Three Against the Stars

by Joe Bonadonna

  Makki glanced back and forth between them. “What can this one be?”

  “The ring bearer,” Cortez said.

  “Or a bridesmaid,” O’Hara suggested.

  Makki’s chest swelled with pride, even though he wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about. He would have considered it an honor just to be invited to the wedding.

  “I have been thinking, O’Hara,” Cortez said. “A few of those black diamonds would make a very fine wedding present. We can go in search of them this afternoon.”

  “Oh, no,” O’Hara said. “I’ll be havin’ no part of that. Include me out!”

  “You not want to become one very rich man?” Makki asked O’Hara.

  O’Hara pointed to his sergeant’s stripes. “All I want is one more of these and then I’ll be a gunny sergeant—and about time I am, too. But you two go right ahead. I won’t even try to stop you. And the best of luck to ya both.”

  Cortez smiled and slapped Makki on the back. “Excellent! That will leave more for us!”

  Makki showed his teeth and rubbed his paws together.

  444

  The Tantrapur bazaar was packed with a diverse group of humans and NTLs from all over the known universe. Crowds were thick and traffic was heavy. Catizens and tourists squeezed into Rhajni gift shops and clothing boutiques, gathered around the stalls of carpet dealers and pottery makers, and waited in line for tables at the many coffee houses and restaurants.

  Hand in hand, Akira and Preston strolled through the crowded streets, taking in all the sights, sounds and smells. It was a lovely day, a perfect day for a leisurely stroll.

  As they neared the corner of a wide and busy street, she noticed a squad of Drakonian embassy guards in blue uniforms and body armor, guarding a public airbus. The guards struggled to hold back the crowd waiting to board the bus so that a line of Drakonians carrying small bags and suitcases could board in advance of the other passengers. Akira glanced at the scene, but thought nothing of it at the time. She shrugged and turned to Preston.

  “Your parents must really be looking forward to our marriage,” she said. “What with you being an only child and all. They seemed to like me.”

  “They did.” Preston poked her in the shoulder. “And I like you, too.”

  Akira laughed and squeezed his hand. “So what’s this story you were sent here to write?”

  “My editor left it up to me,” he told her. “But he did suggest that I write something about the Marines stationed here, and how the Rhajni feel about it.” He grinned mischievously. “I also thought it would be a good opportunity to train for our honeymoon.”

  “My word, Coop—what kind of a Marine do you think I am?”

  They laughed at their silliness, and then Preston reached into a pocket. He pulled out a computer flashchip and handed it to Akira.

  “Here’s another surprise for you, Claudia. Hot off the keypad.”

  Akira stared at the memory stick. “You finished it?”

  Preston grinned like a schoolboy. “Yep! It’s an old fashioned romance novel about Anne Bonny, the eighteenth century pirate queen.”

  “Well congratulations and move over, Rafael Sabatini!” Akira said, slipping the chip inside the breast pocket of her uniform blouse. “I’ll read it on our honeymoon.”

  “What makes you think you’re gonna have any time to read?”

  A number of Drakonian tourists carrying luggage suddenly rushed past them and hurried toward the waiting airbus.

  “That’s odd,” Akira said, frowning. “The starcruiser from the Drakonian Hegemony isn’t due to settle into orbit until next week.”

  “Maybe they’re taking the Omegan starliner that brought me here?”

  “But why are they all in such a hurry?”

  They watched the Drakonians pile into the airbus, leaving little room for the other passengers. The airbus then lifted off mere seconds after the guards from the Drakonian Embassy managed to squeeze their massive bulks inside the vehicle.

  Akira had a bad feeling about this, but chose not to say anything to Preston. He’d only worry about her and then go all crazy hoping to get an exclusive story. But something was up, and she didn’t like what she was thinking.

  It was time she returned to Camp Corregidor.

  444

  Beneath the light of a setting sun, a small rented skycar soared over terraced farmlands, sparkling rivers, expansive plains, and vast salt flats.

  The interior of the skycar was illuminated by fiber optic lights and the glow from the navigation monitors. A small dashboard and two comfortable chairs took up the front half of the vessel. The remainder of the skycar contained storage compartments, plastic water bottles, a first aid kit, and a one-man airbike; this was akin to a jet ski mounted on top of a sled, with an old wiry antenna running along one side of it.

  Makki manned the controls of the skycar while Cortez relaxed in the co-pilot’s chair.

  “I can see those diamonds right in my hands, amigo,” Cortez said. “Have you got the map coordinates all punched in?”

  Makki nodded. He knew they were headed toward one of the forbidden zones, but Cortez’s desire for the black diamonds had worked on him like a viral infection.

  “This one can find Satpura Desert with eyes wide shut,” he said.

  “You mean with your eyes wide open.”

  “No, amigo sergeant—this mewling can find desert without even looking for it.”

  Cortez smiled and patted Makki on the back. “Those flying lessons I gave you truly paid off. You certainly know how to handle this baby.”

  “Sergeant is good teacher. But this one knows nothing of the caring for human kittens.”

  The skycar zipped through the night, heading for the Baroda Mountains, which stretched like a wall, north to south, across the face of the Vanalooj supercontinent. They were angling for Jaipur Pass, which cut through the heart of the mountains—a 50 mile span of open valley nestled in the shadows of foothills and mountainous peaks. Caves riddled the hills like shadowy pockmarks. It was a lonely, desolate piece of real estate, beyond which lay the Satpura Desert.

  Makki and Cortez studied the approaching mountains and watched for the first sign of Jaipur Pass through their viewport. Cortez saw something and pointed it out to Makki.

  “What is that ahead?” he asked.

  “Ruins of very ancient Felisian temple.”

  Through the viewport, they could glimpse the building in the distance. It was a five-story, Mayan-like pyramid with a metal dome and a communications aerial rising high above its flat roof. It looked like a stone fortress guarding the western edge of Jaipur Pass.

  “They do not look like ruins to me, Makki. Set us down on that ridge over there.”

  The ridge was a mile or so above the pass, with a wall of large boulders concealing it from the temple below. The skycar floated in silence and landed softly atop the ridge.

  Emerging from the vessel, they dragged the airbike with them. Solarstiks hung from their belts, to light their way if need be. Makki carried his medikit—just in case.

  Slinging his medikit over a shoulder, Makki sniffed the air for signs of danger. “This one does not like this place very much,” he said.

  “I agree,” Cortez told him. “But you just wait here. If I have not returned in thirty minutes, take the skycar and go find O’Hara and Akira. Okay?”

  Makki nodded. “Be careful, Sergeant. This one’s nose senses very much badness.”

  With a cavalier grin and a sharp salute, Cortez mounted the airbike, pressed a button, and flew off without a sound.

  Makki scratched his ears, his keen eyes following Cortez. He had never been to this spot before, and he was as nervous as a cornered Denebian rat. He’d heard about this temple: It was eon’s old, and one of the first to honor the Sybil. But he had been told that this most ancient and holy place of worship had been destroyed by the Khandra during the war.

  444

  Cortez brought the airbike down upon another
ridge and quietly dismounted. Kneeling behind a massive boulder, he studied the pass below. The setting sun still provided enough light for him to see what was going on.

  The ancient temple had been rebuilt, and it was definitely some kind of a fortress. It stood at the far end of Jaipur Pass, where the Baroda Mountains made a dog-leg turn and the pass wound its way into the Satpura Desert. Stone steps led to a landing and a pair of closed hangar doors. A small service entrance stood open in the center of these, and a massive viewport on the fifth level commanded a view of the pass. The metal dome stood like a shiny carbuncle on the roof of the fortress. The communications aerial stabbed the night sky with an air of defiance.

  Cortez wondered how such a fortress could have been kept secret not only from the Rhajni government, but from the Corps and all their vast array of surveillance equipment.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, the Spaniard rose to his feet and turned around.

  Vash and two Khandra tigermen armed with holstered zapguns marched up to him.

  Cortez knew the jig was up, but he bowed nonetheless and tried to bluff his way out.

  “Good evening, my friends!” he greeted them.

  Vash glared at him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in perfect English.

  “I am merely sightseeing, amigo,” Cortez told him.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I made the wrong turn in the desert and that is when I found myself hopelessly lost.”

  “Do not try my patience, human,” Vash growled. “Did you come alone?”

  “As you can plainly see, I am quite alone.”

  Vash nodded to his warriors.

  Cortez backed up against the airbike.

  The tigermen stepped forward and drew their weapons.

  Cortez ripped the antenna from the airbike and used it like a sword. He slashed one warrior across the face. The Rhajni howled, dropped his weapon and grabbed his bleeding cheek.

  The second warrior aimed his blaster, but Cortez lashed out with the antenna again and knocked the weapon out of the catman’s hand.

  Vash drew and fired his zapgun.

  A blue energy bolt sizzled in the air and grazed Cortez’s shoulder. He dropped the antenna and clutched his wound.

  “Madre di Dios! That hurt!” he said.

  “Next time, it will kill,” Vash told him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hidden Fortress

  Bathed in the crimson light of a setting sun, a skycar streaked across the darkening sky above Camp Corregidor and disappeared in the hills beyond the Marine base.

  Akira was sitting on the front steps of O’Hara’s and Cortez’s quarters, working on an origami starship, when the skycar made its descent. She glanced at it, but paid it no mind. O’Hara lumbered toward the porch and frowned when he saw her sitting there.

  She stopped working on her paper model and looked up. “Good evening, O’Hara.”

  The big Irishman gave her one of his famous scowls. But Akira just smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. He ground his teeth and remained silent.

  “Still angry with me?” she asked sweetly. “Where are the other two musketeers?”

  O’Hara snorted like an Omegan swamphog. “I ain’t seen those two since they went huntin’ for buried loot. Where’s your Mister Akira tonight?”

  “If you’re referring to Mister Preston, he’s working on his story.”

  “That’s nice. That’s lovely. So what are you still doing on base?”

  “Why, you poor excuse for a troglodyte—I’m still a Marine!” Akira said. “I’m still a sergeant—and I still live on this base!”

  “So says you.”

  “Listen—just give me a chance to explain why I never told you I was getting married.”

  O’Hara shook his head. “I don’t care, lass. All I know is, if the Corps wanted you to have a husband, they would have issued you one when you joined up.”

  Akira leapt to her feet and threw the origami starship on the ground. She wanted to knock O’Hara into the fourth dimension. “Ah, so sorry. I should have known better than to try and reason with you. O’Hara—sayonara forever! I—”

  “Sergeants! Help—come quick!”

  Akira and O’Hara turned as Makki seemed to appear out of nowhere, sprinting toward the barracks like a lion chasing down its prey. He reached them in a flash, frightened and out of breath. Akira took hold of him, made him sit on the steps, and tried to calm him.

  “What happened, Makki?” she asked. “Where’s Cortez?”

  “Sergeant Akira! Sergeant O’Hara!” Makki cried, trying to catch his breath. “You must come—help. Fast! Sergeant Cortez—hurt. Captured!”

  Akira grabbed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

  “Went looking for black diamonds and found very old temple in desert, near forbidden zone,” Makki said. “But it is not holy place at all. Cortez is in very much big trouble!”

  O’Hara seized Makki by the front of his uniform shirt and lifted him off the stairs. “I knew he’d get his butt caught in the retro rockets! What happened, blast you?”

  “Put him down, O’Hara,” Akira said. “Makki—what sort of trouble is Cortez in?”

  Once O’Hara set Makki on his paws, the Rhajni corpsman took a deep, calming breath. “Bad trouble. You must rescue Cortez from very bad Rhajni.”

  “Don’t you be giving me no orders!” O’Hara said. He pushed Makki to the ground and then stormed into his quarters.

  Akira helped Makki to stand. “How did you two sneak off base?”

  Makki fidgeted nervously. “Sergeant Cortez knows secret way.” His eyes welled with tears. “No more talk. We must hurry! Rented skycar hidden in woods beyond camp.”

  “Makki—what the devil is going on?”

  “Please! No time to explain! Cortez—he is in big danger!”

  Staring for just a millisecond at Makki, Akira turned and rushed into the barracks.

  Inside, she found O’Hara checking the clips on a pair of .45 automatics.

  “How do you plan to slip into this temple and find Cortez without anyone taking notice, you big goon?” she asked.

  “By posing as a Rhajni, of course,” O’Hara said. He showed her the belts of the holo-costumes he and Cortez had rented that afternoon.

  “Good. I’m going with you,” Akira said.

  “Oh, no you’re not.”

  “Oh, yes I am, O’Hara. You couldn’t find your rear end with both hands and a mirror. And Makki knows the way.”

  “Makki? That blithering—forget it. Just ‘cause you women are smarter than us men doesn’t mean that we’re all totally incompetent.”

  Akira fumed, fists planted on hips. “So that’s it! You don’t want me to go along because I’m a woman? Why, you dirty—”

  “Since when did your gender have anything to do with—say, are you insinuatin’ that I’m some kind of male chauvinist?” O’Hara asked.

  “If the uniform fits—”

  “Listen, you cigar chewin’ Amazon. Me own dear mother is the best sergeant in the whole bloody Marine Corps. So don’t call me no chauvinist!”

  “Then why don’t you want me to go with you?” Akira asked.

  “Because I ain’t gonna be saddled with no civilian. That’s why!”

  Akira pushed O’Hara against the wall. “Did you just call me a civilian?”

  “You’re getting married, ain’t ya?”

  “So? That doesn’t mean I’m leaving the Corps when this tour is up.”

  O’Hara stared at her, dumbfounded. “You ain’t?”

  “No, I ain’t, you big dipper! I can be both a wife and a Marine, just like your own dear and saintly mother,” Akira said.

  “Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?” O’Hara asked. He disarmed Akira with his most charming grin and handed her one of the .45 automatics.

  Strapping on their sidearms, they raced from the barracks and rejoined Makki, who was pacing back and forth like a cage
d tiger. He stopped and shook his head.

  “Finally!” he said. “Come—time is wasting away!”

  “Not you, too? Oh, God help us all!”

  “He has a skycar hidden not far from here,” Akira explained. “And he knows a way to sneak off the base. Cortez showed him how.”

  “And I showed that bloody Spaniard how to do it!”

  At that moment, Cooper Preston showed up, wearing a big smile. He was carrying a tray containing five cups and a pot of coffee.

  “Hello! How about some hot coffee to patch up our differences?” he asked cheerfully.

  O’Hara threw his hands up in disgust. “What is this? A bloody convention?”

  “Hi there, Coop,” Akira said, trying to act as if all was right with the galaxy.

  Preston noticed her and O’Hara’s sidearms. He frowned suspiciously and then set the tray on the porch steps. “What’s going on, Claudia?” he asked. “Where’s Cortez?”

  “He got himself into a little trouble,” she replied. “We’re going to help him.”

  “Are you crazy?” Preston shouted. “We’re getting married next month!”

  “Oh, we’ll be back by then.”

  “But why do you have to go?”

  “Because Cortez would do the same for me,” Akira said, growing impatient with her fiancé. As much as she loved him, at times he could act like a real selfish child. “We’re friends, Coop. And in the Corps, friendship is everything.”

  “It’s time you stopped playing soldier and started acting like a woman,” Preston said.

  O’Hara and Makki exchanged nervous glances. They stepped back, out of harm’s way.

  “I am a woman, Coop!” Akira yelled, her temper rising into the danger zone. “But I’m also a Marine. And if you marry me, you marry the Corps. Now gangway—we’re leaving!”

  “And I’m going to tell Colonel Dakota,” Preston said.

  He started to walk away, but Akira grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “Now you listen to me, Cooper Preston,” she said. “I love you and want to marry you. You promised you’d never ask me to choose between you and my friends. But if that’s what you’re asking tonight, then we have some things to talk over.”