by Donald Swan
Argos’ chair was beginning to soothe her tired body, perhaps too much. She yawned and scooted her body down further into the soft lounge chair. She was exhausted. So exhausted. Bits and pieces of her childhood floated through her mind, disjointed and unstructured as her body succumbed and she drifted into sleep.
The crew was unusually quiet. With the recent loss of Argos, the Meth crewmember Sprot, and now Nick, no one felt much like chatting. It would be a while before things on the Ashok would return to normal.
Karg left the somber mess hall without eating a bite. He had no desire for food or conversation. He just wanted to go to his room to be alone.
Once in his quarters, Karg sat down at the table dominating the center of his room and dropped his head into one set of hands. He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again, sighing heavily as he stared down at the table top. He suddenly realized that something was out of place. He lifted his head out of his hands and gazed at the coin lying just inches from his elbows. He recognized the coin immediately. It belonged to Nick.
‘It’s a Quarter. This is an old one, back from when they still had some silver in them,’ he remembered Nick saying.
Nick’s good luck charm. Since coming aboard the Ashok, the coin had never left his pocket. The human had taken it everywhere with him. Until now.
His chest felt heavy as he stared at the coin. If Nick had left his good luck coin behind, then he had expected to die out there.
Slowly, almost afraid of its contents, he picked up the note that was pinned underneath the coin. ‘Karg, after today, I figure you might need this more than me. You’ve been a true friend to me, and you’ve saved my ass more times than I care to admit. Funny, how I was able to make friends easier out here than on my own planet. Anyway, my Chess set is in my quarters. It’s yours if you want it. Go easy on Slimy though, you know how he hates to lose. I’m not sure what your race’s beliefs are about dying, but on my world, many humans believe our spirit lives on when we die. That we go to a better place. An afterlife. If that is true, perhaps we’ll meet again on the other side. You watch your back, and take care of Arya. Now go kick some metal Mok’tu butt for me! I’ll be watching, from somewhere out there.’
Karg let out a long, deep groan as a single fat tear rolled down his nose and dropped onto the paper he held. Paper. Something so foreign to him but so precious to Nick. Afraid of losing this last connection to his friend, he carefully blotted the wet spot his tear had formed on a corner of the paper and carefully set the note further away in a zone that was safe from his tears.
He felt the loss of his comrade more than ever now. That dran human. Why he missed that pale, soft skinned alien so much was a complete mystery to him. Nick had been a pain in the butt sometimes and was as backward as they came, but he was good in a battle, and he had proven to be a valuable crewmember. He’d saved their butts on more than one occasion.
“And a good friend,” Karg moaned.
He would never forget his strange alien friend.
He reached out and picked up Nick’s coin, trying to rub it between the thick pads of his big fingers the way Nick used to. The coin dropped back to the table, another one of Karg’s tears quickly following it.
Three Days Later….
Karg woke to the sound of explosions rocking the ship. “Karg! Get to Bay One, we’re about to have company!” Arya’s voice demanded over his com-badge.
Karg fell out of bed onto his knees. The rumble of multiple blasts to the hull rang through his room. “What…what’s going on? Arya?”
“Karg! Get your arsk to Bay One! Now!” The sounds of explosions on the bridge almost drowned out Arya’s voice. “Raiders!”
“Frek!” Karg grumbled. He flew out of the door into the corridor, driving a passing Meth into the wall as they collided. The Meth crewmember stumbled to his feet in his cumbersome environmental suit and continued on his way. Karg was too distracted to apologize. He hopped down the hallway attempting to get a foot into his boot and still shaking off his grogginess. He finally got his feet stuffed into his boots before rounding the corner into Bay One. The fury of plasma blasts hitting the hull reverberated through the hangar like a giant drum. “I’m in Bay One. What the hetek is going on out there?”
Karg waited for what seemed like forever for an answer. The silence on the com had him worried. Finally, Arya replied. “Raiders. Everywhere. Too small and fast. Can’t get a clear shot. Can’t outrun them.”
Suddenly Karg’s com-badge screeched and whined. Then a strange voice broke in. “Captain of the Ashok, surrender and I may let your crew live.”
Karg waited tensely through the long pause. Arya didn’t appear to be responding to the raider’s demands.
“Let me talk to Arnon,” the voice demanded.
On the bridge, Arya sat tall and straight in the Captain’s chair, glaring at the main view screen. An unkempt, scarred face stared back at her. Typical raider scum, in need of a good bath and some manners. At least over the vid-link she was spared from his stench.
All her training and time spent watching Argos command the ship had prepared her for this moment. “Raider baskurt. This is Captain Arya of the Ashok. I have been lenient with you so far, but do not try my patience. Perhaps you have heard about how we recently destroyed a Mok’tu Star-Killer. Leave now or suffer the same fate.”
The commander of the raiders smirked. “Yeah I’ve heard of you alright. And I’ve heard about that weapon of yours. A weapon of that power would be worth a lot of credits. Way I hear it, that weapon could probably rip apart a whole planet. The fact that a craft that small can unleash that kind of power has me shakin’ in my boots.” The commander gave a sarcastic laugh. “The thing is…that weapon may be scary powerful when it’s launched, but right now it’s sitting safely aboard your ship. Now surrender before I take your ship apart, piece by piece!”
Arya’s mind raced. They knew about the module, but they thought it was still aboard the Ashok. How could she use that to her advantage? And Arnon? How did they know Arnon?
“I’ve called your bluff, missy,” the commander chided. “Time to pay up.”
“Commander Scumbag,” she began, taunting him with insults. “I do not negotiate with raiders and especially not with the likes of you. You have ballusks, I’ll give you that. I can’t believe you would threaten the ship carrying the biggest, baddest weapon around. What the hetek were you thinking? You’re such a patuke. I have nothing more to say to you. You’re not even worth the effort of killing. Get out of my way, and I will let you live. And before you go making another brilliant decision in your colorful, yet undoubtedly short career, I ask you, how sure are you that this weapon can’t be fired from within the walls of this vessel? Are you willing to bet your life on it?”
The commander’s reply was long in coming. The smaller raider vessels zipped around the Ashok like betiks on a syrup tree, continuing to fly hit and run maneuvers. The constant plasma blasts were beginning to weaken the Ashok’s defenses.
Finally the commander’s voice broke the silence. “I understand. You have principles. You don’t negotiate with raiders. That’s one of your principles. But, you see, I don’t have any of them principles. Life’s much simpler that way. Know what I’m say’n’?” The commander grinned, one gold tooth shining amidst his decaying, food encrusted teeth. “It’s a shame that a pretty thing like you is going to have to die, but now you’re trying my patience!”
Sirok sent a message to Arya’s console with his wireless neural interface. The raiders had made it through the Ashok’s collapsing shields and had blown off the outer door to Bay One. With the shields failing and the hull breached, there was nothing to stop them from entering the ship.
Arya severed communications with the raiders, and the view screen went blank. The time for posturing was over. The raiders in this sector were notoriously dangerous and most likely one of the main reasons so few ever returned from Demented Space. “Sirok, you have the con. Patch everything throug
h to my PDU.” Arya held up her personal data unit, a handy, do about anything, reconfigurable on the fly, mobile gadget that she seldom left behind. “Tell Karg I’m headed down there, and get everyone you can to Bay One. We need to stop them from getting into the rest of the ship!”
“Aye, Captain.” Sirok busily typed on his console. His holo-display showed a diagram of the ship alongside a roster of the crew and their current locations.
Arya turned as she entered the transport tube. “Lock down the bridge.” The tube doors slid shut with a whoosh, and the tube sped down to the bay level.
Sirok broadcasted a message to all hands, ordering them to defend the hangar bay. The bridge grew quiet. The bombardment had ceased. The raiders were now focused on taking the ship. Sirok put a priority-one lockdown in place, sealing off the bridge. Arya would be able to command the ship through her encrypted mobile data unit, but if all else failed, Sirok would have to take over command from the bridge. The protective mucus covering Sirok’s body oozed faster. It was a natural bodily function for a Kymean under stress, a vestige of his ancestry that allowed them to move quickly and replace the antibacterial covering at a more rapid rate. His nerves were beginning to get the best of him, and he could feel it in the thinning mucus running down his face. He knew that even with the bridge locked out the raiders could disable the engines and other systems if they infiltrated the ship.
Arya slid to a stop next to Karg in Bay One. The force field in the bay was holding, but through the translucent wall of static, the ominous presence of the raiders was apparent. A boarding party was nearing the field, spreading into several groups.
A handful of crewmembers ran into the bay behind Arya. Two Meths, a couple of Arisian ensigns, and Kyrk. Arya frowned. “That’s it? That’s all of you?”
“Hull breach in the aft section,” Kyrk responded “Five of the crew were there when it happened. Three didn’t make it. The other two are trapped.”
Arya was all business. “Sket. It will have to do. Take cover. We draw the line here! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir!” the crew replied in true military fashion.
In front of them, the glove of an armored space suit pierced through the force field.
“Karg! They’re coming through! They must be using a field modulator.”
Another hand came through the force field, a pistol aimed and at the ready. Plasma blasts ricocheted off the metal crate in front of them as they ducked. “Open fire!” Arya commanded, as she popped up and fired several rounds at the raiders.
A barrage of plasma bolts streaked back and forth across the bay. Puffs of smoke rose from the impacting balls of plasma, creating an early morning fog-like haze throughout the bay.
A raider rushed at the barricade of crates and pushed off the edge of a box with one foot in an attempt to leap over the barrier. Karg caught the soldier square in the chest with a rapid burst of plasma. He was dead before he hit the ground. His lifeless body smoldered on the floor next to Arya, forcing her to turn away from the sickening smell of burnt flesh that rose from the exit wounds in his back.
There were too many of them and with the protection of the field, they had the upper hand. Waves of soldiers rushed through the force field. The ones that survived the onslaught of plasma fire took up positions around the bay. A Meth stumbled forward, his suit damaged by enemy fire. Methane gas hissed from a rupture in his suit. He was suffocating in the nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere of the bay. Arya noticed him trudging forward, determined to make it to the front line. Before she could tell him to get clear, the Meth threw himself in front of the barricade. Enemy fire triangulated on his position and a fireball erupted from the flammable gasses in his ruptured methane supply tanks. The blast jarred the heavy crates, driving some of the containers backward. The force field flexed from the shockwave and then sprang back to its normal shape.
For a brief moment, the methane blast disrupted the firefight. Through the haze, Arya could see the enemy trying to regroup. Her heart sank. It didn’t look like the crew was going to win this one. After all they’d been through a band of lousy pirates was going to take them out.
Clink. The sound had Arya’s ears twisting to locate the origin. She looked down at the floor. An orb about the size of a gorsh fruit bounced into the center of the defending crewmembers. Her brain screamed for her to run, but it was too late. Bolts of energy shot out from the device and hit her in the chest. She hung there, unable to move, every nerve in her body screaming out in intense pain. Her eyes were locked in a stare across the bay. She watched as her crew just stopped, paralyzed in their last positions by fluctuating beams of energy projecting outward from the orb. Then she felt her consciousness begin to fade, and it was over. The team that had fought valiantly against so many enemies collapsed to the floor.
Arya awoke to the sound of the lead raider’s voice. Her body hurt right down to her bones. She forced her eyes open then shut them again. They hurt too. When she tried to move, it was obvious she lacked all muscular control. Apparently, she was sitting on the floor, propped up against one of the crates, her hands bound behind her back. She forced one eye open enough to see two hazy figures standing nearby. Suddenly, an out of focus face leaned in. She jerked back only to fall over helplessly to the floor. She felt a rough hand on her shoulder, and then a sharp sting pricked her neck.
“That should bring her around, Cap.”
Slowly, Arya’s eyes focused on the figure before her. From her uncomfortable vantage point on the ground, she could easily see it was the commander of the raiders.
“Captain Binche, I believe.” The Commander said sarcastically. “At last we meet.” He gave a raspy chuckle, and a few of his soldiers followed suit.
Arya pushed the words out of her unusually dry throat “Commander Patuke, I assure you the pleasure is all yours.” Arya knew she was only alive for one reason. They must have discovered that the module wasn’t aboard the Ashok, and they wanted her to tell them where it was. “Filthy pirate,” she sneered.
“Pirates, raiders, those are such ugly terms. We prefer procurers of unclaimed merchandise.”
“Unclaimed? Somehow, I doubt that!”
The Commander leaned down, grabbed her by the collar and pulled her upright.
The bindings around Arya’s wrists dug into her soft skin, making her wince. “Ow,” she protested. The head raider pushed his face in close to Arya. His need of a bath was now painfully obvious to her sensitive nose.
“Well, if everyone’s dead, then there ain’t no one to claim anything, now is there? And the name’s Zurkan,” he said with a sinister grin.
Arya tried not to vomit at the smell of his breath. The wooziness in her head didn’t help matters. She tightened her throat, determined to hold her bile down. What the hetek was that weapon they had used on her? She had never seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it. She felt like she had been beaten by ten bat-wielding Rakozians. It even hurt to blink.
Arya glanced at her hip. Her PDU was gone! Had they taken it? Where was it?
“Frek,” she mumbled. She glanced around at the raiders. There was no indication that any of them had her PDU.
“Now where is my little buddy Arnon?” Zurkan asked her.
“He’s dead,” she told him with satisfaction. “Killed by an energy creature. It sucked the life right out of him.”
“You mean a Glop?” Zurkan grinned. “What a shame. Well, that means my cut of the profit just got bigger.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “What happened to the Glop? It’s not still on board, is it?”
“I wouldn’t tell you if it was. Besides, all your men roaming around will just improve my odds. Big strapping guys like you would make a good meal for a Glop, don’t you think?”
Arya smirked up at the commander. She could tell Zurkan’s composure was slipping, though he tried to hide it.
As she gazed up at the idiot, she suddenly realized that she’d left her PDU in the storage locker. In her mind, she carefully retrac
ed her steps up to the time they had engaged the raiders. She recalled having checked the ship’s systems from the PDU when she’d been in the storage area picking up extra ammo. Frek! She remembered now that she had set the device down on the shelf when a noise had startled her. She mentally cursed herself for being so careless.
“So where has that famous hyperspace module gone? Hmm…where?” the Commander coaxed. He reached down, grabbed Arya’s silken, green hair and pulled her to her feet. “The last transmission said it was in Bay Two. Where has it gone? And the pilot, the human, where is he?”
Arya stared directly into his beady little pirate eyes. Zurkan was definitely starting to lose his cool. That made him even more unpredictable and dangerous. At the moment, he had the upper hand. She was in pain, and she was having difficulty coming up with a good stall tactic. She fumbled for a good way to answer him about the module. If she told him that Nick was most likely dead, he’d probably shoot them all right there.
A series of beeps sprang from Arya’s com-badge. The Commander glanced down at her badge. “What the frek is that?”
Glad to have an opportunity to change the subject, Arya quickly answered. “The com-link is freked. You blasted the sket out of it with your ships.”
Arya’s badge continued to squawk out short and long beeps. At first she had assumed that the com-link really was freked, but then she realized there was a pattern in the beeps. The noises sounded like an ancient human code Nick had told her about. But who would be using it?