The Last Stryker (Dark Universe Series Book 1)

by Alex Sheppard

  A moment of uneasy silence hovered before Lord Aristide spoke again, now in a voice that was more robust. “That’s beside the point, Captain. I’m here to ask you to return what belongs to us.”

  “I have nothing of yours.”

  “We know you do. And you’d be wise to hand it back to us quickly. You don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boy. Go tell your boss I don’t have time to indulge in this useless chitchat,” the captain said brusquely. “Close the channel, Fenny.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Captain Milos,” said another man, his tone bristling. It was the one voice Ramya was dreading and it left a trail of deadness inside of her. He sounded as cold and distant as always, but there was also something else in there—anger and frustration. For some reason Ramya could not fathom, a wee bit of glee stirred inside her on hearing him upset.

  “Lord Paramount Kiroff finally emerges from the shadows,” the captain said between chuckles. “I didn’t expect you to come off your pedestal to talk to a freight-ship captain. You must really be desperate.”

  There was a tight pause. Her father had to be getting really annoyed now. Not only had he lost his Strykers, but also the decrepit freight-ship captain was openly mocking the all-powerful Lord Paramount.

  “When I saw your name on the manifest, I couldn’t believe it. The Terenze Milos running a freight operation in a bucket of bolts? What a place, what a crew,” her father said, his voice seeped with ridicule.

  “What have I always told you, Lord Paramount Kiroff? Never underestimate people or the choices they make. It’s simply not wise.”

  Two things hit Ramya at the same time and made her stir. The first was immense respect for her captain. Terenze Milos was the first person she had seen who, even while addressing her father as Lord Paramount, seemed to have no fear or awe for the man. It almost seemed like Captain Milos was talking to a petulant little boy, and seeing her nemesis undercut like that was pure bliss.

  Along with that came the realization that Captain Milos had known her father when he was younger. It made sense that since the captain and Grappa both served in the Confederate Space Fleet, they might’ve known each other and their families. Why hadn’t she thought of that? And if the captain had known Grappa’s family then, he’d have seen her as well. Did he . . .

  No, he couldn’t have recognized her. That was eleven, maybe twelve years ago. She was a child then, much different from what she looked like now, or so she hoped.

  On the transmitter, her father scoffed. “My mistake, exulted captain of the freight ship Endeavor. I didn’t mean to offend you or your crew. That can wait. We have business to attend to now.”

  “We do?” Captain Milos couldn’t have sounded more casual. “What business would that be?”

  “You have something that belongs to me,” her father said. “I need it back.”

  For a moment that was as dark as deep space and just as cold, Ramya thought he was speaking of her. Then the transmitter crackled with the captain’s laughter.

  “Not again. I just told your minion that I don’t remember taking anything of yours, Lord Paramount. Where did you get such an idea?”

  “You have a space fighter on your ship. It’s called a Stryker. It’s mine.”

  A sharp, unexpected jab of disappointment left a fresh gash in Ramya’s heart. Perhaps in some unguarded moment she had hoped again, even among her fears of getting caught, that her father would be looking for her. But no. Lord Paramount Trysten Kiroff was simply after his missing Stryker. His daughter—missing or not—made no difference.

  Her father’s voice streamed in from the transmitter, “You picked it up from Sector 22 along with its pilot. Now, I don’t care much about the pilot, but I want that fighter back. If you care as much about your ship and that crew as you seem to, you shouldn’t spend too long denying what I just said. I know it’s in there. Just hand it over, Milos.”

  Before Captain Milos could answer, a loud thump shook the table and made Ramya look up. “The cheek of him,” Sosa snapped. She was sitting upright, glaring furiously at the transmitter, her curled fists placed squarely on the table. “The arrogant . . . piece of filth. Calling him by his name. No respect.”

  Welcome to my world, Ramya thought. This was what she had lived with all her life. Trysten Kiroff owned the galaxy and he sure wasn’t shy of flaunting it.

  “I don’t know what you know, Lord Paramount,” the captain replied calmly. Terenze Milos was taking it in stride. Even his voice was like still water that not even a ripple of annoyance showed. “I don’t know how you know about anything in my ship. I do know that I can’t help you. You—”

  “The troopers picked up a solid reading of the Stryker, Milos.” Her father’s voice was just as composed. “You have it. I’ll get it back one way or another. I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else. Unless you make me.”

  “That’s nothing but a threat,” Sosa hissed. “Now I know why those darned troopers were blocking us. The minions came in to get confirmation for their evil overlord.” Sosa filled her goblet to the brim with Pax and drank it all up in one breath. She plunked the empty goblet on the table and heaved noisily. “Oh, how I hate that arrogant man.”

  The captain’s voice drifted out of the transmitter. “If you’re sure of that then you should take it up with the Confederacy,” he said in a voice tighter and snippier than it had been seconds ago. “You may be a great and powerful man, but I don’t take orders from you, Lord Paramount Kiroff.”

  “You acknowledge having my Stryker then?” Trysten Kiroff’s voice was steely.

  “I don’t acknowledge anything,” the captain replied. “I think we’re done here. I have nothing more to discuss.”

  “You leave me no choice but to board your ship and take what belongs to me.”

  “What?” Sosa and Ramya exclaimed in unison.

  No, no, no! This wasn’t happening! Her father didn’t just announce that he was going to board the Endeavor. Where was she going to hide? How? Everything she had done in the past couple of days was coming to naught.

  The captain’s voice crackled. “And how are you going to do that? We’re in the SLH.”

  Did the captain sound a tad defensive? Ramya couldn’t be sure.

  “You’re in the SLH and we’re still talking to each other, aren’t we?” her father sounded smugger than ever. “When I want something, I get it. And I never make a promise that I can’t keep.”

  A lot of things happened at that precise moment and Ramya didn’t clearly understand the sequence of it. There was a mighty jolt that rocked Ramya out of her chair along with the jug of Pax that went flying off the table and crashed on the floor in pieces. Every bone in Ramya’s body that had already been aching from the Pterostrich attack now screamed in agony as she fell in a heap next to the broken jug.

  Fenny’s yell filled the room in the next second, “Captain, we’re falling out of the SLH. And . . . we’re out. What the iffin hell just happened? Hey, there’s a ship behind us. And it’s trying to . . . Whoa! Wait! They’ve aimed a tractor beam at us!”

  A rumble came from somewhere in the lower decks of the ship and once again the Endeavor lurched forward violently. Once again Ramya winced, every bone in her body screaming in agony.

  Her father’s taunting voice rolled across the med-bay. “I told you, Milos. You picked the wrong person to mess with.”

  “You’re attacking a freight ship in Confederacy space,” the captain said. “This is an outright violation of the Transit laws. You could kill civilians. Have you gone mad?”

  “Not at all, Milos. I’m not going to kill anyone, I’ll just get on your ship and take what’s mine,” her father replied casually. “Besides, the GSO’s attacking you. Not me. I’m far, far away from where you are.”

  “Cut the channel off, Fenny. And get the shields up,” Captain Milos barked. There was a sharp click and then a moment of silence before the ship rocke
d again. “I’m not sure how, but they’re going to get in through the cargo bay,” the captain yelled. “Commander Ross! Lieutenant Fenny! Grab your weapons and get there. Now.”

  “But, Captain,” Fenny protested, “we need more hands here at the COM.”

  “We don’t have more hands, so we have to make do with what little we have,” the captain said. “You two get moving. I think I know what he’s planned. He’s going to teleport GSO agents into the Endeavor and get the Stryker out the same way. We can’t let that happen. We’ve promised the Confederacy that ship.”

  “Teleport?” Ross asked. “You really think—”

  “Yes,” the captain replied crisply. “Go now.”

  Ramya could understand why Ross sounded so incredulous. For all the technological progress the Confederacy had made over hundreds of years, teleportation was something that never worked. There had been a whole lot of experiments, and starting with minor incidents like losing the tip of a nose to losing people altogether, they all failed horribly. Experimentation would have still continued but for the public outcry and protests. In the end, the Confederacy wouldn’t allow it.

  Yet the captain seemed to think her father had invented some kind of teleportation device? Could it be true? Who knew? If Trysten Kiroff had been experimenting with dangerous Locustan technology, what was teleportation compared to that?

  “So?” Sosa’s voice barged into Ramya’s thoughts. The woman was firmly seated on her chair and she fixed a pair of sharp eyes on Ramya.

  “What?” Ramya asked.

  “You’re not going to just sit there, are you?”

  That was exactly the plan. Ramya had decided to sit this one out, make sure she was farthest away from her father’s view. Stay away from his minions as well. Let the GSO come and take the Stryker, as long as no one was harmed. It didn’t seem like her father was about to hurt anyone as long he got his toy back. This just wasn’t a fight she wanted to get into. If only . . . if only Sosa would stop staring so accusingly at her.

  “Do you need me to tell you what to do, child?” Sosa said, her voice barely a whisper yet taut like a whip. “They’re attacking your ship, your captain needs more hands on deck, and you’re sitting there like a . . . rock.”

  “The captain didn’t call for me,” Ramya retorted. A loud thud reverberated through the chamber and the ship lurched forward one more time. The GSO ship was probably shooting at the Endeavor again.

  Sosa left her chair and teetered across the med-bay while the ship kept on rocking. She cast a scathing gaze backward at Ramya. “He didn’t call for you, but that doesn’t mean you should sit out a fight. That’s no way people on this ship behave. If I didn’t have a sick man on my hands, I’d be fighting alongside the others.”

  Ramya couldn’t totally ignore Sosa’s words, so she scrambled to her feet.

  “Good. You’re on your feet now. Now go report to the captain,” Sosa said as she made her way across the med-bay.

  Ramya stumbled out the med-bay and studied the long gray corridor that stretched on her two sides. She stared longingly in the direction of her room, thinking she could very well run there. Sosa wouldn’t know until it was all over. Weird, terrifying groans of metal being assaulted by metal filled the air. The ship swayed and Ramya held on to the smallest depressions on the wall she could find so she wouldn’t be thrown off balance by the constant rocking of the ship. It didn’t seem like a ship as old as the Endeavor was going to survive this attack.

  They were going to die.

  Ramya dug her fingers deeper into a notch on the wall as a vicious hit almost made the ship tip over to its side. How could her father do this to a freight ship? How could the GSO aid him in this despicable plan? Wasn’t the GSO supposed to protect every citizen of the Confederacy? Clearly, not any more. Now they were simply Trysten Kiroff’s stooges assaulting a bunch of civilians who had done nothing wrong.

  A little ball of anger at the pit of her stomach grew bigger as Ramya thought of the situation. Sosa was right; she had to fight. She had to stand by the man who had taken her in when she was desperately seeking shelter. She had to fight for him, her captain. There was a risk that her father would see her, but she had a find a way to help the Endeavor and its crew. This was not just another ship anymore: it was her ship and she was going to defend it.

  Gritting her teeth, Ramya took a step in the direction of the COM, and then broke into a determined sprint along the corridor.

  15

  The captain was in Fenny’s seat when Ramya skidded into the COM, panting to catch her breath. Wiz flashed a quick look before turning back to his station, but the captain growled at her without even a glance.

  “I did not need you here, girl,” he said. “You should be resting. If Sosa doesn’t want you, go back to your room.”

  Ramya took a deep breath. She was not about to go back anywhere. She was not going to rest while her father and his stooges ripped the Endeavor apart. But she also had to be careful about saying that to the captain’s face. He was, after all, the legendary Terenze Milos and there was protocol to be followed with a man like him, even if the Endeavor was nothing more than a freighter.

  “Shields are up, Captain,” Wiz informed. “And engine power at seventy percent.”

  “Good,” the captain replied. “Get the engines to max power. We can’t give them a chance to teleport. The shield should make it difficult, but we also need to maintain the distance.”

  Ramya took another step into the COM, her eyes glued on the large screen in front of the captain that displayed the back of the Endeavor. The GSO ship was hurtling toward the Endeavor at a breakneck speed, Ramya could guess from the flares behind the thrusters, but the distance between the two ships stayed more or less constant. The Endeavor, rusty as it was, still packed some power in its old engines. Since the ship chasing them was no lightweight, it seemed more than likely that the captain had updated the Endeavor’s modules.

  The GSO ship was large but not hulking, and if Ramya was correct, it was a state-of-the-art Starfighter Cutlass. No wonder her father was satisfied with sending just one ship after the Endeavor. The Cutlass was the newest and meanest Class-C battleship produced by the Kiroff factories and equipped with every weapon in the Confederacy’s database. Her father made a fortune from selling them to the Confederacy.

  Ramya’s scanned the streamlined body of the Cutlass behind them, her eyes coming to rest on the two massive turrets on either side of the GSO ship. Whatever weapons those turrets could shoot had to be powerful enough to cripple the Endeavor in one shot, but strangely enough, the turrets were tucked in, which meant they were not planning to fire. That was hopeful. It seemed as if her father was only planning to get the Stryker and leave the Endeavor in one piece. It made sense—he wouldn’t want an incident involving a freight ship. But would he want to leave witnesses after he’d gotten the Stryker back?

  “What are you still doing here?” Captain Milos demanded, looking askance at Ramya.

  “I’m here to help, sir,” Ramya said as she tried to keep a steady gaze on the captain. “I don’t know much about the equipment here, but . . . perhaps I can do something? Please?”

  “There’s nothing else other than equipment here,” the captain replied.

  Ramya shifted on her feet. Why was the captain refusing to have her in the COM? Was he worried about her health, or was he displeased with something she had done? A wave of self-doubt washed over Ramya’s thoughts, and for a second her insides crumpled like a loaf of bread taken out of the oven sooner than advised. Still, one flicker of obstinacy refused to die down. No, Ramya decided, she was not going to accept being no one. She had to earn herself a spot on the Endeavor.

  “Please,” she begged. “There has to be something I can do. Maybe I can go help Fenny and Ross? I . . . I just can’t sit around while these people keep attacking us. I just can’t.”

  “It’s catching up on us, Captain,” Wiz yelled. “Engine power at max.”

  He was
right. On the rear-feed screen, the GSO ship was getting larger by every passing second. They must’ve switched on a turbo mode to be catching up so fast, Ramya thought.

  “How far are we from the nearest AP, Wiz?” he asked.

  “It’s close, Captain,” Wiz replied. “Ten minutes . . . or less.”

  “All right,” the captain said. “Maintain course for the AP. Keep engines at full power.”

  “But they’re going to catch up before we reach.”

  “Yes, I see that. Since we can’t avoid that, we prepare for it,” said the captain. He ran his fingers over the controls on Fenny’s station before rising to his feet. He looked at Ramya and shook his head. “You’re stubborn. I was trying to keep you out of this because . . .” he let his words trail off and his gaze drifted. “Take Fenny’s station and put on the communicator. I need you to guide Fenny and Ross when the GSO agents get on board. Can you do that?”

  Ramya nodded furiously. She was in Fenny’s seat before the captain could blink, and even though the wisp of a question trembled in her brain about what the captain had just left unfinished, the rush of excitement buried it promptly.

  “So, we’ll let the GSO agents come aboard?” she asked while plugging the communicator into her ears.

  “We’re almost within their tractor beam’s range now,” Wiz said. “They’ll grab us any moment. Should we ready our repulsor cannons, Captain?”

  “Not yet, Wiz. Not yet. How much farther to the AP?” the captain asked.

  “Nine minutes, Captain.”

  “Stay on course, Wiz. Rami, ask Ross and Fenny to take position near the Stryker.”

  Ramya relayed the captain’s order to Ross and Fenny, and after a quick study of the controls she was able to adjust her screen. It was now split in half with two views—one of the Endeavor’s rear end and the GSO’s Cutlass, and the other of the cargo bay where Ross and Fenny were setting up shop in front of the Stryker. The plasma-blending screen they had fitted on the Stryker still partially worked and it was weird seeing a bit of the space fighter peek out like an apparition. Ross and Fenny worked quickly, checking their weapons and setting up a perimeter of sorts around the Stryker.