by Huw Powell
“I don’t get it,” he said. “What does Papa Don have against Kodan?”
“It’s personal,” muttered Granny Leatherhead.
“I figured that much,” said Jake. “Does it have something to do with our last visit?”
Farid looked at Kodan, who nodded.
“It goes way beyond that,” revealed the first mate. “Kodan’s surname is Don.”
“Don?” said Jake. “I don’t understand.”
“Kodan is Papa Don’s nephew and ex-chief of security. He was the favorite to take over the illegal spaceport until a few years ago, when Kodan made his father, Kaspa Don, walk the air lock as revenge for hurting his mother. It was Kaspa who cut out Kodan’s tongue when he was a boy.”
Jake was shocked. He had always wondered how the master-at-arms had lost his voice.
“Papa Don has never forgiven Kodan for killing his brother,” said Granny Leatherhead. “That’s why Kodan left the spaceport and joined my crew.”
Jake approached the grizzle-haired spacejacker. “Do you realize that we’re related?”
Kodan smiled and nodded.
“How did you figure that out?” asked Farid.
“We’re both descendants of Captain Alyus Don, the space pirate king,” said Jake.
“Well, blast my boots,” croaked Granny Leatherhead. “What a small universe.”
Kodan reached out a huge hand and ruffled Jake’s hair. In the background, dramatic music blended with cheers from the crowd.
“What about Ormos?” asked Jake. “What’s his problem?”
“That brainless brute?” said Granny Leatherhead. “Ormos used to work for Kodan. He knows how much the security guards respect their old chief, so he wants to show them that he’s tougher. But it’s not all about size and strength. If you want to win Reus roulette, you also need technique, courage, and determination.”
Jake looked into Kodan’s eyes. “Can you take him?”
Kodan shrugged.
A security guard entered the room and held the door open.
“It’s time,” he said.
Kodan nodded and pulled off his sling. The guard led them out of the changing room and up a set of stairs. As they reached the top, Jake was blinded by the bright lights and deafened by the roaring crowd.
All around them, crews chanted along to the music. “Shove-of-war, place a bet, blood and gore, Reus roulette.”
Granny Leatherhead, Farid, and Jake were shown to front-row seats, while Kodan walked across the pits on a narrow plank to the arena floor. The crowd greeted him with whistles and cheers as he stood alone, surveying the concrete surface. At his feet, the timber poker lay on a patch of dried blood.
Papa Don watched from a special viewing box that overlooked the arena. Jake noticed Captains Hawker and Shark sitting on either side of him, but there was no sign of the robot parrot. Behind them, a woman with wiry black hair and an armor-plated bodice lurked in the shadows. Her face was bruised and she wore a neck brace. Jake wondered if she was a space pirate.
As the crews chanted louder, he turned his attention to the arena floor. His eyes scanned the four surrounding pits. He could see the tips of spikes sticking out of the farthest, while acid fumes rose from the one to the right. The nearest pit was filled with poisonous insects, and the fourth contained boiling oil.
The crowd went wild when Ormos entered the arena. He strode confidently across his plank and stood opposite Kodan. Jake guessed that it wasn’t the first time the chief of security had played Reus roulette. The planks were removed, leaving the two men stranded on the concrete island. Papa Don edged his hover-chair forward and addressed the crowd using an old-fashioned megaphone.
“Welcome to the greatest game in the galaxy.”
The crowd cheered even louder and chanted his name: “Papa Don, Papa Don.”
“What a pretentious prat,” puffed Granny Leatherhead.
“Reus roulette is traditionally played with four pits of fire,” said the space mafia boss. “But here at Papa Don’s, we like to do things differently.”
The crowd laughed.
“For your pleasure, we have a special contest lined up between my old chief of security, Kodan, and his successor, Ormos. Neither of these hulking men has ever lost a game of Reus roulette, but that will change today, because there can be only one winner in the shove-of-war.”
“I know where I would like to shove that megaphone,” mumbled Granny Leatherhead.
Papa Don turned his attention to the arena floor and held his hand over a large brass Klaxon.
“Contestants, seize the poker,” he instructed.
The music faded and the crowd fell silent. Kodan and Ormos picked up either end of the timber pole and braced themselves. Jake could see their muscles tighten as they prepared to push. Papa Don waited for the tension to build and then squeezed the Klaxon.
“Fight!”
Kodan reacted first, throwing his weight behind the poker and forcing Ormos backward, but the new chief of security was quick to adjust his footing and turn the pole. The two men twisted around the arena floor like the needle on a compass. Kodan’s boot skidded near the pit containing poisonous insects and stopped dangerously close to the edge.
“You should throw down the poker, old man,” sneered Ormos. “Before you get hurt.”
Kodan glared at his opponent and changed his grip. Ormos was younger and bigger, but Kodan was faster and more experienced. Jake hoped it was enough. The two men leaned into the poker, their arms bulging as they attempted to push each other over.
“Ormos is forcing Kodan to use his bad shoulder,” commented Granny Leatherhead. “He keeps twisting the poker toward it.”
“I know,” said Farid. “It must be agony.”
Jake had never seen the captain and first mate so concerned. He watched anxiously as Kodan passed the pit of boiling oil. Ormos tugged the poker, pulling his opponent off balance and onto one knee, but Kodan recovered before the chief of security could take advantage.
“What’s the matter?” sniped Ormos. “Something caught your tongue?”
Kodan gave the poker a sharp jab. It smacked Ormos in the chin and sent him stumbling toward the acid pit. The crowd jumped to their feet in anticipation, but Ormos regained his balance and stopped himself from falling. He looked furious at being caught off guard. Kodan allowed himself the slightest of smirks. Jake noticed that the master-at-arms was covered in sweat and breathing hard. How much more could he take?
“Keep pushing, Kodan,” encouraged Jake. “Keep pushing.”
The boiling oil bubbled dangerously, spattering the edge of the arena floor and making it slippery.
“How’s the shoulder?” asked Ormos, holding his ground. “I can keep this up all day.”
Kodan gripped the poker until his knuckles whitened. Jake wondered how confident Ormos would be if his opponent wasn’t wounded. Next to him, Granny Leatherhead rocked in her chair, clutching her walking stick, while Farid perched on the edge of his seat.
Ormos twisted and jerked the poker, causing Kodan to falter and reposition his feet. Kodan’s boot slipped on a patch of oil and he crashed to the ground, somehow managing to keep hold of the pole as he landed on his bad shoulder. Ormos charged forward, pushing Kodan along the floor like a mop toward the pit of boiling oil.
Kodan slid across the concrete until his feet reached the edge of the pit. He jammed his gravity boots into the inch-tall rim and locked his legs, throwing his entire weight back against the poker. Ormos roared with effort and forced his old chief on to tiptoes. Kodan was now teetering on the brink, inches from death. Jake could barely stand to watch, but he was unable to tear his eyes from the arena floor.
The crowd went wild as boiling oil splashed over the side of the pit onto Kodan’s back, covering his skin with scalding liquid. His wolflike eyes bore into his opponent at the end of the pole, but Ormos was too busy pushing the poker to notice. Kodan smiled and loosened his grip.
“No,” cried Jake.
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nbsp; “Blood and gore!” shouted Ormos, shoving with all his might.
Kodan leaped to the side, still holding part of the poker. Ormos realized what was happening, but it was too late. With all resistance removed, he flew forward, unable to stop himself. His feet skated across the slippery surface toward the pit of boiling oil. Kodan fell onto his back, steering the poker in a wide arc, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
Ormos knew when to quit. He let go of the pole and threw himself to the floor, but his huge body continued to slide toward the pit. Kodan reached across the arena and grabbed his opponent’s boot, slowing him down and stopping him from going over the edge. It wasn’t enough to prevent Ormos from being sprayed in the face with boiling oil. He thrashed around on the floor, screaming with pain. it was over. Kodan climbed to his feet and staggered to the viewing box, where he stood glaring at his uncle, his eyes full of hatred.
The crowd stamped their feet and cheered kodan’s name. Papa Don looked furious as the security guards replaced the planks and the medics swarmed around Ormos. Granny Leatherhead, Farid, and Jake joined Kodan on the arena floor.
“Well done, shipmate,” Farid congratulated him.
“You were amazing,” said Jake. “Are you okay?”
Kodan nodded.
Granny Leatherhead turned to face Papa Don. “Now can we have the golden cutlass?”
The crowd hushed at the mention of gold.
Papa Don rubbed the crystals on his forehead. “No, you cannot. Kodan cheated.”
Muttering broke out and several people jeered.
“That’s a lie,” protested Farid.
James Hawker jumped to his feet and signaled to his crew. Papa Don sat watching them with his big round eyes.
“We had a deal,” shouted Jake angrily.
“I told you he couldn’t be trusted,” said Granny Leatherhead. “He’ll never give up that sword willingly.”
A dozen security guards surrounded the arena floor, taking aim with their machine guns. At the same time, rows of spacejackers stood up in the crowd and drew their swords. Granny Leatherhead gripped her walking stick and sized up the nearest guard.
“No, Captain,” said Jake. “There are too many of them. We have to stick to the plan.”
“Fine,” she croaked, lowering her walking stick and turning to Papa Don. “In that case, we surrender.”
Granny Leatherhead, Farid, Kodan, and Jake were searched and escorted to the prison block. Papa Don stripped Jake of his gold pendant and handheld computer, but he let Granny Leatherhead keep her walking stick. Jake recognized the prison block from their previous visit, with its rows of iron doors and narrow, barred windows. It was where he had first met Kella, only this time he was the prisoner. The security guards led them to a section containing cells that were large enough to hold entire crews.
“We’ve got company for you, rusty nuts,” shouted a guard, as he opened one of the doors. “Try not to make a mess this time.”
“Rusty nuts?” mouthed Granny Leatherhead.
The guard held open the door and stood there expectantly. Granny Leatherhead gave him a foul look and shuffled inside, muttering something about double-crossing space thugs. Jake stepped into the dark, concrete room and tasted the musty air. At first he could only make out a stack of old bunk beds and a broken toilet. Most of the lights were missing and the end of the cell was in shadow. His eyes scanned the darkness until they found the other prisoner. A tall figure stood facing them, motionless like a statue. It was difficult to make out any features on its oddly shaped head, but a tiny red light pulsed in the gloom.
“Is that a robot?”
“Aye, but it’s too big to be a house robot,” whispered Farid. “I reckon it’s one of those farm-bots used for heavy lifting.”
“In space?” hissed Granny Leatherhead. “It’s probably an old battle droid.”
“What would that be doing here?” wondered Farid. “The Interstellar Navy stopped using droids years ago, because there were too many incidents involving unarmed civilians.”
“Is it okay?” asked Jake. “Why isn’t it moving?”
Granny Leatherhead leaned on her walking stick. “If you ask me, we should leave it alone.”
The cell door closed loudly behind them, making them jump in surprise. A few lights flickered ominously on the robot’s head and it let out a low mechanical growl.
Chapter 13
Vigor-8
The robot sprang to life and stamped toward them, its joints creaking and pistons hissing. Jake could hear its metal toes digging into the concrete floor like a row of masonry chisels. The robot was at least eight feet tall and had a faded black shell and a white skull painted on its visor. It stopped inches from them and stooped down. A single camera lens darted back and forth as it studied their faces.
“Hello,” said Jake nervously.
The robot’s head snapped around and its lens focused on him. A metal plate covered the hole where another camera might once have been. The rest of its metal face was scratched and dented.
“My name is Jake Cutler. Who are you?”
The robot straightened to full height. It was impossible to tell what it was thinking. The others stepped back out of its reach.
“You wish to know my name?” said the robot, its electronic voice deep and coarse.
“Yes, please.”
Jake had often played with the monastery robots on Remota in the absence of other children, but none of them had been as tall or as intimidating as this droid.
“Please?” mimicked the robot. “Do you not fear me, child?”
If Jake was honest, he was terrified, but he didn’t want to admit it. He noticed the name Vigor-8 painted in faded letters across the robot’s chipped chest plate.
“We don’t want any trouble,” said Jake. “We’re prisoners like you. Why were you arrested?”
Vigor-8’s camera lens examined Jake from head to toe. “A man called me bucket head, so I blew up his ship. The other spacejackers refuse to accept me as their equal, but I am a free robot, and I will not be insulted.”
“You’re a space pirate?” said Farid.
“That is correct. I am the captain of the ship Rusty’s Revenge.” Vigor-8 tapped a space pirate symbol on its arm, which had crossed spanners under a robot skull. “It is crewed entirely by free robots.”
“I’ve heard of you,” said Jake. “You’re the Hacker Jackers.”
Vigor-8 nodded and twitched.
“Are you okay?” asked Jake.
“No.” Vigor-8 slammed the sides of its head with powerful metal hands. “I have a faulty chip and loose wiring. It makes me . . . unpredictable.”
“Do you want me to take a look?”
Vigor-8 stopped banging its head. “You will help me?”
“Yes,” said Jake. “I’ve never worked on a battle droid, but I’ve studied house robots on Remota. My friend is better with technology. He’s fixed loads of things on our ship—”
Jake stopped talking. He could hear footsteps approaching in the corridor.
“It’s about time,” muttered Granny Leatherhead.
The footsteps drew nearer and stopped outside the door.
“Stand clear!” shouted a guard through the window.
The door opened and seven more prisoners were herded into the cell, their clothes ripped and their faces bruised. It was Kella, Nanoo, and the rest of the crew.
“What are you doing here?” asked Jake in surprise. “What happened?”
“We were raided,” said Kella. “Security guards and spacejackers stormed the ship.”
“Spacejackers?” exclaimed Granny Leatherhead.
“Yes,” said Nanoo. “Not nice pirates. In red combat suits and black skull helmets.”
“The Crimson Hulls.” Farid spat on the ground. “That’s Scarabus Shark’s crew. What’s he up to?”
“But you were supposed to rescue us,” said Jake. “Who’s going to let us out now?”
Granny Leatherhead ha
d guessed that Papa Don would not give up the sword of Altus easily, so Jake had come up with a backup plan. If the four of them were arrested, the rest of the crew would break them out and cause a diversion, while Jake sneaked into Papa Don’s quarters to fetch the sword.
“There was nothing we could do,” insisted Maaka, who had a swollen eye and a bleeding lip.
It finally dawned on Jake that they were stuck in prison. Who knew how long Papa Don would keep them locked up. Weeks? Months? Years? His pulse quickened as he contemplated a life sentence. How was he supposed to stop a war and find his father from inside a cell?
The next hour seemed to last forever. Jake had never felt so trapped and frustrated. Whether he liked it or not, they were imprisoned and there was nothing they could do about it. He glanced at Kodan sitting on his bunk, unable to lie down because of his injuries. What was it about their family? Why did they both have uncles who wanted to kill them?
The cell seemed smaller with more people sharing it. Most of the crew rested on the bunk beds while Nanoo worked on Vigor-8. Kella kept checking Kodan’s oil burns, but there wasn’t much she could do without a crystal or a medical kit. Manik was worried about Squawk, who had escaped during the raid. Nobody dared to use the broken toilet.
Vigor-8 sat on the cell floor with its legs crossed and its head lowered so Nanoo could access the panel on the back of its skull. Nanoo tugged at multicolored wires and prodded dusty circuit boards in the dim light, using tools made from borrowed hair clips and bits of earrings.
Jake tried to think of ways to escape, but their options were limited. If only they had let Callidus and Capio know where they were heading.
“There, that do it,” said Nanoo, closing the panel.
Vigor-8 climbed to its feet and tapped its head. “I am no longer faulty?”
“I reconnect loose wires to stop twitching,” said Nanoo. “But your main processing chip is old and it need replacing. How you feel?”
“Feelings are irrelevant,” said Vigor-8. “My wiring is fixed and I have full control of my body.”
“That’s great,” said Jake. “Now all we have to do is break out of here. Where’s your crew?”