Fenny explained, the way she always did. “The Komilahns train the Pterostriches for racing. They want eggs so the chicks bond with their owners right from the moment of hatching. It’s too late for that now.”
Ramya tried to gauge the unpromising situation. These people were unwilling to kill a chick unless it attacked, so simply spacing the eggs wouldn’t sound attractive to them. They couldn’t simply dump the eggs on the nearest planet and cause an ecological catastrophe. They could go back to Limitor and put them back where they belonged but surely there were other pressing matters the captain wanted to attend to in Alameda. Ramya came to the hapless conclusion: they were stuck with these hatchlings.
“Perhaps we could find another buyer,” Ross said. He had gathered up the box and strode further inside, his flashlight carving a dimly lit path out of the darkness.
Fenny nudged Ramya’s elbow. “Come on.”
“Aren’t you worried, Fenny?” Ramya fell in step behind her, shining her flashlight on both sides as she walked deeper into the unending stretches of the Endeavor’s cargo hold.
“Sure am, kid. But we don’t have much choice,” Fenny replied. She sounded a tad exhausted, which was unusual for the woman. “The captain will think of something I’m sure. Right now, we have to make sure we’re cool in case the troopers come in to check.”
Ramya chuckled inwardly. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one worried about the troopers. The Endeavor’s crew was hiding something as well. Was it something they had picked up from the debris of the space fleet? Who was that man, the sole survivor of the Sector 22 catastrophe, who lay dying in the med-bay?
Ramya decided to probe a bit. “Cool? As in what way, Fenny?”
Fenny didn’t respond. There was a chance she didn’t hear because Ross was stomping quite loudly ahead of them, but it felt like she was ignoring the question on purpose.
What if they were carrying smuggled items? Carrying contraband was the way of life for the freight-ship owners. Most of them carried some smuggled goods—banned intoxicants, forbidden weaponry, you name it—among their cargo. The SLH Troopers didn’t have to try too hard to find and confiscate prohibited items from the freight ships.
Ramya inched closer to Fenny. “We’re not carrying contraband, are we?”
Fenny’s head snapped around so fast, if someone had said the woman was a cyborg, Ramya would’ve gladly believed it. “We’re not smugglers,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Captain Terenze Milos would be the last one to break Freight Laws.”
Ramya froze for a second. Fenny’s sudden anger had startled her, but the name Terenze Milos gave her goosebumps. She’d heard that name before. Everyone at the CAWStrat—heck no, everyone in the Galactic Confederacy who knew anything about the Locusta-Vanga war—knew that name.
Ramya grabbed Fenny by the arm. “You don’t mean . . . the Terenze Milos, as in the legend of the Locusta-Vanga war?”
Fenny shot an indignant look. “What? You didn’t recognize him?”
No, she didn’t. Who would’ve expected Terenze Milos running a freight ship as outdated and outmoded as the Endeavor, not to mention heading such a weird and wacky crew?
The Terenze Milos she knew was a hero of the War at Marsaan. His company had fought the Locustan fleet at Anomaly Point until only thirteen Wingers had been left standing. They didn’t retreat; they held the Locustans until other Confederacy fleets arrived to help them. It was said that the galaxy would’ve been captured by the Locustans within a month if Terenze Milos had retreated that day.
Terenze Milos was a legend by the time the Locusta-Vanga war was over. Funny thing was, right after the Confederacy won, Terenze Milos had vanished. It was said that he was allergic to the heaping of praise and attention. Ramya had often wondered what had happened to him.
“Wow,” she muttered. “I can’t believe it.”
“That’s the captain for you,” Fenny said. “And we’re not smugglers.”
“So . . . what is it that you’re worried about?”
Fenny let out a gigantic loud sigh. Even Ross, who was about ten steps ahead of them, stopped and turned to look.
“Worried about our iffin luck. We happened to be somewhere we shouldn’t have been, did something we shouldn’t have done. And now they have us running from one iffin planet to another.”
“Are you talking about being in Sector 22 when the fleet blew up?”
Fenny simply stared while Ross frowned down at Ramya. “How do you know this?” he demanded.
“Sosa told me. That’s where you picked up that guy,” Ramya said. She looked from Ross to Fenny and back. “I don’t understand. You saved a man, did a good thing. What’s the problem?”
Ross shook his head and resumed walking while Fenny shrugged. “We did plenty good, kid. Too much if you ask me. Don’t worry. You’ll see. The captain didn’t send you here for no reason.”
That was quite a riddle. What was she supposed to make of it?
A few steps ahead, Ross stopped. The beam of his flashlight was crisscrossing the dark space in front of him, and Ramya made out a faint silhouette. It was big, as wide as it was tall, and towered over them. Ramya strode faster, her flashlight aimed at the location Ross was pointing.
It was a nose, a gleaming silver nose. Ramya squinted harder. Could it be what she thought it was? She went one step closer. Yes, she had guessed right. It was a space fighter, a model she had not seen or heard of before. Even from what little was visible, the craft, easily three times the size of a single-seater Class 1, the size of fighters favored by the Confederacy, was in one word, stunning.
“That’s the iffin goliath we need to keep hidden from the troopers.”
“What is this? Where did you get it?”
“Same place,” Fenny said with a shrug.
“Sector 22? But I thought all you found there was debris?”
Fenny and Ross exchanged looks. Obviously they didn’t want to tell, but how long could they keep things from her? And what was the point? She was staring at their secret.
“I’m gonna piece it together anyway. It’s not like I’m leaving anytime soon,” she said. “Besides, like you said, when the captain sent me here, he possibly knew I’d see this and ask questions, right? Yet, he sent me anyway.”
“Well, she’s right,” Fenny said.
Ross shrugged. “I’ll set up the lamps,” he said before walking away from Fenny and Ramya.
Fenny rolled her eyes. “Sure, leave it all to me. Ah, well. Here’s the summary, kid. About two weeks back we found ourselves in Sector 22. There we came upon fleet debris. Don’t know where it came from, or what caused the destruction, we just happened to be the first ship that came close. Would’ve steered clear of it, but picked up a beacon for help. So . . .” Fenny looked askance at Ross who had just finished setting up the three spot lamps in an arc and paid them no heed. “We went to help. Found that guy you saved on Nikoor. He was inside this.”
Fenny raised her hands up at the space fighter just like she would be hailing the God of the stars.
“We hauled it in. Now we’re on our way to hand this over to the Confederacy.”
“I don’t get it,” Ramya said. “The Confederacy knows you have this. So why are you hiding it from the troopers?”
Fenny let out a long sigh and shrugged. “Because they . . . the Confederacy has asked us to keep it a secret. They don’t want anyone to find out about it.”
“But why wouldn’t . . .”
Her words remained unspoken. Ross had flicked the first spot lamp on and it lighted up the entire craft.
“Wow,” was all Ramya said.
The craft was unlike anything she had ever seen. It didn’t resemble the GSO’s standard Astro Scout, or the Wentworth-Busas favored by the Confederacy fleet. This space fighter was undocumented and unknown until now, at least for the general public. At first glance, it reminded Ramya of a predatory bird that was observing its prey from its roost.
“This is huge for a space fighter,�
�� she whispered breathlessly to Fenny.
Fenny nodded wisely. “Yes, it’s bigger than anything the Confederacy has.”
Its skin was made of an unknown dark metal—not polybdinum or infused-solandium like most space fighters of the day—and had a reddish gleam to it. It seemed to glisten and shimmer even in the bleak light. The nose was unexpectedly long and menacing for a craft of its type, if she understood the type right at all. A pair of massive appendage-like extensions in the front was now tucked under its midsection. Ramya couldn’t see its hind from where she stood, but it seemed to have a couple of leg-like protrusions behind the craft as well. She couldn’t tell whether these were landing gear or also housed weapons systems.
Ramya stepped nearer to inspect it closely. Behind her, Fenny and Ross discussed strategy for hiding the craft from the SLH Troopers. “A plasma-blending screen in front of it should do,” Fenny said.
Ross shook his head. “The screens are too unreliable. We should sheath the body, use the Point Masks.”
“But that'll take time. We’ll need quite a few to cover all of it.”
“Yes, but between the three of us we can get it done in thirty minutes, can’t we? We just need ten of them on the top half, and —”
Their words faded abruptly. The world receded from Ramya, as if it had simply been a fake projection around her. All she saw was the logo imprinted on the underside of the craft. Ramya walked nearer as if she were in a trance, barely feeling the floor under her feet. There it was—the black circle and the three-taloned foot inside it. Ramya ran a finger over it. The mark stayed, dark and deep on the pale underbelly of the craft.
Let this be a dream, please.
Someone shook her by the arm, making her gasp. Fenny looked at her curiously. “Hey, you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” Ramya replied, blinking rapidly. She was nowhere near fine. The black circle with talons inside it stared back at her. This was no nightmare she could wake up from, this was real. She looked up at the craft, her gaze trailing down its body and resting briefly at the logo before she forced herself to look away. This craft was trouble. They were all in trouble. If only she could tell them.
Ross walked over with a box full of silvery oblong things that reminded Ramya of detonator heads. He looked from Fenny to Ramya, his eyes narrowing a tad as they scanned Ramya’s face. Perhaps he’d show some concern, Ramya thought. But she had thought too much too soon.
“Done with your sightseeing?” he said in his usual caustic way. “We’ve plenty to do.”
10
Ross assigned Ramya the front section of the fighter to work on. The task was rather simple: she had to fix the detonator-type things—“Point Masks,” Ross called them, apparently some sort of camouflaging device. If only she could keep her focus. She was distracted, and the sizable logo that stared at her while she worked hardly helped matters. Ross and Fenny had climbed up ladders to tackle the top. They worked mostly in silence, with an occasional banter or two, and Ross reminding them every now and then how much time they had left.
Ramya thought of joining the current conversation between Fenny and Ross about what could have caused the induction barriers of the SLH to fail when the Endeavor was spit out into Sector 22. But she couldn’t hold on to their voices for two long, as her mind drifted off to something else.
A different time, in Somenvaar, eight summers ago. All she had wanted was to get her father to join her for dinner. Lady Sonya—the socialite lady of the house and her mother—was away on some visit and the grim darkness in the dining hall had kept morphing into weird shapes, wings and claws and pincers ready to attack. Have to get Father to dine with me, nine-year-old Ramya had thought. She hadn’t found her father in his office that evening, but a large box next to his table had beckoned her.
Stop thinking about it, Rami!
Before Ramya could get lost in her memories, a shudder, like a twister ripping through her body, made her hands shake. The Point Mask slipped from her hand and fell on the floor with a loud clang.
“Everything all right down there?” Fenny yelled even before Ramya could retrieve the device.
“We don’t have an unlimited supply of masks,” Ross said. “Please don’t destroy too many of them.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t destroy it,” Ramya shouted after checking the connection pins and the leveler eye. “I’m fine too,” she added in an afterthought.
Her mind wanted to drift once more.
Stop!
Only, stopping wasn’t easy. Ramya remembered seeing the logo on top of the box in her father’s office, a black circle with fearsome black talons within it. She also remembered seeing a thick red liquid seeping out of the bottom. It wasn’t a pool yet, but the base of the box was clearly soaked and barely able to hold its contents anymore.
Stop! Now!
She had to stop. Now was not the time. Perhaps, when she got a moment to herself, she could analyze the facts, but not now. Ramya yanked the fastener tight and moved to the next location. She started to hum, determined to keep the worries off her mind. She had to push out that bleakness from inside her. For now.
Ramya had five devices left to install when a comm beeped and crackled to life.
“Ross, hey, Ross?” Wiz said over the comm. His voice was tighter than usual.
“Wiz,” Ross replied. “I’m here.”
“You better hurry up,” Wiz informed. “We’re close to the AP, only ten minutes out, and the troopers are on the move.”
“What do you mean ‘on the move’?”
“Two of them are heading toward us.”
“Damn! Is the captain with you?”
“Nope. He never came back. Still with Sosa, I guess.”
“All right. Wait for them to hail you. Then keep a convo going. Don’t let them board yet.”
“Can’t hold them forever.” Wiz was starting to sound rather nervous.
“I know, Wiz,” Ross replied. “Just do the best you can. We’re almost done here.”
“Hurry up. They’ll dock in say . . . seven.”
Right before the comm turned off, Ramya thought she heard a clang. She held her breath and tried to listen. Other than Ross and Fenny’s breathing and the steady tinkling of tools, there was nothing.
“You heard the pilot, people,” Ross shouted from above. “Let’s get this finished.
Ramya picked up pace, fastening one Point Mask after another. She had gotten the hang of it now, aligning with two other Point Masks, fastening it to the body of the space fighter, and then turning it on to check if it worked. If the alignment was correct, the masks would emit a light, together forming an invisible mesh over the body of the fighter. So far, all of hers were working, and it was fun to see the bottom of the fighter disappear at the click of a button.
“I’m done,” Ramya announced proudly after she had installed the last of her share. She had beaten both Ross and Fenny to it. Perhaps they had a few more to install, but she had to give herself credit, a moment to rejoice. After all, this was her first time.
Ross muttered something in reply, but Fenny shouted back, “Good job, kid.”
Ramya was about to walk over to Fenny’s side of the fighter when she heard it again—a clang, as if someone was hacking away at metal.
“What the hell was that?” Fenny said.
Ramya dove for her Oori. Placing a finger firmly on its trigger, she looked from side to side and into the darkness that blanketed the rest of the room.
“Probably just a rat,” Ross said.
There was a faint tinkle, of something rapping on metal. Ramya gulped and fell back a step. Was it really a rat or . . .
Ramya looked up at Fenny. The woman was staring into the dark, her hand reaching for her own firearm that hung from the side of the ladder.
“Fenny, do you see anyth—”
The faint tinkle on the floor grew louder and faster before Ramya could finish her sentence. Ramya whirled around, but before sh
e could lift her rifle, a chunk of darkness flew at her with a heart-stopping screech.
11
Ramya saw a flash of talons, feathers, and outspread wings before the ear-splitting screech made her legs buckle. The creature—a mass of gray and black and deadly bulk—leaped through the air toward her. It was a Pterostrich chick, its yellow eyes shining with hunger and a promise of death. Ramya heard yells, shouts, and curses. She lifted her Oori and pressed the trigger, doubting if her shots would land anywhere on the creature before it tore her to pieces. She scrambled backward, but the massive hulk plummeted into her with such a force that it threw her to the floor and pinned her down near the fighter’s front wheel.
Pain erupted in Ramya’s head, back, shoulders, all at the same instant. She screamed as the sharp talons dug into the parts of her body not covered by the armor, gouging flesh. The creature’s red beak snapped inches from her face. Pushing the Oori as much as she could against the bird, Ramya pulled the trigger, over and over and over. The rifle shook, sending energy blasts into the creature, and slamming back into her ribs painfully.
The chick stared at her as if all those shots were merely a graze. Yellow eyes still focused on her face, it brought down its sharp beak with a mighty swoosh on her Oori wielding hand. Her rifle flew across the floor like a twig tossed into the air. Ramya heard her jacket rip, and under it her skin exploded with a sharp, burning pain. The bird seemed to teeter a little and Ramya didn’t waste a second. Pulling her arms close to her body, she pushed them out in perfect synchrony, landing a sharp, double-fisted Molin slam into the bird’s chest. The talons loosened, but not enough. Yellow eyes looked at her again, a pitiless red beak ready to kill.
I can’t die. Not here, not now!
She had to break free. She writhed and struggled against those powerful legs that kept her pinned, all the while bracing for the pain when the bird would rip her skull open. The white-hot blast of fire that came swinging over her head was the last thing she expected. It singed her hair and landed smack dab on the Pterostrich’s chest. The bird went careening, its talons still holding on to pieces of Ramya’s jacket, its head thrown backward.
The Last Stryker (Dark Universe Series Book 1) Page 9