Breakout: (Space Outlaw 1)

by Dominique Mondesir

  Slamming his fists down against the work surface, he swallowed the scream of frustration that began raising its ugly head.

  Couldn't she see he was doing this for them? Couldn't she see the lengths he had gone to so they would be okay? Did none of it matter?

  Phoenix grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the kitchen counter and poured himself a large shot. Knocking it back in one, he poured himself another. Walking back out into the living room, he slumped down on his sofa. As he brought the glass to his lips, his eyes settled on one of the few pictures he had about the place.

  He was younger, with a smile that threatened to split his face in half. Dressed from head to toe in army gear, he had his arm wrapped around another young recruit. The smiles and laughter didn't last long, as he soon found out. But it had been fun while it lasted. However brief it was.

  He had messed up. He knew that now. But at the time, he was younger, brasher, more reckless. And it had cost him.

  If he could go back now and change it, he would. But that wouldn't do him any favours, nor would it solve his current problems. Few people knew the truth about what had happened. His parents and aunt had found out, but by then it was too late.

  He was always the problem child. The black sheep. As the elder, he should have known better but...somehow it never worked out that way.

  Knocking back the rest of the whiskey, he poured himself another.

  Pour.

  Knock back.

  Pour.

  Knock back.

  As the brown liquid burnt his throat and warmed his stomach, he cast his gaze around the room. Getting up on slightly wobbly legs, he made his way to another picture. Picking it up, he walked back towards his seat and stretched out across it.

  He looked down at the picture; his parents, arm-in-arm, smiled happily at the camera. His heart went out to them. He remembered when it was taken. They had gone away to the seaside, just the two of them on a couple's break. But this being England, it had poured rain.

  A few years later, everything had changed for the worse. They were gone like the last summer rays before winter swept in. They should have never trusted their friend. They should have never allowed him into their lives. They were always too trusting, always too caring. Willing to give the last pound they had to any sob story that got their ear.

  But he was different.

  He knew better.

  The lessons of life had engraved into Phoenix's soul that you never trusted anyone. That you never allowed anyone in. He didn't have friends, not really. He had acquaintances and people that he knew. But to trust them with his life, or even his money? Hah!

  That would be the day. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there. And whoever had the biggest teeth was normally the one that walked away with the biggest prize.

  As his eyelids collapsed in a heavy fog of drink and regret, Phoenix's grip on his glass became loose and it clattered to the floor.

  6

  Bang!

  Phoenix jerked awake from where he lay. Casting a blurry gaze around the room, he heard a sound but didn't know where it came from. Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he turned his head towards the direction of his front door when he heard another loud bang. As bits of wood made their way into his living room, Phoenix sat stunned for a moment before his brain clicked into action.

  Who the hell? Police?

  Nah, they had no evidence on him; he left the scene of the crime clean. He had made sure.

  Phil and John?

  Nah, those two fuckers couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery.

  Abdul?

  Shit! It had his style written all over it. Phoenix just didn't think he would have the balls to attack him on his home turf.

  Weapon?

  Bedroom. Too far. Idiot.

  He had always promised himself that he would be armed at all times when he was home. He had too many enemies, and being lax when he was at home wasn't a pleasure he could afford. Not a man like him.

  As these thoughts fired one after the other in his mind like a machine gun, he still hadn't moved. He bent over to pick up the now-empty whisky bottle from the floor. Missing it once, he tried again.

  Shit!

  He was still drunk as a skunk. Stepping forward, his bare feet found themselves in broken glass.

  "Argh!"

  Limping forward, he brushed away what he could, unable to tell if any had embedded themselves in his skin.

  As feet pounded into his living room, Phoenix surveyed the scene.

  Seven men stood in front of him dressed in the strangest uniforms he'd ever seen. They were jet-black all over with silver buttons. The shoulders and breast pocket of each uniform had a crest of a hand gripping what appeared to be chain-links that formed words. The letters seemed strange to Phoenix, alien. He must be worse off than he originally thought, because whenever one of the men moved, he could have sworn that the material of the uniform appeared to harden.

  "Just as I thought. Abdul doesn't have the balls to come face me, so he sent you goons here instead. Hah! What a pussy!" slurred Phoenix.

  "Silence!" shouted one man in the middle of the pack.

  As Phoenix stepped slightly forward, the men's appearance seemed off to him.

  "Well, ain't you all big boys. Where did Abdul find you fellas? At a bodybuilding competition? Let me tell you fellas something. If Abdul wants to deal with me, he better come and ask me himself whatever he wants to ask me. I don't have the foggiest idea why he would want to, but any questions can come directly from his mouth."

  "I said silence! Were you at an establishment last night called Omar's, which serves nutritious substances?" asked the brute in the middle in of the pack, whom Phoenix took to be the leader.

  "What business is it of yours?" said Phoenix.

  "It seems the simpleton doesn't understand the question, sir. I suggest we just take him."

  Phoenix interjected, "One, who you calling a simpleton? And two, you fools aren't taking me anywhere. Now if you fellas don't get the hell out of my apartment, then we are going to have a problem." Setting his feet apart and sinking his weight into his heels, Phoenix gripped the bottle firmly in his hand.

  I can take two. Maybe three at the most. Shit, I should have wired the money as soon as I got it.

  "Sir, look. The ear," one moron to his left said.

  "Ah, I believe we do have the right person. Take him. I have seen enough." As the man in the middle of the pack turned to walk away, the circle opened, allowing him to pass. Then it closed back in on itself.

  "You ain't taking me nowhere," snarled Phoenix.

  He didn't wait for them to react; he went on the offensive first. Taking a swing at the opponent closest to him, he connected solidly with the bottle. As it bounced off his head, the man staggered backwards and fell to the floor. Stunned at his actions, Phoenix took the opportunity to go on the attack. Swinging the bottle like a Viking warrior ready to do battle, he rushed the group. The bottle connected with a jaw, and another man yelled out in pain and sunk to the floor.

  The adrenaline coursing through Phoenix's body did its best to combat the effects of the alcohol, but it could only do so much.

  He saw a punch come from his right, but his movements were slow. Clumsy. Unsteady. Unstable. The punch connected with the side of his head and knocked him backwards, throwing him off his feet.

  Phoenix had been in his fair share of fights, both professional and street. But he had never taken a blow like that. He must have not seen correctly. He must have been hit by a weapon of some sort.

  Getting back to his feet as quickly as he could, he barely missed a kick that grazed his ribs. Gripping the leg with his free hand, he swept the other leg, and the attacker dropped on his back. Whiskey bottle still in hand and intact, Phoenix looked wildly about.

  "Come on then, you bastards!"

  Blood dripped down the side of his face and into his eye. He couldn't make out the scene too clearly. But he heard a voice that was unmistakable.

  "Su
rely it doesn't take this many of you to handle one common human. I must inform my father that the soldiers in his army are not worth the dirt I spit on. Hurry this up! I have a date with his lovely redhead."

  Phoenix's gaze snapped to the entrance of the apartment. One eye blurry, the other not much better, he just about made out the man from last night. Greasy mop of black hair. Overweight. Face that looked like it was always smelling something foul. It was him. What was his name?

  "Sorry, sir, he put up more of a fight than we thought."

  "You have weapons, don't you? Use them. By the stars, what are we paying you for?" said Greasy Mop.

  In a panic, Phoenix looked towards the men that surrounded him. He had to act quickly. Deciding that his best defence was offence, he rushed the men in front of him. Swinging the bottle for any heads, limbs, or torsos, he went at it like a madman.

  "Stun him!" shouted someone in the distance.

  As what felt like a thousand volts coursed through his soul, Phoenix convulsed uncontrollably. Feeling as if he were in slow motion, he felt himself collapse to the floor.

  Get up! Get up! You can't go out like this. They need you. Get up!

  Try as he might, Phoenix simply couldn't get his muscles to obey. Grunting in frustration, he tried to lift his head up but it was no use.

  A face as round as the moon filled his vision, and the smile that accompanied it made Phoenix sick to his stomach. The man lifted Phoenix's chin so they were eye-to-eye; Phoenix stared at his captor in defiance.

  "I want you to remember this face. I want you to remember this voice. When the days are indistinguishable, and you can't tell night from day, know this: I always get want I want. I always win. I will enjoy your red-haired woman. She will fight, at first. But pretty soon, her will and spirit will be broken. If not, know her screams will only excite me. Know that while she is unable to do anything but cry and scream, it will all be because of you. It will be your fault she will suffer what is about to come. But where you're going, I am afraid you won't be able to do anything about it."

  "Na...nam...name," slurred Phoenix as the walls of darkness slowly closed in.

  "Holger Portendorfer."

  I shall remember it well.

  Holger stepped away from the human body with disgust. As he turned to go the way he came, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

  "Sir, what do you want us to do with him?"

  "I have already told you, haven't I?" Holger snapped.

  "But sir, surely it would be easier just to terminate the body now?"

  Holger turned to face the commanding officer and slapped him hard in the face. The other members in the group busied themselves, or pretended not to see. No one said a word.

  "Do not question me! I told you what you should do, so do it! I really am getting tired of the lot of you. Wait till I tell my father what a worthless bunch of fools he has serving him. I could do a better job. Now take him to Dredar. I don't care about the cost, I don't care how you do it. It is a crime to attack a family of the Council of Six. If I had more time, I would torture him slowly. But I have more pressing matters to deal with." With eyes closed slightly, Holger licked his lips. "You did find her, didn't you?"

  "Yes sir," the commanding officer replied.

  "Good, good. Hmm." Holger wiped one corner of his mouth with his finger as a faraway gaze took over his features. Snapping back to the present, he smoothed his clothes down. "You didn't...damage her, did you?"

  "No sir."

  "Are you sure? I want no cuts, bruises, or marks of any sort. No, not yet anyway. Not yet."

  "No, sir. She was not hurt in any way."

  "Good. Good. Well, I'll be off now, to deal with...other matters. Make sure he makes it to Dredar. Tell the Warden he's a special gift from me."

  7

  Phoenix groaned as he tried to clear the fog clouding his mind. Eyes opening inch by inch, he tried to wipe the dribble that had made its way out of the side of his mouth, but found that he couldn't. He tried to lift his hands up again, but the effort proved useless. Eyes now fully opened, he saw why.

  They were handcuffed to the chair he sat in. Shaking the chains that bound him proved fruitless. They seemingly wouldn't come undone.

  Phoenix looked around in a wide-eyed panic and saw he was in some kind of vehicle. Two rows of seats faced each other, with a walkway aisle separating them. All the other chairs were empty.

  Where was he? More importantly, how the hell did he get here?

  Oh, that's right...

  He had been ambushed in his apartment by Abdul's goons.

  Wait. That's not right. Holger!

  It was that bastard's men who had gotten the better of him. The last thing he remembered was being hit with what felt like a high-powered taser. After that, everything went blank. Where were they taking him? He had been pretty sure he was being left for dead when he saw those eyes.

  He had come across people like that in his past, whose eyes told you how little they valued life. There were only ever two options when your path crossed theirs. You got the hell out of their way or you took them out as quickly as possible. They gave you no other choice; it was either you or them.

  Where were they taking him? It had to be far.

  It made no sense. Why would Holger even bother going to all this trouble?

  You're forgetting the fork to the hand.

  Of course.

  Phoenix had been around a lot of people who would have done far worse for far less. A simple insult could erupt into gang warfare if you were not careful. On the street, how people viewed you counted a lot more than who you actually were. He had learned that lesson quickly after leaving the army.

  Hah, left! Kicked out, you mean.

  "If they think I'm going to give up that easily, then they have another thing coming."

  Phoenix pulled the chains as hard as he could, testing if they had any weaknesses. They didn't budge. If breaking himself free wasn't an option, then he would have to slip them off by lubricating his hands with saliva. Working away at the chains intently, his focus was pulled away by movement to his left. Looking across, a door revealed itself in the metal paneling. It opened, sliding to one side.

  It was so well concealed that Phoenix hadn't noticed it at all before now.

  The door stayed open and something walked through. It looked human but not entirely. Although it had white skin, its nose was too flat and its ears too pointy.

  "What. The. Fuck," Phoenix uttered.

  The creature stood in front of Phoenix and tried to communicate with him. But whatever was being said Phoenix didn't get. It came out in a high whistle that hurt his ears. Phoenix backed up as far as he could go in his chair, a look of confusion plastered on his face.

  The alien continued to talk but soon stopped. Shaking its head, it went out the way it came.

  "This is just a bad trip, a side effect of the beating you took last night. You are dreaming. You are dreaming. You are dreaming."

  The alien came back out once again, but this time it held something in its hand. The item was long and sleek and had the body of a shotgun, with a handle and trigger to boot. But at the front of the barrel, it had two pincers forming a crown.

  Phoenix shook his head from side to side, not allowing the object to touch him.

  The alien waved its hand in the air in irritation. Pulling out a remote control, it pointed the device at Phoenix.

  As shocks from the chains securing Phoenix’s hands ran rampant through his body, Phoenix shook uncontrollably, eyes clamped shut against the pain. The shocks vanished as quickly as they'd come. Head lolling on his chest, Phoenix was unable to stop the drool that trickled out of his mouth. Feeling the pincers clamp on either side of his head, he was jerked forward.

  Forced to look ahead of him, Phoenix saw the alien pull the trigger.

  Phoenix expected pain, but was surprised when none came. Instead, he felt like cool liquid had been poured over his whole brain. The sensation didn't last long--second
s at the most. But he could still feel a tingling sensation as the device was removed from his head.

  The alien took a step back and placed its hands on its hips.

  "Now, where were we?" it asked.

  8

  "I am sure you have many questions as to the origins of you being here. Your species has not yet evolved to deal with the things you soon will face. So I am here to answer any questions you have. In return, I will ask a favour of you. But we must hurry, we have not got long."

  "Errr," said Phoenix, eyebrows raised to the sky. "Hmm. Err. Hmm."

  Phoenix closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. Reopening them, he stared at the alien before him. Shutting his eyes once more, he squeezed them tight before reopening them.

  "As you are still in front of me, I either must be dreaming, or be on some pretty strong drugs. Now I don't know which of those statements is true. But... I can tell you this. You must be out of your mind if you think I believe any of this is real," said Phoenix.

  "Why wouldn't it be real? You can obviously decipher from my appearance that I am not human. Which means there are either two possibilities. One, humans have been living with another species all along without knowing it. Unlikely. Or two, I am from another planet. Which seems the more likely to you?" asked the alien.

  "Errr, what?"

  "I must insist that you keep your voice down. Like I said, we haven't much time, so this meeting must be brief."

  "Okay, fine. Answer me this. If you are an alien, how can I understand you? I sure as hell can't speak Martian."

  "The inhabitants of Mars were a mighty warrior race that died out long ago. They destroyed their own planet with war. No, you can understand me because of this device." Pointing to the crown that had been clamped over Phoenix's head, he continued on. "It is a common tool among any species that can travel between the stars. It's simple, really. Once attached to the selected species, it rearranges their brainwaves so they can understand any language or dialect. It cures a simple problem that had been troubling many for a long time. Not only that, but it deciphers the subtleties of different languages--slang words, profanity, and the like--the word resembles something you understand in your own language."