The Starhawk Chronicles

by Joseph J. Madden

  Just then, the lights on the bridge flickered on with a hum as power returned. Jesse looked around. “Thank you, Kym.”

  He moved to the pilot’s seat and began punching in commands to access the ship’s log. He scanned through the listings and chose those entries that occurred just before the escape from Stenax.

  Galactic regulations required that all prison transports have their entire flights monitored visually, with the exception of the crew quarters. Jesse had to cycle through a lot of extraneous information before he came upon the time index of the escape. He first chose the bridge viewer. The image was grainy and streaked through with bursts of static, indicating that the holographic recording system was in dire need of an overhaul. Still, the image was clear enough in spots to see what was necessary.

  “We should be coming up on the outer marker,” the co-pilot reported, looking puzzled. “At least, we should be. Where’s the damn signal beacon?”

  Captain Tiberius glanced over at his co-pilot’s controls, an eyebrow raised. He scratched at his scruffy salt-and-pepper beard. “That’s strange. Prison authorities are supposed to let us know of any signal change in advance. Scan through the frequencies and see if you can pick it up.”

  The co-pilot nodded. “Hold on. I think I have it.” A second later, a sputtering, chirping beacon signal came over the speakers.

  Jesse glanced at the time display in the corner of the screen, making a mental note of the exact time the new signal was heard.

  The next minute passed with idle talk, the co-pilot describing the surprise vacation that he planned to take his wife on for their anniversary. Then a burst of static over the inter-ship comm speakers and a shouting voice, cut off as suddenly as it started.

  “What the hell? That sounded like Boran,” Tiberius activated the ship’s comm. “Security, this is the bridge. Is there something wrong down there?”

  Silence.

  “Boran, this is Tiberius. Do you read?”

  Still no response. Tiberius switched through channels on an internal security vid like the one Jesse and K’Tran were watching. “There’s no picture from the brig.”

  The co-pilot started to rise, pulling his standard issue sidearm from its holster. “I’ll go check it . . .”

  The bridge hatch opened behind them, cutting him off. Neither had time to react. Kahr Garrakis and Trank stepped through, heavy laser carbines thrust before them. A quick spray of energy bolts and it was over. Trank raised his weapon, pointing it at the security camera. A quick flash and the picture turned to static.

  Jesse scanned through the other vids until he found the one from the brig. It showed the four guards that they had found slaughtered, three sat at their consoles, finishing the last of a meal; the fourth was standing near the forcefield controls, drinking from a coffee mug. What could be seen of the interior of the cell showed little movement.

  Jesse was not watching the action on the screen, but rather the time counter again. He waited until it reached the number he had taken note of earlier, and then slowed the video.

  At the same moment that the transport had received the new beacon signal, the security forcefield began to flicker. Then there was a flash and the field went dark. In slow motion, a muscled arm reached out, grabbing the nearest guard by the back of his uniform. With a yank, the guard disappeared inside the cell, coffee mug shattering as it dropped to the deckplates. As the other guards began to react, the prisoners flooded from the cell like an angry tidal wave of bodies, quickly overpowering the guards. Then the slaughter began.

  Jesse paused the vid, leaning back in his seat. “That’s how they did it. There must have been a signal piggybacked onto that beacon frequency that matched the forcefield’s signal.”

  “Also explains why they waited until they were almost at the prison to make their escape,” K’Tran added.

  The hatch behind them slid open, and they both reached for their weapons until they saw that it was Kym. To say that she looked haunted was an understatement.

  “I want to leave.” Her voice was tight, shaking with restrained emotion. “I want to leave right now.”

  Jesse was glad she had come in after they had played the video of the escape. Seeing the result was certainly bad enough. Rising from his seat, he switched off the recording. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They made their way through the corridors of the prison ship back to the open hatch. The storm outside had intensified, the winds nearly enough to knock them off their feet as they emerged, covering their eyes and faces once again. The Starhawk, sitting only a few meters away, was no more than a dark silhouette.

  “Podo and Morogo haven’t reported in yet,” Jesse said. “Must be interference from the storm. I just hope their locator isn’t affected by all this.”

  Kym pointed off in the distance, past the Starhawk. She shouted over the howling wind. “I think that’s them now.”

  A moment later, the two beings did indeed appear through the storm, looking completely miserable. “We did a complete circuit of the area for two kilos around here,” Podo said as they got close enough to hear. “We found nothing. If there was any trace, this storm covered it over.”

  “I agree,” Jesse said. “We’re not going to find anything here. Let’s get back on board and wait this thing out.”

  “If they were picked up by another ship, the spaceport tower in New Providence might have records of one headed out this way,” K’Tran offered, making his way back to the ship.

  “I was just thinking the same thing. We’ll head in as soon as the storm breaks,” Jesse replied, following his companions back towards the Starhawk’s gangplank. He shared their anxiety to get inside. His boots felt filled to the top with sand.

  He was just stepping onto the gangway when something caused him to stop. He stared back out into the whirling sands, trying for a glimpse of whatever it was that made him feel this way.

  He could see nothing through the raging sandstorm, but the feeling remained. Straining to listen against the howling of the wind, he thought he could hear, however faint, the whine of turbines in the distance. The sound faded, leaving only the wind.

  Shaking his head, he continued up into the ship.

  *

  Someone had indeed been watching, and more importantly, listening. Kayla Karson leaned over the controls of her hoversled, watching the infrared images of the Starhawk crew as they boarded their ship. She reached for the volume controls on the onboard audio booster and turned the controls to the max. She could just make out the words over the pelting of sand against the sled’s wind canopy.

  “ . . .aceport tower . .ew Providen . . ight have record . . this way.”

  Kayla smiled. The old man was right. The spaceport control tower would almost certainly have records. Too bad they decided to wait out the storm. They would be losing another lead to her.

  Switching engines out of standby mode, she turned the sled in the direction of the town of New Providence. Flying through a storm such as this was of no concern to her. She had designed her sled for just such a trip. By the time Forster and his crew arrived, she would already be on her way, tracking the Nexus.

  She glanced at the infrared monitor one last time. One of the crew was looking in her direction, drawn by the sound of the turbines. Smiling again, she put a slender finger to her lips, and then pressed it to the image on the screen. Too little, too late, she thought.

  Feathering the engines, she began the trip to New Providence.

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t like it, Rahk,” Kahr Garrakis rumbled, pacing the length of the cluttered bridge of the Dark Blood, tail swaying behind him, threatening to knock over anyone who drew too near. “I don’t like leaving Skritz and Ho’jisk back there as decoys.”

  “It was necessary to throw Forster off the scent until we can regroup.” Rahk leaned against a bulkhead, watching his brother with disinterest, wondering for the umpteenth time how his younger sibling had survived as long as he had. Kahr was the stereo
typical Kleezha hothead, his anger constantly getting the better of him. The Nexus Gang had perhaps lost more people to Kahr’s temper than to rival gangs or law enforcement.

  “I’d like to throw Forster off a cliff. That’s what I’d like to do.” Kahr stopped at the viewport, smashing a fisted claw into the clearsteel. “You should have let me stay behind instead. I would have slaughtered Forster and his crew before they knew what hit them. Leaving Skritz and Ho’jisk was like leaving children behind.”

  The comment drew attention from the co-pilot’s station; Khyber’s yellow eyes narrowing with anger through the lenses of his thick goggles. “That’s my little brother you’re talking about, Kahr.”

  “You have no need to remind me, Harkonian.” Kahr spat back, the muscles in his arms flexing. “I should have terminated his useless life myself long ago and spared Forster the trouble.”

  Khyber flew from his seat, two long fighting knives appearing in his hands from seemingly nowhere. Though he was a good half-meter shorter than Kahr, the Harkonian made up for the deficit with sheer brainless bravado. “Maybe I’ll save Forster some trouble of my own.” he raged.

  The two leapt across the bridge at one another. Rahk was between them, catching each by the throat before they could strike. Tossing them in opposite directions, they each slammed into a bulkhead, stunned. Looking down on them, Rahk saw the slightest trace of fear in Khyber’s eyes. Kahr glared with undisguised contempt.

  “You damned fools.” Rahk’s low rumble was more intimidating than if he had shouted. “You think there is nothing better to do than fight amongst ourselves? We have a job to do. When that is finished, then the two of you may rip each other to shreds for all I care. For now, you do exactly as I say. Any more of this pathagh and I shall disembowel you both myself.”

  Rahk continued standing over them both, anticipating a challenge; expecting one from his brother. He was met with silence. Still, Rahk knew not to drop his guard just yet. His brother’s bloodlust was well known, as was his overwhelming sense of personal honor. He offered Kahr his hand, half expecting his brother to try to cut it off. He was more surprised when Kahr accepted it.

  Rahk knew now that he must forever be on his guard against his brother. When Kahr went against his nature, he was even more dangerous.

  Nevertheless, Rahk helped his brother to his feet. Kahr stared into his good eye, one side of his mouth curling into a snarl. Rahk ignored the gesture, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Patience, Brother, is a virtue.”

  “Patience,” Kahr spat, yanking away. He stomped across the deck, tail twitching with rage. “I want Forster. I want to tear his innards out with my claws as he watches.”

  “We will share that opportunity, Brother. This I promise you.”

  From the communications console, the insectoid Tesk clicked his mandibles to gain their attention. “The Malcontent has come out of hyperspace. She is hailing.”

  Rahk turned from his brother to gaze out at the other ship hanging before them, a cruel smile playing across his lips. “You see, Brother? Everything is going according to design. Tesk, order them to come alongside.”

  As the Mantilorian buzzed his compliance, Rahk took a step towards his sibling. “Soon you and I will pay back the vaunted Captain Kid for all he has put our family through.”

  “Then we will feast on his heart.”

  *

  At four stories tall, the New Providence spaceport control tower was the tallest structure in the city. Most of its computers and tracking equipment were still the originals that had been installed when the tower was constructed nearly a century earlier. The windows that looked out over the docking bays were scratched and pitted from years of enduring the planet’s seasonal sandstorms.

  The spaceport controller looked to be as old as the building and equipment around him. Dressed as he was in tattered blue jeans and worn flannel shirt, a floppy hat and tangled gray beard that covered most of his leathery, brown face, he looked like the stereotypical prospector from old Earth history. He gave Jesse a weary look through eyes turned yellow from too much unprotected exposure to the sun.

  “You know what kind of job I’d have if I had to keep track of every ship that crossed this rock? It’s tough enough just keeping track of the scheduled flights. Do you see anyone else up here?” He waved a hand around the tight confines of the tower. “You don’t, do you? That’s ‘cause I’m all alone up here. City Gov’s too cheap to hire any more hands or get a blasted drone to do this.”

  Jesse and Podo exchanged looks. Jesse opened his mouth to speak, but the old man cut him off.

  “I watch only local airspace.” he said, “Anything outside city limits can pretty much do as it pleases. Don’t much give a damn if they all crash, s’long as it’s not in my jurisdiction while I’m on watch.”

  Jesse nodded at Podo, who reached into a pouch on his belt, and produced a small satchel of credits, dropping it on the console before the old man.

  “You do, of course, have your computer keep in touch with the other tracking stations in the other cities?” Jesse asked. “Surely they pick up all the outlaw traffic, even if you don’t. There’s bound to be records.”

  The controller eyed the satchel, scratching at his chin with a gnarled hand. He shot Jesse another look. “The mainframe’s like me. Gets temperamental whenever you ask it for somethin’ out o’ the ordinary.”

  Jesse looked to Podo and nodded. Rolling his eyes, Podo produced another satchel of credits, placing it next to the first one. The old man’s eyes lit up. “Maybe I can coax somethin’ outta the old girl after all.”

  He struggled out of his chair and took his time hobbling over to a dust-covered terminal across the room. As he passed by, both Jesse and Podo wrinkled their noses at the pungent scent of onions mixed with body odor that the old man exuded. Podo leaned close to Jesse with a conspiratorial whisper. “If the computer’s even half as slow as this guy, we could still be here tomorrow morning.”

  The controller whirled, stabbing a finger at Podo. “Listen here, Lintball. Ain’t nothing wrong with my hearing. I’ve been jockeying ships around this here port since before you were an itch in your daddy’s pants, or . . .” Looking Podo up and down, he shrugged. “Wherever your kind keeps ‘em. So you just mind yourself.”

  Podo visibly shrank under the tongue-lashing. Jesse nudged him. “Way to go, Fuzzy.”

  The controller turned back to the terminal and began punching in the request. The computer was soon printing out a hardcopy of the last three-day’s traffic. The old man tore off the sheet and handed it to Jesse. He and Podo scanned the pages and found what they were looking for on the third page.

  ContactX1283---Contact Lost 1304 hrs.

  Last Coords. 297 x 128.65

  Distress Signal – Negative

  No further action required.

  Transport “Dark Blood”----Departed N. Prov. Spaceport 1255hrs.

  Contact Lost 1320hrs.

  Last Coords. 297 x 128.65

  Distress Signal—Negative

  Contact Reestablished 1402hrs.

  “Dark Blood,” Podo all but shouted, “That was one of their freighters. But it was supposed to be impounded.”

  Jesse nodded. “There are a lot of supposed-to-be’s where the Nexus is concerned. At least we know they were picked up outside and taken off planet without coming back here or to the other ports. The Dark Blood’s engine signature should still be easy enough to trace. We have it on file. Now we have a starting point, at least.” He waved the pages at the old man. “Thanks for your help.”

  Jesse and Podo started down the steps when the old man called out. “Damn unusual getting the same request twice in one day.”

  Jesse and Podo stopped halfway down the steps. Looking at each other, they turned in unison to look back at the old man. “Twice?” Podo asked.

  The controller nodded so enthusiastically, he nearly shook the hat from his head. “Who was the first?” Jesse asked.

  A shrug of shoulders
, and the old man flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Didn’t catch her name. Pretty little thing, though.” He crooked a finger at Jesse. “Probably about your age. Said she was a hunter, like you. Was here about an hour ago, lookin’ to see about any outlaw traffic cruisin’ the wastelands.”

  “And you told her?” Podo asked.

  A wheezing chuckle. “Of course I did. Information here ain’t classified or nothin’.” Another chuckle, and his grin turned lecherous “Couldn’t charge her, though. Just lookin’ at a pretty thing like her was good enough for me.”

  Podo looked at Jesse. “Nord said we’re the only team on this.”

  “It’s not like Nord to lie. Must be an independent,” Jesse replied. “Somehow she got a line on our hunt.”

  “Terrific. Like this isn’t going to be hard enough.” Podo sighed. Looking to the old man, he reached into his pouch for more credits. “How much for you to remember her name?”

  “Ain’t a question of credits, Fuzzy. Like I said, I never got her name.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be meeting up with her, whoever she is, soon enough,” Jesse said.

  The old man’s chuckling followed them onto the street outside.

  *

  “So good to see you again, my Lord Rahk,” Charris Bu’kel crowed in greeting as the crew of Dark Blood boarded Malcontent through the docking hatch.

  Rahk stepped up to Bu’kel and regarded the Chinsharra through his one eye. Bu’kel towered over Rahk by nearly half a head, but his gaunt, rail-thin body lessened his impressiveness. The Chinsharra was clothed in his people’s traditional warrior garb, barely more than a woven loincloth and a pair of baldrics that crossed his muscular, sinewy chest. The deep magenta of his clothing contrasted with the pale yellow-orange of his flesh.

  The Chinsharra were a warrior race, often selling their services as mercenaries. Their bloodthirsty ways served them well when they had allied themselves with the Harkonian Empire in the war against the Confederation years earlier. When hostilities ended, and with no major conflicts anywhere, many of them sought out and joined organized crime syndicates to practice their ways. Rahk found much use for Charris and his like, employing them in a wide variety of jobs within the Nexus.