkan thugs, deadly versus very-deadly might not be worth much thought.

  But it is worth a fight. Their ringleader clearly sees an opportunity to lay his hands on an illegal weapon as a far more attractive proposition than a female Rykkan. Maybe he assumes he would be able to return to his prey later. Assume away.

  Now it is me they are circling.

  I have a sudden attack of clarity. What am I doing? This was meant to have been a low-profile trip to the supply—

  My thoughts are derailed when the leader lunges at me and actually lands the laserwhip on my leg. I’d forgotten how fast the hi-grav reflexes of a Rykkan could be. My metran suit deflects any damage, though my leg still takes enough of a shock to make me wince.

  I don’t wait to see what else eventuates, instead I take advantage of my gravSuit’s stabilizer and I squat and twirl on the spot. My MMA training tries to kick in, but this is hi-grav suit brawling and I have to force myself to override my instincts. Firepower is the name of the game here.

  I extend my arms, fire the neuroblaster with one, and thrust out the laserSword with the other. Both are set to high-impact damage, not pure-death, and cut heavily across most of the circle of thugs.

  They’d underestimated my longer, skinnier arms, and half of them topple in my first spin.

  By the second revolution a further five run away. The ringleader is angry, his head bobbing and swiveling. Three burly, scarred street veterans remain with him.

  They stand back, then spread out and flank me on all sides.

  I change the laserSword setting to “cut” and advance on the ringleader. I figure without the gang’s head, the body won’t function. He actually runs at me—damn those reflexes—and I jerk my laserSword up in defense. But I don’t adjust for the gravSuit’s servomotors and I trip backwards, just as the leader reaches me.

  Rather than the threat of my sword making him stop, it is now slicing up through the air, and I take his arm off at the shoulder.

  He falls to his knees in shock, staring at his detached limb on the ground in front of him.

  My adrenaline is peaking. I use it to rush—as best as my gravSuit allows—at the remaining thugs, who turn and run, jabbering loudly in Rykkan.

  I stop and catch my breath. The Rykkan female, who to my untrained eyes appears a little older than her would-be captors, stares at me, her head vibrating in shock.

  I walk up to her, ignoring the badly-injured thug bleeding heavily behind me, and she flinches backward. Oh jeepers, she’s afraid of me.

  I stop again, and this time I raise my helmet visor, squat down to her level, and smile.

  “It’s okay. It’s safe to leave. Can I take you somewhere?” Of course I have zero idea if she understands Galactic, but I’m hoping my tone and body language convey the message anyway.

  I also have no idea if my unipod will squeeze a big-boned, bulky-but-short Rykkan in the collapsible emergency seat, but I assume the language barrier means this is never going to happen.

  The Rykkan female bows. Actually bows. Not like the Rykkan Chief’s stiff trade-off, but a hinge forward from her hips. I’m guessing a full curtsy is only possible in a lower-gravity environment, but nonetheless, it’s impressive.

  She remains bowed. I am unsure of what to do. “Er, please be standing,” I say stupidly.

  She stands straight and looks me in the eye. “Please, no need to bend down or be feeling stupid,” she says in perfect Galactic. “A plan of exit would be the most appropriate action.” She points to the road.

  The steady stream of traffic is at a standstill, and all manner of occupants are gawking from their vehicles. The neuro’d thugs start to pick themselves up and shamble away. Their leader is left semi-conscious in a pool of dark Rykkan blood.

  I switch my attention back to my new-found friend. “Follow me,” I say.

  Papa taught me to press my advantage in any situation, though I wasn’t always the good student my brother was. This occasion requires me to continue to be the unknown, feared force.

  I slap my visor back down, though not before I catch the ringleader blinking in and out of consciousness and staring at my face. He groans and his head slumps to one side.

  I walk past him, my new Rykkan friend tagging behind.

  “He has 35% chance to live,” observes my erstwhile victim in the flat tone typical of most Galactic-speaking Rykkans.

  I stop and pause. Then turn and pace back to the injured thug. I peel open one of the gravSuit’s pocketflaps and pull out a supersized medpatch. I reach down and slap it onto the ringleader’s bleeding stump, where the patch attaches itself and conforms to the shape of the wound. I wait briefly to ensure the bleeding abates.

  “Now he has 85%. With self-repair, he will live.”

  Movement in my peripheral vision makes me look up. The crowd of voyeurs is growing in size and excitement. Maybe they don’t see me as a threat anymore, now that I’m apparently acting as a paramedic. Some are now inching forward, eyes bright for a closer glimpse at the spectacle.

  Great. Don’t attract any attention, Indy.

  Time to be fearsome again.

  I lunge forward to the crowd and wave my blaster and laserSword in the direction of the stopped traffic. Those already in their pods or hovers accelerate away; the others take a moment to absorb that they might be my newly acquired target before jumping back into their vehicles and speeding off.

  I walk over and open my pod’s rear gullwing. One punch and the emergency seat emerges from under a hidden panel. I look over at the Rykkan, doubtful she will fit.

  “My name is Aktip,” she says. “Do not worry, I will squash.”

  I can see I’ll have to learn some new skills. Five visits to Rykkamon and I still don’t grasp just how much a human gives away to the Rykkan sensing capability.

  I tell Aktip I am “Indy,” and I close the rear gullwing on Aktip’s squashed-in form and head around to climb back into the pod.

  I wonder just how much I unwittingly gave away to the Rykkan Chief. I realize I hadn’t emphasized to Jordi exactly how tight-lipped he needed to be. Which, to be honest, for Jordi, is impossible. He talks a lot.

  A voice from behind me startles me and I’m brought back to reality. My adrenalin is fading and I need to focus. What is she saying?

  “You are having foggy-ness. Suggest continuing one block forward, then I will direct you to a safe place. For both of us. The storm comes very soon now.”

  I peer out of the clear bubble. Even with my visor down, I see Aktip is right. Darkness is falling earlier than usual, and there is only one reason: tornadoes. I’ve never been on Rykkamon in storm season. “How bad does it get?”

  “If outside, is 90% chance of fatality.”

  “So this safe place is inside then?”

  The Rykkan laughs, more like a gurgle. I’m surprised at her quick recovery. “Do humans always doubt?”

  I grit my teeth as we accelerate down the long block, away from the carnage. “We’re taught to.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Aktip directs me into a built up area, populated by squat, solid-looking single-story buildings. Rykkamon is built low. For good reason. On Rykkamon I weigh twice as much as I’m used to, but I only have my normal muscle strength. For anyone born and raised in an old-earth one-gee standard, falling from anywhere in two-gee gravity hurts. Let alone from a height. Being underneath anything falling in two-gee is even less fun. I know this from previous visits.

  The Rykkans, with their densely packed, squat muscular bodies don’t feel the high-gravity in the same wa
y I do. But they know not to construct high buildings.

  We circle almost all the way around the next block, and Aktip points over my shoulder to a down-ramp. “Please descend.”

  I wonder if I’m just getting myself deeper into trouble, but one look into the sky confirms I have no choice. I guide the pod down the ramp, which as it turns out, zig-zags down for several levels, until we pull up in front of a several meter-wide metal roller-door.

  I move to get out, but Aktip reaches through the pod and restrains me. “Please stay. It will be dangerous for you. Can you open my door from inside?” I nod and release the gullwing.

  Aktip climbs out and moves to the right of the roller door. She lifts her non-clawed hand and places it on a nondescript area of the wall next to the door. A square under her hand briefly glows green and the door slides up.

  Revealing a line of Rykkans assembled across the entry. Each one is armed. And aiming their weapon at my unipod.

  Aktip waves a greeting and walks over to them. She speaks at length, occasionally gesticulating to the unipod, and up into the air. Then the group breaks apart to allow space for the pod to slide through, and Aktip motions me to come through, stop and park. The door rolls shut behind me with a heavy clunk, and I take this as permission to exit my vehicle.

  I open my door and stand out of the pod. I hear a collective gasp at the same time as I hear Aktip call out to me. “Please remove your helmet. You are anxious, but you are now with friends.”

  I wish they looked like friends. My experience with Rykkans up to now hadn’t exactly produced a set of close buddies. But I remove my helmet and shake out my hair. I hear alien giggles, quickly shushed. I guess long red hair is funny on Rykkamon.

  The building we are in is some kind of underground plasticrete reinforced bunker. The space extends far beyond this garaging area, and is utilitarian. And dimly lit.

  I move closer to Aktip. “How long until the storm passes?” I sense momentary confusion. Her eyes dilate and close for a while, which I’ve learned means a Rykkan is deep in thought.

  “You want to complete a task”—she pauses for a good half a minute—“but you do not know that the tornado front will take all night and some of tomorrow to pass. Is this correct?”

  I nod.

  “It is not safe for anyone to be outside in this season. I think it better to relax. We will all sleep here.” Aktip casts her arm around, pointing at the group of Rykkans standing some distance from us, possibly curious, possibly protective, I don’t know. My Rykkan facial expression recognition is underdeveloped.

  She continues, “I will find us somewhere comfortable and we can conclude my debt negotiation.”

  What?

  I shrug and follow my new friend to an area clearly intended for an overnight refuge. She indicates a large cushioned bed topped with several animal pelts. “It should not be so hard for you.”

  I must be polite. “I’m not even sure if I can sleep once this suit’s off. Last time I tried, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I may just pull an all-nighter.”

  “So sorry.” Aktip’s eyes pulse again. “May I conclude my debt negotiation now?”

  I nod and sit on the edge of the large bed to equal out our eye heights. The bed barely moves, even under my weight and that of my gravSuit combined. It could be a long night.

  Aktip bows again, then straightens. “You exhibited maximum bravery. If not for you, I would be on my way to be”—her squat body quivers—“a pleasure-body for the offworlders.”

  “Who are the offworlders?”

  “I will explain after I conclude my debt pledge.”

  Debt pledge? Oh boy.

  “I must now offer myself in service to you in any time of your danger. I will serve you to my death, or until my obligation is extinguished.”

  I smile. “I have no need of your service—”

  Aktip stiffens, and her head swivels rapidly from side-to-side.

  I am confused. “What is it?”

  She opens her wide mouth, but only manages a squeak. She closes it again, her eyes pulse, and the stiffness goes away. “You do not know of the insult. You mean no harm. If you refuse the debt, then I must self-extinguish.”

  I start. “What? You mean kill yourself?”

  She nods—a most human-like gesture.

  “Then how is this debt concluded?”

  “When you die.” Aktip is matter of fact. “But not to be sad. This is not for a long time, I think. You are a powerful warrior, and warriors such as you learn to survive. Mostly they die in fierce battle—”

  “Stop.” I hold up my hand. “I’d rather us not discuss either of our deaths. I accept your pledge, and I hope to never make a call on it. Perhaps we could celebrate both of our escapes, and we can learn something about each other?”

  The Rykkan positively bounces with enthusiasm. “You know of the celebration of a debt pledge? Then you must be my guest at my family home. Tomorrow evening. I will prepare food for human consumption.”

  Weary of further discussion of debt pledges and death, I agree. Perhaps a chance to learn more of the Rykkan culture might improve my subsequent deals with the outlaws. A light goes on in my brain. “Wait. Did you say that you’d be taken off-world as a pleasure-body? Who by, and where to?”

  Aktip’s face assumes a serious expression. “Rykkamon traders send mercenaries to Takao to fight with Resistance against the Scorpion. Rykkan males are strong and fast, and in Takao’s low gravity, they are many times stronger than natives.”

  My eyes narrow at her. I’ve heard of the Scorpion and his inflammatory politics. But I don’t want to get involved, and I certainly can’t tell Aktip my secret, that I’m accused of brokering this illicit trade.

  “I’m guessing these male mercenaries demand their pleasure needs are met.”

  She nods. “Yes. But you do not need to feel guilty. I will keep your secret.”

  Rykkans. Is nothing safe?

  CHAPTER SIX

  I get out of my suit—with difficulty—and lie down on the makeshift bed. I close my eyes and try to sleep, but within minutes I am engulfed by an intense claustrophobia. There is a heavy weight pressing down on my chest and I cannot breathe. I’ve spent too much time in zero-grav and my body needs a training regime. Not double-gee torture.

  I gesture to Aktip for help, and she manages to get me back into my suit and I lay back in an awkward assembly of limbs. The suit’s systems relieve the pressure on my chest, and I decide my best bet is to talk.

  “Why were you targeted by that gang, Aktip?” I stretch out on my back and turn my head to look at her using the gravSuit’s assistance. “Isn’t this region a no-go zone?”

  Aktip is relaxing on a smaller version of a bed opposite me. We are at the end of a large dormitory-style room and have been left alone by the other Rykkans in the storm bunker. They seem to have accepted Aktip’s care of me as enough of an indication that I am no threat to them.

  “I am a communications officer for the Rykkamon government. I was tasked to visit this area and audit local equipment. I had finished this task and it was apparent I would not be able to return home before the storm. I was searching for this bunker, which my friends use, when I became anxious and lost. Unfortunately that made me easy to attack.” The alien swallowed heavily. “If it was not for your extreme prowess with your weapons—”

  “Okay, okay. I got angry. I just hope word doesn’t spread of a red-headed giant in a fight-suit on the loose. I was trying to keep a low profile.”

  I sigh.

  “You are worried.”

  A Rykkan understatement of the obvious.

  “Yes. Does our pact extend to our conversations?”

  Aktip stiffened again. I waved my hand up at her from the bed. “Sorry, sorry. I presume that I can trust you to keep what happened between us?”

  The Rykkan relaxed and nodded. “The pledge requires it. The pledge is sacrosanct.”

  I carry on. “I’m not here ... ah ... officially. And
you are an official. I don’t want to make things difficult for you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. But official status matters not. I am now in your debt until the debt is extinguished, and—”

  I cut her off. “I got it. So I have to tell you that it’s entirely possible there are people on Rykkamon who would like to question me about ... certain things. Tomorrow I have to organize supplies for my ship and pick up some ... other things.” I concentrate hard on not thinking about specifics. What Aktip doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Then I have to leave the planet quicksmart.”

  Aktip frowns. “Quicksmart?”

  “Yes, it means—”

  “I understand the meaning. But the pact celebration dinner?”

  I’d already forgotten. I exhale to calm myself down. One more night won’t make a difference. “Yes, of course. I’d love that.”

  “I sense your joy. We will share together in our delight!”

  I smile weakly. I’d like to sense my joy. I really would.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I wake, lying on my back, my joints stiff.

  It’s only when I try to move do I remember I’m still in a gravSuit. It takes a few more moments to work out that the low-frequency pounding noises I can feel through the hard Rykkan bed must be the continuing storm. I look across to Aktip, who is asleep.

  I wonder how Jordi has managed to take shelter. He’s probably locked up the cruiser with himself inside and set the gyro to full stability. He won’t even feel a thing; probably the safest place. Tomorrow—or today because it must be well past Rykkamon’s midnight—I’ll finish my trip to furnish the supplies, drop my special package at the ship and head to Aktip’s home for dinner. I feel my guilt rise as I realize I have no idea where her home is, nor who her family are. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  I adjust my aching body in the suit and try to drift off for what remains of the night, hoping the storm passes without incident.

  ***

  The next morning reveals calm streets and there is a palpable sense of relief in the way the Rykkans go about their business. Aktip chaperones me back to the mainway where she requests to be dropped off at a hoverstop. She assures me this area is safe; gives me her coordinates and bows her apologies, but she has to attend work.