by Bobbi Ross
Chapter 4
In this galaxy there were two things you could always count on the Novokin Alliance for. Number one was their lack of subtlety. Two was their deeply ingrained love of pomp and circumstance. I found out our new friend dressed in his froufrou regalia, or as the Novokins liked to call it a judgment uniform was here to interrogate us. I can see how maybe someone else might have been scared, but having resigned myself to my fate long before I stepped foot on the ship, the Novokin in front of me dressed in drag merely teetered on the ridiculous.
His movement was slow and deliberate, most likely due to the dark helmet covering his entire head. A white design of some sort, a weird looking skull or a ghost or something painted on its center. However, the cloak was the real kicker. It might have been imposing if they hadn't attempted to bedazzle it with purple and blue jewels of some kind. More like cheap glass and glue by the looks of it. His cloak was so dark it might have been black except where light reflected off. I'm sure it was quite imposing at one point, dare I say cool, had he not let a six-year-old girl with a pretty, pretty princess fetish at it. Secretly I believed he was dressed like a unicorn underneath.
The sad part of all that was it took him fifteen minutes to tell us all about the uniform. I mean seriously, who cares what you wear when you torture us. Talk about skewed priorities. Heck, if I had any actual state secrets, I would have divulged them long ago just to shut him up.
Two hours later and he still hadn’t spoken a word to me. My wrist manacled to the table had gone numb while waiting in the dark windowless room that looked suspiciously like our cell. I stared at the broken pipe dripping in the corner. Maybe when we were done, he'd walk us around for another fifteen minutes telling us about his shoes while his minions did a stage crew clean up of the room, returning it to its original prison cell chic.
Wow, it was hard to focus as blurry images of the unicorn princess sidled in and out of my peripheral view. I was fed up. Especially since this asshole hadn't asked me one question. Nothing about our fleet, nothing about our targets… In the eight Infernos, he didn't even ask me what my full name was. It was like he didn't care. Skeck, he hadn't even looked at me since he bound me to the table. What a way to make a girl feel unwanted.
Now Julie... He had taken a great interest in her. How did you leave planet Rimond IV our grand inquisitor Mr. Sparkly had asked her. How did he even know she was on that planet? I remember her telling me that's where she was captured and given over to the slavers. Well beyond our sector of space. He asked her about when she was picked up by the slavers. Then he asked if they hurt her. I watched his stiff posture relax the more he listened to her talk. I haven't actually been interrogated that often, but this seemed a little odd to me.
Then he inquired about how she had escaped from the slavers. All right, now we were getting into the meat of the story. Julie discussed the incident with the Floturan child, and then my intervention when the massive green Lizardian attempted to punish her with the laser whip. She went on to describe the firefight, and then how Jaxx and my ensign led her and a number of the slaves to my ship, the Razor. His gaze turned back to me, or at least his head turned my way, I couldn't make out his eyes through the mask. He nodded in slight deference. Have to say, this reminded me very little of Alliance modus operandi to date.
Finally, tall, dark and glittery addressed me, "So Captain, I assume by the strained look on your face you didn't eat your breakfast this morning."
Okay, weird question but I'd play along. "Would you have eaten anything I'd given you?"
"I guess I should've expected that, but Darlatina tree essence is very hard to come by, I do not believe the tree even grows in this galaxy. As a precaution, I only put half of it in your breakfast this morning. It was my fervent hope that you would both eat." The soft lilt in his voice made me think Mr. Sparkly Pants had spent too much time playing with the glue gun.
He dropped his head as if exasperated. I'm so terribly sorry for wasting your time Mister interrogator, next time I'll make it easier for you to torture me. He moved slowly as if each action had to be considered in great detail before execution. Reaching into a pocket of his BDSM sparkle coat his hand came back out with a large syringe. Gleaming, orange liquid swirled around inside. Skeck! If there was one thing I hated almost as much as Novokins it would be needles.
Before I could protest, he stabbed my arm with the giant spear of a needle. Mr. Fancy Pants pushed the plunger all the way in, sending the fluorescent orange fluid into me. I winced in pain. My mouth launched my feelings at him, "Just what you'd expect from the Novokin Alliance, a little prick."
He cocked his head at me, as if my comment actually offended him. For a judge, jury and executioner type, he was really sensitive, so I told him. He shook his head at my second comment on his character. "I have to say, up until now I was going to applaud you for your exemplary manners Captain, but this aggressive change in your behavior I find it… unsettling."
"Aw, would you like to talk about it?" I pressed, hoping to rile him up. "How badly does it bother you? Maybe you prefer we discussed something else? So tell me, how is your relationship with your mother?"
His spine stiffened. Good I was rattling him. Maybe he’d slip and reveal some sort of weakness. Something I could use. What the prak? His wide shoulders were bobbing up and down like he was drilling the road. Julie let out a small giggle at the same time. Okay, was I on Candid Valurian Vid?
The Novokin interrogator rose to his full height, which might have been quite impressive had I not been used to hanging out with Trex, who is not only taller, but twice as wide in every way that counts.
Goddess did I miss my golden barbarian! I hope he’s okay and he’s forgiven me. Sadness settled in my heart as our last time together played in my mind. His anguished eyes when I betrayed him haunted me. But there was no way I could have taken him with me.
Mr. Sparkly interrupted my musings as he swung his long bedazzled pleather coat open, revealing a whole host of weaponry. Whew! I thought he was going to be naked under there. He closed his coat again, and then moved over to the internal keypad. He punched in a bunch of numbers and gave a code word in what I assumed was his native language. The light on the panel kicked off. Ah, I assumed the actual torture now would begin, since the recording devices had been turned off.
But this purple minsivic eater once again confused me by remaining silent. Where's his self-important, self-inflated monologue? Not even the maniacal world conquering pose? How disappointing! He walked back to the table and began pulling guns, rifles, blades and incendiary devices out of his jacket. He laid them on the table in front of us. As torture devices go, these all seemed a little final. He picked up a plasma knife and approached Julie. My mouth dried to dust.
Oh skeck. What the prak was he going to do with her? The thought of his dirty purple hands on her made my blood boil. I kicked back my chair and stood as much as the manacle around my wrist would allow. "Why don't you unlock me, and we'll see how far you get you purple son of a sleetich!" I taunted.
He stood there, stunned like I had managed to kick him in the gonads. The coward turned to Julie. I wrestled with the manacle, dragging the heavy table with me. The ugly, metal cuff dug into my flesh but I could care less . Adrenaline coursed my veins, putting me in fight or flight response. And today I was choosing fight! I wouldn’t let anything happen to Julie. The sparkly sheetek would die today. “Stay away from her!”
I managed to hoist the table a whole two centmetlars before slamming it down to punctuate my dissatisfaction with the service here. He fired up the blade, before I could micro bounce the table onto his body, he lunged at the placid redhead. In one swift motion he cut her bondage.
Julie smiled and tossed him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Julie”, I croaked. “Not you too.” My heart pounded like a rabid Jaket dog.
In two long strides Julie was by my side. Her gentle hand touched my arm, her voice reassuring, "Captain, it's okay."
> Then she reached down the table and released the locking mechanism that kept my wrist bound. My hands remained planted firmly on the table, close to the plasma weapons and I treated our host to my best sneer.
Julie slowly walked back toward our captor, taking the hands of our interrogator into hers. She slid off his left glove. His hand was much larger than hers and held that faint purple hue that signified him as Novokin. The enemy. She maneuvered his hand so it faced outwards towards her, then pressed her own hand against his palm. An easy grin slid across her face. She then reached up and yanked off his mask. As if that wasn't enough, she attempted to devour his mouth.
What started off as a surprise, lazily crept its way into an uncomfortable awkwardness. I couldn’t help but scream silently, I’m still here. Hmmm...I couldn't quite shoot him in the head while he was sucking face with one of my crew members. Which incidentally might be construed bad form. So I coughed. No reaction. So I coughed again, louder this time.
"Captain," Julie pulled away, her cheeks turning a deeper red than the flames of her hair. She intertwined her fingers in those of our interrogator's. "This is Commander Marco," she gushed.
Then I was absolutely sure I had a head injury, because this Novokin just held his hand out for me to shake. "Thank you so much Captain. I had tracked Julie to the ice planet in the Andrenose system where the slavers had snatched her, but then lost her trail. My heart thanks you for rescuing her," he beamed, pumping my hand.
“Somebody please fill me in.” I whined. At this point I was totally lost. Either I had burned an important fuse somewhere when Ass-mot hit me or I was still dreaming. Which might have explained his uniform.
I actually had a Novokin Alliance guard shaking my hand and thanking me for taking care of one of my crew members. On the off chance I wasn’t dreaming, my other hand was playing with one of the shiny, new plasma pistols on the table, trying to keep myself contained. Ah prak it. My grip tightened, on the pistol.
"You'll forgive me for being so direct," I chortled. "But tell me why am I not shooting you in the head?"
Chapter 5
"Captain." Julie's eyes gleamed like a woman in love. She placed a protective hand over the purple sheetek’s chest. The tone of her voice dropped. "Caspia. This is MY Marco."
"Maybe I did eat the gruel," I thought out loud. "That's it, I must be hallucinating, because now it seems to me like a woman who was captured and forced into slavery by the Novokin Alliance is now in love with the Novokin Alliance."
He kissed her hand with the tenderness only a past lover could endeavor to demonstrate, before stepping around her. He met my gaze. Without wavering he avowed, "No Captain, she's in love with one Novokin. And no one in this room has any love for the Alliance."
I poked an accusatory finger at his chest. "That uniform there tells me different Commander."
I grabbed his collar with one hand and pulled his nose down to meet mine. The other hand was busy bringing the plasma pistol up to his chin. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm supposed to believe that? And maybe there's more like you out there, waiting to take up arms and rebel against the Alliance too, am I right?" I was in no mood for games.
His face was solemn, but this Commander Marco didn't waver one iota when he spoke. "Well Captain, I can say with great certainty that on this ship I'm the only Novokin I know of who feels the way I do."
"And why is that?" I growled, giving him the stinkiest stink eye could muster. And I'd be damned but I could almost smell it. Sniff. Sniff. Oh wait, that was me. The accumulation of nearly two days of cramped space travel and then lying on that nasty cell floor, all sans bath, had me pretty ripe.
His voice was somber but confident. "Because Captain, I know for a fact anyone else on the ship who has either spoken out, acted out or even been suspected of defying the Alliance, is already dead."
"Fair enough," I huffed, lowering the pistol. Slowly.
Julie's Novokin pointed at the table. "This is all I could smuggle under my cloak without being too conspicuous."
I shot a speculative glance at the Terran girl with the strange fiery hair. It turned into a glare as I had to wait for her to finish playing kissy-face with her Novokin boyfriend. When she finally came up for air and noticed me, she held her hands up in surrender.
"Oh no, I'm not touching one of those ray guns. I'm just as likely to shoot my own foot off." She reached out and took a wicked looking long knife off the table. Holding it curved side down, it stretched the length of her forearm. She turned back to the both of us and flashed a toothy grin."This'll do just fine," she said cheerfully. Creepy.
Commander Marco and I looked at each other for a moment. Me wondering just who the in the eight infernos Julie was, and him wondering… Well who the prak knows what a Novokin wonders about. Anyway, he began to undo his belt. I quirked that trademark Jones eyebrow at him. When he caught it, he seemed to fumble with the buckle. Good, my Captain's mojo was still intact.
"Here," Marco finally said, after unbuckling then handing over what was apparently a second belt he had threaded over his own. It was a magnetic holster, and would fit two plasma pistols on it nicely.
I tried it on and it slumped down at an odd angle over my hips. I was afraid the belt would make running difficult. Croatonian panhandlers can't be specific, so I started to load it down with incendiary devices and extra charging packs. I snapped on two pistols and hoisted one of the plasma cannons he put on the table. I dropped it back to the table just as quickly. I didn’t need my intestines bursting out of my stomach. Sacred skeck that was heavy. It wouldn't only be a pain to lug around, but it would be a skeetek to fire. I’d just have to keep alternating between the pistols so they wouldn’t overheat. Cheap Novokin junk. Yeah, yeah. Croatoian panhandlers and all that.
The Novokin male shrugged off his obscenely gaudy coat and I got a good look at him. He was tall and slender, but well muscled. Apparently the shoulders were his, not the coat’s. Nice. He was handsome in a classical sort of way, if you liked that kind of thing. And he was obviously, most definitely and certainly most importantly, 100% in love with my crew member. At least if the furtive glances they kept casting each other and the accidental brush-ups-against were any evidence.
"Should I assume you have a plan to get us out of this mess, Marco?" I interrupted their googly-eyes session.
"Yes Captain," Marco snapped, falling right into the military hierarchy of the room. Good man, that would make this a lot easier. "I've got a light slip fighter that can handle three people, waiting in docking bay two. It's fueled, supplied and ready to go. I've also rigged the defense net targeting system to malfunction in just under an hour. All the three of us need to do is get to the docking bay."
"All right Commander, the desk is yours." I pointed to the nearly empty table and picked up one of the sharp knives he had laid out on it. "Show us the way."
Taking the blade from my hand he started to carve out a map on the table's stained, rusty surface.
Chapter 6
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!
It was 0400 hours on the Razor. Trex’s knuckles were raw from punishing the gravity bag he had started in on the previous night. Anya, the ship's engineer, had reconfigured the bag specifically for him. Now the core of the 200 kilomound bag contained a small artificial gravity well. This pushed the feel of the bag up to just over 3000 kilomounds.
Every rage filled strike left fist-shaped bloodstains on the white, platisteel woven bag. Every powerful strike made it shake like the leaf on a tree in the face of a coming winter storm.
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!
What in the Blazing Pits of Disgorgement was she thinking? Did she not realize they were a team?
Could she honestly believe that Dilurian trap-spider of a fiend Asmot would be true to his word? In her crew’s attempt to determine why she left, Anya had hacked the captain’s personal terminal. Caspia had done a fine job of erasing the conversation but the engineer was able to reconstruct the files from the memory of the terminal itself
.
Asmot would not free the captives. He would not honor their agreement. How could he? The abnoflax had no honor. His vision narrowed on the dented bag. Why had she not told him? Why had she not trusted him? Did she think she was protecting him? One thing he didn't need was protection, and certainly not from the Alliance!
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!
They destroyed his world.
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!
They took his people from him!
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!
They murdered his family!
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!
And now, he finally found the one shred of perfect happiness left to him in the universe, and the Alliance took her too! He let loose a roar that shook the entire room to its moorings. If he had to kill every single Novokin with his bare hands to get her back…To be able to gaze into her beautiful face, to drink from her lips, to stroke her soft curves...To ensure her safety and well being.
Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!Bamm! Bamm! Bamm!Bamm!
The heavy bag tore free from its gravity container and sailed across the room, first exploding and then imploding on itself. A heavy bar, the weight bench it was on and a piece of the bulkhead disappeared with it. He didn't need revenge anymore, he only needed her…