The Starhawk Chronicles

by Joseph J. Madden

  Rahk’s lips curled up in a grin. He gestured around the docking port with one hand. “Harkonian corvettes are not that far removed from your old Whill-class cruisers, eh, my friend?”

  Charris’ lipless mouth parted in an imitation of Rahk’s smile. “I had the pleasure of serving on both craft during the war,” he said. “Despite its age, Malcontent will serve your needs quite nicely, I think. Yes.” He thrust his head forward ever so slightly. The dark braid atop his head, the only hair on his body, bobbed with the motion.

  Another Chinsharra, slightly shorter, approached at the same time that Kahr cleared the airlock. The two locked eyes and Rahk could feel the tension level in the area rise several notches. Kahr had a long-standing honor feud with Gall Bu’kel, and while no violence had ever escalated while they were working together, Rahk knew it was only a matter of time before one killed the other.

  To his credit, Kahr acted as though he had taken no notice of Gall, aside from that first tense stare. He stood silent at his brother’s side; though Rahk could tell from the way he carried himself that he was trying to make himself appear larger and more menacing than he really was.

  Rahk swept one hand down the corridor. “Come, friend Charris. Give me a tour of our new toy.”

  The Chinsharra bowed and turned, leading the procession down the corridor with Rahk at his side. Gall hung behind and just as Kahr walked past, Rahk overheard the whispered curse, “Kleezha g’shak bri’quil.”

  Kahr halted his stride. “This Kleezha dung worm will tear your ple’saking head from your neck.”

  Rahk was in motion even before his brother. As Kahr swung about with blade in hand, Rahk stepped between the two, intercepting his brother’s arm as it came down to strike Gall. Charris had moved as well, pinning the younger Chinsharra against the bulkhead.

  “My brother was merely joking, almighty Kahr,” Charris said quickly, his dark eyes stabbing into his brother’s. Gall relaxed his body, and Charris released him.

  Kahr continued struggling to wrest his arm away from Rahk’s vise grip. It was not until Rahk used his free hand to grab Kahr by the chin and force him to look into his eyes that Kahr stopped struggling. Rahk leaned in close.

  “I know of your hatred for Gall, Brother.” He whispered, “I, too, would love to avenge the insult he has lain upon our fine race, but now is not the time.” Rahk released his grip enough to see that his brother was not going to take advantage of the momentary lapse, and released him altogether. “Patience.”

  Kahr looked into his brother’s eye, and found reassurance there. He sheathed his knife, and spoke to Rahk in the same whispering tone. “I will be patient, brother, but I cannot guarantee if the time you speak of will come sooner, rather than later.”

  He straightened and stormed off down the corridor. Rahk watched him go, knowing that the time would come soon. Very soon.

  He turned back to Charris. Gall stood to one side and behind the Chinsharra leader, and though he spoke no more, the way he held himself told Rahk that the situation was far from settled. Seeing the smug look on the Chinsharra’s face made Rahk wish that he would be the one to take Gall down, but he would save that for Kahr.

  Rahk focused his gaze on Charris. “Come, my friend,” He placed a hand on the Chinsharra’s shoulder. “Show me what wonders my new command has in store for me.”

  *

  “It has to be an independent,” K’Tran was leaning back in his seat in the Starhawk’s galley, sipping coffee. “I figured some indies would catch on sooner or later.”

  “This hunter must have a contact either in the Guild or the Stenax prison,” Jesse replied, sitting on the end of the mess table, turning his own untouched cup of coffee around in his hands.

  “Gotta be that Ferret guy,” K’Tran’s contempt was undisguised. “I never did believe he wasn’t involved in that botched hunt for Coriche. You remember that one?”

  “How could I forget? I still smell cattle dung sometimes when the ventilators kick on.” Jesse turned to Bokschh, who stood quietly in a corner, absorbing every word. “Any way you can find out who this hunter is?”

  “That would be difficult, since we know so little about her, aside from the fact that it is a young human female,” Bokschh said. “More and more independents are joining the profession almost daily. It is doubtful that databases more advanced than mine can keep track of them all.”

  Jesse sighed, finally taking a sip of his drink. “So basically, we’re fighting on two fronts now. We’ve got the Nexus Gang to find, and we’ve got to do it before the competition does first.” He scratched his head in annoyance. “Something tells me I should have stayed in bed.”

  “Well, look at it this way . . .” K’Tran began.

  At that moment, Podo cut in over the ship’s speakers. “Jesse, we’ve got an explosion on the far side of the spaceport. Port authorities say witnesses saw two beings—a short, skinny Harkonian and a Wraith—escaping from the scene.”

  Jesse looked to K’Tran. “Skritz and Ho’jisk,” the older man concluded.

  “So Rahk left behind a diversion,” Jesse said. He slid off the table and punched the intercom talk button. “Tell Morogo to grab his gear and meet us at the hatch. Sneaker, too. We’re going to check it out.”

  *

  The explosion had occurred at a fuel depot for ground vehicles which lay in an almost straight line across New Providence from where the Starhawk was berthed. The blast had destroyed the facility, along with a gantry drone, three unfortunate workers, at least one customer, and several vehicles. The burned-out framework of the depot garage was all that remained, along with a gaping crater several meters across where the underground storage tanks had been.

  K’Tran cradled his rifle across his arms as he surveyed the wreckage. Emergency crews fought to contain the numerous fires still burning. Morogo stood behind him, a silent sentinel, his large ears and nose twitching alertly, searching for any sign of danger.

  “Damn shame,” K’Tran said, looking at the blackened, burning shell of a large touring aircar. “A lot of families gonna be mourning tonight. Damn slime eaters.”

  From across the way, Jesse, with Sneaker trailing along, appeared through the smoke and flames. His eyes were red and tearing from the smoke, and he had covered his nose and mouth with his bandanna.

  “It was our boys, all right.” he said as he drew closer. “The surveillance holos caught them running out just before the first blast. No idea which way they headed though.”

  “Port authorities are gonna be all over the place, sniffing them out,” K’Tran replied. “Our job just keeps getting tougher and tougher.”

  From behind them, a snout-faced Verba approached, the scaly gray skin of his face blackened from the smoke. His uniform, identifying him as an employee of the station, was scorched in several places. His long snout extended to point towards the trio. “You the hunters going after the Nexus Gang?”

  Out of the corner of one eye, Jesse could see Sneaker swivel his stun weapons in the man’s direction. Jesse waved him off.

  “That’s right. You know something about what happened here?”

  The Verba nodded. “I saw the chaz’raht that did this.” The snout retracted, then shot back out with a loud bleat, expelling a large glob of smoke-induced sputum. “I was coming back from my break when I saw them running for the old sewage plant just before the blast. That plant is only used on occasion now, but it still leads into the underground aqueducts. Plenty of places to hide in there.”

  K’Tran looked skeptical, shifting his weapon. “How come you didn’t go to the port police if you know this?”

  The Verba looked back at the wreckage; at the smoldering crater that had once been his place of employment, and his snout drooped in what Jesse assumed was a frown.

  “This was a family business. Two of my brothers were working in there when it blew.”

  Jesse understood the unspoken implication. Port police would detain the two suspects—if they could catch them at a
ll―question them, and hold them over for trial, if they were able to hold onto them. The way some of these backwater planetary governments worked, Skritz and Ho’jisk would escape, buy their way out, or simply walk out the door when no one was watching. The Verba wanted to ensure that did not happen. “We’ll get them,” Jesse told him.

  The Verba nodded, then turned and disappeared back into the clouds of black smoke. As Jesse watched him go, he asked over his shoulder, “Where is this sewage plant?”

  K’Tran was already working at his data pad and displayed a map of the area. “Not far. Half a kilo west of here.”

  “Then that’s where we go,” Jesse replied. “Contact the others. Tell them that . . .”

  He broke off in mid-sentence. He had been looking in the direction K’Tran had indicated. A gust of wind cleared the smoke away for a brief moment, and Jesse spotted a short, blonde woman, not much younger than himself. She was standing across the way, staring back at him, and favored him with what Jesse perceived as a cocky grin. The others spotted her as well. Sneaker gave off a questioning trill, swiveling his weapons in her direction.

  An explosion —a fuel tank from one of the incinerated vehicles that had not gone up in the initial blast— sounded off to their right, and they jumped with surprise, all eyes turning in that direction. When they turned back, the woman was gone.

  K’Tran eased next to Jesse. “Someone you know?”

  “Not personally,” he answered. “I think that was our mysterious lady hunter.”

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s a smell one doesn’t usually run towards, I’ll grant you that,” K’Tran commented, surveying the abandoned sewage treatment plant. He looked up at Sneaker, hovering just above Jesse’s shoulder. “Be glad you don’t have nostrils.”

  Jesse nodded his agreement. Though shut down for several years, the sickly sweet scent of rotting sewage still hung thick in the air. A thin sheen of slime coated the walls and floor.

  The filth and stench, however, had not been enough to ward off squatters. There were remnants of later inhabitants scattered about the two-story building. Garbage, food wrappers, and shreds of tattered bedding lay in just about every corner and crevice. In the center of the main chamber, the treatment vat ―easily large enough to accommodate the Starhawk―sat drained of its contents. Fungi and other growths living off the putrid, decaying rot that remained covered the vat now.

  “Perfect place for Skritz and Ho’jisk to set up house,” Jesse said. “Probably feels like home to them.

  A sudden banging of pipes caused them both to jump, and they saw Morogo at the far side of the vat, gesturing for them to join him.

  “You’d think that since he won’t talk, he’d find a better way to get our attention,” K’Tran grumbled.

  As they approached their hulking friend, they saw the cause of his excitement. A stairwell leading down around the outside of the treatment vat ended at a rusted steel door that hung open on one hinge. The other hinge had been broken off—and recently, judging by the fresh claw prints in the grime. In the darkness beyond, the sound of swiftly running water could be heard.

  “One of the service tunnels leading into the main sewer system,” K’Tran said.

  Jesse tried to move the heavy door to no avail. Even after Morogo took a try, the door refused to budge.

  “Whoever broke in here had to be incredibly strong to move that,” Jesse said, wiping his palms on his pants to clean them. “And I don’t think any squatters would want to get into the main tunnels, even if they could move it. The only one I can think of who had the strength and purpose to go in there would be Ho’jisk.”

  “Should we contact the others? We might need the whole team here to search. These sewers run for kilometers.”

  “No. I don’t think they went very far,” Jesse leaned forward, peering into the darkened tunnel. His voice echoed hollowly back at him from the depths. “This is too convenient. It’s obvious they want us to follow, so they’ll be waiting. I say a kilo, maybe two, and we’ll run into them.”

  Sneaker’s photoreceptors brightened and he floated past them into the tunnel, and proceeded to follow it for several meters. He stopped, turned and gave a decidedly negative sounding trill. Morogo’s skin looked a darker shade of green than usual. Jesse could not tell whether it was the stench or apprehension about entering the sewer. Vor’na’cik’s were a people given to fits of claustrophobia. Not that stumbling through darkened sewer tunnels chasing two psychopaths is my idea of a good time either. He tabbed on his commband. “Starhawk, this is Forster.”

  The reply came swiftly, garbled by static. “Kym . . . ere Jess . . . Sig . . . eaking up. Can you boo . . . ur gain?”

  “The superstructure must be disrupting the signal,” Jesse said. “If you can hear me, we’re going into the sewer system. We think Ho’jisk and Skritz are somewhere down here.”

  “. . . ead you, but your signa . . . king up mor . . . you want backup?”

  “Negative. We’ll handle it. If you don’t hear from us in one hour, then come in after us with everything in the ship’s armory. You got that?” His reply was a shrill burst of static so sharp it made him wince. He was uncertain if Kym had gotten that last instruction or not.

  “Well, guys, we’re on our own. Let’s get it over with,” He affixed a headlamp to the muzzle of his rifle, then stepped into the darkness.

  The smell inside the tunnel grew worse as they neared the sound of the water. Jesse breathed through his mouth, hoping to keep from smelling the awful reek, but the effect was minimal. The stench was so thick it was almost a physical thing. Worse, now he could taste it as well. He felt a wave of nausea, but fought it down.

  The tunnel ran several dozen meters, ending at a pressure door. Sneaker was waiting for them. Jesse found the growth-encrusted control panel to the side and punched the buttons. The door hesitated, slid halfway open, hesitated again, and then opened fully along encrusted tracks. The smell that hit them now was almost powerful enough to bring the three of them to their knees.

  “I am not going to enjoy this!” K’Tran gasped after a fit of choking. Taking the lead, sweeping the tunnel with his light, he preceded Jesse and Morogo into the tunnel, with Sneaker covering their rear.

  Pausing at the doorway, Morogo’s eyes grew large with anxiety. Jesse knew his friend had a fear of water. However, he knew so little of Morogo’s culture that he was uncertain whether his fear was personal or something shared by the entire race. Looking at his friend in sympathy, he said, “I know this won’t be easy for you but I doubt this gets any worse than waist deep. My waist, anyway. You should have no problem.”

  Morogo looked at him, then into the tunnel, then back at Jesse. For a long moment, Jesse thought his friend would continue to balk, but at last the Vor’na’cik nodded— warily. Patting his shoulder, Jesse turned and ventured into the tunnel.

  The slow moving waste of New Providence City flowed through a trough between two ledges on either side of the tunnel just wide enough for a person to get a shaky footing. K’Tran stayed to one side, while Jesse jumped over to the other. Morogo, his size being an advantage, straddled the trough of ooze by placing a foot on each ledge, his exaggerated caution slowing his advance. Behind them, the sewage flowed through a large metal grating. The way ahead of them looked clear for as far as their headlamps could illuminate.

  “Sneaker, you picking up anything?” He received a negative chirp in response. “Well, keep trying.”

  K’Tran shook his head. “If the structure plays havoc with the ‘hawk’s sensors, I don’t think he’ll have any better luck.”

  They proceeded along the tunnel, taking their time and investigating any crevice or spill pipe large enough for a being to crawl into. The only illumination, aside from their own lamps, came from the occasional maintenance lamp still running, or from shafts leading up to maintenance hatches in the streets above.

  K’Tran played his light up one such shaft. “You know, they could have gone back up t
o the street, leaving us down here to chase shadows.”

  Jesse shook his head. “No. They’re down here. I know it. It won’t be much longer.”

  Shrugging, K’Tran continued leading the way down the passage. Occasionally he would jump and curse, startled by the frightened squeal of sewer vermin that had gotten under foot. Eventually, the sewer began to curve and ended at a cross-junction, leading in opposite directions. There was no ledge here to walk on. “So which way do we go?” he asked.

  Jesse played his light down each end of the tunnel, and then paused, lost in thought. “Give me your data pad.” The display showed a schematic of the sewer system. “If I’m reading this right, either way leads to a larger spill area and a control room just above it. That’s where they’ll be waiting for us.

  Even in the dim light, Jesse could see the skepticism on K’Tran’s face. “How can you be sure?”

  “If I were setting an ambush, that’s where I’d do it.” He handed the pad back. “We’ll split up. Sneaker and I will take the left and you two take the right. They may not be expecting us to come from two directions.”

  Now it was K’Tran’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t think we should split up.”

  “If we all go in together, they can stay ahead of us indefinitely. If we go in separate, we have a good chance at catching them between us.”

  “All right, you’ve got a point. But if you get into any trouble, your old man will never forgive me,” K’Tran replied.

  Jesse smiled at the mention of his father. Even after all these years, K’Tran was still trying to play the role of protector to his friend’s son. “Don’t you worry about my father. I’ll talk to him about it next time I see him.”

  “Right.” K’Tran gave him a wry smile, and turned to Morogo, “C’mon big guy.”

  The three eased themselves into the knee-deep ooze with more than a little trepidation. The floor beneath them was slippery, even spongy in places. All of them cringed.