Alien Outcast

by Tracy St. John

  A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, bringing his attention to Nako. The captain’s lips moved, but Terig couldn’t hear a thing.

  He read Nako’s lips. Fortunately, his Dramok spoke with exaggerated care. “Let’s check ship’s status.”

  They returned to the computer banks. Fortunately, what was left of the system had rebooted when standby power had come on. It was the only good news Terig saw.

  More lipreading ensued. “We have life support, coms, and that’s it.”

  “Then we’re out of phase. And helpless to keep Maf from finishing the job.”

  Nako shook his head grimly. He punched a com button. “Status, Helm. Use talk to text. We’re deaf until our ears recover.”

  Terig read over his shoulder as the report came in. The traitors’ attack had broken off as soon as the raiders and battlecruiser had gone into phase. Maf’s fleet was moving en masse toward Bi’is’s border.

  As if from a great distance, Nako’s angry voice broke through the silence. “The bastard is taking his fleet after the death ship. He’s going to kill the Earther women, and there’s not a damned thing we can do to stop him.”

  * * * *

  Nako was impressed with Captain Kila’s first officer, Commander Uls, from the instant they spoke on the com following Maf’s attack. The man was unflappable, a notion reinforced when he brought a shuttle to Nako’s crippled raider to speak in person. Throughout their meeting, Uls’s tone remained calm, as if they were having a casual conversation instead of discussing heavy losses. The weapons commander he brought along, Nobek Mostar, was every bit as composed.

  In person, Uls was as matter-of-fact. He surveyed the damage to Nako’s engineering department as the two discussed their limited choices. Focused on duty above all, he showed no sign of deviating from expectations. “The admiral put you in charge of our ships, Captain Nako. The decision is yours, and your orders will be followed to the letter.”

  “That may be, but I want Captain Kila’s best to offer his own opinion. Talk to me.”

  “I agree with your theory that Maf is heading to attack the death ship. With what’s left of our group, we cannot hope to stop him.”

  “I haven’t been able to raise Captain Kila. For all we know, Maf had his outer defenses attack Piras the instant they came out of phase. There is every reason to believe the Imperial Fleet won’t hear of what’s happening until it’s too late.”

  Uls’s eyes narrowed. “The Basma is a treacherous scrap of shit with no honor or scruples, Captain. But Admiral Piras and Captain Kila will get through to the fleet. Do not doubt that for a second.”

  “You have that kind of faith in them?” Terig had followed the conversation silently up to that point.

  “I have nothing but faith where my captain and admiral are concerned, sir.” Uls seemed to dare them to refute him.

  Nako was impressed with the man’s unshakeable confidence, but he had to point out all they were up against. “Then the issue becomes, will whatever fleet Piras manages to scramble find Maf in time to save the women on that transport?”

  “That is a concern. But…”

  “Yes?” Nako prompted when the Dramok officer wavered.

  “I might be able to slow Maf down with the remaining operational raiders. Maybe I can delay the Basma’s group long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”

  Nako eyed him with respect. “That’s one hell of a big if, Commander.”

  “Yes, Captain. Even moving in and out of phase, we don’t have much of a chance. But it’s still a chance.”

  “It’s a suicide mission, and you know it.” Terig didn’t hide his admiration either.

  Mostar spoke up for the first time. “Is there any better means to serve honor?”

  Nako knew they had no choice. Sending men into almost certain death made his voice gruff. “Take the raiders with whatever crew will join you. Volunteers only, Commander. Those who don’t want any part of the mission can transfer to the battlecruiser, since it can’t be brought online.”

  “Don’t send anyone to our ship,” Terig hastily interjected. “If I have to get out and push this hunk of junk, I’ll make it run. We’ll be late to the party, but we’ll show up.”

  Nako didn’t point out how unlikely that was. Engine Three was finished, having taken a direct hit during the attack. Two of the other engines were crippled, and most of the engineering crew had been killed. Repairs were slow with the diminished staff, even with Nako and Terig assisting.

  They had to try. With only a single engine, they’d never catch up to Maf.

  Mostar squared his shoulders. “I don’t think we’ll lack for volunteers, Captain. We knew what we were getting ourselves into from the start.”

  “Good luck, then. We’ll follow as soon as we’re able.”

  Uls and Mostar bowed. “For honor and Empire.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Nako returned the bow, which Terig echoed. “For honor and Empire.”

  What the hell. I’m done running from disappointment.

  Nako watched them board their shuttle. “I’ll see you in the halls of our ancestors, if fate is kind.”

  As the shuttle departed the crippled raider, Terig regarded his clanmate. “Are we to consider ourselves members the Imperial Fleet again?”

  “I have the feeling we never really left the fuckers. Come on. Let’s get this tub running again and crash Maf’s party.”

  * * * *

  Piper pushed a hover cart overflowing with dirty dishes into the kitchen. She loaded them into the washer, grimacing as she bent and rose. Prophets, her back ached and her feet burned. Most disconcerting, the low-voltage emergency lighting reminded her of being on the Bi’is lab station.

  With so many of the crew injured, recovering from the virus, or involved with repairs, dinner had to be delivered and dishes collected, rather than men gathering in the dining hall—which had been demolished in the attack and unusable in any case. The raider was not so small when she had to traverse it several times for the day’s meals.

  “If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain,” she sighed.

  Ulof bustled at a furious pace to cook, as he had all day. He was the only member of his staff remaining, with a prep cook dead and the other critically wounded and laid up in Medical. Piper fought off her fatigue, thinking of the situation on the raider. If she and Ulof were overworked, Dr. Zo and his lone orderly were burdened beyond all reason.

  Ulof took a moment to kiss her cheek. “How’s it going out there beyond my stove and ovens?”

  “Most of the bodies have been removed. Repair crews are easy enough to find. I just have to follow the loud cursing.”

  “You understand our profanity, huh?”

  “I picked up some from the test subjects in Wari’det’s labs. Even if I hadn’t heard gurluck or suba before, I’d be able to pick up the gist of what’s being said from the tones of their voices.” She laughed with Ulof before the weight of their situation sobered her. “There are a lot of dead. And this ship was luckier than the one that was completely destroyed.”

  “That’s how it goes on a raider.” Ulof paused again to pat her shoulder before rushing to a beeping oven to draw out a tray of food. He tossed it onto a counter with practiced ease and set out a stack of clean trays. “In my fathers’ day, and the days of their fathers, before the destroyers came along, the raider class would lose dozens of squadrons on a good day of fighting Trag or Bi’is. Careers the length of Nako’s or Terig’s were unheard of then. Most members of a raider crew died within five years.”

  Five years? Piper couldn’t wrap her head around that figure. “It must have been awful to be assigned to a raider back then.”

  “On the contrary. These vessels made immortal heroes out of men. Nobeks begged for the postings, to cover themselves in the glory of fighting to preserve Kalquor.”

  A thudding tread turned them toward the kitchen’s entrance opposite the wrecked dining hall. Piper was amuse
d that Ulof hailed the unexpected arrival with the same enthusiasm as she did.

  The Imdiko waved the Tragoom in when he paused in the doorway, unsure of whether to enter. “Ob! I was about to scrounge around for old leftovers. Not that you’ve left me much of that. You may have to settle for a pile of this casserole.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you out and about. I’m glad you’re popular enough with the crew to not fear being attacked outside the brig.” Piper was delighted her friend and sometime-protector had won the Kalquorians to his side.

  Ob looked about, his triangular ears flicking. “Everyone hurt or work. None to train. I look for captain to get order to help?”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate it. How big a piece do you want?” Ulof poised his serving knife in the middle of the casserole.

  “No, Ulof. Too cooked and fresh-smelling. Rather be hungry.”

  “Picky Tragoom. I’ll hunt around for something else then. In the meanwhile, Nako and Terig are in Engineering, trying to get the engines working. Do me a favor and take them some food on your way? Afterward, stop back here, and I’ll feed you.”

  “Good. I take food to them. Ask for work assignment.” As Piper started the full dishwasher and steered the cart to stack the trays of food Ulof divvied out, Ob sniffed in her direction. “You are tired. Should rest.”

  It was funny how he could smell fatigue, but Piper supposed it made sense. With his bad eyesight, he had to rely on his other senses. “I’m okay. It’s just exhausting to cook and ferry food to everyone when they’re scattered all over the raider.”

  Ob switched his attention to Ulof, who had finished plating the casserole and helped Piper load her cart. “Ulof okay?”

  “Ulof is dead on his feet, but Ulof will keep cooking because he has to.” The Imdiko winked at Ob. “Such is life on a warship. I have a secret supply of stim tabs to help me through days like this.”

  “If captain need no help, I return and help you.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” When Ob lumbered out of the kitchen, carrying covered trays for Nako, Terig, and the few left on the engineering staff, Ulof whispered to Piper. “He’s a great guy, but I’m not sure anyone wants him near their food. Rack your brain for a task he can do if no one else can use him.”

  Piper snickered and started off on another meal run. Despite the ruin of the raider and the Basma’s fleet chasing after the death ship, she couldn’t help but feel good. If Ob could be safe and well-regarded on a Kalquorian vessel crewed by the most ruthless of men, all miracles were possible.

  * * * *

  “We’re fucked.”

  “No shit.” Nako stared down the conduit for Engine Two with Terig and the four remaining engineers. A ball of plasma had formed minutes before, sending streams of lethal energy crackling in the space.

  After that, they were silent. They gazed at the growing sphere, no one moving to do anything, because there was nothing they could do.

  Oh well. We had a good run.

  The steady sound of heavy plodding pulled away the group’s attention. Ob lumbered toward them in the smoke-hazed room, a large tray of sealed platters in his hooves.

  Nako greeted him with all the enthusiasm he could muster, as much for his defeated crew as the Tragoom. “Ob! I see Ulof has put you to work.”

  He already had little appetite and smelling the Tragoom made eating the last thing he wanted to do. Lopdod had told him that Ob enjoyed hosing off daily, but the poor bastard still stunk like week-old refuse.

  Because it was something to do, Nako unsealed his meal and forked in a small bite. It was difficult to swallow, though Ulof had done his usual excellent job of cooking. The engineering staff chewed as morosely as their captain, and Terig didn’t bother to try to eat. The Nobek resumed scowling at the plasma ball, as if he could scare it into disappearing.

  Meanwhile, Ob’s ears perked in Nako’s direction, making him look somehow hopeful. “I can help repair the ship? Put me on crew to fix things?”

  “Not a bad idea. We can use all the help we can get.” Except there was no longer any point. Even abandoning ship would avail them of nothing; they’d never get the fighters and shuttles beyond the monumental blast that was coming.

  Terig’s voice was unemotional. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas about getting past rogue plasma charges?”

  Ob moved close to the conduit opening to peer uncertainly down the conduit. His snout flared as he took a deep breath. “It is a little more than three meters away. One meter past the first power cell.”

  Nako was not surprised Ob would know the layout of his engines. Raiders had been around for a long time, and Tragooms had scavenged their fair share of the vessels. The great tinkerers of the universe, the race had a reputation for taking any number of other species’ technology and making the most unadaptable machines work together in a seamless whole.

  Terig showed no hope, but he clapped Ob on the shoulder anyway. “Right you are, Ob, old man. If we could start that engine, its power draw would counteract the plasma charge. Drain it, actually. But to get the engine running and diffuse that energy ball, we have to replace a damaged cell.” He nodded to the spare component on the floor nearby. They’d brought it out of storage before realizing the futility of doing so.

  “The streams coming off the plasma center are blocking us from the very cell unit we need to reach,” Nako said. “The only other path to gain access is to go in through the main conduit that runs behind these smaller ones.”

  “But doing that makes you disassemble the engine to get to the cell.” Ob’s lower jaw jutted and his brow wrinkled. “That takes many hours. And much calibrating sensitive instruments to put back together, for many more hours.”

  “Exactly.” Hours they didn’t have.

  “Other engines are broken?”

  “One works at full capacity. Another can manage half-power. The third is explosive garbage that even a team of Tragooms couldn’t find a decent widget to re-use.” Terig stomped aside, frustrated at the situation.

  “This one?” Ob waved at the plasma-threatened conduit.

  “Just the fried cell. If we could replace it, it would work at full power.”

  Nako watched suspicion dawn on the Tragoom’s jowly face. “That energy charge. It is feeding on damaged cell?”

  Terig regarded him with respectful surprise. “You figured that out without looking at the diagnostics? Damn, Ob. We need to put you on the duty roster. We’re looking for a new head engineer.”

  Ob’s ears flattened. “Plasma ball will continue to grow. Quickly.”

  “I guess you understand what that means?”

  “Will ignite engine. How long until it destroys ship?”

  Nako scowled at the brilliant blue sphere crackling down the seconds of his raider’s existence. He hated enemies he couldn’t fight. “We figure we have five minutes. If we’re lucky.”

  Terig shrugged an apology to Ob. “Okay, so it will be a short-lived career as head engineer. But hey, at least you know we care.”

  Chapter 21

  Ob pointed a cloven hand at the nearby replacement cell. “Give to me. I will replace.”

  Nako took in the rocklike body that had only four weak points: the eyes, a one-inch spot beneath the sternum, and the groin. Tragoom skin was better armor than his reinforced uniform—but against plasma? “Your hide can tolerate that?”

  “Tragooms deal with same situation many times. Main plasma ball further down in shaft, so only bolt streams to worry with. Slight burns to outer dermis, no internal damage.”

  “Holy shit, Ob. I will make you chief engineer if you can help us out of this.”

  He snuffled laughter. “I go to Dantovon. I like you and your crew, Captain Nako. But I can’t live with Kalquorian smell for so long.”

  For an instant, the assembled men stared at him. Then the room echoed with their laughter. Nako guffawed until his guts hurt.

  Handing Ob the replacement cell, chortling at the jibe, Terig said, �
��You know what to do in there?”

  Ob nodded, also snuffling laughter. A second later, he heaved his bulk into the conduit and crawled down the space that was almost too narrow for him.

  The next two minutes ticked by as Nako and his men waited in silence. The dry hiss of the plasma ball throwing off energy streams filled the room. Then clanging within the conduit could be heard. With Ob’s body blocking Nako’s vision, he couldn’t tell how the transfer was progressing.

  He had his answer seconds later when the sizzle of rogue power ceased. Engine Two’s indicators lit up green across the panel.

  Terig forestalled the engineering crew’s tentative cheers. “Hold on a moment before you come out, Ob. Let me make sure it’ll fire.”

  The Tragoom remained still as Terig ordered the engine on. It hummed to life, sounding as smooth and sweet as if it had just come out of the assembly plant.

  Nako joined the others as they whooped in relieved celebration. With two and a half engines, he could chase after Maf, perhaps even catch up to the rogue fleet as they attempted to hunt the death ship down.

  He yelled at the waiting Tragoom’s hooves, “Come on out, Ob. Terig wants to give you a kiss!”

  Terig roared with hilarity at that. “Damned right I do!”

  When Ob hesitated, one of the engineers cackled. “You’ve scared him, Weapons Commander. He may never leave the conduit now.”

  Nako stopped laughing. Ob indeed wasn’t budging—wasn’t moving at all. With a stab of dread, Nako lunged into the conduit, barely noting the odor that any other time would have him gagging. He grabbed Ob’s thick leg and pulled.

  Terig joined him, then the other four men, and they hauled Ob out. His solid, limp weight told Nako the worst had happened before they got him clear of the cramped tunnel. The Tragoom’s body thudded to the floor, twisting to land face up.

  One mud-brown eye stared into eternity. The other socket was blackened where a plasma bolt had found its inch-wide mark, blasting through to Ob’s brain.