The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation

by Joseph J. Madden

  Jesse waited until they were in the lift and the doors had shut before commenting. “I’ve seen you sling some gravar poop before,” he said, keeping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper on the very probable chance that they were being monitored. “But that was the most epic piece of lying-your-ass-off I’ve ever seen. The Confederation doesn’t follow an Interstellar Penal Code, nor does the Harkonian Empire or the Novarian Alliance.”

  K’Tran smirked.”I know that, and you know that, but I was pretty sure Mr. Wet-Behind-the-Ears didn’t know that. Serves Boke right, hiring a bunch of thugs, mercenaries, and void-brains like that.”

  The lift stopped and the doors opened on a long, narrow corridor. Another station sat at the right of the lift and the guard on duty, an older human with slate-colored hair, eyed them with suspicion. K’Tran flipped him a jaunty salute. Scowling back, the guard started down the corridor, gesturing for them to follow.

  Both sides of the corridor were lined with holding cells. Empty ones sat open, their force-field emitters dark. Others, presumably occupied, had the opacity of their force-barriers turned to maximum. Jesse thought he could see dim silhouettes moving within.

  They approached the end of the corridor, where a lone, occupied cell had its force-field at maximum opacity. “Here she is,” the guard announced, reaching to the cell controls and adjusting the field, the interior of the cell becoming visible. The girl was lying on her bunk, back to them, and seemed to make no notice of their approach.

  The guard indicated another control on the panel. “Use this to talk,” he said. “You have five minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Jesse replied. “We’ll take ten.”

  The guard glared, but said nothing, and started back down the corridor. K’Tran nodded in his direction. “You realize we’ll be lucky to get two. They’re probably already contacting their superiors.”

  “Counting on that,” Jesse replied. He pushed the call button. “Hello? Excuse me, but we need to talk to you.”

  The girl stirred, and rolled slowly over to face them. She squinted at them, her eyes struggling to focus, or one eye at least. The left was ringed with a nasty purple welt that had swollen almost completely shut.

  Jesse’s breath caught in his throat. He heard K’Tran gasp in surprise from beside him. They shared a look, knowing that there was no way she had gotten that bruise from them.

  She got to her feet slowly, not so much in hesitation, but the slow, focused movements of someone trying not to drop to her knees. She approached the forcefield, stepping right to its edge, glaring in defiance through her one good eye.

  Jesse was so taken aback at her appearance that he found it hard to speak for long seconds. “We’re—”

  “I know who you are,” she cut him off. “We’ve met before. Remember?”

  “How did you get the shiner?” K’Tran asked.

  She regarded him as if he were some drooling idiot. “Your buddies here in detention gave it to me. I’ve also got this,” she raised the sleeve on her right arm, revealing more bruising. “And this,” Raising her other sleeve, they saw a wicked S-shaped burn mark from her wrist to her elbow.

  “I’ve got others, but they’re in places I’d rather not show you. Unless, of course, you order your friends to show you.”

  “They’re not our friends,” Jesse said. “They did this to you during interrogation?”

  She smirked. “They never even asked me any questions.”

  Jesse shared another look with K’Tran, who looked as sick as Jesse felt. He turned back to the girl. “What’s your name?”

  She regarded him, wondering if she should play along. Jesse could see the emotional struggle going on by the look on her face. After a moment, she replied, “Raychel. Raychel McAllister.”

  “I’m Jesse Forster. This is K’Tran Pasker. We’re bounty hunters. We don’t work for Boke or his affiliates.”

  “Just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

  Jesse felt slightly flush. “We’re actually here on vacation.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I had to go and inconvenience you.” She replied, all attitude now. “You must be anxious to get back to the nightclubs and waterparks.”

  She started to turn, but Jesse called to her. “What did you mean that Boke killed your father?”

  Raychel stopped, turning back slowly. “Boke’s killed a lot of us.”

  “Who is us?” K’Tran asked.

  “All of those that Boke puts away in the mines.” She stepped closer to the force-field, lowering her voice, as though that would keep her comments from being overheard by the hidden listening devices in and outside the cell. “Anyone who crosses him in the slightest who isn’t wealthy enough to buy their way back off planet.”

  “The mines that Boke says aren’t in operation anymore,” K’Tran muttered, disgust evident in his voice.

  “Boke put you there?” Jesse asked.

  “Me. My parents. Hundreds more. A lot of the offenses are minor. Look the wrong way at a security officer, cheat at the gaming tables, any desecration of property, even if on accident. Doesn’t matter. In our case we were a little short on funds when it came time to leave. My father couldn’t arrange a transfer from our home bank fast enough. Twenty-six hours was too long, they said.”

  Jesse glanced over at the duty station. The guard was openly watching them, not even bothering to use the monitors.

  “They imprisoned your whole family for a minor debt?” K’Tran asked. Jesse knew it was not because his friend doubted the girl, but the very notion that minor offenses could lead to such harsh circumstances was hard to swallow.

  Raychel nodded. “Mine, and others. They don’t want word getting out that the mines are still active and that they’re using slave labor to run them, so people just—disappear. Just like the original colonists did.” She saw them look at each other and added. “Yeah. Don’t believe the propaganda that Boke bought them out and made them all rich. They’re down there too, at least the ones still living, which isn’t a lot.”

  It’s all starting to come together now, Jesse thought. “How long were you in there?”

  Raychel hesitated, and Jesse knew he would not like the answer. Not that I’ll like any answer she gives anyway.

  “We went in just before my fourteenth birthday. I turned sixteen last month.”

  Jesse’s head swam. Two years. Two years of a child’s life taken away because her parents couldn’t pay a bill on time. “How did you get out?”

  She hesitated again, but only for a second. Any of Boke’s people connected with the mines already knew what had happened. “There was a revolt. Some of the others started a riot so that we could make a run for it. There were three other groups that made a break for it.”

  Raychel paused, her eyes beginning to well with tears at the memory. When she looked back at them, a stern resolve came across her face, even as the tears began to run down her cheeks. “My father died so we could escape. He distracted the guards that were after us so we could make it out through one of the air shafts. We heard shots, and my Dad cried out. Then he blew up the entrance to the shaft.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I hope he took some of the bastards with him.”

  And there was the answer that Jesse had sought. Boke may not have actually done the deed of killing her father, but by sentencing innocents to the mines, he was as guilty as if he had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

  K’Tran nudged Jesse, pointing back the way they had come. The guard at the duty station was still watching them, but had his hand to one ear, listening to something coming over his earbud.

  Time was short, but he still needed some answers. “You said we escaped. Was your mother with you?”

  Another answer that Jesse could see hurt her to talk about, but she was also resigned to it. “My mom disappeared about six months after we got to the mines. No one saw her since.”

  That was the last bit of information Jesse needed to hear. Turning from the cell, he gestured to the guar
d, who took his time walking over. The look on his face asked the question, What?

  Jesse pointed to the controls. “Open it.”

  That changed the guard’s expression from stony to surprise. Jesse did not wait for him to openly inquire. “Open it now.” He pulled one of his Colts. Out the corner of his eye he saw K’Tran do the same. “We’re taking her out of here.”

  The guard raised his hands in surrender, but a moment later gave Jesse a curious smirk and lowered them again, reaching for his own weapon.

  Jesse was about to warn the guard about trying anything, when he saw that K’Tran was putting his gun back in its holster as well, his face suddenly ashen. Raychel stood frozen in her spot, but gave a quick jerk of her head to indicate something behind Jesse.

  Turning, still keeping an eye on the guard, he could just see that a section of the corridor wall behind them had slid back noiselessly to reveal a hidden corridor. A half-dozen guards, dressed in combat gear, were coming through the opening, including the Rycan from the front desk. With a sigh, Jesse lowered his Colt back into its holster and raised his hands.

  “Game over, man,” K’Tran said.

  They turned to face the newcomers. K’Tran’s shoulders sagged at the sight of the next man out of the corridor. “Crap,” he said.

  Arvane Scarab stepped out of the shadows as his phalanx of guards parted to make way for him. He walked straight to K’Tran, towering over him. “Hello Pasker,” His smile was serpentine, his voice as warm as a corpse. “I told you I’d be seeing you again.”

  “Terrific. The one time someone keeps a promise to me,” K’Tran replied, meeting the taller man’s gaze.

  Scarab gave the barest hint of a smirk, then moved to Jesse. There was less of a height difference between them than there was with K’Tran, but Jesse still had to look up.

  “And you’re Forster. You look just like your old man,” Scarab said. A sneer came to his face. “I hated that son of a bitch.”

  Jesse knew better than to rise to the jibe, but it still took all his reserve to keep from lashing out at the other man. From behind him, one of the guards removed his Colts from their holsters, handing one to Scarab, who looked at it with a detached air before returning his gaze to Jesse. “What will Guildmaster Nord think when he hears two of the best and brightest hunters in his employ have been arrested for attempting to break a dangerous felon out of detention?”

  Jesse and K’Tran said nothing. Scarab continued. “Breaking into a planetary government penal facility. Attempted release of an inmate. Resisting arrest,” Scarab paused, and the look in his eyes made Jesse’s blood run suddenly cold. “And the murder of two prison employees.”

  Jesse shared a look with K’Tran. “What are you talking about? We haven’t even touched anyone.”

  Scarab gave him a thoughtful look. “You know, you’re right. You haven’t—yet.”

  In a blur of motion, Scarab leveled Jesse’s blaster and fired at the Rycan, who crumpled to the floor. Jesse heard Raychel scream in sudden shock. Scarab then turned and fired at the on-duty guard, the force of the blast throwing him backward into an unoccupied holding cell.

  “Fools should never have let you past the front desk, much less allowed you access down here.” Scarab said, leveling the Colt in Jesse’s direction. He threw quick glances at the remaining guards around them. “Mister Boke has told me to tighten up the lapses in security after today’s events. If you wish to remain in our employ—and breathing—I suggest you let the lessons your associates just learned sink in.”

  Jesse met his cold gaze. “You’re a psychopath.”

  A slight, razor-thin smile crossed Scarab’s lips for a fraction of a second. “I would have thought Pasker here would have briefed you on that by now.”

  “What happens to us?” K’Tran asked.

  “Plenty of room in the mines, especially for strong,” he paused, looking K’Tran up and down appraisingly. “Mostly young workers. We have a high turnover down there, if you take my meaning.”

  “And if we say no?” Jesse asked.

  “You don’t get that option.”

  Jesse heard his Colt fire, and felt fire surge through every nerve ending in his body. Somewhere in the distance, Raychel screamed again, K’Tran swore, and then darkness consumed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Arigh Boke was lounging under the stars on the veranda of his southern sea home, reading over financial reports and enjoying the warm salt-smell of the ocean breeze when his valet drone approached. “Mister Scarab on the holo for you, Sir.”

  Boke nodded, dismissing the drone, and waiting for it to disappear back into the house before switching his reader to holographic mode. The full-figure image of Scarab appeared at the end of Boke’s lounger. He nodded to his employer. “Mister Boke, Forster and Pasker have been apprehended at the security center. They were attempting to free the prisoner they captured this morning. I had to. . . discipline the guards on duty for even allowing them on the grounds.”

  Boke made nothing of the last comment. He knew Scarab would react swiftly after the dressing down he had gotten earlier. He reached for the cup on the arm of his lounge chair, taking a leisurely sip of chai tea before responding. “After the way dinner went this evening, I knew Forster would try something. I figured he would at least try to attempt interrogating the girl on his own. What are you going to do with them?”

  “I have them on a transport to mine number twelve, along with the girl.”

  Boke raised an eyebrow. “A cruel irony, sending the girl back where she came from.”

  “I thought it appropriate.” Scarab replied. “I guarantee that she will not find escape quite so easy this time around.”

  “Make certain they are kept under constant scrutiny. I don’t want any of them getting out of there.”

  “On my word, Sir. The only way they will leave the mine are as corpses.”

  Boke smiled. “Very good. And the rest of Forster’s crew?”

  “I am leading a detachment to their suite now. They will soon be joining their companions.”

  “No loose ends. Very good, Mister Scarab.” He sipped again at his drink. “I hope that when Forster and company are put away, things will quiet down again. I do not like having my paradise disturbed.”

  Scarab nodded. “It will be so Mister Boke. I will see to it that Forster and the others do not last long in the mines.”

  “Very well, Mister Scarab. I leave it in your capable hands.”

  Boke waved the holo off, and allowed himself a contented sigh. All it took was the right people and the proper motivations. Another few days and all would be back to normal. Utopia would be a utopia once again, and he would be in supreme control.

  ***

  “It’s been two hours,” Kym said, pacing in front of the window as Podo came out of his bedroom. “Jesse and K’Tran should have checked in by now.”

  “I know, and still no contact with Bokschh either. I’m thinking I’m gonna head over to the spaceport and see what’s going on.” Podo replied.

  “Well then, we’re all going,” Kym said. “Safety in numbers. Something big is going down here and I don’t like it.”

  “Now you’re starting to sound like Jesse,” Podo commented.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she retorted.

  Podo moved to the couch where Morogo lay spread across its length. The Vor’na’cik had taken up the spot, watching the door to the suite, keeping vigil for the others to return and had promptly fallen asleep. Podo shook him awake. “Come on. We’re headed to the spaceport to check on the ship and the ‘bots.”

  Morogo blinked sleep from his eyes, and looked groggily between his two friends, then looked around the room and quickly came fully awake. Podo read in his eyes the question he could not voice.

  Podo shook his head. “They haven’t come back yet. We haven’t heard from them either, but we’re going to go ahead with what Jesse told us. We’ll make contact with Bokschh first, then go from ther
e.”

  Morogo shrugged, and clambered from the sofa. Kym returned to her room just long enough to grab a jacket and a small hold-out pistol that she kept tucked inside it. Podo and Morogo had their weapons strapped to their hips. Exiting the suite, they took the lift down to the transportation lobby and caught the first monorail that came through the hotel.

  They arrived at the monorail station nearest the spaceport without incident. Standing outside the crew access door, Podo keyed in the entry code, only to receive an error message. Thinking he had entered it wrong, he typed it in again, and again received the error message.

  “You sure you typed in the right code?” Kym asked.

  Podo burned her a look. “It’s the same code I use for everything. It’s almost like someone tampered with the console.”

  He entered the code once more, and this time the door slid open. Podo pulled his sidearm. At the questioning glance from the others, he replied, “I’ve got a funny feeling.”

  They entered slowly, each one with a weapon drawn. Inside the doorway, they stopped and surveyed the scene. Everything seemed serene. “It’s quiet,” Kym observed. “Too quiet.”

  “Sneaker?” Podo called out. “Sneaker, it’s us. Where you hiding?”

  Morogo patted Podo on the shoulder, then pointed to the ship. Podo followed his line of sight and caught the inference. “The ramp was up and locked when we left.”

  They spread out, slowly approaching the ship. Kym was the first to notice the out-of-place form lying near the landing gear. “Sneaker!”

  They rushed to the fallen drone, Morogo lifting it off the ground while Kym looked it over. “Running diagnostics. Batteries low. Doesn’t appear to be seriously damaged. I think he got hit with an EMP. Let me try rebooting.” She opened the drone’s circuitry housing, giving it a cursory look over. Satisfied that everything appeared undamaged, she flipped the reset switch.

  There was a soft whine as Sneaker’s anti-grav field came online. Its photoreceptors lit up and the drone suddenly bounced into the air. Its dome spun in a complete circle, then from one side to another several times, as though searching for something. Extending its stunners, it zipped off around the perimeter of the hangar, checking every darkened alcove before circling back to where its companions stood. It continued jerkily moving its dome back and forth for several moments before stopping. It looked at Kym and began blathering away at her in an oddly mechanical series of grunts.