The Last Stryker (Dark Universe Series Book 1)

by Alex Sheppard

  Ramya scrambled. She was shaking all over, she was covered in blood, and she didn’t know where she was going. But she kept on going until a pair of arms wrapped around her.

  “It’s dead, it’s dead,” a reassuring voice said. “You all right, kid?”

  Ramya breathed, long and deep. Each breath was painful, but they helped. Soon she was steady enough to answer Fenny’s question.

  “I’m all right,” she said between gasps. “Probably torn in a few places though.”

  Fenny chuckled, the concern in her eyes fading a little. “Sosa can mend you easy,” she said.

  Ramya turned around to look at the monster bird. It was lying on its back with its feet up in the air. Ross stood next to it, studying it, his blaster aimed at its head.

  “How did it get out, Ross?”

  Ross turned a little, his sharp, appraising gaze sweeping over Ramya. “No idea, but we gotta check on the other one.”

  “Hope that’s still in the cage,” Ramya said. “I’m not in the mood for fighting another Pterostrich.”

  “Let’s turn on the Point Masks and get out of here,” Fenny said, and Ramya whole-heartedly agreed.

  “You could take her to Sosa and I can clean up,” Ross offered generously. In her mind Ramya balked a little. What had come over the commander? Was he tired of being snappy? Regardless, she didn’t mind taking him up on the offer.

  “I don’t think so, Ross,” Fenny refused. “Not after what happened just now. Rami’s injuries are not that deep. Besides, we will be done in another minute or two anyway.”

  Ramya had to admit that she was a tad disappointed. She didn’t want to linger in the hold another second. Thankfully, Ross was quick. In another minute he had turned all the Point Masks on, but the fighter refused to vanish behind a curtain of invisibility. Even though most of it was concealed now, the windows of the craft down to its nose were staring back at them.

  “What the hell?” Fenny yelled, scowling at the fighter as if it was to blame for the failure.

  “Alignment’s off,” Ross said. “We must’ve knocked something out of place when we scrambled down. Let me take another look.”

  Fenny grabbed his arm. “We don’t have time, Ross. We have to get back to the COM. Wiz is alone in there.”

  “You go,” Ross said. “I’ll fix this.”

  “No,” Fenny said firmly. “I’m not leaving you here. Besides, you’re the commander. You need to be at the COM when the troopers board. We’ll have to think of another way of hiding the craft from the troopers.”

  Ross shook his head and stared fixedly at the fighter’s nose. “All this for nothing,” he said a second or two later.

  “Let’s just go,” Fenny said. “We’ll think of something on the way out.”

  They trudged back, carrying the spot lamps along so they could have a clearer view of the room. Their walk back to the Pterostrich cage was slow, mostly due to Ramya’s limp. Ramya didn’t take up Fenny’s offer to lean on her, but each step seemed to jostle every bone in her body. Everything hurt. Even breathing too fast or too deep made her chest sear. At least by the grace of the Gods, she hadn’t broken a bone. The bird had not torn into her much either. Her jacket had taken the brunt of the assault, ripped and gouged and bloodied. She had to dump it, Ramya thought, sighing as a pang of sadness welled up inside her. The jacket was a gift from Isbet for her sixteenth birthday and the only thoughtful gift that year.

  “It’s still in there,” Fenny said loudly.

  They had arrived at the Pterostrich cage, and Ramya could see the other chick crouched in the corner. It briefly lifted its head up and looked fixedly at them before turning away with disinterest.

  Ross shone a spot lamp at the top right corner of the cage. “There. That’s where the other one got out.”

  “Makes sense. It got out through the roof and probably jumped over the electric fencing.”

  “Why is this one so quiet?” Ramya asked. She was half expecting the bird to charge at them.

  “Who knows?” Ross replied. “Question is how do we patch up the top before those damn troopers walk in?”

  That was another problem, probably even bigger than being found in possession of a strange space fighter. If a trooper walked in and got attacked by a Pterostrich chick, the captain of the ship would definitely be held liable for the injury or death. The Confederacy didn’t take such offences lightly. The captain’s freight license would definitely be revoked, and in the worst case he could be sentenced to a term in prison.

  But there wasn’t enough time to patch this.

  “We could tell them there are chicks in here,” Ross muttered thoughtfully.

  “Some good that’ll do,” Fenny snapped. “You know how those iffin troopers are? They’ll get even more suspicious and set a search party loose on us.”

  “No, they won’t,” Ramya chimed in. She had an idea that could work. “Not if they’re scared enough.”

  Both Ross and Fenny turned to look at her. Fenny seemed curious, and even though Ross had gone back to using his cold stare.

  “We could place the dead bird right there”—Ramya pointed at the door of the cargo hold”—and put some spot lamps around the cage. When the troopers come to check the hold, you could tell them about the attack. Obviously he’d refuse to believe you and ask you to open it up.”

  “That trooper will have the shock of his life,” Fenny chortled, and slapped Ramya on the shoulder, which caused her to wince and groan. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I forgot,” Fenny said hastily. “Are you all right?”

  Ramya tried to dismiss Fenny’s concern with a casual wave even though the stabbing pain in her shoulder had left her throat parched.

  “This just might work. He’d probably refuse to get into the hold,” Ross said.

  “You think?” Fenny said. “Half of those gutless troopers wouldn’t brave a full-sized rat.”

  Ross took care of moving the dead bird near the door. While he moved the body, Fenny placed the spot lamps in a ring around the cage and threw a canvas sheet over the broken section.

  The set up complete, the trio had just walked out of the hold and into the elevator when Ross’s comm beeped. Wiz’s high-pitched voice erupted in a rapid stream of words from the device on Ross’s arm.

  “Ross, they hailed us. Asked to prepare a boarding ramp. I’ve just started the process.”

  “That’s good,” Ross replied. “How many of them are coming?”

  “Party of four.”

  “All right.”

  There was a moment of silence before Wiz’s voice screamed through the comm. “What do you mean ‘all right’? They’ll be here any minute and I’m alone in the COM. I’ve not heard a word from the captain, he won’t even answer my calls. And you . . .”

  “I’m on my way up, Wiz,” Ross replied calmly. “I’ll be there before the ramp is ready. Now calm down.”

  Ramya could hear Wiz inhale rapidly as if he were drowning.

  “Long and slow, Wiz,” Fenny said. “Long and slow. We’re right outside the COM.”

  Ross turned off the communicator as soon as they walked out of the elevator. “Can you escort her to med-bay?” he asked Fenny.

  Fenny grimaced. “You needed to ask that? Of course I will. Not leaving her alone.”

  “Fenny, I’m fine. I can get to med-bay myself,” Ramya protested. Sure, she was hurting all over and bleeding in places, but she was well enough to walk down to the med-bay on her own. “Shouldn’t you be at the COM when the troopers arrive?”

  “I can handle the troopers,” Ross replied. “I know you can get to med-bay on your own, but it’s ship protocol that someone escorts you. I don’t want to defy Captain Milos, do you?”

  There could be no arguments after that. While Ross headed to the COM, Fenny led a limping Ramya away.

  “Oh, by the whims of Dola!” Sosa invoked the Norgoran deity of creation—possibly her favored one—as soon as Ramya entered the med-bay. “What happened to you, child?”


  “I’m fine,” Ramya said, but no one seemed to hear her. Sosa sat her down on the nearest bed and started examining her while Fenny related the tale of the Pterostrich attack.

  “Tell me you gave it a good fight,” said a gruff voice behind her. Ramya had not noticed when the captain had arrived.

  Ramya nodded, acutely self-conscious of her disheveled condition all of a sudden. This—scratched and torn by a stupid chick—wasn’t how she wanted the legendary Terenze Milos to see her.

  “I’m fine, Sosa,” she protested again and tried to pull away from the medic, but the woman was having none of it.

  “Rami, please behave,” Sosa said, arching her purple eyebrows ominously.

  There was no getting past Sosa. And although Ramya wished the captain would leave, he didn’t either. Arms crossed, he observed while Sosa checked Ramya, lifting one arm and then another, one leg and then the other, and so on.

  Ramya flashed a smile at the captain, but there was an unmistakable glint of worry in the captain’s eyes, something Ramya had not noticed before. He couldn’t be too concerned about her; Sosa didn’t seem very worried. Was he afraid of the troopers’ visit then?

  “Nothing broken,” Sosa declared. “The wounds are not too deep thankfully.”

  “Good,” said the captain. He turned toward Fenny. “I noticed a Trooper ship approach. Where are we with them?”

  “They’re boarding, Cap,” Fenny said, and went on explain how the Point Masks had failed and their alternate plan with the bird carcass.

  “Hmm,” Captain Milos said. He scratched his chin and tugged his ears for a second or two, then nodded. “Let’s head to the COM, Fenny. Let’s greet the troopers.” He tilted his head and gave Sosa a funny look. “Please have Ramya stay here. We need someone to be with him, and she could use some rest.”

  As soon as Captain Milos left the med-bay, Fenny in tow, Sosa flashed a bright smile at Ramya. “Let’s get you inside,” she said. “Follow me.”

  Sosa had a small medical bag in one hand and a pitcher of a familiar red-and-blue concoction in the other. She led Ramya to a side of the med-bay near the supply cabinets. Ramya craned her neck backward to check on the sick man and frowned. She couldn’t see his entire bed from she stood, but the area seemed empty. Even the equipment that was scattered around his bed was nowhere to be seen. Ramya’s heart sunk a little. The man’s CHS had been falling when she had last seen him. That was why Sosa had sent her to summon the captain. What happened? Did he die?

  Before she could ask. Sosa nudged her. “Sorry to rush you, child. I need to settle you down before the troopers visit. I do not like troopers in my med-bay. I always tell them, ‘The med-bay is no place for strangers to barge in, it’s a place of calm . . . peace.’ Would they listen?”

  Sosa threw a glance at Ramya that likely meant she wanted an answer of some sort, but Ramya had none to give. Her mind was whirring around the sick man and his whereabouts. Sosa went on despite her quiet, “No, they have no respect for the med-bay. They march in, stomping and thunking their boots like it is battleground.”

  “Domina Sosa,” Ramya ventured the moment the medic quietened, “what happened—”

  Sosa held up a hand. They had come to a tiny panel on the wall between two tall cabinets, each with elaborate paintings of vines and flowers on them. Sosa had placed her medicine box and the pitcher of Pax on a table and was hunched over the controller panel.

  “Why do you always give me such a hard time?” Sosa wailed, fiddling with the control panel, fingers dancing impatiently on the glass façade. A bright red light on top blinked, as if with annoyance, likely because Sosa was not using the right code sequence to access whatever it was the panel was controlling. Ramya decided it was not the right time to ask the Norgoran questions. She leaned against a cabinet to brace her aching back and let Sosa continue her battle.

  “Aha!” Sosa exclaimed after a while.

  Ramya turned to look. The panel was now blinking green, and the cabinet to the right was slowly opening. What in the stars! The cabinet was no cabinet at all! It was a door, and behind it was another room, and in that room lay Sosa’s missing patient.

  “Come on in,” Sosa said, walking into the cabinet with her bag and pitcher. As soon as Ramya stepped in, the door closed behind her. “You can stay here and rest while those star-forsaken troopers stomp through the med-bay.”

  Ramya was barely hearing anything. Perhaps she had been rattled by the Pterostrich attack; perhaps she was too tired, and now her senses were starting to grow blurry at the edges.

  Sosa sat Ramya down on the other bed opposite to the one with the injured man and busily rummaged through her medicine bag. Ramya craned her neck to look at the man. He was in deep sleep. His CHS steady at three hundred now. That meant he was better. Still sick, but not dead.

  “You moved him here? Why?” Ramya asked.

  “Didn’t I tell you about the troopers? They’ll be all over the place disturbing peace. And that man needs peace and quiet. As do you. That’s why.”

  That wasn’t why, Ramya was sure. There had to be some other reason. Sosa was not telling the truth, and Ramya could tell from the Norgoran’s quivering mouth and flitting gaze that she was not used to lying. She considered pressing her, then decided on a different line of questioning.

  “Domina Sosa, you said you picked that man up from the fleet debris.” Sosa nodded. She was bent over Ramya’s wounds, cleaning and applying generous daubs of medicine on them. “Did he tell you what happened? I mean, who destroyed that fleet?”

  Sosa stopped and sighed. Then she looked up, her eyes cloudy. “That’s the problem. We know nothing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sosa pulled out a large bottle with a sprayer attachment on top and lifted it up for Ramya to see. “This is going to sting,” she warned, then misted Ramya’s wounds.

  Sting it did. Ramya could barely keep from yelping. Fists curled and teeth gritted, she somehow managed to handle the ordeal with just a few croaks and groans.

  “Domina,” Ramya asked when she had caught her breath. “The man . . . didn’t he tell you what happened at Sector 22?”

  Sosa finished packing her supplies, and after she had closed the lid of her medical bag, she poured Pax into two goblets. She pulled out a tiny container from her pocket, poured a drop or two of its contents into one of the goblets, and then held it out for Ramya.

  “You’re a persistent little bug, aren’t you?” she said. “Drink!”

  Ramya grinned sheepishly. She couldn’t deny being curious.

  “I just keep hearing bits and pieces that don’t make any sense and—”

  “I know. Besides, you’re with us now. There’s no reason to hide this from you. We have to tell you sooner or later.”

  That’s correct. She would find out about whatever happened at Sector 22 sooner or later. Sipping her Pax, Ramya leaned back on the pillows and stretched her legs. The softness of the bed and the tingly warmth of the Pax in her throat were evilly comforting.

  “We heard a beacon in the debris and found him. He was inside this gorgeous little space fighter that was glimmering like a gem. I’m no fan of fighter crafts, or any other craft, but I too was stunned by it. I’d never seen anything like that in my life.” Ramya understood what Sosa meant. The fighter in the cargo hold was indeed breathtaking.

  “We hailed the craft, but there was no response. So we pulled the whole craft in.”

  Whose decision was it to pull the whole craft in? Ramya wondered. That wasn’t a prudent decision. The occupants of the craft were possibly unconscious, so pulling the whole craft in with tractor beams was a viable way to save the craft and the crew. But what if the craft had hostiles inside? It was clearly nothing like any of the space fighters anyone had seen. And the situation was quite eerie and strange—a lone fighter, unscathed in a sea of fleet debris. Could an experienced veteran like Captain Milos make a choice like that? Or was it Ross?

  “We put it in the car
go hold and scanned for other survivors.” Sosa took a long sip of her drink. “There were none. So, we headed for the nearest AP. While we were in the SLH, he made his appearance.”

  Ramya sat up. “Made his appearance?”

  “Yes, almost like magic. His craft—the Striker—unfolded and he stumbled out.”

  “Striker?”

  “Oh yes, that’s what he called that space fighter he was in. Stryker, spelled with a y not i. It was one of the very few things he seemed to remember from before the incident.”

  “You mean from before his fleet was destroyed?”

  Sosa nodded. “The poor man doesn’t even remember his name.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Isbet had said it was a GSO fleet, which justified the GSO recruiters that had descended on the CAWStrat.

  “He works for the GSO, right?”

  Sosa shook her head. “Why would you say that? I don’t think he’s GSO. He was wearing a black uniform with a strange logo emblazoned on the back. I’ve not seen that logo before. Nor has the captain. Or anyone else on this ship.”

  Why her heart started beating faster, Ramya didn’t know. Then she realized why. She knew what that sigil looked like; she knew Sosa would soon describe a circle with outstretched talons inside.

  “It was a circle with talons inside it,” Sosa said, confirming her fears. “Three talons, or was it four?”

  “Three,” Ramya said.

  Sosa took a swig at her drink and squinted at Ramya. “How do you know?”

  “I saw it on the Stryker when we were trying to camouflage it.”

  “I see. Yes, three then. Anyhow, we don’t know who he is.”

  “I thought you reported your discovery to the Confederacy?”

  “Of course we did. That’s when the trouble started.”

  Ramya didn’t understand. Reporting the incident to the Confederacy was the right thing to do, so what was the trouble? Ramya tried to blink her tiredness away, but her lids were too heavy to move. It had to be the Pax. She could barely think anymore. All she wanted was a nice, deep sleep.