Beyond the Stars: At Galaxy's Edge: a space opera anthology

by Nick Webb

  “Oh vuck,” he muttered, tasting more blood.

  “Why don’t you leave the kid alone, Gantok?” a clear feminine voice rang out, drawing his gaze. “He’s already broken his own nose, and he’s clearly about to wet himself.”

  Wes saw a woman rising from a table just a few feet away. Her garb was similar to his own, a brown duster over black leather pants and a plain white shirt. The difference though, was hers was worn from long use. His own had been purchased just prior to the trip, and had been pristine until he’d bled all over them. The woman took a step toward the Marbok, drawing a shotgun from her boot holster. The weapon looked lethal, though it was probably not much of a threat to a Marbok. Her face made the gun look friendly. She was maybe forty, with shoulder length blonde hair and frosty grey eyes.

  “Stay out of this, Tysha. He damaged my armor. I’m going to pulp him. I’ll pulp you too, if you don’t get the frag out of the way,” the Marbok rumbled. Wes scrambled back again, stopping when he unexpectedly bumped into another figure. This one had also risen from the woman’s table, and was even more intimidating.

  The man towered over Wes, all muscle and scowls. He had dark skin and long, black dreads. That wasn’t what made him so terrifying though. He wore a skin-tight red and black suit, the mark of a Melter. As in brain Melter. Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice Wes, instead folding his arms across his chest as he stared at the Marbok.

  “You’re going to walk away,” the blonde woman said, taking a protective step in front of Wes. “Or Tantor here is going to boil your brains until you’re about as intelligent as the rock that birthed you.”

  The Marbok shot Wes another glare, and Wes dropped eye contact immediately. No sense inflaming the situation further. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Marbok’s attention focused on the Melter, Tantor apparently. Its eyes narrowed, but then it spun on a metallic heel and stalked out of the bar. It kicked the table closest to the door on the way out, shattering it into a pile of plastic shards. Wes winced, knowing that could have been him.

  “You can get up now,” came a pleasant voice from the table.

  Wes scrambled to his feet, sizing up the speaker. She was a beautiful brunette about his age, with light green eyes and a dimpled smile. The grease stains on one worn leather sleeve suggested she was a mechanic. Another woman sat next to her, a redhead in her early thirties. She was sipping something pink, and had a single eyebrow raised. The motion exposed a bit of chrome near her temple. A pilot then.

  “Thank you,” Wes said, trying to regain his composure. He faced the blonde woman with the shotgun. “You may have just saved that Marbok’s life. I didn’t want to resort to further violence, but I’d have done what I had to.”

  “Which is what, bleed on him?” the redhead said, eliciting laughter from the pretty mechanic. Wes’ cheeks heated.

  The Melter shot the pair a baleful glare, then fished a grey cloth from his pocket and offered it to Wes. “Clean yourself up.”

  2

  Wes held the cloth up to his nose, wincing in pain as it rapidly filled with blood. He fumbled at his pistol, managing to holster it less than gracefully on the third attempt.

  “You’re an archeologist,” the blonde woman said, returning her shotgun to the boot holster. She settled back into her seat, eyeing him appraisingly as she folded her arms behind her head.

  “One of the finest,” Wes assured her, grabbing a chair from the next table and pulling it over. He sat with a flourish, making a great show of removing his duster. He draped it over the chair before sitting. “How did you know?”

  “Because we see two or three of you in every port. I’m Tysha, by the way,” the blonde woman said. She offered him a hand, which Wes shook. Her grip was surprisingly firm. Well, maybe not so surprising. “Let me guess. You just graduated from an academy, a prestigious one from the look of you. You shelled out for some fancy clothes, a gun you don’t know how to use, and you hitched a warp on the first transport you could find.”

  Wes opened his mouth, then shut it with a click. She was spot on, much as he hated to admit it. “Is it that obvious?”

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” the mechanic said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. Her eyes were so green. “Don’t let the captain fluster you. Archeologists aren’t supposed to be fighters. You’re supposed to hire muscle to do that for you.”

  “I’m not just an archeologist,” Wes shot back, squaring his shoulders. “I’m a relic hunter, and I’m here in pursuit of an incredible treasure.”

  “A relic hunter? Like, from the holos?” the pretty mechanic asked, blinking. She cracked a grin. “I used to watch those too, when I was about ten. Tally ho!”

  “Uh,” Wes began, mentally backpedaling. Not many people remembered the Relic Hunter show. “Yeah, kind of like the show. Tally ho,” he trailed off as amused smiles broke out all around him. She’d been playing with him.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” the mechanic said, offering a delicate hand. “I’m Sadie. Pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m Wesley VonCamp, the sixteenth,” Wes said, sitting up straighter. “I just graduated from‌—‌”

  “Not to cut this short,” the captain interrupted, leaning forward in her chair. “But we’re on a tight schedule. You’re looking to hire a ship, yes?”

  “Yes, how did you‌—‌” Wes began.

  “A ship that can take you through the debris field to the gas giant below?” the redhead asked. She was the only one who hadn’t offered a name yet.

  “That’s right,” Wes said, letting his gaze range over the four strangers. He mopped a bit more blood from his nose, then set the cloth on the table in front of him. “If I can get below the debris field I believe I can get us inside the Elderi Spire. We’ll all be rich and famous. I can pay you well.”

  “I think we might be able to come to an arrangement,” the captain said, giving him a smile that wasn’t at all comforting. “We have a ship, a pilot, and a crew capable of getting you onto that station.”

  “Lovely,” Wes said, his grin drawing a wince of pain. “How much would it take to hire you?”

  “We don’t work for anyone else,” the captain said, shaking her head. She leaned closer still, eyes drawing him in as she lowered her tone. “But we might be willing to add you to our crew. You’d get a standard share, just like the rest of us. If you can really bypass the outer security.”

  3

  “That’s a ship?” Wes asked, adjusting his glasses as he studied a vessel that should have been decommissioned before he was born. He stared at the trawler parked outside the station, a sleek chrome boarding tube clashing with the pitted hull. The long tubular ship had a single engine in the back, and tiny thrusters on the sides. It looked like the toy rockets they set off in elementary science, and probably had even less maneuverability. “It looks like floating garbage.”

  “Yeah, well beggars and all that,” the captain said, gently but firmly guiding Wes toward the mouth of the docking tunnel. She threw her duster over her shotgun, eyeing a station security officer as they passed. Tysha was obviously in a hurry, though damned if Wes could figure out why. Elderi Spire had been there for millennia, and no one had breached it. They had all the time in the world. He didn’t resist as she hurried him up the docking tube, toward the airlock.

  “Let me guess,” Wes said, smiling weakly at the captain. “Your ship has got it where it counts? I’ve watched enough action holo to know she’s probably got some surprises.”

  “It will be a surprise if we survive the trip,” Sadie said, rolling her eyes. She quickened her pace until she was at Wes’s side, chestnut hair framing her face. He tried not to stare. “You had it right when you said garbage. Shirley is basically floating garbage that drifts roughly in the direction we tell her to go. There are a half dozen systems that could give in the next hour, and if any one of them does we’ll all die horribly.”

  “Uh,” Wes said, the captain all but dragging him toward
the ship’s docking port.

  “We’ll be fine,” the captain said. “Sadie is an alarmist. We haven’t died yet. I think she just likes making the whole mechanic thing sound hard.”

  “You what?” Sadie asked, eyes flashing. Anger rolled off her in waves. “I’ve given you a list of parts. Every day. For months.”

  “We don’t have the funds,” the captain countered, refusing to meet Sadie’s gaze. She focused those icy eyes on Wes, deftly trying to change the subject. “Hopefully our new friend here can see to that. You said you can get us inside the Elderi Spire. That sounds like horse crap, but I’m willing to give you a chance.”

  The rusty, pitted, airlock door slid grudgingly upward at their approach, the ancient metal grinding to a halt about four feet off the deck. Tantor leaned forward, seizing the base of the door and jerking it up another foot. The door refused to go further, stopping a good foot short of where it should have.

  The captain ducked underneath, and one by one so did the others. Wes took a deep breath, then followed. The air beyond was stale. Not life threateningly so, but enough that he had to work a little at breathing. He caught a faint whiff of something foul enough to make his eyes water, and was positive he didn’t want to know what it was.

  The lights were dim, flickering occasionally as the crew made their way up the narrow catwalk. It overlooked a sizable hold, currently occupied by nothing more than a large smelly pile of brown goo in one corner. The thing made Wes’ eyes water, and the odor was much more powerful in this room.

  “What is that?” Wes asked, withdrawing a handkerchief to cover his mouth.

  “Garidian guano,” the Captain said, giving him an impatient look. Wes hurried after her, trying to look unthreatening. He didn’t mind admitting that the woman scared him. She eyed him sidelong, then sighed. “It purifies the air. Stuff produces more oxygen than just about any other recycling system.”

  “And it’s free,” Sadie interjected.

  They continued up the catwalk and had almost reached a doorway when they were plunged into sudden darkness. The faint whirring of the engines was done.

  “Everyone stay where you are for a sec,” Sadie’s voice came from his right. Her boots clomped across the catwalk, and a flashlight flared to life near the far wall. Sadie was bent over some sort of panel, opened to expose a mass of wiring. “Sometimes the main bus shorts, and we have to do a restart. It will only take a minute.”

  She hummed to herself, stripping rubber covering back from a pair of wires. Then she briefly touched them together. A spark shot between them. She did it again, then a third time. The ship rumbled reluctantly back to life, and the lights flickered back on. Sadie turned a triumphant smile in his direction, and Wes returned it.

  “We can give you an official tour later,” the captain said, pulling Wes along.

  She ducked through the hatch beyond the catwalk. It opened into a small kitchen, designed to serve about a half dozen very friendly passengers. The shelves were bare except for a few dozen cans of soytien, and a cistern full of what Wes hoped was water.

  The captain grabbed a ladle from the counter, scooping up some liquid and drinking it thirstily. She wiped her chin as she turned to fetch him. “Kestrel, that’s the charming redhead over there, is going to get us underway while you tell us exactly how you plan to get past the Elderi Spire’s security.”

  “On it,” the redhead said, jumping up to tap the ceiling as she headed up the corridor leading out the other side of the kitchen.

  The captain rested her butt against the sink, crossing her arms and studying him intently. Wes tried not to wither under the scrutiny, but it was hard to maintain composure when staring into that kind of abyss. This woman could kill him if he didn’t produce the results she was after.

  “I graduated from Corentia University about a month ago,” Wes said, moving to sit on the bench next to the table. He licked his lips, and resisted the urge to drink from the barrel. He wasn’t quite that desperate yet. “My parents offered to buy me a small vessel so I could explore, but I declined. Instead, I asked them to buy me this. It was a little more expensive, but I persuaded them.”

  Wes reached into his collar, tugging at the thin silver chain from under his baggy shirt. He withdrew a small golden amulet that fit in the palm of his hand. It was shaped like a shield, and bore a pair of stylized pistols with crossed barrels. He could feel the glyphs carved into the back, incredibly fine script.

  “That’s going to get us past security?” Sadie asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She sat on the bench next to him, leaning closer to study it. Wes tried not to look down her shirt.

  “Why would a hunk of gold cost more than a ship?” Tantor rumbled, looming behind Wes. It was damned creepy, especially knowing that the tall black man could quite literally boil his brain. Well maybe not literally, but Wes wasn’t eager to test that.

  “Could you stop looming like that?” Wes asked, half turning to face the big man. “It’s very difficult to explain with you lurking there.”

  To Wes’s immense surprise Tantor’s expression softened. He met the captain’s gaze, then gave a guilty smile. “Looming is kind of my thing. You know that.”

  “Stop scaring the kid,” the captain said, her eyes narrowing.

  Tantor dropped his gaze. “Sorry, kid.”

  “So this hunk of metal,” Wes said, holding up the amulet. It was heavier than it should have been. “Is a lot more important than it appears. It’s one of three known to exist, each held in a private collection.”

  “But what is it?” Sadie asked.

  “I recognize the symbol,” the captain said, extending a hand to Wes. He considered for a moment, then gave her the shield. “This is emblazoned above the docking bay at the Spire. I’m starting to think the kid might be on to something. Go on, kid.”

  “I noticed that too,” Wes said, grinning. “My thesis was written about the Spire. It’s always intrigued me, the idea that people have been trying to get in for centuries with no luck. I’ve read every account, and studied every vid about the Spire. The sigil is completely absent from every other planet the Elderi inhabited, which suggests that the Spire must be really important.

  “During my research I ran across the three amulets. I wasn’t the first to guess that they might be connected, but since there was no obvious key or use for the sigil people dismissed the connection,” Wes continued. He was very conscious of Sadie watching, expression rapt. It made him feel like a real archeologist. “Some people wanted to test them anyway, but none of the private owners were willing to go along with it. I figured the only way to test this was to buy a sigil, and take it to the Spire.”

  “So you don’t really have any idea if this will open the door or not?” the captain said, handing the amulet back to Wes. He looped the chain over his neck and tucked it back into his shirt.

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but if there is any way to gain entry to the Spire, this is it,” Wes said, probably a bit too eagerly. It was hard not to be enthusiastic about this stuff. “I figure the trip is at least worth the fuel. If I’m wrong, that’s all it will cost you.”

  “Captain,” Kestrel’s voice called from the hallway leading deeper into the ship. Footsteps came pounding up the metal floor. Kestrel was panting. “You’re going to want to see this. We’re being hailed.”

  “By who?” the captain asked, her eyes going icy.

  “The Marbok from the bar,” she said, resting one hand against the wall. “He wants to talk to you, right away.”

  4

  Wes became very small, peering from the captain, to the towering Melter, to Sadie. He knew the altercation with the Marbok was his fault, and hoped it wasn’t landing them in trouble.

  “Gantok is a pain in the ass, but hopefully we can reason with him,” the captain said, rising from the counter and moving briskly up the hallway. Everyone else followed, so Wes joined the back of the line. They threaded up a narrow corridor, toward the nose of the ship. The walls
grew thicker, and the corridor more narrow, the closer they got to the cockpit.

  Kestrel reached the cockpit first, sliding into an ancient leather chair that smelled of sweat even from the back of the room. The redhead plugged a ragged cord into her temple, her eyes closing as she slumped into the seat. A moment later a cracked viewscreen above the central console flared slowly to life. It showed a stylized version of Kestrel, her eyes a deep purple and her hair a much less natural shade of red.

  “Patching the call through now, captain,” Kestrel said, her holographic likeness disappearing. The screen filled with an unfamiliar bridge, the walls covered in what appeared to be granite. Several stations dotted the cockpit, each a wide black chair rooted into the stone floor. All were manned by dour looking Marbok, though thankfully none had the armor Gantok had worn in the bar.

  Wes recognized the Marbok assailant from the bar. Gantok sat in a chair that was raised a little higher than the others, a wide data pad sitting absently on his armored knee. He leaned forward, a weathered crevice appearing in his mountainous face as he slowly smiled. “Hello again, Tysha. I told you this wasn’t over.”

  “What do you want, Gantok?” the captain asked, voice flat as the deck. She stared up at the viewscreen, brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder as if the Marbok were the least important thing she had to deal with.

  “I’m going to tell you a little story, captain,” the Marbok said, crossing his rocky arms behind his head. “A little worm made his way into that bar looking for a ship to take him to the Elderi Spire. Somehow he convinced a crew that it was worthwhile, a crew with a shrewd reputation. Do you know what that says to me? It says that this little worm might just have a way to breach the security barrier. Why else would you travel out here in that pathetic little frigate? Fuel ain’t cheap, and I know your last few jobs haven’t covered even that much.”