Constellation (Blood Empire Book 1)

by Robert Scanlon

  But I will not underestimate Sloper. He’ll send a hyper-relay in advance. There’ll be a welcoming party.

  I have a plan for that.

  Even with my lightCruiser’s stunning speed—so nice to be back at the helm of a fully-armed ship, and not some dirty old salvage vessel—it still takes us the best part of one standard earth day before we arrive at Takao.

  I place us in orbit around the giant planet and request the connection the Rykkan Chief gave me. While I wait, I take in the magnificent view of Takao’s moons. Six of them, two small and four much larger, but all rich in rare earths. And the reason why the Jovians despise the Scorpion so much. His restriction on the supply of the rare earths hobbles the Jovian stranglehold on Sector energy trade. I watch three of the picturesque moons flash their multicolored eyes at me, and wonder how mother nature has managed to conspire to create such greed in mankind. Or any kind.

  On a visit to the ship’s bathroom facility, I take in a quick check of my carefully secured purchase: my heart lifts when I find it stowed exactly where it was before Sloper “borrowed” the ship.

  In the helmroom, the commPanel lights up with my reply, and we are given docking coordinates for an obscure area in Takao’s Resistance-owned region.

  The Rykkan Chief watches me tap in the coordinates. “You lucky I have connections on Takao.”

  I turn to look at him, and smile. “Which is a good thing. But tell me ... why do the Rykkans hate the Scorpion? So much so that they will come here as mercenaries and fight for land not their own?”

  The Chief’s head swivels back and forth, as if he is deciding what to share. “You speak true. We have always had disgust of Scorpion. Do not know why. Maybe to do with trade. Maybe because we are strong”—he points to his squat torso, built for high gravity—“and they little sticks.” He shudders, as if the very appearance of Takaons is repulsive. “But is good for you and me now because we look like another delivery.” He grins that red grin.

  The irony grows. For all intents and purposes, I’m doing exactly what I was accused of on Rykkamon: delivering a shipload of thugs to Takao. The intention may be different, but the act is the same. I take a deep breath and focus. I’m here for one purpose, and that’s to rescue Mitch. But I will have to take care.

  On the descent I watch a news holo. The Scorpion has control of more than seventy percent of the planet. The remainder is aggressively defended by the Resistance, and it is they to whom we deliver our crew. It’s easy to see why the Scorpion has amassed such a following. He must be an expert in mass-psychology and social memes, as pithy messages and meme-driven imagery is everywhere I look on the holo.

  “Jovians steal our energy, then sell it back to us”

  “Talk is cheap. Energy isn’t. Jovians out”

  “Power to everyone, no more Jovian monopoly”

  “Build shields around our moons”

  “Takaon truth, not Jovian duplicity”

  “Jovian justice is not our justice”

  “Take Takao Forward”

  We land in the Takaon morning to discover our new “troops” are welcome: there is a mass-rally planned by the Scorpion at five pm, Takao-time. The Resistance are planning a major uprising against the Scorpion’s supporters, and this event is to be the crowning glory. The Resistance are relying on their hired Rykkan army to do much of their dirty work.

  We meet members of the Resistance, who are surprised to find a human captain running in a Rykkan crew. They seem glad I am on their side, but the more I hear of the planned altercations, the more I have a sour taste in my mouth. Papa fought for equality and fair treatment, and I feel dirty just to be here. Let alone the fact that I have to fight to rescue his son from Sloper’s clutches.

  While the Chief’s men prepare for the upcoming battle, I muse on Sloper’s involvement with the Scorpion, and where his payoff lies. Sloper won’t lift a finger unless it’s for gain of credits. Substantial gain.

  I am shaken out of my reverie when the Chief beckons me over to an assembly point. I notice he is out of his restrictive leg brace and arm casts, once again demonstrating the uncanny Rykkan ability to heal—or “self-repair” as they keep calling it.

  We are encamped on the edge of the landing zone, and as far as anyone else would know, we’re just another bunch of Rykkans—and token human rebel—preparing to do what we do best: get paid to maim and kill when a fight breaks out.

  The Scorpion knows how to stir up trouble and create a crowd. The rally is in the center of the Scorpion’s strongest location and the capital of Takao, Hoto. Because it’s the capital, it’s also the city where the Resistance are free to come and go as they please. “Bring it on,” the Scorpion seems to be saying. And bring it, we will.

  The rally is to be staged in a massive stadium, capable of holding 500,000 spectators. We are waiting on notification from the Chief’s spies as to the exact location of Sloper’s lair, but so far the Chief believes we will be able to head into Hoto in the guise of allies of the Resistance. No one will be able to tell that we are any different to the Resistance’s hired hands. The Scorpion’s army will maintain a line beyond which protesters, nor their “supporters” cannot proceed.

  But they have not reckoned on a large flanking force of Rykkan mercenaries. From what I can ascertain among the discussions I’ve overheard, it may well be a bloodbath.

  We set off on our march into Hoto. I check my datapad. The salvage ship will arrive in a few hours’ time, and I presume Sloper will be right behind them. I set my pad to notify me as soon as the ship is in range, and focus on the task at hand.

  The Chief has said very little since landing. I step up beside him, easy in Takao’s easy gravity. He swivels his head. “You are nervous.”

  “You mistake nerves for apprehensive tension,” I say.

  He grunts.

  “When we approach the building where my brother is held, I plan to be in and out. No fighting. Your job is only to open up access. Do you understand?”

  He grunts again, then lets out a suppressed laugh. “You think is simple. Walk in, ask for brother back and walk out, arm with arm.”

  “Of course not. But I don’t plan to make any more trouble than is necessary.”

  He shrugs. “No trouble. We make sure no fighting by killing anyone in way.”

  I stop momentarily, but the Chief continues marching and I stumble to catch up. More Resistance supporters are joining the march, interspersed with Rykkans here and there. “That’s your solution to anything? Killing?”

  He fixes both bulbous eyes on me. “You think group of Rykkans just walk up to building in Hoto and march in?” He waves a clawed hand at the increasing crowds marching toward the stadium. “Today security is maximum. We find brother quick, otherwise plan to get cruiser not work.” He looks ahead for a while, then swivels back to me and grins. “Anyway, we have special codes. I think we get inside.”

  Slightly reassured, I take a deep breath and double-check my equipment, tucking my laserpistol inside the band of my groundsuit’s pants. I’m coming for you, Mitch. If you’re still alive.

  The stadium is in sight ... and earshot. I hear the cheers and screams of a huge, frenzied crowd. They chant for their leader, the Scorpion. “Sting the Resistance, sting them dead,” they chant, in an aggressive, devilish rhyme that brings me out in goosebumps.

  All the mainways leading in are crowded with people on foot. I take a moment to sum up my supposed native comrades. The Chief is right: they are taller than an average earth-descended human, and skinny. They walk with a certain lope from the low gravity, and I try to emulate it. Anything that makes me stand out less. My hair is still in the long, black braid. Better than bright red, but still identifiable. I pull a cap from my backpack, stuff the braid into it and pull it tight to my head. Somehow it feels better.

  We turn a corner, jostling shoulders now, and the Chief points out a narrow lane to the right, that runs in between the tall buildings. As prearranged, we peel off into it, one
-by-one. The marching crowd beside us is too hungry to beat a path to their chanting enemy to care, though I see we attract a few glances.

  As soon as we are well down the laneway, we increase our speed to a brisk jog—easy in the giant planet’s low gravity. We race between the tall blocks and around two more corners, then the lead Rykkan dives down a set of stairs, leaping three or four at a time. I follow and soon we are in a complex set of interconnecting subterranean tunnels, dimly lit and festooned with conduits and pipes. The chanting is muffled, but seems closer. I realize that we are entering the service access tunnels under the stadium.

  My ears are blasted by loud static from a nearby PA system, before an announcer’s voice booms through the tunnel.

  “Prepare to salute the Scorpion. Our leader requires your undivided attention. Please be silent as we welcome the Scorpion to the arena.”

  Silence is not what we hear. Instead a ground-shaking roar erupts that we can feel rumbling through the tunnels. I look up reflexively, as if the roof will crack.

  Someone clearly wants workers under the stadium to witness all speeches—then I realize it’s probably there to keep tabs on any game commentary; as I understand it, the normal function of the stadium. The loudspeakers are not visible, but they must line every tunnel we run down, because we are forced to be party to the Scorpion’s speech.

  His voice is electronically distorted to sound mechanical, or computer generated. I ask the Rykkan jogging next to me why.

  “There are death threats to Scorpion”—he flashes his red teeth at me—“good price. So he keep identity secret. No one know the Scorpion.”

  Helpful. I could come face to face with the man and not know.

  I resume my focus as we dodge and weave through the tunnel system. The Scorpion’s speech follows us, as if we are his captive audience. At one point we pass a wall-mounted holo and I steal a brief glimpse of the stadium. It is packed full of the rangy Takaons, pumping fists into the air. They look toward a massive stage, on which a line-up of tough-looking battle-dress clad officers stand to attention, facing the crowd. An anonymous silhouette broadcasts from a giant holoscreen behind them.

  We leave the holo behind, and I glance back to see the camera zoom in and linger on one hard-bitten military face, then we turn and he is gone.

  But the chanting rhetoric continues.

  “Who here is willing to hand our planet on a plate to the Jovians?”

  The audience roars their dissent.

  “Who believes that energy is a law of nature, and not Jovian law?”

  “WE DO!” thunders the response.

  “Who believes we must protect our moons and our hard-won wealth from the Jovian energy plunderers?”

  The roar builds.

  “Who believes we must protect our planet and our people from the inevitable Jovian rule, if we simply acquiesce to their advances?”

  The responses crash through the PA system, overwhelming it into an intelligible cacophony.

  My hypnotic jogging rhythm and the low gravity allows me to focus on the speech with a strange clarity. I find it hard to fault the logic: who would want the Jovians dominating our sector? Or worse, restricting supply of key energy and key trade routes just to make a profit.

  I catch up to the Chief as we weave through more tunnels. He thinks I want to know how much further, but I wave his response away. “Yes, I see we are nearly there. Tell me, is the Resistance supported by the Jovians? Do they provide arms and finance?”

  He shakes his head—or swivels in that odd Rykkan manner. “I do not think so.”

  “Then why do they resist? What’s in it for them? I mean ... the Jovians aren’t exactly the Sector’s friends.”

  “They fear this Scorpion. His power has swept the world quickly, and Takao was peaceful colony. Too much power anywhere never good idea.”

  I regard the Chief with new understanding. I thought of him as a thug with no philosophical bent whatsoever. Even alien crooks can surprise you, it seems. Then again, to everyone on this planet, I am also an alien crook. And planning a surprise.

  We come to a halt in front of a double-door and security system panel. “You have the special codes?” I say, still slightly breathless, even with the ease of the pace.

  The Chief grins. “Yes.” He nods to one of his men, who steps forward and attaches several small flat plastisteel pucks around the door’s perimeter. He waits for the Chief, who motions us all back several meters and around the last corner, following us in. Then we see the remaining Rykkan run back around. His speed in the low gravity has to be seen to be believed. No wonder they pay the mercenaries good money—

  There is an ear-shattering explosion and I am left reeling. Dust and smoke blows around the corner. Even the Rykkans stagger a little. I hear the thug who set the charges yell at the Chief. It sounds like an apology.

  The Chief steps up to me and speaks. It sounds like he is speaking under water. “Our special codes too strong.” He grins again. “Perhaps Scorpion will think he has new fans banging big drum.” He beckons me and turns.

  My ears are still ringing as we make our way into the building. The corridors are now well lit, and I see from the signs this must be a government building. They look the same no matter the planet. The Chief seems to know which direction to head, and I follow, rubbing my ears as if it will improve my hearing.

  In the background I hear the Scorpion continuing, but can barely understand what he is saying. Something about launching a tactical military initiative beyond the moons, but more than that, I cannot pick up.

  We round a corner and come face-to-face with three security guards. My Rykkan gang does not even stop, but barrel through the tall, slim human-descended Takaons as if they were reeds lining a lake. All three are shot with a neurostunner as we pass. I flinch a little, knowing full well the agony of neuroweaponry. We leave them writhing on the floor behind us, enter a stairwell and leap down several flights.

  The Chief’s head swivels and he calls back over his non-existent shoulder. “We are there in two more levels.”

  My hearing is returning. I hear the Scorpion winding up his speech with a call to arms. The anonymous, electronic nature of his voice makes him sound even more ugly than I imagine him to be.

  “Takao will not lay down.”

 

  “Takao will protect its own!”

 

  “Takao will defend the Sector against domination!”

 

  We emerge from the stairwell, and my thoughts about the Scorpion vanish. Advancing toward us is a column of guards, weapons raised and already shooting. We fall back into the stairwell, forced to leave one of the Chief’s men wounded in the corridor.

  The Chief barks out a stream of commands, and two huge Rykkans take position either side of the stairwell doorway. The guy who laid the charges squats down low, inches forward to the opening. In his left claw is a handful of the small explosive pucks. He extends the arm carefully through the opening. At the same time, the other two loose an intimidating stream of plasma fire down the corridor. The Rykkan on the floor uses his powerful arm swing and the low gravity to launch the pucks along the corridor’s surface, and down to the right.

  Except for the plasma rifle shooters, we all pull back, and this time I cover my ears. I still hear the explosion, and feel the rush of hot air and debris rush past us. Some of the shrapnel scratches my cheeks as it blasts by.

  I am grabbed by the Chief and dragged out into the corridor. “Fast,” he shouts. “We get brother, then fight our way out.”

  Fight our way out? With approximately half a million angry Takaons only meters above us? I ignore my nagging doubts and rush down the smoking corridor, now littered with body parts and glistening with light-red blood. I have to leap over the carnage to avoid skating along the slippery remains.

  I tense my stomach to stop its protests and I yell out for my brother periodically as we advance. I’ve been told he’s being hel
d in a room on this level.

  There is no reply, but we rifle-blast open each door, only to find empty rooms.

  Only one door is left, facing us at the end of the corridor. My heart is racing and I gallop up to it, but the Chief beats me. He holds up one hand in a universal gesture. Wait.

  We all crouch either side of the door. One Rykkan swings around and virtually empties his plasma rifle’s charge to leave a hissing mess of melted plastisteel, and we jump through it. On the other side of the door, Takaon soldiers are trying to pick themselves off the ground, but the Chief’s goons mow them down. Beyond the twitching, dying fighters is a plastisteel-barred cage.

  A man gets to his feet just outside the cage.

  Sloper.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Behind the bars, a familiar figure sprawls tied to a chair. Also in the cage, and holding a laserpistol to his captive’s head is another familiar shape. Darpesh.

  Everything slows down. We all point weapons at Sloper, including myself. How did he beat me to Takao?

  He grins at me through the smoky trails. “Indy. I had a feeling it was you. Brotherly love and all that. But unfortunately it is all for nothing. The rest of my men will be here soon, and unless this is a suicide mission for you and your brother, I suggest you tell your moronic spinhead army—”

  He does not finish, as the Chief simultaneously erupts in a piecing war cry and splits Darpesh’s head in two with a precise crack of a laserrifle. He swivels to train his weapon on Sloper, and I throw myself in front of him, hoping I’m not too late.

  “CHIEF, STOP!” I hold one hand up, staring at the Chief, and at the same time I flick my laserpistol behind me and let off a low power burst at Sloper’s ankles. I hear a scream of pain and Sloper hits the floor, though not as hard as I would like.

  I glare at the Chief, the blood rising in my face. “We have a deal. In order to get my brother out of here, and you to the Constellation, we might need some bargaining power.”

  Sloper’s voice is weak, but clear. “So you do have the Constellation. Taking this gang of thieving spinheads to it would be a Sector-sized mistake.” He grunts when he is kicked by another Rykkan who may not understand Galactic, but still recognizes the word spinhead.