The Planet Thieves

by Dan Krokos

  After going through a narrow tunnel onto an adjacent deck, he entered the main storage bay. It was the biggest area of the ship, all twenty levels high, used to house smaller spacecraft, including the handful of Fox fighters that could be dispatched to protect the ship if her guns weren’t enough. The big open space in the middle was for maneuvering, and the decks ringed that space, so a ship could fly in and land on its designated level around the perimeter, where it could be stored or repaired when needed. To Mason’s right, the massive doors could open, and a force field would allow ships to come and go without losing atmospheric pressure.

  This time it didn’t house any spacecraft.

  Now there was no open space for the ships to maneuver in. Every available inch of space was occupied by a single, massive cube of silvery metal. It appeared solid, but where in the galaxy could someone extract and sculpt a piece of metal that large? The bay was twenty levels tall, and the cube filled all of it, hiding the overhead lights from view, cloaking the perimeter levels in dim light.

  This had to be the weapon. It had to be. He’d never seen anything like it and could not begin to understand what it was, or did.

  When Mason looked at his HUD again, his heart skipped a beat: the dots were just on the other side of the bay now, heading toward the marker that showed where the Hawk was docked to the Egypt. Only the strange cube separated them. Mason went over the details of his disguise again, but it was hard to focus. His voice could give him away, if he was forced to speak. He was on the short side, and he moved like a human, without that animal grace the Tremist possessed; he didn’t understand their technology; they might’ve seen he was an imposter the moment he put the armor on.

  His pulse banged like Thor’s hammer on metal, but he walked. One step at a time, around the left side of the cube where the perimeter deck continued. Values changed and scrolled on his HUD as the dots grew closer.

  The dots began to move from left to right, where the cube ended at the “northwest” corner of the bay; whoever they were, they were walking down the tunnel that led to this area and would cross in front of him if he slowed. The cube cloaked the area with shadows. But stealth was not an option when they were probably seeing him on their HUDs too. So with sweat-soaked hands, he held the talon the way he’d seen other Tremist hold them, across his chest, tip angled up past his left shoulder.

  The dots were so close now, finally entering the storage bay. And he saw that the dots represented very different things.

  Some were Tremist—the purple dots—and some were captured ESC soldiers—the white dots.

  One white dot was his sister.

  One purple dot was the king.

  * * *

  The king’s pace became a stroll as they got closer. Everyone stared at the cube, clearly dazzled by its size, which meant their eyes were not on Mason, who kept walking toward them as if he were on patrol. One Tremist made note of Mason’s approach with a nod.

  The king put his hand on the cube, fingers splayed, and bowed his head, as if he was listening to something. Mason knew a soldier should keep his eye on the enemy at all times, but it was hard to keep his eyes off the cube too. The metal seemed to shimmer when it caught the light.

  Mason was only about ten steps away now, close enough to see the individual strands of hair on Susan’s head, and he had no idea what to do when he reached the group. Stop? Ask to join them? Try to cut down only the bad guys with the talon?

  Along with Susan and the king, three Tremist walked with three high-level ESC officers in front of them. The officers’ hands were bound behind their backs, heads hanging forward. The number of circles on the officers’ collars gave them away, showing their value to the Tremist. Mason thought it was stupid to show off how valuable of a prisoner you would make.

  “I want the protocols for transporting it safely,” the king said to Susan, almost a whisper. “I want everything you have on it. Now.” He started to walk along the north side of the cube, and Mason fell in step behind. He almost collapsed with relief: nothing had given him away so far.

  The giddy feeling didn’t last.

  He still didn’t know what he was going to do next.

  “I don’t have access to that,” Susan said. She glanced at Mason and her lip curled in derision. Mason wanted to scream out that it was him, wanted to so badly that he had to press his lips together. The king turned away, showing his ruined cape. Mason couldn’t help but wonder if his hair was violet beneath the bloodred suit, if his skin was as pale as Merrin’s. If the veins stood out under his skin like tattoos.

  “Who had access, in the event of the captain’s death?” the king said.

  “I don’t know. Scumbag.”

  The king whirled, his hand rising, and backhanded Susan so hard she fell to one knee. A single drop of blood hit the deck. Her hair hung like a curtain, hiding her face. Mason’s hands clenched on the talon, but he didn’t make his move. Not yet. Not when the king’s armor might just absorb the beam, like it had with the P-cannon. He had to be sure, even if his blood boiled while Susan rose shakily to her feet.

  “Find out,” the king said.

  “So that’s how you get things done in the Tremist world,” Susan said.

  The king looked like he was going to hit her again. His hand even twitched. But he just turned away and the group continued walking.

  “I’ll never help you,” Susan said after another twenty paces. She didn’t say it with venom, or defiance, just simply. It was a fact.

  “We’ll make you. And if you don’t, I will make someone else. While you watch.”

  Susan didn’t reply, but Mason saw her shoulders tense.

  The group left the cube behind and entered a tunnel that led to the docking port. Mason’s heart rate climbed steadily in his heads-up display—he was almost sure which symbols represented it, but didn’t know what values they represented. It was a high number, whatever it was. Which was no good: he needed to keep it low to avoid twitchiness. Calm and steady was the way. Deep breath. No fear. After the short tunnel, they’d be on the Hawk. Enemy territory, from which there would be no easy escape.

  Mason had to study the Hawk as a first year. It was the only Tremist model the ESC had ever captured and therefore the one they had the most details on. He’d gotten in trouble more than a few times his first year, so to make Susan proud he’d memorized the layout and gotten one of the highest scores on the exam. As a reward, Susan took him on a tour of the captured ship. A lucky thing for him now, because if each Hawk was identical he should remember where every compartment and every room was located. The biggest room near the bridge was thought to be the captain’s personal chambers. He was hoping in this case it would be the king’s. Still, the Hawk Mason had been on hadn’t been crawling with the Tremist at the time. And he was under pressure now, which made him wonder if he was imagining the room locations wrong. He’d memorized it years ago—too long to trust anything but his eyes.

  The king turned to one of his guards. “Once we break the seal, begin extraction. Don’t wait for protocol. If we aren’t on our way in ten minutes, each additional minute will cost you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the Tremist replied, then handed his prisoner over to his neighbor before turning away.

  Mason had to hurry. If they were opening the main storage bay to extract the enormous cube, the Hawk would have to break away so the storage bay doors could open. He’d be trapped on the enemy ship with Merrin and Susan. The cube was massive: there was no way it would fit anywhere on the Hawk. Which meant they would have to tow it, if that was even possible.

  Two guards stood at the entrance to the Hawk, at the far end of the tunnel. Mason waited for them to call him out, to raise their talons, but they stared straight ahead, motionless. The group continued along, nearing the entrance, with the imposter—him—in the rear. Mason held his breath as he crossed the threshold onto the alien ship, stepping from the smooth, silvery metal of the Egypt to the rough, rocklike surface of the Haw
k.

  It was too easy. Mason had just smuggled himself onboard. He waited waited waited, muscles tense, for something to grab him from the shadows. To carry him off to some Tremist torture chamber.

  Then the king stopped without warning. The group stopped with him.

  He turned around slowly, and Mason could feel the king’s eyes on him, though his mask was only darkness.

  “You,” the king said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mason froze in place. Game over, he tried, better luck next time. A cold sadness filled him up; he was their last hope, and he’d failed. The only consolation was that he had tried rather than run.

  Susan was looking at him too, brow furrowed. He was ready to flee, or to launch one final attack, but he forced himself to remain calm. He couldn’t act until he was sure there was no chance to recover.

  The king grabbed Susan’s arm and half shoved, half threw her forward. “Take her to a holding cell.” And without another word, the king moved forward again, turning down a corridor Mason knew led to the Hawk’s own storage bay.

  The relief numbed his muscles. Every inch of him wanted to hug Susan and make her hold him upright and maybe stroke his hair the way she had when he was little, when their parents were off on some long mission and he missed them too much.

  But there was still work to do.

  Mason was alone with his sister, save the two guards facing away from them, who were paying them no attention. He grabbed her arm and began to lead her away. Susan said nothing at all. She didn’t resist, but felt weak with defeat in his grasp. If only he could tell her it wasn’t over; there was still hope. But he had to get her alone first.

  They marched in silence for a few moments, side by side. Until Mason couldn’t wait any longer.

  “It’s me,” Mason said. “Uh, your brother.”

  Susan’s mouth opened slightly, as a mixture of surprise and disbelief passed over her face. Mason could understand the disbelief; it was hard for him to believe he’d made it this far, too.

  “You idiot,” she said softly. “What if they caught you?” She began to smile, but it fell away like it was weighed down with iridium. She was staring out of a series of windows on the right wall. Mason stepped closer and saw what took her smile away—

  The window looked down at a huge open space in the belly of the Hawk. It was, Mason realized, the main storage bay.

  It was filled with the Egypt’s crew. They stood in columns, bedraggled, bloody, and torn, sagging on their feet. Mason guessed there were close to two hundred of them, almost all of the Egypt’s crew, save the dead. The doors leading into the chamber were guarded by multiple Tremist, all of them armed. There was no way to reach the crew, no way to free them without help. Mason knew Susan was thinking the same thing.

  But it was still possible to save Merrin. The king’s quarters were hopefully just ahead. Mason grabbed Susan’s arm and began to drag her away. “We can’t stop.”

  “I know,” Susan said. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, like she was in shock. “I have to disable the ship. I have to save them.”

  “It’s impossible,” Mason said. “Stop talking.” He felt embarrassed, having to tell his sister that—like who was he to tell her what to do? But he didn’t know who was listening.

  “I want you to turn around and get off the ship,” Susan said, ignoring him. “That’s an order.”

  “I’m a Tremist, I don’t follow ESC orders,” Mason said. Susan didn’t laugh at his joke. “Merrin is just ahead,” he pleaded. “We can save her.”

  Susan didn’t argue; they kept walking. Maybe if they saved Merrin, Mason could convince Susan he needed her help to get off the ship. There was no way he came this far just to leave her behind.

  The hallway dimensions were similar to what one would find on the Egypt, maybe slightly narrower. The walls seemed to pulse with strange light; it made Mason woozy to look at. But it was still a hallway, with two walls at right angles to the ceiling, the same one he’d walked with Susan when she showed him the captured Hawk at Academy I. The memory overlapped with what he was seeing now. He’d walked the halls in wonder and reverence, understanding this was a machine created by aliens. It was beautiful, in a way. But now all he saw was danger. This ship was alive, not sterile and empty. This ship could kill him.

  Susan let Mason lead her along, looking exactly like a shell-shocked prisoner.

  Two Tremist turned around the corner ahead, marching right for them, talons held in the ready position. Mason tensed but forced himself to keep the same pace. His eyes darted over them, searching for some sign they knew who he was. His instincts screamed to raise his talon first, to cut them down before they had a chance. But the noise would surely draw every nearby enemy. The ship would register the energy discharge and alert the crew. Next to him, Susan let her head drop, and her steps shuffle. Mason followed her lead, yanking her along a little more. They were just Tremist and prisoner, to an outside observer.

  And the Tremist hadn’t raised their talons yet.

  Closer they came, and closer still.

  Until they passed.

  Mason almost flinched away, but held it together. The Tremist footsteps traveled away evenly, no increase in pace.

  The hallway began to curve to the right, heading toward the front of the ship. A guard of three, the king had said. Luckily Mason had the element of surprise.

  Mason was about to try and convince Susan to stay with him again, but then they were at the door. “This is it,” Mason said.

  Susan touched the grenades on his belt. “These are stun,” she said, touching the ones on his left hip. “And these are EMP,” she said, touching the ones on his right.

  “How do you know that?” Mason said. He pulled two stun grenades off his belt and handed one to her.

  “Academy II,” she said with a wink. “You’re not quite done with school.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  When they got close enough, the door opened automatically, revealing a lavish living area. Everything was violet, and Mason wondered, not for the first time, what their obsession with the color was. The bed was covered in soft purple fabrics. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting odd forests and animals he couldn’t identify.

  The room appeared empty. Mason and Susan paused, listening hard, hearing nothing. It couldn’t be empty. They took two steps forward and saw that the room extended to the left. The quarters were complete with a personal kitchen and eating area, a desk, and a chair that Merrin was currently sitting in.

  Surrounded by three armed Tremist.

  “Now!” Susan said. They tossed their grenades at the same time, right at the Tremists’ feet.

  “Cover your ears!” Mason shouted.

  Merrin was quick. She clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes tight. Mason turned away, doing the same. The twin blasts were still uncomfortably loud and bright, a wave he felt through his suit, like a full-body slap. He fell to one knee and couldn’t see through the static fuzzing his mask. His body braced as the sound of talons filled the room. His vision cleared in what felt like hours, and he saw the Tremist stumbling about, slowed like he was, talons cutting into the walls. Any stray beam would end them. This wasn’t going as Mason had planned; they should’ve waited outside, to make sure the Tremist were incapacitated. The green beams cut through the air above him. One sizzled off the right arm of his suit, blistering the skin underneath. He cried out, a distorted sound coming through the mask.

  Then: a blur from his right, as Susan moved among them like smoke. She chopped one Tremist on the neck with the edge of her hand, then threw another into the wall so hard his mirror-mask splintered. The last one backed away from her, not seeing that he was backing right into Mason. Right as the Tremist was aiming his talon at Susan, Mason sidestepped and tripped him, then dropped both knees onto his chest.

  “The blast will draw them!” Susan said. “Go!”

  “Not without you!” Mason screamed back.

>   “Mason?” Merrin said. She was out of the chair, hands still over her ears.

  The Tremist Susan had neck-chopped rose up and lunged at Mason, but he sidestepped again and swung both fists in a dual hammer strike at the Tremist’s kidneys—or where he hoped the kidneys would be.

  “Yeah, hi,” he said to Merrin.

  “Where did you find a Tremist suit?”

  “You’re asking that now?”

  The Tremist rebounded off the wall but Susan was there. Mason crouched and Susan jumped over him, high-kicking the Tremist in the throat.

  But the armor was too thick. They’d need a lot more to put them all down. Susan reached for a talon but a Tremist kicked it under the bed. Mason was still feeling the stun grenade, and he knew Susan and Merrin had to be too. He crossed the room and grabbed Merrin’s hand, pulling her around a Tremist that was still trying to stand up. Susan kicked that one in the head. Another talon was smoking on the floor, destroyed.

  They ran.

  Back the way they came, several hundred feet feeling like miles. The lights in the walls were pulsing faster now—some kind of alarm? Mason was breathing too hard, a rasping sound in his ears. Footsteps pounded in the hall behind him as the Tremist followed.

  “Don’t slow down!” Susan said. “Don’t slow down!”

  The hallway straightened after the curve, and Mason could see past the door to the Egypt. Six Tremist ran toward them from that direction, talons raised, masks reflecting their small images in the dim light. Mason just made it around the corner, Susan and Merrin diving behind him, as green lances of talon fire sizzled down the hallway.

  The two guards at the dock were ready for them, no longer acting like statues. But Mason had expected that. He dropped two primed EMP grenades. They bounced off the floor, crackling, and Mason’s HUD winked out. It was destroyed.

  And so were the talons the Tremist were about to kill them with. They fired without result, and Merrin was able to squeeze by on the left, hitting the ESC starship-grade metal with her feet. She spun around to help, but Mason lost sight of her as the left Tremist punched Mason so hard he fell against the tunnel wall, still inside the Hawk. He was vaguely aware of Susan engaged with the other guard, a flurry of punches and kicks, but pain throbbed in his head, blurring his vision. He knew nothing mattered, because the six Tremist had to be only seconds away now. They would be overwhelmed. If only Merrin could get the door shut, at least she would be safe.