Starship Desolation

by Tripp Ellis

  Logan kept an eye on things with his pistol drawn.

  Mia swiped through a few looks, settling on just the perfect face. “Here. I think this is a good look for you.” Mia spun the display around to show Slade. Mia looked almost gleeful, playing with makeup.

  Slade frowned.“It’s a little trashy, don’t you think?”

  Mia deflated. It was like insulting her artistic taste. “Honey, on this planet, trashy is what sells.”

  “You seem like a nice person. How can you be a part of all this?”

  “It pays the rent,” Mia said. “And you’re just a convict.”

  “Enough chit chat,” Logan grumbled. “Paint her up.”

  “Hold still and close your eyes,” Mia said.

  Slade sighed and did as she said. The robotic arm moved from left to right, like and inkjet printer, spraying her face with makeup. It was flawless perfection.

  Slade looked in the mirror and almost gasped. As the captain of a star destroyer, she didn’t have much use for makeup. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to get all dolled up. Even if it was a little bit trashy.

  “I have got to get one of those,” Slade said.

  Mia stifled a chuckle. Then her face turned to stone. She stepped back and closed the Nouveau Visage. None of the crew liked to spend too much time with their cargo. They didn’t want to develop any kind of attachment. They didn’t want to see them as human beings. They were just merchandise, like any other commodity.

  “Mia, go with Gorth and deliver our other goods. Then meet me at Little Nicky’s.”

  “What about her?”

  “I can handle this one.”

  “You sure about that? She’s feisty.”

  Logan glared at Mia.

  “You’re the boss.” Mia shrugged and left the compartment.

  “A little something to eat would be nice,” Slade said.

  Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out a nutrition bar. He stepped into the compartment, strolling toward Slade as he peeled off the packaging. He held the bar to her full lips.

  Her eyes narrowed at him.

  “Take it or leave it, honey. It’s the only thing you’re going to get.”

  Slade leaned forward and took the bar into her mouth. Her big eyes looked up at Logan as her plush lips wrapped around the bar. She could see his mind drift to lustful thoughts.

  Her teeth bit into the bar, breaking off a chunk, and she gobbled it down. It wasn’t half bad. It was better than the slop she had been fed back in the prison. She devoured the bar with blazing speed, almost taking off Logan’s fingertips. She’d have probably eaten them too if he didn’t snap them away.

  “I guess Carson really doesn’t feed you people.”

  “Not when you’re in the hole for a week.”

  “You survived a week in the hole?” Logan lifted an incredulous eyebrow.

  “Something like that. I lost track of time. It’s easy to do.”

  “I know hardened criminals, twice your size, that couldn’t last a day in the pit.”

  “I guess those criminals weren’t very hard.” She subtly, or not so subtly, arched her chest out. The words slipped off her tongue like velvet. Her voice was breathy and sultry.

  Logan couldn’t help but glance down at her inviting cleavage. Then he chuckled. “Look, sweetheart. I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work.”

  “What’s the matter. Don’t you want to test out the merchandise first?”

  “Do you really think every woman that comes through here doesn’t try the same thing? You’re not going to catch me off guard. You’re not going to escape. You’re not going to get me to do something stupid.”

  Slade laughed. “Putting yourself alone in a room with me was pretty stupid.” Slade kneed him in the groin. Logan double over. She planted another knee in his face, cracking his nose. He dropped his weapon. Slade kicked it across the deck.

  Still cuffed behind her back, she flopped onto the bunk, and pulled her cuffs over her ass. She pulled her legs through and dashed for the weapon. With her hands cuffed in front of her now, she had a fighting chance.

  Logan was sprinting for the gun as well. If she didn’t get to that gun first, she was going to be in deep trouble.

  28

  WALKER

  “Bailey?” Walker yelled. “Bailey?”

  The sun was rising, the desert heat was sweltering. There wasn’t any shelter nearby, and Walker was growing extremely nervous about Bailey’s whereabouts. The dog was indigenous to the planet. Surely he could take care of himself. But Walker was still filled with dread.

  A few moments later, Bailey came running across the sand. His paws were kicking up plumes of dust as he ran. He jumped into Walker’s arms and licked his face, excitedly.

  Walker cradled him and petted his head. “It’s good to see you too, Sergeant.” Walker smiled. He had never thought of himself as a dog person, but this little animal seemed to have been giving him more joy than he could remember having in a long time. He carried Bailey back into the Phantom. Together, they would wait out the heat of the afternoon.

  “I don’t understand your attachment to this creature,” Malik said.

  Walker smiled. “I don’t either. But he sure does grow on you.” Walker scratched Bailey’s chin. “Don’t you Saarkturians have pets?”

  Malik shook his head. “Pets are impractical.”

  “A lot of the good things in life are impractical.” Walker petted Bailey and smiled. For a few moments, all was right with the universe.

  They lazed around for most of the day. There wasn’t much you could do in the heat. And the inside of the Phantom was like a furnace. Walker was bathed in sweat. Malik was running low on food and water. It wasn’t going to be enough for the three of them for more than a day.

  The sun arced across the sky and began its slow descent. The Phantom cooled off, slightly.

  “If we leave now, we can make it to my shelter by the evening,” Walker said. “In the morning, we can head into the flatlands and recover the power cell.”

  Malik looked to Saaja.

  “Go, I’ll be alright,” she said, though she didn’t sound totally confident.

  Malik grimaced. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “I can go alone,” Walker said. “You can’t leave without the fuel cell, and I can’t leave without you.”

  “The terrain is treacherous,” Saaja said. “The odds of survival out there are better if you work as a team.”

  “I can survive just fine on my own,” Walker said. “Isn’t that right, Bailey.”

  Bailey barked.

  Malik frowned. “Saaja is right. We will work as a team.”

  The two gathered their gear, reloaded the weapons, and set out into the desert. Bailey followed. They were halfway to the cavern when the sky began to darken. A storm was brewing on the horizon. Rain would be a welcomed gift.

  “That doesn’t look good.” Walker’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the approaching storm. But it wasn’t rain. It was an angry sandstorm that formed a thick, abrasive wall of particles. The kind of storm that could grind the flesh from your bones in a matter of minutes. It was moving toward them at a blistering pace.

  “We need to find shelter,” Walker said. He was still wearing the Saarkturian body armor, but he had left the helmet back at the cavern. No sense in lugging it around. The heat was even more stifling with a full helmet and face mask on your head. But it would have provided some extra protection during the storm. Bailey, however, was completely exposed.

  Walker took off his pack and let Bailey crawl in for cover. He hoisted the pack on his back, and he and Malick picked up the pace.

  Despite their efforts, the storm descended upon them before they reached the cavern. It was like a hurricane enveloped them. Visibility dropped to a few feet. Sand and pebbles hailed down.

  Walker tried to take cover behind a rock formation. A gust of wind swept him from his feet and whisked him twenty yards, slamming
him into the canyon wall.

  It seemed the wind speed was increasing. Painful pellets of sand peppered his face. Bailey crouched in his pack. Malick was nowhere to be seen. None of them were going to survive for long in this storm.

  Walker pulled himself forward along the canyon wall. Two steps forward, three steps back. His face was red and raw from the pummeling grit. He kept marching forward, looking for an alcove, or anything that might provide a little shelter.

  Walker crammed himself in a groove, behind a rock formation. It was pretty exposed, but better than nothing. He tried to shelter Bailey as much as possible, but the wind seemed to come from every direction, swirling mercilessly.

  A cloaked figure emerged from the haze of sand. He was covered from head to toe in a makeshift armor, scavenged from whatever he could cobble together. He clung to a safety rope that ran through a clamp on his belt. The figure tossed the end of the rope to Walker, and he pulled himself up.

  The figure turned around and marched back the way he came. Walker followed, pulling himself along the rope. It wasn’t store bought rope. It was hand made and knotted together out of a fibrous material.

  The figure led him to a small opening in the canyon walls. Inside was a small alcove. It looked like a primitive, but cozy home. There were handmade tables and chairs. Crafted pottery—clay bowls and plates. A bunk to sleep on. Even some type of artwork on the walls. Whoever this figure was, he had been here for quite some time.

  Walker entered the dwelling, and the figure sealed the opening behind him. The door was made of metal and looked like it had been part of a bulkhead once.

  Walker spent a few minutes coughing up dirt and sand that had filled his lungs.

  The figure pulled back his hood and peeled off his face mask. He was a rugged man of maybe 50, but the harsh elements had weathered his swarthy skin beyond his years. His hair was short and starting to gray, and his square jaw was stubbled with a little more than a five o’clock shadow.

  Walker hadn’t shaved since he crashed on this damn planet, and his neck was starting to itch. This man must have had a nice, sharp blade to be as well groomed as he was.

  Walker set his pack on the ground and Bailey leaped out. He took in the scenery, cautiously.

  “Thank you,” Walker said.

  “Those sand storms are a real bitch,” the man said. “Lucky I saw you.”

  Walker nodded. “One of my men, if you could call him that, is still out there.”

  “I’ve done my good deed for the day. But you are welcome to do as you please. There’s a few hundred feet of rope. After that you’re on your own. I’d stay put if I were you—if you want to live. I’ve seen those storms take the skin off an animal in minutes.”

  Walker was torn. He needed the Saarkturian. They were a team now. And Walker never left a team member behind.

  29

  SLADE

  Slade sprinted across the cabin, but Logan outpaced her by a foot. She was never going to reach the gun before he did. She dove, putting a shoulder into him. They both crashed to the deck. Logan rolled onto his back. Slade clutched her fists together, cuffed at the wrists, and pummeled him in the face.

  She wound up and swung at him again. But he grabbed her wrists mid-punch and tossed her aside. Logan stretched for the weapon.

  By the time Slade lunged back at him, she was staring at the barrel of his pistol.

  Logan wiped away the blood that was dripping from his nostrils. The sleeve of his leather jacket was smeared with crimson. It was probably going to leave a stain.

  “You’ve got some fight in you, I’ll give you that,” Logan said.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” Slade said, full of bravado. “You wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise.”

  “Don’t push me.”

  Slade grabbed the barrel of the gun, spinning it around 180 degrees. Logan’s finger caught in the trigger guard—if she twisted any farther, his finger would snap.

  Logan grimaced. It was extremely painful. Slade had complete control. She stood up and stripped the weapon away.

  Logan looked up at her in disbelief. She had disarmed him before he really knew what happened. Slade was good, and Logan had never met anyone like her.

  “Give me the keys to the cuffs.”

  “I don’t have them. Mia does. You have to wait till she comes back.” Logan smiled.

  “Bullshit.”

  Logan shrugged. “You’re not going to shoot me either.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that. I’m a convict, remember.”

  “You’re not a violent offender. I can see it in your eyes.”

  BAM!

  Slade fired into the deck beside Logan.

  He twitched. “Okay, okay. Ease up.” Logan eyed the bullet hole in the deck and frowned. “This ship wasn’t cheap, you know.”

  “The keys!”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Slade’s finger gripped the trigger.

  Logan cringed.

  Slade wasn’t backing down.

  Logan sighed. “Okay, fine. They’re in my cabin.”

  “Get up.”

  Logan pulled himself off the deck. Their eyes were locked into each other.

  “Move. Slowly.”

  Logan stepped into the hallway. Slade cautiously followed behind.

  “Where’d you learn how to fight?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Just making friendly conversation,” Logan said. “I get nervous when crazy women point guns at me.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “It’s a hazard in my line of work.”

  “Maybe you should get a new job.”

  “I’ll start sending out resumes,” he snarked.

  They reached his quarters, and Logan opened the hatch. His stateroom was pretty standard for this class of vehicle. A bunk, a desk, a small living area, and a kitchenette.

  “Where are the keys?” Slade asked.

  “In my desk drawer. Do you want to get them, or should I?”

  “Move against the port bulkhead and put your hands against the wall.”

  Logan reluctantly complied. Slade crept into the state room, keeping an eye on Logan as she inched toward the desk. She slid open the top drawer. A spare set of keys were there, along with another handgun.

  Slade lowered her hands, cautiously. She kept the gun aimed at Logan as best she could with her hands cuffed together. She grasped the spare key with her left hand and unlatched the cuffs. Logan was still in position against the bulkhead.

  “Turn around.” Slade tossed the cuffs to him. “Cuff yourself to the bunk.”

  “So, you like it kinky?”

  “In your dreams.”

  Logan locked cuffs around one wrist, then strung it through the metal bunk frame and latched the other wrist. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he wasn’t happy about it. She could see him scheming for a way out of this.

  “I have to thank you for getting me out of that prison. But I’ve got other plans. I’m going to have to borrow your ship.” Slade had a deliciously devious grin on her face. She backed out of his state room and sealed the hatch.

  She raced to the cockpit and powered up the system. The control panel illuminated, and the onboard computer went through its preflight checks. Everything was in the green. All systems were go.

  She powered up the main thrusters. Two, dual core, Hughes & Kessler Ramblers. They were some of the most powerful thrusters in their class. The Scarab was no slouch when it came to speed.

  The engines whined as they reached full power. Slade took a moment to familiarize herself with the controls. She was about to hit the vertical thrusters and get the hell out of there when she felt the barrel of a pistol press against the back of her head.

  She started to reach for her gun.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Logan said. “And I will shoot you this time.”

  “How did you get free?”

  “I had an extra set of keys in my pocket.
You should’ve frisked me. It could have been fun.”

  Slade’s face tensed. She was frustrated with herself. She should have done a better job securing Logan, she thought. She had gotten careless.

  “I’m going to be glad to get rid of you.” He forced her out of the pilot seat and cuffed her again. “Are you ready to meet Little Nicky?”

  30

  WALKER

  Walker clung to the rope as he marched through the blasting sandstorm. He had wrapped his head and was wearing goggles he borrowed from his new acquaintance. The wind picked up speed. With all his strength, Walker could barely inch forward.

  A gust blew him off his feet and launched him 20 feet backwards. He clung on to the rope and pulled himself back to his feet. He made several attempts to make forward progress, but the storm was too powerful. It took every bit of strength just to pull himself along the rope, back to the dwelling.

  This felt a lot like losing, and Walker hated to lose. He pulled off the goggles and his head wrap and took a seat. Even with the cloth wrap, he had inhaled dirt and sand. He spent a few minutes hacking the debris from his lungs.

  “When the storm dies down, we’ll see if your friend is still alive,” the man said.

  “I wouldn’t call him a friend. More of a necessary acquaintance.”

  This peaked the man’s interest. His brow lifted, quizzically.

  “He is a Saarkturian. And he’s the only way off this planet.”

  The man’s face tensed and filled with rage.

  “I take it you have no love for the Verge?” Walker asked.

  “The Verge is how I came to be on this planet. Are we still at War?”

  Walker’s curious eyes looked over the man. “The first Verge War ended 25 years ago.”

  “My God,” he muttered. “Have I been here that long?” The man looked stunned. It took him a few moments to process the information.

  Walker gave a slight nod.

  “You said first Verge War… has there been another?”

  “We are on the brink of the second now. They broke the treaty and sent an attack fleet. But we managed to stop the first wave.”