Kraken Orbital

by James Stubbs

  “Kraken Orbital”

  By James J Stubbs

  For Dad and For Logic

  “The Kraken Class” ©

  James J Stubbs.

  Copyright James Stubbs 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to characters, events or organizations are purely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition

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  Chapter 1

  Prologue

  Part 1

  I don’t even remember hitting the ground. I remember the hyper drive cutting out and I remember the jet engines failing as I tried to land this old crate. But I don’t remember the damn thing hitting the surface of the planet. I suppose that’s what I get for stealing it in the first place. But I just couldn’t work for those jerks for another second.

  I open my eyes to be met with a belting headache. One so bad it feels like I’ve been out on the drink last night, and I’ve had a very good time. Shame that isn’t true. I’m starting to wish this had all been a dream. My back hurts like I’ve snapped every one of my vertebrae on the way to the floor and all of my muscles are burning in pain.

  I can’t even hear myself think with these blaring alarms going off either. If it hadn’t been for the sprinkler system though I don’t think I’d have woken up at all. I’d have burned to death instead. My face is soaking, so is my armor, and I can feel the puddles of water rising up around me. The water is cool and welcome though. It helps to dull the searing pain a little and it wakes me up faster. I wish I could just lay here a while and try to pull my head back together. But I need to get out of this burning rig.

  ‘Where are your fire extinguisher systems?’ The voice is alien to me. Who said that? I came here alone. There was no one on board before I took it. I checked more than a dozen times. I try to open my mouth to talk but the numbing pain stops me dead. I scream instead.

  ‘I said where are your fire extinguisher systems?’ The voice was more desperate and demanding. I battle the rising pain in my arm, since I can’t even open my jaw to talk, and point vaguely at the centre console in front of me.

  The bridge of my stolen rig is pretty basic. I should have been in the pilot’s chair when I saw the warning signs of a crash but how was I supposed to know? The room is finished in hard black metal. I can see the shutters down over the window ahead. The only light swamping the place is from those incessantly flaring red warning lights mounted to the ceiling. There are some consoles to the left and right, but I don’t even know what they’re for. Just dials and switches that I didn’t even try to use.

  I just point hopefully to the one up front, mounted just before the pilot’s chair, that has its own hollowed out space up front and down a little step.

  I try to sit up and take a look around for whoever my would be savior is. My back has none of it though! I can hear the snap even through my armor. The pain is excruciating and I can only whimper here on the floor!

  Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I should have thought twice before going off the rails and stealing from my employers. I should have listened to my Dad, or at least to what I thought he would have said. I should have handed my notice in like a good boy, worked my follow up weeks too. But I wanted to stick it to them so badly.

  I can’t move at all! I’m starting to panic too! My body is sweating profusely and I can feel constant shivers going up and down my spine. At least I can feel something. That’s a relief at least. I can roll my head too. That’s good. It takes a while for my eyes to catch up with whatever direction my head is looking in and my vision is still blurred beyond any kind of clarity. But at least I can see.

  The waves of red light swamping the room suddenly stop and the incessant ear destroying howls of the alarm stop with it. The main light comes back on. It’s blinding, white and clear, but I’m glad of it. I hadn’t come all this way just to burn to death like that!

  His face appears above my head. If I could have jumped at the sight of him, given my current disabled state, I surely would have. He has a gas mask on and I can only just make out his wide and bloodshot eyes behind the two glass covered holes carved in the black face cover. The only other feature of the mask that sticks out is the snout shaped breathing apparatus below his red eyes.

  He stares at me without saying anything. He doesn’t even blink. He has a rifle on him. It looks old. Really old. I study it only briefly through my fading eyes. It looks like an antique. It’s a projectile cartridge weapon and there’s not even a laser based bolt attachment welded on it to speak of. I didn’t think anyone left in the whole galaxy used those things?

  I wish I could talk to him and ask him what it was but I still can’t even move my jaw. His gun isn’t the only thing that looks old. His uniform does too. He has a disgusting brown colored leather overall on. It is fastened around his waist by a thick belt. His trousers are all black, baggy, and he has some kind of orange colored emblem on his shoulder that I don’t recognize. The leather of his apron is cracked and frayed with time worn service.

  As I slowly come to, I figure I’ll give talking another shot. I manage to open my mouth this time, still laid out on the floor in pain, with this crazed looking guy hovering silently over me.

  ‘Take off your mask.’ I demand through my veiled, croaky and shaken voice. The man reaches down and grabs my shoulders tight. He lifts me to my feet with ease. He must be insanely strong. It didn’t hurt me as much as I thought it might though. I can feel a little more with each heavy heartbeat. I can feel some strength on my feet and try to stand on my own. I’m uneasy at first, and my odd looking savoir makes sure I stay upright. He keeps tight hold of my shoulders. So tight that it hurts. Nothing to how my shattered back feels though.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s stuck on. Welded on in fact by a deadly fire that spread through my ship.’ My savior begins to explain and entrusts me with my own weight. I’m amazed that I can stand but I need to shake it off anyway. I’m just glad I’m alive and I’m glad I’m not laid out there on the floor paralyzed with no hope of rescue. My head is swimming, I can barely focus, and my eyes still aren’t right. He continues:

  ‘So I’m afraid I can’t take it off.’

  I can’t put my finger on his accent. He’s definitely from Earth. He’s human for sure but I can’t think where he is from. It sounded Eastern, his accent, maybe Russian or one of the former states of the old Soviet Union. I feel sick. I must have had one hell of a blow to the head. I probably have some concussion. I still feel wasted. Like I have a hangover that won’t pass.

  ‘You look terrible.’ My savior says through his muffling gas mask. Even through my fuzzy head I can’t resist a stab at him.

  ‘Look who’s talking pal.’ I mock him insensitively. I should probably have thanked him. Not in my nature though. I can stand just fine now at least. My back is still burning but I don’t think I’ve broken anything. I think I can walk. I’m still confused though. I can’t even remember what part of the planet I was heading for when I crashed. It all happened so fast. One alarm started blasting, and some warning message told me I hadn’t taken proper landing precautions. Then another warning message saying hyper drive not disengaged at the correct time. I wish I had listened more in the emergency drills.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’ My savior tells me and puts a firm palm back over my brittle and injured shoulder. He was kind though. H
e could have left me to it.

  ‘Where are we?’ I manage to ask but he doesn’t reply. He just bulldozes over my question.

  ‘I need your card to access the doors.’ He demands and looks me coldly in the eyes. He’s well spoken. I don’t know why I notice that. He hangs on every word. Was it his accent or his tenuous grasp of the English language? I can’t get my hand in my uniform pocket. It’s throbbing like I just punched a wall after too much beer. I glance down to see fresh blood pouring out of the knuckles. I must have hit it hard on the way down. I hadn’t even noticed.

  He must have seen me try. He stuffs his hand deep into my pocket without asking if it was ok or not. I’m not offended though. He has a more gentle touch than some of the bosses back at work do. Those guys would beat you across the head just for looking at them out of the wrong eye. He brings his hand back out with my card in tow.

  He has half dragged me over to the sealed door at the back of the tiny bridge. There isn’t even enough space to swing a cat in here. Just the consoles, the Captain’s chair and the pilot station at the front. The bridge is sealed with a massive black blast door. There is a turning lock in the centre that activates automatically when you hold the card up to a sensor on the left hand side. I point to it. I can’t manage another word just yet. Not till I get my breath back again at least. He holds the card up and the door shunts into life. I didn’t think it was that loud before! The turning lock starts spinning and sparks light up the room. It must have been damaged but it eventually slides open from the join in the middle.

  The shock hit’s me as soon as the door opens. The whole bridge has been ejected from my rig and has landed alone in a sandy desert. The burning light from this world’s sun hits my bloodshot and tired eyes immediately. It’s even amplified by the reflection from the brightly colored virgin sand. As soon as the insensitive light wipes over my eyes I can start to see my rig burning in the distance. I can see the enormous five storey high metal frame sinking tragically into the soft sand. The drilling platform at the top is bent and snapped almost clean in half. The drill bit itself, or the shaft that is visible, is bent too. There go all of my plans in one sickening screen shot.

  The design of the thing isn’t too far removed from old oil rigs from back on Earth. It had just been mounted to an orbital frame, had a hyper drive slammed into the bottom, and that turned it into a makeshift space ship. The hyper drive had already sunk below the soft dunes. The searing heat starts burning my broken body as soon as it powers through the deep layers of my armored uniform. I start to sweat profusely again.

  ‘What is your name?’ My accomplice asks.

  ‘Sam.’ I manage a short reply. ‘Sam Parker.’ I introduce myself reluctantly as I feel my dreams slip away as I gaze longingly at my stolen rig.

  ‘I am Private Kolter Gespenst.’ He announces proudly. ‘My friends all call me Kolt. More that they used to.’ I pondered what he might mean by “used to” but not for long. I can feel my concentration going again. I can feel my eyeballs slip back into my skull and a numbing sensation spread all over my head. I’m passing out again.

  Chapter 2

  Private Kolter

  I can feel the cold compress on my forehead long before I have the strength to open my weary eyes. I don’t want to think about it. I know when I do open them that I’ll just see my rig burning and a stretch of insurmountable desert lying in front of me. I’m not even sure I can do it. I’m not sure I even want to try and survive. My future was that stolen rig.

  I had to steal it. I had to. I couldn’t work for them anymore. I’m not sure why that company gets away with what it does. I suppose the rules of law mean little to those writing them. The bosses there were nothing more than security guards who just keep you trapped and afraid. They sold it though. They really did.

  They sold us all a thought of having a good life, a regular pay check, three hot meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in every night. I should have listened to my Dad. He warned me about going off world and working on the mines. He has always had that often irritating logic to him. He has foresight. Something I admit I lack. He can figure something out for what it is long before the reality hits. He knew they were trouble just by glancing at them. Just by the poster!

  The reality was nothing like the dream they sold us. They treat us like crap every day and they got away with it every time. They made me feel stupid, made me look a jerk in front of my friends if ever I missed a quota, and lorded it over us every chance they got. I’m not sure where that culture came from, or how it turned what was probably once a decent little mining company into a living nightmare. I wished so hard I had just joined the Army. Another idea of mine that Dad put me off. But at least in the Army I might have been able to get outside more. See some action maybe. Save some beautiful women one day. That must be the concussion settling in…

  Those jerks though. They kept us cooked up onboard the rigs for months and months at a stretch. Only a small cafeteria to eat in. No games room like on the poster either. No holo-vision like they promised and one huge shared dorm. A far cry from the luxury they sold us. The beds were barely big enough to sleep in. Not even close to being ample enough to get a full stretch or a good night’s sleep. But then we were expected to jump out on command and start hoofing another million cubic ton of stone out of a cramped mine.

  I don’t even want to think about the food they served either. Nothing like the Four Star Michelin chef they advertised. Made me sick to my stomach every damn day. Genuinely ill.

  I bet I got all of my friends in trouble though. They made us all feel like worms. The company, somewhere out there, are probably taking what I did out on my sector. And for that, and that alone, I’m truly sorry. I hoped to inspire rebellion in what I did. I dared to hope some of the guys might have had the balls to have come with me. To go it alone and keep pushing no matter how hard the going got. We could have been the captains of our own ship’s. We could have made it on our own or died. Yes, died.

  But I guess it was only me. Only I wanted out so bad. Is that it? I don’t think, no I’m certain, that I wasn’t the only one feeling that badly about them. The guys used to complain and complain until the sun or star of whatever word we were raping clean rose up. I think most of them had just accepted their lot. I think they just gave up. Maybe they cracked their spirits and broke them.

  I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore either. I can hear Kolt rummaging around beside me. I should really snap out of it and see if there’s anything I can do. I owe the scary son of a bitch that much at least.

  I open my eyes with a few long drawn out blinks. The shade helps as I force them open. Kolt must have used water from the sprinkler system to soak a cold compress for my battered head. It feels good. The cool of the towel is helping to take the edge off the numbing pain in my head. I shuffle just a little. Kolt has his back to me and I can’t see what he’s doing. I’m glad of the moment to get my thoughts together and start adjusting to my new surroundings.

  My new reality in fact. My head is spinning and I’m starting to feel sick. I’ve been in enough fights to know just how a mild concussion feels. This is one of the worst I’ve had to endure though. I can keep it together though. Just as well. We are nowhere near help. I can’t even think of the nearest inhabited star system.

  We’re still inside. I’m immensely grateful of that. Kolt has closed the blast door and kept the shutters down over the windows. We’re still in the jettisoned bridge of the rig. Out on the sand somewhere on this planet, I have to admit, I know precious nothing about.

  ‘You are awake?’ Kolt turns with his leather apron creaking as he sways. He places a rising intonation at the end of the statement. It makes it sound like a question but maybe he meant it that way. His grasp of the English language makes me laugh. It’s a little cruel of me though. He has just saved me after all.

  ‘Yeah.’ I can talk a lot better now. That cold compress must be doing me the word of good. ‘I feel like death, Kolt.’ I
can just about sit up. My back is making all sorts of protesting scrapes and cracking noises but I can do it. I let out a sigh of relief once my head is securely and firmly clasped in my hands. I push the compress hard into my forehead and squeeze a little water into my mouth as it dribbles down my battered and bruised face. I suppose I better be polite to this guy. He did save my life.

  I glance up to start talking to him and catch a glimpse of his eyes again. I can barely meet them. They are cold, red and bloodshot, and he doesn’t seem to know how to stop staring. He has no emotion in them. It’s like they’re frozen or something. Locked in one moment. I turn away but push myself to make the effort.

  ‘Look…’ I begin. I’ve always been funny at expressing any kind of emotion. Gratitude especially. Maybe I had it beaten out of me years ago at work. ‘I never said thanks for…’ He didn’t let me finish.

  ‘There is no problem.’ I know what he means. But I use his tenuous grasp of my language to start a conversation.

  ‘I think we might have a few problems Kolt.’ I even manage a snigger. I thought, when I looked over to him once more, that my jibe might have confused him. But he doesn’t, still, manage any other facial expression than those frozen stiff eyes.

  ‘That is not what I meant.’ He didn’t seem amused at all.

  ‘It’s just a joke, relax.’ I urge him, trying to put the fire out before it can extend into an argument. I gesture forward with one hand, sort of like a submissive wave, and he looks as though he accepts it. He backs off a touch.

  ‘Thanks.’ I say again, hoping that it might be able to backtrack the conversation to a point where we were both a little more comfortable. I wish I could see his face. I can’t read him. I try again to engage him, ‘Where are you from Kolt.’ I’m not talkative. Frankly I like my own company and I’m never too interested in making new friends. They just cloud and clutter my already unbearable life. But I’m beginning to sense that I’m going to be the driver of the relationship between myself and this guy.