Firestorm: Galaxy On Fire, Book 3

by Craig Robertson

  “When?” shot back Mirri.

  “When you nearly went insane, child. His hands fused with your head. Remember?”

  Mirri shrugged.

  “I didn’t think it was gross,” added Slapgren.

  “Of course not. You’re a boy,” responded Cala. “You all like sex.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” shouted Mirraya. “One, we never had sex. Two, hollon isn’t sex. It’s a commitment.”

  “A commitment it is, child. But it is also the ultimate form of sexual interaction. Elbows and knees don’t get in the way.” Cala chuckled softly and flapped her wings slightly.

  “Ah, double gross,” said Mirri. “Can we change the subject?”

  “If it makes you feel uncomfortable, we can talk of your hollon later. Whenever you feel…”

  “My hollon? My,” Mirraya slapped herself on the chest, “hollon? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s like only one male left in the universe, and I’m not holloning with him if he was … was … the last male in the universe.” For completeness, Mirraya stomped her foot.

  By the time she’d finished, both Cala and I were laughing to beat the band. Ah, to not be young again.

  THIRTY-THREE

  After Jon left Sapale’s family home on Kaljax, he was hot. To be spurned by an ungrateful bitch was one thing. To be relegated to finding his Deft brats alone was intolerable. He knew he didn’t need Sapale’s help, but it sure would have been nice. He’d track down his prey, but her soft touch generally helped. Fewer people died when she was involved, and he was told that was a good thing. Not that he believed it, but keeping up appearances had some cosmetic value. More doors were left open to him when he relied less on violence and mayhem. Oh well, eggs and omelets, as was said. He’d do what it took, as always.

  All he really knew, his only clue, was that the Deft had been spirited away on an Adamant warship. His agents on Azsuram specifically told him the pair were shuttled into orbit and then placed on a big vessel. Jon was left trying to figure out why the Adamant massacred the entire race but then treated the last two of their species as valuable assets. It made no sense. Kill them all, or why bother to kill any? That’s the way he’d do it. It was logical. The sloppiness of the Adamant mind made him sick yet again. Pathetic race. If he was going to do a thing, he did it right. Otherwise he'd just as soon stay home in front of the fire and piss his life away.

  How was he going to get new intel? He had plenty of people on Azsuram, but their scope of knowledge was limited to that world. There were a few pirates and smugglers he might ask, but their input was directly related to the risk they assumed telling him. If it was too high, they’d play dumb. Wait, they were dumb. They’d play dumber. Nah, not a profitable route to pursue. Information. That was his goal. He’d labored long and hard to no avail trying to hack into the Adamant systems, so he’d be no more likely to penetrate them now. Who could he strong-arm? Azsuram was crawling with Adamant pukes. Some of those useless puppies were high-ranked. Maybe one of them would know something? At the very least, he bet he could convince one or two to speculate what might happen to prisoners like the Deft. Yeah, that’d be as good a place as any to start. Plus, he could work out a good deal of frustration at the enemy’s expense. It was win, win.

  He made it back to Azsuram quickly. Jon landed in the secluded area he’d left from a day earlier. As he set down, his sensors confirmed the Adamant were literally everywhere. Acquiring a few to discuss the concerns that occupied his mind would be easy enough. He locked down his ship and set out on foot. He exited his hiding place through a small, naturally-occurring tunnel. Almost immediately, a small patrol of Adamant marched past his position. It was too small a group to have any senior officers, so he let them live.

  A large encampment was not far away. He’d go shopping there. The trip was uneventful. Jon took up a position under thick cover from where he could see the camp perfectly. He’d spied on them from there many times before. It wasn’t long before he noticed a hovercraft driving along one of the dirt roads inside the camp. It was empty save the driver. The car stopped at one of the bigger structures and took on four passengers. Excellent. They were undoubtedly fat slobs of senior officers. Now, if they just left the place, he could snag them.

  The hover craft was headed from his left to his right. If it was leaving the camp, he plotted in his head where that would be. He then slipped away and proceeded to that spot as quickly as possible. Before he reached the roads leaving the camp, he confirmed the car did exit the facility. Outstanding. All he had to do was catch up to the car, blast the driver, and then he could invite his new friends to tea.

  Three hours later, Jon was strapping the second Adamant officer onto a vertically aligned tabletop. He intentionally hadn’t cleaned it of the remnants from his interrogation of the first Adamant officer he’d questioned. Lifelong experience had honed his information-acquisition skills to perfection. In the present case, he was using his preferred method, the one he employed when he had three or more captives to question. He called it the “Bend the Donkey” method. He couldn’t recall why he named it that, but he liked the descriptor. It made him smile when he thought about it.

  Basically, the Donkey, or last victim, was the only subject of interest in the process. The first individual chosen was asked bizarre questions and killed quickly. This was intended to confuse the donkey. The second subject was brutalized excessively, to scare any potential reservation out of the one in the donkey role. If more were available to torture, they suffered various combinations of the confuse and abuse techniques to further rattle the donkey. Then, Jon got to bend the donkey. Yeah. If he’d softened them up well enough, it was usually easy. In any case, Bend the Donkey rarely failed. It made one hell of a mess and couldn’t be rushed, but it was generally worth the bother.

  The now-deceased Adamant had been asked his name, which he refused to give. Then Jon asked what his favorite color was. That brought wide-eyed stares from all four captives. His final question was where in the galaxy the fellow would want to spend his next vacation, with cost not being a consideration. Then, after waiting briefly for him not to answer, Jon executed him in a sloppy manner.

  The second, once secured, was asked his name. He also refused to answer, but his eyes betrayed deep concern based on his manifest reticence. Jon asked him a few military-related questions he had no actual interest in, then he murdered the Adamant as brutally and psychotically as he could. That part Jon was good at. The third one, the last pre-donkey victim, was asked obvious and baffling questions, and Jon tossed in some magical transportation to dismember him.

  Jon was certain that had impressed the donkey. The pup was trembling like Gumby in an earthquake as he was lashing him down.

  “Now, I’m hoping I can rely on you to fill in some gaps in the information I have,” he said smiling widely at the petrified officer. “If not,” he gestured at the abomination he’d created in the room, “all this will be for naught. Keep in mind that I don’t want to hurt you. I only want information. If I can get it without disturbing a hair on your head, then I’ll be a happy man. We may even part friends. Can you imagine that?”

  The look on the Adamant’s face confirmed that he could not.

  “So, we’ll start slow. Baby steps. Do you know what baby steps means?” Jon angled his face up and away to accentuate his anticipation of a response.

  The terrified soldier nodded that he did.

  Jon’s arms exploded open in wonder. “There. You see how easy that was? That’s how easy the entire process can be. I ask easy questions. You give honest answers. I don’t rip your fingers off with my teeth.” He smiled very warmly. “Win, win, don’t you think?”

  Again, his horrified face stated he did not.

  “So, I want to tell you a mini-story. Then I’ll ask you to give me your opinion concerning certain aspects of that tale.” Jon put on as sincere a look as he could. “I really do value your opinion. Please know that. Hmm?”

  The fellow was beyo
nd responding.

  “The Adamant recently took a couple prisoners. They did this after slaughtering every other member of the prisoners’ species. Now, I can’t expect you to know why that was. What I’d like you to tell me is where such valuable prisoners would have been taken.”

  The Adamant’s eyes bulged open in blind terror. He had no idea where such prisoners might be spirited away to.

  “Now, you might think of more than one possible destination. Yes, I am willing to grant that you’re not clairvoyant.” Jon smiled like an old, wise friend. “I grant that because I’m so nice. So, what is your opinion?” Jon folded his hands and leaned in very close to the guy’s head.

  “I … I wou … wouldn’t know. I’m just … just a supply officer. I have nothing to do … do with security.” He licked his lips. “You have to believe me. Nothing.”

  Jon frowned like a disappointed pet owner might and shook his head slowly. “Ah, now you see, that’s a point I must differ with you on, if you don’t mind. You see … say, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Plandon.”

  “You see, Plandon, I don’t have to believe you. No, that’s why I’m going to torture you. Yes. Torture is sort of my way of saying I don’t have to believe everything you say. Does that sound reasonable, Plandon?”

  Plandon had no verbal response. He did empty his colon and bladder, but he spoke no words.

  “So, to save me the trouble, not to mention the unpleasant taste of biting off your fingers, where might the prisoners have gone?”

  Ten fingers and ten toes later, Jon started to think Plandon didn’t have an opinion on the matter. But, he wasn’t certain. After Plandon’s tail was burned off in three separate increments, his ears sheared off manually, and one eye was removed digitally, Jon grew more optimistic. Plandon gasped and moaned something about the most important treasures were always delivered to the emperor.

  “Important treasures?” asked Jon. “Interesting framing of the question, Plandon. I assumed they were simply prisoners. But maybe they are valuable in some greater sense.” He wagged a finger at Plandon. “You know, I knew you were cleverer than you gave yourself credit for. I’m proud I could help you come to realize your own worth.”

  Plandon didn’t respond. He’d passed out again.

  Jon doused him with another bucket of scalding-hot water, and Plandon awoke with a howl. “Where is the Emperor, you know, if the prisoners were taken to him?”

  “I don’t know such a thing. Please believe me. I am nothing while he is great.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t settle for you selling yourself short again,” Jon tisked. “Where is the emperor?”

  “He has many palaces. They say he travels endlessly.”

  “Endlessly is a bit too vague, Plandon. If you’re fond of that remaining eye of yours, I suggest you firm up your answer quickly.”

  “He has a ship. Yes. Excess of Nothing. That’s his favorite residence.”

  “Ah, Plandon, you’re not being deceptive, are you? You say you don’t know the emperor, yet you know his most favorite place to stay? You know what happens if I’m confused. You lose a body part. Yeah.”

  “They say he loves it. I wouldn’t know, but …”

  Unfortunately, Jon would never know what the but was. He swept a chopping blow down and decapitated Plandon before the poor fellow could finish his qualifier. Jon was bored. He’d concluded a while earlier that Plandon had volunteered every scrap of information he possibly could. Plandon had outlived his utility, but Jon corrected that awkward situation.

  Plus, Jon had the bare bones of a plan to set in motion. No more play time.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  It took some doing, but Calfada-Joric finally jawboned me into transferring our discussion to her home. She said the kids looked hungry and she wanted to feed them. I had to agree. A few weeks of foraging on their own had leaned them up a bit. Once we were seated, she produced two huge bowls of a fabulous smelling stew from her kitchen. The scent was like nothing I’d ever encountered. My mouth salivated so much I thought it might start leaking.

  “Jon, I know you are an android,” she said to me. “I was uncertain whether to bring you some also. Do you recreationally eat?”

  “Yeah, sort of. I recreationally drink too, you know, if it’s got enough alcohol in it.”

  She got a judgmental look in her eyes but let me remark pass. “I’ll bring you some,” she said as she turned.

  I raised a finger she couldn’t possibly see. “As long as there’s enough.”

  “There’s always plenty,” she muttered as she returned with a more modest portion for me. Now, if I was the kind of guy who stood on principle, I might have taken umbrage at being shorted so conspicuously. But the stuff smelled too damn good. I took what I could get and was happy.

  Cala watched patiently as we all wolfed down our stew. I guess she knew we’d not be inclined to talk while any of the nectar remained. It was magical. The meat tasted like meat should but never quite does. The vegetables were sweet and crunchy with tropical undertones. I swear they tasted like sitting on a steamy beach with a piña colada while slathered in suntan lotion. And then there was the broth. It was rich, buttery, tangy, spicy, savory, and soothing all in one. It filled me with a sense of comfort, like my mother was cradling me in her arms cooing a lullaby. Wow. Just wow. If I had an unlimited supply of that stew, I’d never have done another thing in my entire life but eat it.

  “That is agatcha,” Cala said as we neared the bottoms of our bowls. “It is a traditional Deft stew.”

  “Nuh uh,” Slapgren throated through a mouth full of stew. Then he gulped it down. “No way. I’ve eaten agatcha my whole life. This is nothing like it. This is so much better.”

  Cala beamed satisfaction. “We all have our recipes, Slapgren. Mine is a very old one, but it’s just one of many.”

  I’d never had any form of the stuff, but I kind of doubted her explanation. It was too good. No one ate like that, not normal people.

  Would anyone like anymore?” Cala asked as Slapgren maniacally scrapped at the sides of his bowl.

  Mirri seemed full, and I decided to err on the side of caution. We both declined. Slapgren simply held out his bowl to her. She smiled and accepted it. She brought him back a piping-hot refill with a wedge of brown bread stuck in the center of the concoction. Man, I wanted a piece of that bread.

  “I still need to understand what you’ve told us. I have to decide if my kids want to stay with you and if I think they’ll be safe.”

  She sighed deeply. “I will hear your questions and address your concerns. You have earned the right to stand for these children. But I don’t want to leave you under the impression that their leaving is an option.”

  Did she know the fastest way to get my hackles up, or what? “I really don’t want to see this pleasant conversation degenerate into a pissing contest, my dear,” I said as calmly as I could, which wasn’t very.

  “How colorful,” she responded. “I can only assume you are unfamiliar with my excretory system’s anatomy.”

  I gagged a nasal expiratory snort. “And I pray I remain as unfamiliar for all time.”

  She inclined her head toward me. “Trust me that you will.”

  Despite my better judgement, the old girl was growing on me.

  “Are you two flirting?” sniped Mirraya. “Cause if you are, it’s totally gross.”

  “No, child, we are feeling each other out, but not as a prelude to intercourse.”

  Slapgren nearly choked on the gob he was attempting to swallow. When he stopped coughing, he spoke. “Thank the old gods! You two are gross.”

  “No, Slappy,” I responded, “we’re seasoned boxers landing a few light punches to see what the other has actually got.”

  “Well leave your genitals out of all discussions please,” insisted Mirri. “I just ate and I want to keep the agatcha down.”

  “You sure you want to take this on?” I asked Cala as I thumbed toward Mirri.
<
br />   “Not looking forward to it, but I have responsibilities that outweigh my preferences and inclinations.”

  “You and me both, sister,” I stated sincerely.

  “This I know, Jon Ryan. You are a good and an honorable man,” she replied. “The debt I owe you for doing not only the impossible but what I could not do myself is immeasurable.” She sounded drop-dead serious.

  “Now there’s a mouthful,” I responded. “Are you implying you would have matched my impossible act but for some conflicting factor?”

  She smugly nodded in the affirmative.

  “What stopped you, pray tell? A hair appointment that couldn’t be rescheduled? A hot date you couldn’t afford to disappoint?”

  “Mind your tongue, my new friend. I have only so much tolerance for lippy aliens.”

  “You and me both, sister,” I growled nice and low.

  “Oh great,” exclaimed Mirri. “They’re at it again.”

  “Do you think they’re going to … you know, fornicate?” asked a truly baffled Slapgren.

  “Everyone in this place be silent,” commanded Cala. She was quite convincing when she was insistent. When the three of us demonstrated compliance, she spoke again. “That’s enough nonsense talk and veiled threats. We have serious matters to discuss. I must convince you three that two must stay and one must go.”

  I raised my hand. “If one of us must go, I volunteer.” I grinned my patented cat-eating-shit smile.

  “I said enough, Jon. Please act like an adult now that you’re two billion years old.”

  “Or else?” Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.

  “The agatcha will have a new somewhat metallic taste due to a new ingredient.” Her eyes reflected that she was stupid-serious. “The last young Deft live in an unbalanced, hostile universe and must remain with me so I may instruct them. They must each learn to master their gifts. Plus, they must be protected. I can do these things best.”

  “You want to arm wrestle to see who wins?” I asked. “Oh, wait. I guess it’d be wing wrestle on your part, wouldn’t it?”