The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation

by Joseph J. Madden

  Kym threw her hands up. “I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me.”

  “He’s obviously looking for something, or someone,” Podo said.

  “Well maybe Bokschh will know what’s going on with him.”

  At the mention of Bokschh’s name, Sneaker bounced back in the air several centimeters as though startled, then turned to the ship. Zipping up the ramp, the drone disappeared inside, the others racing to follow.

  “He’s definitely on about something,” Podo said as they pursued. They found the drone on the bridge, doing the same frantic search it did in the hangar. Finding nothing he hovered before his friends, photoreceptors cast toward the deck in a dejected manner.

  Morogo entered the bridge, having made a quick circuit of the rest of the ship. He looked almost as forlorn as the drone.

  “No sign of Bokschh?” Podo asked. The Vor’na’cik shook his head.

  Kym turned back to the drone. “Sneaker, where’s Bokschh? Did someone take him?”

  Sneaker floated to the communications console, extending an arm tipped with a data-retrieval jack and plugged in. The holo-projector came to life, the image sputtering in and out, and they realized the vid was recorded after Sneaker had already been hit by the EMP. It showed a motley mix of humans and aliens making for the crew access door of the hangar, carrying Bokschh away as fast as they could. Just before the door shut, one human came into view. Sneaker paused the vid, then enhanced the image.

  Podo’s jaw dropped. “That’s Godfrey. That’s the customs agent that was hassling us when we landed.”

  “Explains why he showed such interest in Bokschh, but why?” Kym asked. “There have got to be people on this planet with newer model drones. Why would anyone want to steal a thirty-year-old ex-military drone?”

  Podo and Morogo shared a look. “Why don’t we go and ask him?”

  ***

  With a sizzle of fried electronics, the door slid open and Scarab and his men rushed into the hangar, spreading out across the landing pad and sweeping the area around the Starhawk. One man approached the landing ramp and attempted to work the controls. There was a flash of blue light and the trooper flew back several meters, landing in a heap on the ground. Scarab and another man went to examine the controls while the others looked to their fallen comrade.

  “They’ve got the ship buttoned up tight,” the man at Scarab’s side said, examining the controls without touching them. “It’s a class job. I could get us in, but it won’t be easy.”

  “No. We won’t waste our time here. Even if we got the ramp down, there are sure to be other counter-measures inside. These are professionals, after all.” Scarab replied.

  His voice was its typical calm monotone, but inside he was seething. They had swept the suite at the White Star first and come up empty. With Forster and Pasker detained, Scarab knew the others would go looking for them, but he did not think that they would have gotten on it that quickly. He had hoped to catch them off-guard, without a fight, but now that was impossible.

  “Issue a city-wide alert to all security centers,” he told the trooper. “We have their dossiers on file, but tell them to proceed with discretion. I do not want alerts broadcast across all the city nets and alerting the other guests that we have a fugitive situation.”

  “And if they resist?”

  “As I said, these are professionals. If they resist, you have my permission to terminate them on the spot.”

  The trooper moved off to send the alert. Scarab stood for a moment, staring up at the ship. Should have killed Pasker and the boy back when we took them. Now things are going to get complicated.

  And complicated meant messy. Boke would not like that. It would tarnish the galaxy’s view of his precious paradise, for a while, at least. Then the PR reps would whitewash everything, and within weeks, Utopia would be back to normal, and Boke would be happy.

  And best of all, Forster and Pasker would be dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Slowly, Jesse emerged from the blackness, his head pounding so that it felt like a Telefrarian Fire Hound was tap dancing on his skull. He opened his eyes, blinking them to clear his blurry vision, but it was still difficult to see. There was a harsh stench in the air—sulfur, perhaps, and the distinct smell of ozone. Wherever he was, it was dark, not pitch-black, but hard to see even as his vision came back into focus. He looked around —

  And stared into a gaping maw full of razor-sharp teeth.

  Startled, Jesse tried to scuttle backwards away from the looming fangs, but found he could not move. He tried to lash out, or reach for something to strike out with, but his hands were restrained at the wrists. Then the creature crouching over him spoke. “Easy, child. No need to fret. You’ve had quite the shock.”

  Jesse found himself calming almost immediately. The voice, though gruff, had a soothing tone to it. As his eyes gained more focus, he could better make out facial features and almost startled again.

  It was a Kleezha, and at first Jesse thought the Garrakis brothers had come back to haunt him. The wolfish head, feline eyes and snout full of teeth like miniature swords would frighten anyone waking up from blackness, but as Jesse stared longer, he could see this particular Kleezha was not one of the dread Nexus Gang leaders, and not as menacing as first thought.

  This was an older, almost elderly, Kleezha, and a female at that. The terrifying snout full of fangs was in fact smiling down at him in a way that left him oddly reassured. She turned away, nodding to someone he could not see, and sure now that he would not lash out or harm himself, released the grip on his arms.

  K’Tran came into view as Jesse sat up, still keeping a wary eye on the Kleezha. “It’s all right, Jess,” K’Tran said, kneeling at his side, and helping him to sit up. “Salga here has medical training,” He paused to smile at the older woman. “And she’s an old friend.”

  Salga smiled again, but this time it did not creep Jesse out. “I knew this old rogue, and your father, years ago.”

  Jesse blinked at her in the dimness. He shook his head and some of the bees buzzing around his skull subsided. Some, not all. “Client or target?” he asked, wincing. His throat was desert dry.

  Salga chuckled. “Further back than that. We crossed paths a time or two during the war.”

  “And after all the years, and millions of miles, we end up rotting in the same hellhole.” K’Tran added.

  “Where are we?”

  Another familiar voice chimed in. “Welcome to the Tydrium mines of Utopia,” Raychel said, kneeling next to K’Tran, handing Jesse a steaming mug. “Where Boke sends everyone that he wishes to forget about.”

  Jesse took the cup and raised it to his lips. It smelled awful, but his throat was so dry that he drank it anyway. It tasted better than it smelled, but not much. “What happened?” he asked, looking at K’Tran.

  “Scarab stunned you, point blank, with your own weapon. Lucky he didn’t kill you at that close range. Then he blasted me and we all woke up here. You’ve been down about seven hours now.”

  Jesse had a sudden flash of nausea, and lay back, Salga easing him down so he would not strike his head. “Let’s let him rest,” she said. “The next work shift will be starting soon, and the guards don’t care if you’re incapacitated or not.”

  “I’ll stay with him,” Raychel said.

  K’Tran looked skeptical, but Salga put a hand on his shoulder, nodding in her serene manner. K’Tran sighed and followed the Kleezha down the corridor, leaving the two of them alone.

  Jesse blinked in the dimness, looking around at his surroundings. They were in a large cavern, with other prisoners scattered about in small groups. Armed guards wandered among them, some just looking threatening, others making gestures or remarks as they passed.

  And there were children. Too many children, looking like sad little ghosts. It made Jesse feel even worse than he already did.

  Raychel knelt by his side, and began dabbing at his face with a damp rag that smelled the same as the
liquid he drank. “Hope you think this was worth all your efforts.”

  “My crew will tell you I’m a sucker for hard-luck cases.”

  Raychel gave him a small smile. “Is that why you came to the detention center? Had to rescue one more hard-luck case?”

  “Wanted to know what would drive a young girl to try and kill the most important man on the planet, in public, at his own hotel.” He paused. “And there were other considerations. You. . . remind me of someone. My kid sister, Alyssa.”

  She canted her head to one side. “Sounds like you’ve got a story with an unhappy ending too.”

  Jesse shifted, rising enough to prop himself up on one elbow. He gently pushed away the rag she was dabbing him with. “She was just a little younger than you. Happy kid. Full of life. Always the clown. Everybody loved her.”

  He paused again, taking a deep breath, and fighting back the well of emotions that would spring up whenever this particular subject was breached. “She went with a group of her friends off-world to one of the orbital stations on a little vacation just prior to starting intermediate school. While there she contracted Kethlax’s Disease.”

  “I thought Kethlax was contagious only to Harkonians?”

  “There is a strain out there that can be hazardous to non-Harkonians. Only about one in two-hundred thousand humans can contract it, and it’s fatal to even fewer,” Jesse sighed. “’lyssa was one of those lucky few. By the time she got back from the station, it was already taking hold. Within two days, she was gone.”

  Raychel was quiet, and even in the dim light, Jesse could see her eyes were wet with tears barely held in check. Her voice trembled slightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I miss her. I miss her a lot,” he admitted. “It’s been eight years now, and I thought all the hurt had gone away. Then I saw you, and you look so much like her, it’s uncanny. Brought those feelings back up to the surface.”

  Raychel looked shrunken at Jesse’s revelation, and he regretted having said what he did. “I’m sorry,” she echoed. “I’m sorry I got you into all this.”

  Jesse reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know what it’s like to want revenge. That’s why I’m a bounty hunter. I’m still hunting for the man who killed my father. At least you know where to look.”

  With an effort, and with Raychel’s help—his body was still feeling the effects of the stun blast—he got back up to a sitting position. He looked her in her eyes, and his tone was deadly serious when he spoke next. “I promise you, we won’t be here long.”

  He gestured around at the mine tunnels. “None of us will. Give a little time for me to get my strength back, and for the rest of my crew to figure out what happened to us. Then I promise you, we will get out of here. For good, this time. Then we’ll find Boke and that security chief of his and send them both packing straight to the gates of Hell.”

  ***

  Julian Godfrey had no sooner finished putting his belongings in his locker at the start of his work shift when another agent poked her head around the corner. “Godfrey, there’s someone at the desk wants to see you. A tourist.”

  Godfrey groaned. Tourist was customs slang for pain-in –the –ass-offworlder. “I just clocked in. Can’t someone else deal with them?”

  The other agent shrugged. “She asked for you specifically. Said that you were recommended for her particular problem.”

  That’s a load of gravar dung, he thought, slamming his locker to let the other agent know he was displeased, but she had already moved on. Putting on his best air of indifference, he stalked from the locker room and out to the front office.

  His attitude changed when he saw who was waiting for him. She was leaning against the counter, wearing a figure-hugging black jumpsuit that was unzipped dangerously low in the front. Her long red hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, and her coffee-bean brown eyes were batting playfully at the clerk stationed at the desk. There was an air of familiarity about her that Godfrey could not place, but he saw sometimes hundreds of beings in a day and could not remember them all.

  She looked up and flashed a dazzling smile as he approached, and Godfrey barely caught himself in a stumble as he met her at the counter. “I’m Agent Godfrey. How can I be of assistance?”

  She extended a hand, continuing to flash that disarming smile. “Holly Johansson. I’m told you can help me out with a little…logistics problem.”

  “What kind of logistics problem?”

  The smile faded slightly, and she looked hesitant to speak in such a public place. “It’s kind of a delicate situation. Perhaps I should just show you so you can get a full picture of what I’m trying to do.”

  Godfrey tossed a look back at the desk clerk, who was listening in and raising his eyebrows up and down in a lecherous manner. “I’m —I’m not really supposed to leave the facility unless it’s on official business.”

  The woman waved a hand, and the smile returned to full brilliance. “It will only take a moment. My vehicle is parked just outside. I just need you to look at what I’ve got and advise me on what I should do next.” She began playing with her hair, curling it around her finger while gazing at him in expectation.

  Godfrey felt his throat tighten, and could hear the snicker of the clerk behind him. “I, uh,” He had to pause to clear his throat. “I suppose if it only took a minute…”

  “Terrific! I really appreciate this.” She grabbed his hand, leading him out the door before he could say anymore.

  She continued tugging on his wrist as they made their way onto the street and lead him to a float truck parked several meters down. “Who, um, who recommended that you contact me about this matter, anyway?”

  They stopped at the tailgate of the truck and she worked the latch. The smile was gone replaced with deadly seriousness. “A mutual friend.”

  She threw open the back hatch. Staring him almost directly in the face was a battered SKR drone. The same SKR drone that had been guarding the Starhawk the night before, and it was in that moment that he remembered why the girl looked so familiar, and his stomach turned itself inside out at the realization that she was one of the Starhawk crew.

  Godfrey thought to make a run back to the customs office, but even as the thought crossed his mind, another of the drone’s friends appeared from the shadows of the cargo bay. Godfrey caught a glimpse of a mass of green scales, claws and fangs before those claws grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him inside the truck, all lights fading to black as the hatch slammed shut behind him.

  Kym settled into the cab of the truck as Podo was guiding it onto the street at high velocity away from the customs office. Glaring at him, she zipped the front of her outfit all the way up to her neck. “Next time, I drive the truck and you wear the catsuit.”

  Podo chuckled as he directed the truck around a corner and down a back alley. “Sorry. I just don’t have the figure to make that outfit work. Besides, do you really think I could have enticed him to follow me outside?”

  Kym was already sweeping her hair back behind her head into a ponytail. “I feel like such a sleaze in this. Before we go any further, I’m changing back into my own clothes.”

  “It looks good on you. You should try it more often.”

  Kym rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait to be done with this vacation so I can go back to acting like myself.”

  Another few turns and Podo found the secluded area he was looking for. Stopping the truck, they climbed out and went back to the cargo area, throwing the door open again. Godfrey was huddled in one corner. Morogo sat near him, cross-legged with his great clawed hands resting on his knees, in a Zen-like state, the smile full of razor blades the only thing menacing about him now. Indeed, the customs agent seemed more imperiled by Sneaker, who hovered nearby, stunners extended, and photoreceptors “glaring” in Godfrey’s direction. Apparently, the drone was holding a grudge.

  Kym squatted before Godfrey, taking pleasure in how large the customs agent’s eyes h
ad grown in horror. “I suppose you’re wondering why we’ve asked you to join us this morning?”

  Godfrey’s eyes flicked from Sneaker, to Kym, then back to the drone once more, or more precisely, the drones weapons pointed at his head. “I know what you must be thinking, but it’s really not as sinister as it seems.”

  Podo came up behind Kym. “Then enlighten us.”

  Morogo leaned forward, nodding, his grin growing wider as though saying, Yes, enlighten us.

  Godfrey took a long, shuddering breath, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he seemed to have resigned himself. Some of the fear was gone from his eyes. “There’s an underground movement that wants to overthrow Arigh Boke and his goons. We want to expose this place for what it really is, to let the galaxy know what happens to those who step on Boke’s toes. We took your drone because it’s got the capabilities to get us into places and get us supplies that we need to get this ball rolling.”

  Kym leaned in closer. “Did your people have anything to do with the attempt on Boke’s life?”

  “No. Too bad the kid didn’t succeed though. Would have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

  “Two of our friends went missing last night after going to talk to the girl. Do you have any idea where they are now?” Podo asked.

  Godfrey shook his head. “I’m just a customs agent. We’re separate from internal security. Unless we have a major violation, we don’t bother with them. Like I said, they’re goons. But if your friends didn’t come back after seeing her, it’s a good bet they’re probably in the same boat she is.”

  “And that would be?” Kym asked.