“Do not judge yourself too harshly,” the alien added, letting its head lean back against the gurney’s padding. “He is an altogether unpredictable human being. Which is, to my mind at least, a considerable thing.”
King removed his uniform tunic as he stepped into the interrogation room and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Is that a criticism of your friend?”
“An observation. Perhaps a critical one, but also one of admiration.”
King opened the tigerwood case containing his antique surgical equipment. “Oh? You are actually capable of admiration?”
“Certainly. I am a scientist, after all. I am filled with wonder and awe every time I witness something new, unusual, or anomalous. I believe the more prosaic of you humans call them… miracles.”
King scoffed. “You think your Star Warden is a miracle?” His hand hovered over the array of shiny steel scalpels, skinning knives, and amputation saws. He wondered whether something more severe was now in order.
“I said prosaic humans might think so. In fact, I have met several who do. What about you, Commandant? What do you think of the Last Star Warden?”
King turned back to face the alien. He frowned. “Me? I think he is a madman with delusions of grandeur. I think he is an egomaniac feeding on his ever-growing legend. I think he would be nothing without your help and your technology, Quantum. I think he stirs up trouble where there is none and then makes a name for himself when he ‘saves the day.’ Just like the riot he started in the mess hall, leaving the inmates to clean up his mess and you to suffer for his stubbornness.
“In a word, I think him a nuisance.”
The alien smiled. An actual smile. “He certainly can be. I have seen him stand and fight when the logical option is to flee, and I have seen him surrender when fighting would provide the better chance for success. When he makes these irrational decisions, his only defense is simply to say, ‘It is the right thing to do.’ What I find so maddening is the fact that, more times than not, he is usually correct.
“Yes, my friend can be a nuisance at times. But he is, in my estimation, a significant variable in the cosmic equation. A particularly important and positive variable that balances out a great many negative integers.”
King picked up a pair of chrome-plated snips. “For example?”
“Why, you, of course.” The one-eyed, blue-skinned alien smiled wider. “When all is said and done, the Warden will remove you from the cosmic equation, Commandant. So do your worst while you can, you will not get my secrets. And if you do not seek atonement, you will most certainly pay for the crimes you have committed.
“My friend will see to that.”
King’s face rippled with rage as he raised the snips to the alien’s three-fingered left hand. The rage grew stronger when he saw the Mechtechan watching him with that same passive, detached expression.
---
The Warden opened his eyes and groaned.
He sat on a chair covered with a bedsheet. His wrists were encased in gravity shackles in his lap. Directly across from him sat the blonde first officer, “Braun” stamped in red on the left side of her black riot vest. She held a blaster pistol leveled at him.
He glanced around the room and saw they were in a rather spartan berth.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I hate to disappoint you, Ms. Braun, but I’m not in the habit of entering a young lady’s quarters on the first date.”
She smirked. “Plucky for someone who looks like he just crawled out of hell on his belly. Pluckier still for someone with a pistol aimed at his heart.”
The Warden smiled. “That first bit is a pretty accurate description of the past few days. As for the second part…” he shrugged. “Well, let’s call it an occupational habit.”
She shook her head. “You’re the real deal, aren’t you? The honest-to-Cosmos Last Star Warden. ‘The Specter of Sinister Space.’”
The Warden stretched his neck, tested his muscles. The cramps were greatly diminished, and he didn’t feel quite as dehydrated, but he was still famished. A glance at his filthy spacesuit explained the bedsheet. “Well, to be honest, you’re not catching me on one of my better days. I usually cut a much more dashing figure… So, why am I here and not back in Hogan’s cell or locked up in solitary or something?”
Braun’s delicate brow furrowed and she chewed her lower lip. “Because, Warden, you have brought me to a crossroads in my career.” She absently flicked the weapon. “Or rather you find me at one to which I’d already come.”
The Warden nodded. “I’m listening.”
Braun placed the blaster on the small table between them and stood. She paced around the tiny room as she spoke. “My parents were ex-Star Cav. After they got out, they scraped together some money and bought an old Housecarl-class freighter. Dad pulled some strings to get a contract hauling supplies to Cav forts along the Frontier. Somewhere along the way, they decided to add kids to the mix. Me first, then a year later, my brother Helge.
“By the time I was old enough to enter Star Cav Academy—my dad’s biggest dream was that his kids would be officers and not grunts like him—we had three ships, and my folks were about ready to retire to the Civilized Worlds and run the business end of things. Helge would enroll in the academy the following year. But before that, they had one last haul before handing things over to a hired crew.
“I was in my first month at the academy when I got the news.” Braun stopped and stared down at the Warden. “The Silver Knuckles hit them just as they exited the ERB in the Sigma Prime system. It was three days before Star Cav realized the shipment was late and sent out a search party… Three whole days. The Knuckles had taken their time with them. There were no open caskets at the funeral…”
The Warden watched the hatred and pain pour out of the woman, could feel it. “The Silver Knuckles. They used to run this prison from the inside, right?”
Braun’s blue eyes flicked as if suddenly remembering he was in the room. “Yes. And as soon as I heard what King did to those bastards, what Star Cav had failed to do, I left the academy and came here. I’ve been devoted to him ever since.”
The Warden kept his eyes on her, knowing the pistol within easy reach was a test. “But now you’re having second thoughts. You’ve seen King for what he is, a madman and a sadist.”
“He’s a monster.” Braun narrowed her eyes. “I’ve always known he didn’t really respect me, but he did appreciate me. And that used to be enough…
“I even accepted his corruption and graft, somehow convincing myself he deserved the money for what he’d done to the Silver Knuckles, what he continued to do to the worst criminals in the galaxy… And so long as I believed that the men on this ship, the prisoners, were the worst in the galaxy…”
Braun shook her head. “But after seeing what he’s willing to do to the guards who have been so loyal to him, after seeing what he did to your alien friend—”
The Warden sat up. “Quantum? What has he done to him? Is he still alive?”
Braun frowned. “Yes. He has something King wants, and King is far too thorough and patient to kill him before he gets it. That’s the tragedy of it. Your friend Quantum’s regenerative abilities make him the perfect plaything for King’s insatiable cruelty. I can’t imagine…”
The Warden tried to stand, felt his head go light and fuzzy. Colors zipped across his vision. “I’ve got to get him out of there. I've got to stop this...”
Braun put a hand on his shoulder to steady him in the chair. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had about three more rounds of hydro meds.”
“You don’t understand. King wants access to Mechtechan technology. If he gets it, he could tear a hole in reality. Trust me, you don’t ever want to see that.”
Braun raised her chin. “Fine. As soon as you can stand up without falling over, you can go save the universe and your friend. But you’re not going alone.”
---
“We’ve cleared out all of Tartarus,” J
ericho said. The armored brute smelled of filth and burnt petrol. They’d used flamethrowers to complete the sweep of the lower decks. “There’s nothing alive down there. No sign of the Star Warden. Can I dismiss the two teams you’ve got guarding the interrogation room?”
King sat at his desk, hands stained with purple blood folded on the glass-topped mahogany wood. He shook his head, wondering how this endeavor had gone so terribly wrong. He had paid the bounty hunters a small fortune—a wise investment given the prize to be gained. He had purchased the bogus Star Cav ident codes from a reliable, if pricy, black-market dealer, and had even authorized the expansion of his security staff in the weeks leading up to the capture.
“And he still won’t talk.” King glanced at the small stainless steel bowl containing three blue fingers and sighed. “No matter what I do to him, he still won’t give me an inch. I can’t deprive him of sleep, he seems to need little if any food, and he is all but impervious to pain.
“I’ve never encountered anything that I can’t break to my will…”
“Sir? The teams?”
King looked up at Jericho, realizing he was still there. “No sign at all? Not a fresh corpse, a shred of blue spacesuit, a square-jawed skull? Nothing?”
Jericho shook his massive head. “No, sir. He’s just vanished.”
King slammed his fist on the desk. “Impossible! I’ve heard what they call him, but the man is not a ghost! He is still on this ship somewhere, and you need to find him. The sooner, the better. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Jericho bowed and turned to leave.
“Put another team on the interrogation room. And tell Braun I want to see her!”
Alone in the office, King’s eyes drifted to the huge flickering painting of The Battle of Draconus Prime. “If I can’t force this Mechtechan to give up its secrets, I’ll have to buy them. But the only thing it wants is the Warden’s freedom… Or is it?”
Snapping his fingers, King grabbed his tunic and headed for the interrogation room. The stick had failed miserably, so it was finally time to try the carrot.
The right one this time.
---
After the hydros, a nutrient bar, and a hot shower, the Warden felt somewhat human again. He hadn’t wanted to waste time on the ministrations, but Ilsa Braun had insisted. And since he had no chance of success without her help, the Warden had reluctantly complied. She had even retrieved a new spacesuit, visor, and his gun belt from the Ranger VII while he showered.
“All right,” he said buckling on the twin Comet blaster pistols. “Let’s go get Quantum.”
Ilsa still wore her riot gear and sidearm. She gave him an approving smile. “You’re right, you do cut quite a dashing figure on your better days.”
The door chirped, slid open. Jericho entered without waiting for an invitation.
For a moment, the three of them stared at each other.
The Warden reached for his right Comet, but Ilsa was in the line of fire.
Jericho drew his own blaster.
“No!” Ilsa grabbed the guard’s hand and tried to disarm him. Jericho lifted her off the deck easily, tossing her into the wall with enough force to dislodge the framed pictures.
In the same moment, the Warden launched himself across the tiny berth. His right hand locked around Jericho’s throat. His left grabbed the gun-wielding wrist. His right knee drove into the guard’s armored groin.
The onslaught knocked Jericho off balance and into the opened doorframe but had little other effect. The big guard grinned before his left fist came down on the Warden’s right trapezius. The blow knocked the Warden’s right hand loose, his entire arm going numb.
Hooking his right heel behind Jericho’s, the Warden threw his weight into the man’s midsection. Jericho, already off balance, tripped and went down, the Warden still gripping the blaster-wielding wrist for all he was worth.
The two grappled on the deck, exchanging short, ineffectual blows. Each moment Jericho’s greater strength slowly brought the blaster pistol closer and closer to the Warden’s face. Looking up, the Warden realized Jericho’s head was across the sliding door’s threshold.
Spinning his torso across the big guard’s breastplate, the Warden kicked the door control panel. The PlaSteel door slid from its wall sheath and slammed Jericho’s skull into the doorjamb with a sickening crack.
His eyes rolling back into his head, the big man went limp. The blaster fell to the floor.
“Is he dead?” Ilsa stood above the Warden as he struggled to regain his breath.
The Warden hauled Jericho into the room and checked his pulse. “No. But he’ll have a heck of a headache when he comes to.”
Taking the gravity shackles from Jericho’s belt, he locked the unconscious guard’s hands behind his back. Then, fetching Ilsa’s set, he used them to bind Jericho’s feet. “I don’t know how long he’ll be out. Can’t have him sounding an alarm before we’re done.”
Ilsa stared at the unconscious Jericho, strange emotions in her eyes. “I know you must think him no more than King’s thuggish henchman. I suppose to a certain extent, he is.” She looked at the Warden. “But he’s also a kind and innocent soul. I think King took advantage of that innocence and made him into the brute you now see.”
The Warden dusted off his suit and checked his pistols. “Yet another crime for which Stanislaus King must pay.”
Ilsa nodded. “Yes. Since Jericho is here, maybe King is alone in his office. Come on.”
The Warden followed the first officer through the narrow corridors of the prison ship. Surprisingly, they encountered no staff or guards.
Ilsa commented on this. “I’m guessing those not on duty are hunkered down in their quarters. If they’re not afraid of you, they certainly are of what King might force them to do in order to find you.”
“Quite the inspiring leader. Though I suppose it is easier to cultivate morale and loyalty when everything is in your favor.”
King’s office was locked, but Ilsa knew the passcode, and they moved quickly inside the luxurious room. The Warden was stunned at the opulence nestled in the heart of such a hellish place. Thick carpet and marble flooring, walls paneled in exotic wood, antique furniture, and a bookshelf filled with rare leather-bound tomes. Trappings that would have been considered “retro” even in his own time. But he was almost overcome by the faithful three-dimensional rendering of the greatest conflict of his life.
“He’s not here.” Ilsa stepped to the desk. “Oh, my Cosmos…”
The Warden turned from the painting to see what had drained the color from her face. His jaw and fists clenched when his gaze fell on three severed blue fingers in the stainless steel bowl. With shaking hands, he unbuckled his gun belt.
“What are you doing?” Ilsa looked at him.
Carefully placing the twin Comet blasters on the leather seat of the high-backed chair, the Warden took a deep breath. “If I’m wearing those when I see King, I might just kill him. And that would not be justice.”
Ilsa frowned as she pulled up a report on King’s desk. “You might reconsider that. He’s tripled the guard on the interrogation room. There’s thirty of Jericho’s best men in riot gear, armed with blaster carbines between us and your friend. I’m betting the Commandant is there as well.”
“Any chance you can get them to stand down?”
She pulled up another program on the desk. “No. Based on the command log, they’ve been instructed to answer directly to King alone. But I can help with the odds, somewhat.”
She brought up another menu and typed in a few commands. “One thing about prison-issue blasters, they all have a kill-code linked to their serial numbers, in case a weapon is captured by an inmate. I can access the kill program and neutralize those blasters, but the men will still have their stun batons.”
The Warden dragged his gaze away from his friend’s severed fingers. “Even without blasters, the two of us are no match for thirty armored men… But I have an idea.”
<
br /> ---
“Ah, Commandant King. I thought we’d seen quite enough of each other today.”
King forced a smile as he entered the interrogation room. “I fear, Quantum, that you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. And I am fully prepared to admit that this is entirely my fault.”
The alien tilted its head magnanimously. “That is… very big of you. And also a completely correct assessment of our current situation.”
King pulled a hover chair over to the upright gurney. He kept the smile in place as he admired his handiwork. The Mechtechan was now a pale shade of turquoise, missing its left eye, all the fingers from its left hand, its right antenna (the replacement left was still regenerating), and its right ear. Its naked body was covered with purple scars and bruises in various shades of violet.
And yet Quantum’s undersized mouth returned his smile.
“I have a proposition for you,” King said. He reached into the wall-mounted med kit and withdrew a hypo filled with a universal health booster. “Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”
The Mechtechan watched as King injected it with the dose designed to accelerate the natural healing process. “I have already declined your offer of financial gain, and you have failed to locate the Star Warden in order to grant his freedom… Unless that situation has changed?”
King shook his head and tossed the empty hypo into the recycle bin. “No, I’m afraid it is most likely that the legendary Last Star Warden is now just that, a legend and no more.”
“I believe that assessment is the latest of your many false suppositions, Commandant.”
King fought the snarl he felt curling his lips. “What I’m talking about, Quantum, is giving you what you really want. What you desire more than anything else.” He leaned forward and stared hard into the one remaining grey eye. “You want to go home.”
The alien’s silence was King’s first real success since he’d strapped the thing down in this room.
The Last Star Warden - Tales of Adventure and Mystery from Frontier Space - Volume 1 Page 15