Twin suns of Carrola (Starshatter Book 2)

by Dark Knight

  And so Mack decided to go and check up on how his old man was doing, traveled to Carrola system he did. Alberto was a farmer now, he’d gifted his old grav-bike to two bunnies – brother and sister whom he knew well. He drove an old friggin’ tractor, plowing his fields, moving and replanting the Mumpa trees around. Peculiar trees they were; Mack always got a strange feeling when near the forest – as if the trees were watching him.

  Turning the bike towards the nearest colony house, Mack cursed loudly and pressed the mag-brakes. Alberto’s house wasn’t where it was supposed to be – in its place stood a deep crater! Mack quickly jumped from his bike and grabbed that scanner he found, flipping the ON switch. The green holo-screen blipped above the small device and he descended nervously into the crater, stepping over the melted pieces of mega-concrete. He angrily waved the device around, pointing its scanning beams at every large debris. Mack found no DNA except that of a bunny, who was heavily wounded and moved towards Alberto’s garage.

  The friggin’ tractor was gone too and Mack detected faint traces of taz’aran DNA. Somebody had driven the old piece of junk and killed two of them shitters with it! Mack smiled – evidently it was that bunny again. He ran, following the trails that tractor’s threads south and found a small battlefield where its melted wreck lied. More traces of taz’aran DNA, all of them dead. The scrooges had, of course, gathered all of their corpses, not for burial but to salvage the equipment.

  Reaching the forest, Mack’s scanner found some craters and trees charred by particle beam fire. That was it. No more traces from that bunny.

  He whistled on his PDA’s mic and soon the bike rode itself, stopping beside him. Mack jumped on the saddle and drove towards the other end of Murphy’s Landing. Slowly, because of the grisly obstructions laying everywhere on his bike’s path.

  The colonists’ mummified corpses lay everywhere, resting where they were shot and killed. Carrola’s two suns had then dried up their flesh, turning all of them into wrinkled husks. Towards the other end of the colony Mack finally found Alberto’s body. His old man was shot from the back, one of his arms chopped by a vibro-blade, and his other still clutching a shovel. Mack was a proper bastard, but that was the man who raised him, wiped the shit off his scrawny little ass and put food on the table. Mack sat beside the corpse and opened his last two beers – good Bulgarian pale ale, “Bear’s tear” was the name and one of his old man’s favorites. He slowly drank both, first his and then the one he opened for Alberto. Grabbed the shovel carefully inspected it. An old relic from the 50’s American south, its blade made from good quality megasteel that was well sharpened. Most probably Alberto purchased it back in Liberty and then brought it with him when he’d settled here. Mack finally saw the AMES logo and raised an eyebrow – that shovel was probably one of the first ever made from the newly developed then megasteel alloy. Oh, he was keeping it!

  Mack carried Alberto’s body to the side of the road. He spent the rest of the day digging graves for the colonists, but the hardest of all was burying the bunnies. Mack felt as if he was digging children’s graves – worse, all of their small mummified bodies had such sorrowful faces stuck in the agony of their death, that even a hardened bastard like him had to take a break. He needed to get some sleep, desperately. For the first time in ages Mack had a dream. It was a field of fire and blood that he was walking through, where he saw bodies wearing his SMC’s colors littering the ground. Faces started floating up from the depths of his memory. The faces of his brothers, voices not forgotten, and their dead eyes full of scorn and sadness watching him. Their bikes, cars, and other machines – everything was burning. Before him at the center of that field Mack saw a tall figure which at first glance looked like an alien. Wearing an armored robe, the tall person raised both hands pointing and waving them at him. Mack raised a shovel. It was the same one he’d found before falling asleep, and the AMES logo stamped on its megasteel blade glistened reassuringly in the darkness. The robed alien person waved its hands at him again. Yet this time the very motion looked hurried and confused, almost panicky. Mack stepped closer and curiously tried looking under the hood. For a moment he thought that he saw something... but it was only for a second. The figure tried clawing him and Mack shovel-smacked it center face. Somehow all of this looked too weird, and that robed fucker way too ominous. When in doubt, face-fist first, ask questions later. After that the dream ended abruptly and Mack slept like a baby for the rest of the night.

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  Next morning Mack was awoken by an unmistakable sound – the loud, mind-splitting and unmistakable screech of damaged taz’aran grav-engines. He tapped the side of his glasses and with triple magnification, Mack spotted a taz’aran grav-truck in the distance. It suddenly stalled mid-move and its front end caught fire, long plumes of white smoke quickly surrounding it. There were three taz’aran soldiers who leaped from its back end and one officer from the driving seat. All of them frantically began unloading small cargo crates on the ground, dragging them away from the burning vehicle. One more look and Mack understood why – they were full of explosives.

  Mack slowly walked towards them. He produced a whiskey-infused lollipop from his jacket’s front pocket and unwrapped it. Unable to see or hear him walking because of all the smoke and fire, the first taz’aran soldier turned around and the last thing he saw was the shovel’s blade racing for his face. Didn’t even raise hands to defend himself. The shovel slashed his skin, bone, brains, and he fell to the ground, pinkish blood splattering everywhere. Mack smelled the lollipop to chase away the stench. He hated the reek of taz’aran blood. Much preferred was the smell of whiskey and that thing was loaded with it. The equivalent of a small shot. Not enough, but sometimes something was better than nothing.

  He raised the gory shovel and whispered in Fringe Speak, his body still wrapped with smoke:

  “Hey! Holes-for-ears, your Empress eats shit and likes it!”

  Then quietly, Mack stepped to the side and raised the shovel above his head, gripping its handle with both hands. The two other soldiers immediately dropped the crates and fanned out, unsheathing their vibro-blades. Moving closer, one of them lunged with his dagger in the air, aiming at the direction where he had heard Mack’s voice. Blade swished stabbing empty air, as the shovel hit him from the side, slicing and crushing his neck. Saint Harley, this shovel was literally a killer! Mack was truly amazed at its effectiveness. After all, AMES blacksmiths were famous for the farming tools they produced and had a legendary reputation but... they weren’t in the weapon business. Yet, this sturdy shovel made by them was used by hundreds of settlers, farm workers and now an angry space biker who’s entire SMC was wiped out by shit-smelling, taz’aran fucktards!

  “Shiteaters!” – shouted Mack and himself lunged forward, stabbing the third soldier’s gut with the shovel, splitting his belly open. The taz’aran fell screaming to the ground, trying with both hands to stop his guts from spilling everywhere. Mack left the officer for last. With vision enhanced by his sunglasses, Mack quickly found himself behind the idiot and turned the shovel’s blade to the side. He hit the back of the officer’s head once with the flat of the farming tool, instantly knocking him unconscious.

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  The taz’aran officer was a Second Lieutenant of the Pion Supply corps. It never crossed his mind that someday he would be captured, let alone by a Terran. The officer woke up tied to a metal chair, mouth parched and with a splitting headache to boot. Before him and under the shade of one of those local trees, a tall, bulky human was resting. Strangely dressed, he had no armor or a helmet, instead, he wore exotic looking dark leather clothes laced with interlocking megasteel pieces. The man had his jacket resting on the handlebars of his bike, and so he could examine the colors on its back. It was a stylized dark-feathered bird with long beak in the center, wings spread and blood dripping claws
. The circle surrounding it had some words written in a human language he knew nothing of, but the bird! This human was part of that infamous gang – the brotherhood of the dark wings or something. He tried licking his lips and looked down, suddenly realizing that something was very, very wrong with his legs.

  The taz’aran screamed – his feet were naked and skin slashed by a blade, blood dripping on the ground. As the puddle of pinkish blood was getting bigger, his vision grew dimmer and breathing harder. The human stood up and slowly walked towards him. He had only a thin shirt to protect his torso from the sun; old, made of some white cloth, it had a strange yellow circular face with wide open white eyes and a toothy grin. Confused and angry the taz’aran tried to talk but was kicked straight in the face. Spitting blood and teeth the chair he was tied to fell, his head hitting the ground hard.

  “Shiteater, you gots’ only a couple of minutes left. The crap smelling blood will soon leave your meat sack and I don’t have to tell you how good your kinds’ death from blood loss feels. Nod if you understand!”

  He got another boot to the head before finally complying. The Terran effortlessly picked him up from the ground with one hand and leveled his ugly face with his own.

  “And now ass-face, you will effin’ tell me, why were you here and what happened to the rest of those colonists!”

  “I... I don’t know anything, you hear me! Stupid hu...” – he instantly got another boot to the face. More of his broken, bloodied teeth rolled on the ground.

  “Listen, you crap-eater, I’ll have to spend precious and not-so-nice minutes of my time, cleaning me’ boots from the shit running in your veins that you call blood – the smell is always a killjoy. Start talking and I might let you use this.” – And the human, produced one med-spray from his pants front pocket.

  “Ugh... you filthy scum! Even if I tell you what you need to know, what could you possibly do all alone?! You have no friends because we’ve killed all of them! Ahahahahah!”

  He got kicked in the gut and choked for air, then vomited what was left in his belly all over his feet.

  “Hmmm, vomiting all over those slashed feet of yours. In this climate and heat, I imagine that infection will soon be spreading in your shitstream,” – he dangled the med-spray before his face – “You still have time to reconsider!”

  “Good!” – The officer coughed again, spitting more of his blood on the ground – “I will tell you what you want to know and only because it will get you killed, you stupid human! Yes, some colonists were taken alive and loaded on one of our cargo ships. All that I know is – they were supposed to make a stop at Pion base. Only some thirty-two light years away from this scorched hell hole! Why were we here you ask? For the glory of the Taz’aran Empire of course! Capturing this place and turning it into a military outpost deep inside of your own territory – is that enough for you human filth?!”

  The human smiled, walked over to his bike and put his jacket on slowly. He looked at the med-spray still in his hand and then at him, sighing heavily.

  “You know what crapblood, a promise is a promise! I told you that I’ll let you use this if you answered me questions and I am a man of my word” – the human reluctantly dropped the med-spray on the ground and walked away mounting his bike. The life-saving spray was a good thirty feet away from him and he was still tied to a chair!

  “Filthy human! Once I get myself free and back to base, all of your stupid colonies will BURN!!!” – he screamed enraged and tried moving his chair closer to the med-spray – “Your genetically deficient clients will all die together with you, dumb humans! We will make toys for our children from the bones of yours!” – The chair’s legs tripped on a tree root strangely sticking out of the earth, and he suddenly lost balance and fell to the ground. The puddle of blood was getting larger, and he furiously strained his limbs to the max while trying to break the chair or at least rip the ropes. Both were incredibly sturdy and he failed. That human calmly turned on the engine of his bike and revved it a couple of times.

  “Ya’ know what? All that kicking and straining just shortened what’s left of your time. See that puddle? – It is getting bigger.” – He smiled and continued – “I forgot to mention something else. Farmers here had to deal with some invasive species of rat-like creatures for years now. They say them buggers love eating the roots of those tall trees, vegetables, and... can smell blood from miles away.”

  The officer’s eyes widened because he knew exactly what that human was talking about. Wozzies were native to Taz’ara, considered a pest and Imperial agents deployed considerably sized populations of them on Terran frontier colonies. The idea was to undermine and disrupt their farming, ideally starving the Terrans to death. He saw a group of six wozzies closing.

  Their heads were up, noses sniffing the air, and they looked very hungry...

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  Mack drove away slowly while listening to the desperate, dying screams of the taz’aran officer. He, of course, had recorded everything on his PDA, and not only to be used as evidence – any Terran morale officer would pay good creds for that holo-file. It was always strange to hear the lower enlisted taz’arans, or even the junior officers rave and scream about how they would destroy the Minarchy. After all they have been plunking at it for a good two decades now, with little or no success. Boasting greatness and overwhelming superiority, while at the same time having your smelly ass handed to ya’ by ragtag colonist militiamen, women and little kids was not at all intimidating.

  Seriously, Sirius!

  The place was simultaneously attacked by not one but two pirate clans, with the “hidden” assistance of one entire taz’aran infantry division. Mack’s hands twitched as he remembered the juicy salvage haul his SMC dragged from this battlefield. The tazzies dropped down with almost everything they had – power armors, tanks, tactical mecha and elite heavy troops. Even had a total numerical superiority of six to one in their favor and, of course, their officers spouted the same shit. “We is gonna kill ya’ all” and “Your little ones be’ enslaved and sold”. Even if the colonists hadn’t had a morale officer, those statements would’ve been enough to motivate them plenty. And so they did fight like possessed madmen, with everything that they had. What they lacked, engineers built it from battlefield salvage soon – mecha, tanks, bikes and armored personnel carriers. The dead enemies provided plenty of it and even though most of their engineers were practically dying on the job, Sirius colonists still got plenty of equipment. After the first month spent in battle against the Terrans, the taz’arans thought Sirius was a trap, since instead of a hapless civilian population they faced stiff armed resistance. Captured comms transmissions revealed their idiotic assumptions – they thought the colony to be a military encampment, a major Terran forward base of sorts.

  Shitheads... Just like Earth, Sirius too became a friggin graveyard for them. At least the clanners weren’t spouting empty threats and fought like they were supposed to, defiant till’ their death.

  Mack was not a great lover of neither law nor government but he had to agree, in recent years the latter had grown even smaller than before. Their few organizations were all but self-sustainable now and required little to no assistance from anyone, but the very capable volunteers who ran them. Those insane star marines he greatly respected, them and everybody else, who selflessly joined to protect others. Neither the navy nor army received any government pay, only what the colonists gave them as supplies, weapons and equipment. Of course, all of the bountiful battle salvage and loot, as it was per Common Minarchy Law, was theirs to do with as they wished.

  High above the skies of Sirius prime he and his boys had hit a little bit of a snag. The pirate frigate that they had boarded was full of clan Aleska marines and despite his brothers’ brutal strength and skill, those clanners were kicking them out. At this shitty and most unlucky moment, one Imperial Minarchy Navy star marine company, bearing ultra-elite mar
kings on their exosuits “casually” boarded the clanner ship. The whole thing looked like an evening stroll in the park, really, and those marines walked through the enemy. Those boys even gave his brothers medical assistance, pulling what damaged craft the Crows had into their destroyer’s hangar for repairs. Nobody said anything when an I-sec ship came couple of days later either. When asked by their agents if they’d seen his boys, the star marines simply answered back – “What bikers? We ain’t seen no space bikers here!” – During the whole time his craft were being serviced in their ship’s hangar and wounded treated in the hospital bay by star marine medical personnel. Good times!

  A sudden loud pitched boom coming from high up in the air pulled Mack out of his sweet memory lane and back into current reality. His glasses helped him to see that starship moving in the distant sky – it was a heavy shuttle descending through the atmo on a quick vector. Piloted by somebody who was very, very good. And the ship was unmistakably bearing Spacer markings, its hull design to him looked like an effin’ frog. Ha! Those spacers always outdid themselves when it came to creating original craft and he had to agree that the Crows’ crafty boys and girls were always in a sort of a competition with them. Mack spat and increased his speed – he had something to trade for that fuel and supplies.

  Whomever this ship belonged to, they were Terrans and he could peddle info concerning the abducted people easily. Had his crew was still alive and kicking, they would’ve assaulted that ’Pion base’ themselves. Killed everyone who wasn’t Terran or a slave. Then looted everything not bolted to the floor-plating, and even cut said plating with plasma torches and dragged it away for scrap too. As angry as Mack was, he was not a bloody idiot. Even though he was somewhat of a lone wolf for the most part of his adult life, he had his brothers to lean on when things got tough. Now he had to work with others and most probably form a temporary, but much-needed arrangement.