Gone for a Spin (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 16)

by J. Naomi Ay

  Instead, he imagined Katie finding him like this, storming over to him, and scolding him soundly. She would yell at him, and demand he get up.

  He would get up. No matter how difficult, he would drag himself to his feet. Then, if he complained about his migraine pains, she would have insisted he lay back down. She’d guide him to the sofa, cover him with a blanket, whether he wanted it or not, and hover over him until he was resting comfortably, or so he said. After which, she'd massage his neck, prodding the tight muscles with her palms, coating his skin with a menthol balm that made it burn.

  Kari-fa! It would hurt, but it would also bring immense relief. Like her. She could rip his heart out, but at the same time, heal his soul.

  Kari-fa! He missed her. Each day was like a century had passed. Each day was as if he was alive, but with only half a heart. Every movement took more effort. Every word struggled from between his lips. Every breath labored from within his lungs.

  "What are you doing, Mika?" Uri'el asked, interrupting the former’s sad lament.

  The question in itself was as stupid as Senya’s current predicament.

  "What does it look like?" he snapped. "Is it not obvious I am laying upon the floor unable to move, or rise?"

  "It does look that way," Uri agreed, taking a seat next to Senya's head. "Although, I wonder with so much in the universe for you to do, why it is you find so little to occupy your time."

  "I am on vacation."

  "No, you're not. That's silly, Mika. You don't take vacations. None of us do. It's not in our contract."

  "Then, I'm on a sabbatical, or I'm on a strike. Call it whatever you want. I am not working now, and unlikely to do so in the future."

  "Well, since you have mentioned it, I've been told to inform you, your employment is in jeopardy. You are officially on probation, lest you rectify your ways. After nearly a billion years in the same position, you might find yourself terminated once and for all."

  "Since when do you deliver the Messages? Where is that asshole Gavri'el?"

  "Mika..." Uri'el made a sound reminiscent of someone clearing their throat. "You sent him to Earth to watch over Cassie. Did you forget?"

  No. He had blocked it out. He had turned two blind eyes to what was going on, as his feeble heart simply couldn't take it anymore. He'd deal with them all when next they were in his presence, assuming there would be a next time, and assuming there was anything left of him. For him, termination meant something far worse than the unemployment line.

  "Fine," he snapped. "I've got the Message. Now, go away. Leave me alone. Let me continue to dwell in my personal misery."

  "Okay," Uri sniffed, "but don't screw up again. I should hate for you to leave us without a trace."

  "I have already screwed up," Senya replied, once again trying to recall exactly where his secret cupboard had been. If he didn't locate it soon, he'd be forced to go into town to buy his booze. What a pitiful sight that would make, the Emperor of all Rehnor standing in line at the local mini-mart, purchasing a case of vodka and half as much of gin.

  “You have indeed,” the cherub agreed. “I shall miss you in any case. You were always my favorite brother, just so you know.”

  As soon as the cherub disappeared, another presence arrived in Senya's office.

  "Hello Mika. Having a good day?"

  This time, it was Luka, but where exactly he was, Senya wasn't entirely certain. He could have metaphysically appeared somewhere in this room, or he could merely be living inside Senya's head. That, in itself, was becoming rather crowded with all the other ghosts, goblins, and evil spirits residing there. On the other hand, Luka might be speaking from the past, or from the future. When Senya was in such a state, the whorls of time became quite mixed up, although never in the way he wanted them to be.

  "Have you got nothing better to do than bother me?" Senya complained, trying to focus on his words, as his head was now spinning, compounding his distress.

  "Actually, no. I have nothing better to do at all. My minions are wreaking havoc upon the galaxy just as I intended, and as you have no interest in stopping them, I find myself growing quite bored."

  "Pity.” Senya briefly tried to sit, an action which caused pain in both head and leg in equal measure.

  "Yes, your people never cease to amaze me. I think they enjoy decimating one another, much more so than living together in peace. Although I find it quite entertaining to watch, without you to challenge me, the whole experience feels as though it is lacking. Actually, watching you struggle now is far more amusing than killing mortals."

  "My pity is for you, Luka, and your boredom, not the unceasing folly of mankind. For them, I no longer care a whit. Let them all annihilate each other, since I have been denied Permission to do so."

  Luka laughed, his voice seeming to move about the room.

  "Of course you care, Mika. This is why you are in such a state. You tell yourself it is because of Cassie, but you know it is not. You can see the future as clearly as I. Well, not see see, but you know what I mean. Speaking of, is it true, this rumor that you might be terminated? Whatever shall I do without your company? The three stooges can't make up for one of you."

  "Go away," Senya moaned.

  "Make me. Rouse yourself. Do something other than lay there prone."

  Senya felt something poke at his chest. It was hot and sharp in three places. At the same time, something else kicked his foot.

  "Get up! Fight me, you are so boring when you’re drunk."

  The three-pronged thing pierced his skin, threatening to tear his muscles and break through his ribs. Senya raised his hand, summoned his will, and then, let it fall back down. It was too much effort, too hard, and too tiring.

  "Go away," he repeated. “Let me sleep.”

  Senya tried to roll over once again, although his recalcitrant leg would not cooperate. Instead, it chose to remain on the floor in the position it had been.

  "You are deserving of a new name. From hence forth, I shall call you, Who is Unlike, for now you are pathetic above all."

  "I am indeed," Senya agreed, as the trident and its bearer moved away. "Now, I am merely pathetic Senya, champion of no one."

  "I have no interest in you, then." Luka's presence dissipated from the room, or the space in time which he had occupied. "Maybe, I shall go play with that lovely girl."

  "The one I gave you? I don't care."

  "No. The young one, the daughter of your mortal son."

  “Sara?” Senya tried to rouse himself, only to prompt yet more of Luka’s mirth. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Else you’ll do what? Just so you know,” Luka chortled. “I have already unleashed it. No one is safe, not even your little boys and girl. Tell me now, who will stop it when Mika is no more?”

  “It?” Senya asked.

  “Your favorite virus. This time, I have named it Robolo.”

  Chapter 7

  Rory wasn't a bad kid, Jim thought. Although he never had much interest in children, not even his niece and nephew, this little green dude was kind of cool. He played a mean game of Imperial Quest, beating Jim on fifteen of the twenty-two levels, and when they were done with that, they watched Game of Drones together on the vid. The kid seemed to like it as much as Jim, which was no surprise given all the nudity. Several times, Jim attempted to cover the boy's eyes.

  "Come on, dude!" Rory laughed. "I've seen metallic boobs a million times before. Whoa! Look at the hooters on that chick!"

  “Rory!” Carolie snapped, and clapped her brother on the top of his fuzzy green head.

  "It's alright," Joanne muttered, barely glancing up from her tablet. "Who knows what he gets into when he’s at school."

  Rory looked at Jim, who lifted his eyebrows and smiled widely. “Sounds like a heck of school you’ve got there, kid.”

  “It is,” Rory chuckled. “Very educational.”

  Carolie, on the other hand, had a huge chip on her shoulder, which Rory attributed to the absence of her boyfriend. T
he girl hadn't heard from the young man in several weeks, following his abrupt departure from the same esteemed institution.

  "Stay way clear of her. She’s got Pissed at Men Syndrome," the boy advised.

  Jim made an effort to do so, despite the close confines of their private SdK spaceplane, reminding himself yet again why he never married.

  Shelly, on the other hand, decided to adopt Carolie, despite the girl’s sulking mood. As of late, there had been no one at home for poor Shelly to nurture. Her granddaughter Gwen's kids had gone away to college, while her husband, Tim had acquired a new nursing droid. This made Shelly ripe for procuring another lost waif to shelter under her wing, something she had been doing since moving to Rozari.

  "You look as pretty as your grandmother Caroline," Shelly was saying, while tucking Carolie's hair behind her ears. "She had lovely long brown hair just like you. Sometimes, she'd wear it in a bun on the top of her head, letting a few strands hang loosely in spout."

  "That sounds awful," Carolie snapped, shying away from the old lady. "Weird and stupid at the same time."

  "Everything is weird when you live out in space. Nevertheless, it looked quite nice on her. Caroline was always a gracious and beautiful woman."

  "I heard she was a tramp and a drug addict."

  "Well..." Shelly smiled indulgently. "Whether or not that was true, we should only recall the good things about our friends. Caroline was a generous and loving person above all, and everyone who knew her, loved her in return. She was always happy, despite the troubles she endured. You'd be wise to emulate her, Carolie."

  Carolie sniffed, and turned her attention back to her tablet as if the teen magazine open in front of her was far more interesting.

  It was right about then that the door to the cockpit swished open and the pilot emerged.

  "Folks," he announced, a concerned expression on his face. "I’m afraid we're going to have to make an unscheduled stop at a nearby spacebase."

  "Why?" Jim demanded, pausing the Game of Drones just as the composite-throned king was about to thrust his sword into the chest of an enemy.

  "We've got a fault alarm in the propulsion system. It would be prudent to have it checked out as there are nearly five lightyears remaining until we arrive at Earth."

  “Damn. How long is that going to take?”

  Jim pretended to be distressed. Personally, he wasn’t bothered by the delay as he hadn’t a clue how he would begin his mission. In fact, he had been on the verge of suggesting a spacebase rest stop.

  However, the other passengers were in a bigger hurry than Jim, and fortunately for them, not tasked with finding the Imperial Family. Thus, the Duke’s exclamation was met with the disappointed murmurings of his travel companions, especially Carolie who would scorn any announcement, good or bad.

  “I don’t know,” the pilot replied. “If it’s just an errant alarm indicator, we could be back on our way fairly quickly. If we’ve got a system failure, we’ll need to wait for SdK Rozari to send us a part. In worst case, they’ll have to send another plane. That might take some time.”

  “Aw!” Carolie moaned.

  “It’s alright,” Joanne said. “It’s more important we’re safe instead of sorry.”

  “Which spacebase are we heading to?” Jim asked.

  “41-b,” the pilot replied, returning to the cockpit.

  “Spacebase 41-b is lovely,” Shelly added helpfully. “If I remember right, it has an excellent steakhouse.”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” Carolie snapped.

  “So am I,” Rory added. “I only eat green things.”

  “That’s fine, kids,” Shelly said, patting Carolie’s hand. “I’m sure the steaks are synthetic anyway. Jimmy, why don’t you call ahead, and make us a reservation? I suspect they’ll be happy to entertain the Duke Kalika-hahr.”

  “I suspect they’ll make room for us when we show up,” Jimmy replied, recalling that 41-b was the same spacebase where his father, Thad had been mysteriously killed.

  Another errant thought popped into his head, one that chilled him to the bone. Maybe, they were diverting only to be executed.

  A short time later, the spaceplane pulled into the spaceport’s private docks. Surprisingly, it was quite changed since the last time Jim had been there. The docks were unkempt and dirty, the mooring lines frayed, and the bumpers in such a sad state of disrepair, the spaceplane suffered a disfiguring scratch upon the hull when they set down.

  The lifts were out of service, a line of bright yellow tape sealing the doors. Everyone was forced to walk up the stairs, five full flights to the upper floors, through a filthy, dark metal staircase which stank of urine.

  “What in the hell happened here?” Jim murmured, following the pilot beneath the precious few lights, most of them blinking, and on the verge of going out. This was probably a good thing, for if everyone saw the mess on the floors beneath them, they might have run back to their damaged craft.

  “All of the spacebases look like this,” the pilot replied, a sigh in his voice, and a disgusted smirk playing upon his lips. “I guess it’s been awhile since you were in space, Duke. Since the Emperor won’t fund base maintenance anymore, everything has fallen apart. All sorts of space vermin has taken over most bases, and I’m not even talking about the rats.”

  “What’s that?!?” Carolie shrieked, as something scampered beneath her feet. It made a shuffling, squeaking noise before disappearing into the shadows.

  “Don’t look at it,” Joanne whispered. “Pretend it’s not there. Just keep walking, with your eyes on my back. We’ll be in the mall upstairs in another minute. We’ll go get something to eat and do some shopping for new clothes. If I remember right, there was a lovely store with designer brands.”

  “I remember when one of Tim’s ships had an infestation of Tyrellian horned rats while they were patrolling the Tyrellian sector,” Shelly announced, bringing up the rear. “A crewman bought one at a space bazaar as gift for his sister.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Rory cried. “When I’m in the SpaceNavy, I’ll bring one home for Carolie.”

  “No, you won’t,” Carolie said. “Or, I’ll kill you and the rat.”

  “Those little monsters are multi-gendered,” Shelly continued. “They don’t need anyone else to breed, and within in a day that single rat had turned into over four thousand. That’s what Tim had told me anyway.”

  “Cool!” Rory gasped.

  “How did they get rid of them?” Joanne asked.

  “They couldn’t,” Shelly continued. “It was awful. They had to abandon ship, which gave them an excuse to order a brand new starship. This was during a time of military budget cuts, and the Allied president didn’t want to fund new equipment. The only way to acquire a new ship was to wreck the old, so there was some talk that this might have been an inside job. Spaceforce Command suspected that Tim or one of the other officers had asked the crewman to bring the rat on board. There was an inquiry and everyone was cleared, but it did leave a small stain on Tim’s record.” Shelly paused on the landing to catch her breath. “After that, they used the old ship for target practice. They blew those rats into a space dust just for fun. By the time that happened though, they estimated more than a million of the vermin were aboard.”

  “They ought to do that with this spacebase,” the pilot commented, opening the hallway door. He stood aside for Jim and his party to step out into what had once been a busy shopping arcade with a first rate food court.

  Now, the entire floor was nearly empty. There weren’t any tourists or business travellers milling about, and most of the shops were shuttered, except for a mini-mart and a payday loan. The only people in sight were a handful of Rossorians covered from head to toe in their blue sheaths. Some were leaning against the walls, while others were strolling the dirty terminal. An old blue Andorian woman was dusting the near-empty shelves in the mini-mart.

  “I don’t think your steak house is open anymore, Gran.” Jim nodded towards the b
alcony on the station’s top floor, where a large sign was cracked and blinking. Once, it had declared ‘Join us for the Best Steaks in Space’ but now, the welcoming message proclaimed, ‘Join us for the Best S.e.ks in Space.’

  “Hey, let’s go there,” Rory laughed. “You made reservations, right?”

  “Shut up,” Carolie growled, looking around with a bewildered expression on her face. “This place gives me the creeps. Can’t we go on to the next spacebase instead?”

  “They’re all like this,” the pilot replied. “And, the steak house is now a brothel.”

  “No wonder they didn’t change their sign,” Shelly murmured.

  “This is terrible,” Joanne agreed. “I was here only a few years ago. That was when Sam died on the Imperial Spaceplane. The station rocked during a dust storm, but it didn’t look this bad.”

  “I was here too,” Jim said. “I came to investigate the 878 that blew up.”

  He omitted to mention that he had also come to claim Thad and Gina’s bodies. Briefly, he wondered, who would come to claim him. Not Gwen. A flattened spider made her sick. Tim was too enfeebled to travel, and there really wasn’t anyone else. For a moment, Jim had a vision of his dead body left forever in the spacebase’s morgue.

  “This is what happens when the Emperor doesn’t care anymore,” Shelly remarked, drawing her lips together in a thin line. “I need to have a word or two with that man. Who does he think he is these days?”

  “Barlan Rando,” Joanne replied.

  “What?”

  “Look!” Rory pointed at a film poster gracing the side of the adjacent movie theatre.

  “Gone for a Spin,” it read. “Take a trip with Barlan Rando to Outer Space.”

  Chapter 8

  Sara was laying in her bed, scanning her news feed on Footbook when a chat box popped up in the middle of her screen.

  "Sara," it read. "Please friend me." It was signed by someone named Thunk, who was identified as a male, fourteen years old, relationship status- single.

  Sara didn't recall knowing anyone named Thunk. However, she was never very good at names. If she could see his face, instead of his foot, she might have recognized him from a class, but unfortunately, on Footbook, no one ever posted pics of their heads.