Stranded: (Space Outlaw 2)

by Dominique Mondesir

  "It was going to be a ship that this planet could manufacture. That would bring credits and jobs to every city on this sand bowl. But before my plans could fully get underway, Duke happened. He wants the ship for himself. He wants to sell the ship's design to the highest bidder."

  "So what has stopped him?" said Phoenix.

  "It's simple, really. The ship has so much security you'd need a small army just to crack it open. Without me, no one is getting into that baby."

  "If what you say is true, L, then this ship could revolutionise space travel. It would take this planet from a class four to a class two overnight. It would make you rich beyond your dreams. As an inventor, I would love to see it," said Freyan.

  "That's the thing, Freyan. I don't think I want to put it into production anymore," said L.

  "Why?"

  "Because the universe is bloody enough without me adding to it. This ship would only make it easier for races to kill one another. It would only make untouched, unspoilt, planets easier to find. I can't have that on my conscience. I...just can't."

  "Ah, I see," Freyan said quietly.

  "Has anyone seen Plowstow, lately?" asked Phoenix.

  The silence that answered the question allowed the wind to carry it away over the sand dunes. Phoenix looked to each face but received blank stares. He let out a small sigh and leaned back in his chair. That was something else he would have to deal with, sooner or later.

  "Phoenix, what are we going to do? I can't leave Kai in Duke's clutches. He's the only family I have."

  Phoenix saw Saoirse's jaw clench tight and her lips set in a firm line. The lioness was ready for war. Looking to L, Phoenix placed his hand over hers. "Nothing's changed. We will get him back."

  Phoenix's head snapped to Saoirse, who had gone rigid. Her eyes were wide. Her nostrils were flared. The tension in her shoulders could crack rocks.

  A deadly silence had now filled the inn.

  Phoenix followed Saoirse's gaze and saw the person who had set her on edge. A tall, dark-skinned male stood in the centre of the inn. His long red leather trench coat brushed the floor and the tight black top underneath highlighted his well-muscled physique. Braided hair ended with little golden bells on the end of the plaits.

  Phoenix's gaze swept the female with green skin and orange hair cut into a short bob next to him. Her curves pulled at something deep inside him. She caught him staring and gave him a wink and a smile that was all canines.

  "The Bell Man," said Saoirse in a whisper, that said more than a shout ever could.

  31

  Phoenix stared at Saoirse for more information but none was forthcoming. Nothing more was uttered. Around the inn, people slowly got up and made their way towards the exits. The bartender's customers left in droves, and he himself was nowhere to be seen. It seemed that he knew something that Phoenix didn't.

  Not everyone left. A handful of men began to spread themselves out around the room, each taking a spot near an exit or window.

  Huh. So this is how the game is going to be played. Then let us play it well.

  "So, do you have a name, Bell Man?" asked Phoenix.

  "Names are such...miserable things. They label someone for life. They bind you to their will. They chain you so you can never be someone different. Never be someone more."

  Phoenix rolled his eyes, "I could always call you Dickhead, or Fuckface, or Shitface or--"

  "Rustem! The name is Rustem."

  "Ah, so, you see, you do have a name. That wasn't that hard, was it?"

  "Manners, Phoenix Jones, are something I see you lack. Manners tend to go a long way in not getting you killed."

  "Well, as you can clearly see by my perky condition, I have done quite well so far. So, tell me, how do you know my name?"

  A small chuckle escaped Rustem's lips. He shook his head and the bells made a beautiful medley. "Ahh, Mr Jones, your name echoes among the stars. The man from Earth imprisoned for a crime he didn't know he committed. A prisoner facing life in Dredar escapes from the clutches of death. Your name is growing in weight with each passing day.

  "What shall your next adventure be? What shall the next chapter in your story read?"

  "That I was handsome. That I made women across the stars faint at my name. That I was dashing, in victory and defeat. You know, not much, just enough to warm me in my old age. Anyway, you seem to know who I am, but I don't know who you are."

  "I already told you. My name is Rustem. What else is there to say?"

  Phoenix let out an exaggerated sigh before turning to Saoirse. "Who is this fool?"

  Saoirse's hands were placed on both her blades. She didn't appear to hear Phoenix. Her expression still hadn't changed.

  "Saoirse," Phoenix said.

  "If I am the demon pirate hunter, then he is the devil. He is the thing everyone fears. He is a killer for hire, only called when the caller wants just one outcome–death."

  "I see," said Phoenix.

  "He has never lost a kill," said Saoirse.

  "And who is she?" Phoenix asked, nodding to the female next to Rustem.

  "She is none of your concern," said Rustem.

  Phoenix nodded his head and a small smile graced his lips. "I already know the answer to this question--"

  "Then why ask it?" said Rustem.

  "Who sent you?"

  "Now, we both know the answer to that, don't we?" said Rustem.

  "I guess we do," Phoenix said, launching the table in front of him into the air and bringing his pistol to bear.

  Phoenix fired at any target in front of him. He didn't care who he hit, he just wanted to create as much chaos as possible. Rustem and the green female ducked for cover as plasma bolts sailed over their heads.

  Saoirse grabbed L by the front of her clothes with one hand and hauled her over the bar counter. Glasses and bottles shattered as she made impact on the other side.

  "L, you okay?" said Phoenix.

  "Couldn't be better. Just have glass up my ass, but you know."

  "That's my girl," said Phoenix.

  Phoenix ducked as return fire came his way. They had to make it out of here alive. He hadn't travelled across the stars just to die here, in some dirty, flea-ridden bar.

  "Rustem, old buddy, old pal. Can't we talk this out? Like the fine gentlemen we are?" Phoenix said, peering over the table and chairs.

  "Now, Mr Jones, why would I want to do that? Your defeat is all but assured," said Rustem.

  "I don't know. We could talk--" Phoenix saw one of Rustem's men pop his head up. Phoenix didn't hesitate and blew the top of his head clean off. The remains splattered behind the man. Gelatinous red substance slowly slid down the wall.

  "We could talk about how we both look slightly alike–me being better-looking, of course–and how we don't come from the same planet. I would love to know what your world is like."

  "It is not that much different from yours," said Rustem.

  A lull amidst the chaos descended.

  "That's right, Mr Jones. I have been to Earth. What wonders I saw. What knowledge I gained," said Rustem.

  Images of the twins flashed before Phoenix's eyes.

  "Don't worry, Mr Jones. I didn't leave with bloody hands."

  Phoenix's chest rose and fell. He gripped his pistol tighter. Rage coloured his vision. He couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't see. Then, like the passing of a storm, he felt an arm on his shoulder and the clouds parted. Phoenix looked over and saw Freyan, who gave him a slight nod.

  A head popped up to the left, but Phoenix wasn't quick enough. Saoirse's hand flew past his ear, releasing a throwing knife. The blade sank into the enemy's eye, hilt deep.

  "Bloody hands? Looks like you'll be leaving with no men, at this rate!" said Phoenix.

  Two bodies rose from their hiding spots and began to rain fire upon their location. Bits of wood melted and bubbled from the plasma onslaught.

  "We can't stay here all day," Phoenix whispered over his shoulder.

  "On m
y mark. We shall make a move," said Saoirse.

  "What about L?" said Phoenix.

  "She will know what to do," said Saoirse.

  Phoenix could hear rustling behind him, as Saoirse began preparing God knew what. The men were slowly walking their way. Their plan was simply to walk the crew down, laying down continuous fire. Simple but effective.

  A pistol appeared over Phoenix's shoulder. He had one already, but it seemed that Saoirse wanted him to fire both. He guessed the job of returning fire, while the group escaped, was all on him.

  "Now!" said Saoirse.

  Phoenix brought the pistols up and over the table and held his fingers on the triggers. A battle-cry erupted from his lips. Fire erupted from the barrels and made its way towards their attackers. One had the sense to dive out of the way, but the other wasn't so smart. Plasma fire met plasma fire and created a beautiful maelstrom ball of energy. Light crackled and flickered, breaking windows and shorting the overhead lights.

  It pulsed like it had a heart. It was beautiful to behold. But it was growing bigger and bigger by the second.

  Saoirse threw two small balls that left a smoke trail in their wake. They exploded upon impact with the floor. Waves of smoke billowed out of them, filling the inn in seconds.

  The ball of energy was still visible among the smoke. It glowed like an ancient artefact, hanging suspended in mid air.

  As the others began to move out from their hiding places, Phoenix jumped to his feet and let loose with everything he had. He appeared like a demon amid the mist. Plasma bolts seemed to explode from his hands as he bellowed his anger at his attackers.

  How dare they threaten him! How dare they threaten his crew!

  He saw heads lift from where the men crouched, but his shots forced them to duck back down again. Turning on his heels, he began to run towards a window.

  The green plasma ball grew larger and larger in his wake.

  "Retreat! Retreat!" an unknown female voice screamed behind him.

  Phoenix dived through the window just as a green flash of light exploded behind him.

  32

  Plowstow rounded the corner that would take him to Rusty's. He felt good; things were finally looking up for him. After his deal was made, he would have enough credits to do whatever he wanted. Go wherever he wanted. He would be able to leave this sand bowl behind and jet towards the stars. He allowed a smile to cross his face at the thought.

  Would he miss the others?

  He stopped in his tracks; he didn't know how to answer that. He had always looked after himself, first and foremost. That was the number one rule to living in this universe. He had seen too many souls who had tried to help or better the masses.

  Fools!

  He had seen where help and kindness got them–pinned to a wall in some back alley, pockets emptied of credits, jewels and anything else that was valuable.

  No, thinking of himself above all others was what had gotten him this far, so why change a habit of a lifetime?

  But, if it wasn't for the help of the others you would still be in Dredar, said a little voice.

  If it wasn't for my so-called friends I wouldn't be in there in the first place, shouted a larger voice.

  Plowstow shook his head and continued on walking. He didn't have to make a choice right now, did he? He had enough time to decide what to do later.

  First, he would enjoy spending some of his credits on the pleasures that this planet had to offer, and then he could plan his future.

  Plowstow came to a halt, staring at Rusty's. He saw the unmistakeable plasma bolts zipping back and forth inside as shots were fired. Plowstow ran and ducked behind a stack of barrels and held his breath.

  Should he rush in and help? Was it even Phoenix and the others that were in danger? He could be running into a fight that had nothing to do with him whatsoever. He could be risking his life for nothing.

  An unmistakeable small figure burst forth from the inn doors and made a run towards the darkness.

  L! As the ship's engineer ran for all she was worth, Plowstow debated whether he should follow L or not. No. She knew these streets better than he did. She would be okay.

  Plowstow got up from where he crouched and was making his way towards the inn when the sound of breaking windows echoed through the air. Saoirse and Freyan erupted from a window. They both landed and rolled, running in the same direction as L.

  That only left Phoenix. Had he been injured?

  Plowstow crept forward in the darkness, thinking the battle was over, but Phoenix emerged from the inn like a demon from the planet Trag. The inn's windows exploded behind him, and Plowstow dropped to the ground. He lay there, hands over his head, waiting. Listening. Lifting his head up, he looked for Phoenix but saw no sign of him.

  Instead, Odessa emerged from the inn with the Bell Man. The bells in his hair caught the moonlight and flashed in the night. Plowstow swallowed. The credits–and all the dreams that came with them–vanished in a puff of smoke.

  33

  Duke sat behind his desk, frowning, as he stared at the month's figures. They would be short again. This business wasn't his dream; it wasn't even his passion. When he and Blake were first coming up, they needed credits, and petty crime paid well. Nothing too complicated. Nothing that would put them at much risk. Intimidate a club owner here, threaten a storekeeper there. If words didn't get the message across, then he would have to resort to something more painful.

  The work was easy, and he found the more he did it, the more he liked causing pain instead of being on the receiving end of it. It wasn't Blake's sort of thing. He always came up with the ideas, while Duke was the muscle who liked the heavy-handed approach.

  One job led to another, and they started to rise up the crime ladder. It wasn't hard. Most of their colleagues where dimwitted fools who had more sand between their ears than brains.

  It had been simple–easy. Then, one day, Duke was the leader, with Blake in the shadows. Blake was his rock, his left hand that held the right back when words were needed instead of violence. But after a while, the responsibilities of life started to create a wedge between them.

  Blake thought every problem could be talked through, while Duke knew the truth. Those lowlife worm eaters that walked the street didn't know the meaning behind being diplomatic. Force was the only thing they understood.

  Force and violence.

  Then the arguments started. Small ones at first, nothing major; nothing that couldn't be sorted with a gift and a smile. But then the fights between them got bigger and nastier, and nothing Duke did or said could smooth it over. No gift was enough, no sweet whispers cooled the flames that roared and smouldered.

  Now he was there alone, staring at numbers that didn't add up. How could they be losing so many credits?

  The payments to the law and certain Council members had increased year by year. The ways that he hid his credit from other crime lords were always closely monitored. It all amounted to problems that he shouldn't have. It was as if his operation had turned into a corporation, with all the risks and none of the rewards.

  Duke threw the papers in front of him across the room. Shouts from the floors below him drew him to the present.

  What is it now?

  The sound of an explosion startled him.

  What the-

  The shouts turned to screams and plasma fire echoed around his warehouse.

  Boom!

  Another explosion shook the floor beneath Duke's feet. He grabbed the desk and righted himself. He walked over to the weapons that lined his walls and grabbed a bolt-action rifle. Bigger, meaner, and with a kickback that could dislocate a shoulder, the bolt-action rifle was only meant for one thing. Leaving big fucking holes in anything that moved.

  Another ear-splitting scream filled the air. The dark glass that gave Duke privacy shattered as a body flew through it. It landed in a splatter of blood, glass and body parts.

  Duke recognised the face; it was one of his men.

 
An unknown face appeared in the space where the glass used to be. Duke pulled the trigger and blasted the head clean off its shoulders.

  "In my own fucking warehouse! You fuckers dare–dare!–to attack me?"

  Rage coursed through his veins like magma. Duke kicked his office door off its hinges and blasted another body backwards. It landed in a messy heap metres away. Walking down his corridors, he saw signs of the battle raging inside his walls. Duke rounded a corner and a hand holding a plasma sword descended towards his face. Dropping to the floor he landed heavily on his back, but his trigger was pulled before his back made contact with the floor.

  The force of the bolt punched his attacker in the stomach, lifting him off his feet. He slammed against the ceiling and back to the floor with a wet slap.

  Duke got to his feet, breathing heavily. He made his way towards where the shouts were loudest. On the stairway, he stared down at the scene below.

  A circle of his men surrounded a group of what appeared to be the attackers.

  Centre stage, dark features emotionless, with bells chiming with every movement his head made, was none other than Rustem.

  "Ah, finally–our good host shows himself. We have a great deal to talk about," Rustem said with a smile.

  34

  Duke stood still as he surveyed the scene below him. His warehouse was in chaos and disarray. Bodies of his men and Rustem's littered the floor. Broken glass and furniture added to the mix.

  Rustem stood with a group of men, all with weapons drawn. None wavered as they pointed them at Duke's men. These were professionals.

  From his vantage point, Duke looked down his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you here, Rustem?"

  "I thought I would make a social call. See how things have been. I can see this wonderful planet has lost none of its charm," said Rustem.

  "Indeed it hasn't. I must show you how hungry the worms can get. The big ones can swallow some ships whole."