by Reagan Woods
“Flight tutorial commencing,” the computer came back smoothly. Apparently, curse words and sarcasm weren’t in common use on this ship.
Nora buckled down and prepared to get to work with her humorless coach. It was going to be a long few days at this rate.
Chapter 20
Hours later, Nora’s head spun with equations and calculations. Angle of entry, flight trajectory, docking speed, cruising speed…there were so many terms she didn’t know. The computer had provided definition after definition, working backwards in complexity iteratively until it found something she could understand and build from. At this rate, she figured she would know all there was to know about flying this ship sometime after her three hundredth birthday.
“Computer, can you save my progress? I need a break,” she requested, using her fingertips to press against her puffy eyelids.
“Affirmative. Progress marked.”
“Thank you,” she muttered. She’d been trying not to treat the system as a person, but it was difficult not to humanize the only voice she heard.
Mentally wrung out, she pushed to her feet. Lyon had shown her an entertainment room two decks down. That was where she was headed.
After plowing through some of the basics on the simulator, she had a better understanding of the ship and its layout. Before, she’d seen it as amorphous, following no real pattern. Some of that was probably because she was busy trying not to look at the grotesque artwork, she admitted.
Now, she saw the ship for what it was: a Class Three pleasure cruiser with a dynamic outer shell designed for weapons and shields upgrades. Basically, it was shaped like an almond. The cockpit sat in the small point on the topmost deck – deck three. From the cockpit, one could access a corridor that led to seven luxury staterooms, a medical area, a kitchenette and a storage closet. In this case, the storage closet had been converted to the cell she’d been stashed in when the priests had brought her aboard. She had to assume the seven staterooms were for the big-deal priests and their guests.
There were two decks below the main one and a hold that were accessible by a lift from the far end of the main deck’s corridor. On the plans, she had also seen an old-fashioned spiral staircase leading from the cockpit down. She’d spent several minutes searching for the corresponding stairs on the flight deck to no avail. She had to conclude they’d been removed to make more room for the pilot and co-pilot to move about.
Because the ship widened significantly on the lower decks, the main corridor on each was teardrop shaped rather than a straight line or a circle. On deck two, the outer part of the teardrop consisted of smaller cabins that must’ve been for minor priests. The inner part of the teardrop housed the larger, more sophisticated medical area and the kitchens. After finding the aliens on ice and missing vital pieces, she realized there was probably a good reason for keeping their medical facility so close to the kitchens.
She shuddered. Zocan and Lyon had separately assured her that the ration bars were meat-free but it still weirded her out to think of cannibalistic priests running around and carving people up. Yuck.
Nora stepped out of the lift on the first deck and did a cursory sweep of the area. This deck also had a gym of sorts and several tiny cabins for the ship’s crew. The lights remained on low power since the ship was docked. The dim, gray atmosphere gave everything a feel of surreal gloom. Nora shook off the melancholy and headed for the entertainment area.
Palming into the room, she tested the voice commands to be sure everything responded to her voice here, too. “Increase light setting for entertainment area to one hundred percent.”
Her hands flew to cover her eyes as the sudden brightness blinded her. “Uh…decrease light setting for entertainment area to eighty percent.” She whistled out a relieved breath as she did a three-sixty turn to take in the unrelieved white. Here, there were no overt tributes to the bloodthirsty goddess. The walls, floor and even the ceiling were smooth and unadorned. Not a scuffmark marred the cushiony, rubber-like floor.
Lyon had quickly walked her through how to setup and use the room. This would be her first solo attempt. During his succinct tutorial, she’d caught a glimpse of a lovely beach scene. That was the ultimate finish for a day like this one. She would unwind on the beach for a few minutes and then head up to bed.
“Give me the beach scene from Ho-Ling Three at sunset,” she requested.
Sugary-cool, pink sand materialized beneath her feet. Turquoise waves frolicked lazily at the shore and a huge red sun cast long reflections over the water. The air went from the dry, faintly antiseptic smell she associated with the ship to flowery sweet with a touch of salt.
Charmed by the scene, Nora dug her toes into the powdery sand and relaxed. Looking left and right, the beach seemed to stretch on for miles. She didn’t bother to turn around and check behind her. Instead, she gave in to the spell cast by the water. The lapping waves were warm and inviting, so she stripped off her makeshift gown and slipped into the caressing warmth.
Living in the Outside meant she hadn’t had many opportunities to swim. Travelling caravans might make camp around a lake every so often, but that was a good way to get captured so they tended to stick to defensible areas instead.
Once, when she was very young, her father had snuck her to a lake to teach her the basics of swimming and floating. He’d assured her it was for her survival and nothing more, but she knew he had enjoyed their time splashing and playing in the water as much as she had.
When she was older, they had traveled to the beach. The stench had been overpowering, rotting carcasses of animals littered the sandy shores. The bombings and warfare that mankind had used on one another had spilled over into the marine world, obliterating masses of sea life.
Her parents had been sad to see what had become of the coast. That night, they’d sat around their campfire and told stories of times when people would go to the beach, sip fruity cocktails and relax under the sun’s warm rays. She missed her parents fiercely.
The lung sickness had spread like wildfire through the population of their little caravan. Both had taken ill with the first wave and died in the night. There hadn’t been time to grieve, too many of the caravan were falling ill. She’d left them in hopes of obtaining medicine from one of the nearby forts. Instead, she had been picked up by the CORANOS Hunters within days of leaving the campsite.
So, here in deep space, she would relax and watch the sunset on a tropical beach and think fond thoughts of the people who had made her what she was today.
Chapter 21
Nora wasn’t sure what woke her. One moment she was floating on her back in the sea. In the next instant, she was alert and on her guard.
A soft noise, a ping, followed by the bored tones of the ship’s emergency warning system sounded beneath the soft splash of the waves against the shore.
Immediately, Nora pushed to her feet. “Scene end,” she commanded quietly.
The dipping sun and sultry sand vanished in a jarring instant leaving her shivering in the sterile room.
The warning sounded again.
“Computer, translate warning to the entertainment deck only.” She knew that the translation program sometimes broadcast her requests and translations. Now was not the time for the glitch to give her away. Until she knew what she was dealing with, she didn’t want to take the risk of making her presence known.
“Intruders detected,” came the abrupt reply.
Her mind raced in a million different directions, but she surprised herself and kept calm. “Computer, where are the intruders?”
“Intruders are in the lift travelling up from the hold.”
Nora pulled the little razor Lyon had gifted her out of the fold at her waist where she’d tucked it away for easy access. It wouldn’t do her much good unless she was right up on an enemy, but it made her feel better. “Computer, what is the lift’s destination and how many intruders are there?”
“Destination: third deck. Five life signs.”
“Computer, display real-time activities of the intruders on the entertainment deck,” she commanded.
It jarred her when she found herself standing next to one of the intruders. The thick-bodied intruder definitely wasn’t one of the Lyarans. He appeared to be running toward the cockpit. The other four had broken into teams of two and were sweeping the staterooms. She assumed they were communicating and cursed herself for not thinking to add a translation command.
“Computer, translate audio to English please.”
“Clear,” she heard the translation from one of the intruders.
Every one of them wore black helmets with dull face plates covering their features. There was what she guessed was light armor over their limbs and torsos. Their boots were tall and black, and they held long, shiny sticks at the ready. If she were a gambling woman, she’d bet those pretty sticks were weapons of some sort.
“This cabin is clear, too!”
She couldn’t sit here and wait for them to find her, so she needed to find a better weapon and get somewhere defensible.
“Computer, can you lock the flight deck down on my voice command?”
“Affirmative.”
“Then do it,” she seethed, her fear making her lash out. “And let me know when someone tampers with the lockdown,” she added, her brain taxed to the limit as she tried to out-think her enemies.
“Flight deck on lock-down.” She saw the lone intruder pull something out of a pack on his back and jam it into a receptacle on the flight console. “Tampering has commenced.”
“Shit. Hold it together, Nora,” she muttered, frantically doing a mental inventory of the things she’d seen aboard the ship that might serve as a weapon as the scenes around her shifted with the searching activities of the strangers. “How long until flight deck is compromised?”
“Two minutes or less,” came the prompt response.
She closed her eyes and had a flash of the original ship schematics she’d studied earlier in the day. What the hell did she have to lose? If it had worked for Jorkan, it just might work for her.
“Computer, close operations in entertainment room.”
The images winked away leaving her alone once again in the sterile room.
Before she lost her nerve, she exited the entertainment area and darted into the gym. There were machines she didn’t recognize and a few that looked vaguely like the simulators the CORANOS had kept in the work camp. In the far corner, she saw what she’d come for. There were neat rows of practice weapons mounted on the wall. While they’d been blunted for safer sparring, they remained weapons. She chose a light, short-handled battle axe with a wickedly curved blade and hurried back to the hallway.
At a sprint, she charged down the hall toward the bow of the ship. She knew she had only moments before the intruders broke through the feeble attempt to keep them out of the control system. After that, they would start a floor-by-floor scan for life signs.
Nora couldn’t let them capture her. She’d die fighting before she let herself be taken captive by anyone ever again.
Moving with purpose, she tucked her razor away, gripped the axe with two hands and swung for the fences. The loud thud as the dulled axe made contact couldn’t be helped. She saw one section of panel sink in to expose an otherwise invisible seam in the wall before her axe bounced away from the force of her swing.
This time when she wielded the axe, she aimed for the seam. Her blade slid into the wall and she turned the curved end on its side to pry back the slick metal at an angle. Behind the panel was a black void but she glimpsed a dark floor in the triangle of light. That would have to be good enough.
Propping her axe where she could grab it easily if someone happened upon her unexpectedly, she gripped the metal panel and pried it out. Grunting, she managed to get one bare foot behind it then the other. She cringed as the metal corner cut into her soft skin, but she kept pushing until she could squeeze her hips into the gap and use her booty to push the wall open.
The tramp of footfalls told her she would have company soon if she didn’t get her ass in gear. Quickly, she snatched her axe and slid into the open space. The panel snapped into place behind her with a pop and a whoosh.
Madre de Dios it was dark. She took a few calming breaths before she started feeling around. If the priests had removed the stairs completely, she didn’t want to fall to her death. Edging her bare foot out, she gingerly felt for solid flooring. What she came upon was even better.
“Ouch,” she hissed as she stubbed her toe. Her free hand, automatically shooting out to steady her, found a metal…coil? No. It was a banister.
Now, she was in business. With a grim smile, Nora squeezed her axe in one clammy hand and the bannister in the other and began to climb. They’d never find her in here. She hoped.
Chapter 22
Coniru’s marketplace was full of brightly dressed barkers hawking their wares under the cavern’s glaring lights. Zocan and his comrades had stealthily and systematically amassed a small horde of clothing for Nora. The exercise had invigorated him, and for once, he wasn’t thinking of her sallow face with resentment. He accepted that they were stuck with her for the foreseeable future – unless something went awry.
Though the goods and services offered in the subterranean playground were outlawed in most galaxies, the atmosphere was deliberately relaxed, like a never-ending party. Still, he remained alert and focused because nothing was ever as it seemed in a place like this.
Transportation was limited to foot traffic and the occasional slow-moving hovercraft operated by security. Drunks shuffled from tavern to tavern, sometimes stopping to brawl in the middle of the thoroughfare. Jittery, upbeat music blared from unseen speakers, bouncing jarringly off the solid rock walls.
The din gave Zocan a raging headache as he watched the Troclian with cold, bored eyes. Some said Troclians were genetic experiments gone awry. Whatever their origination, the universe was peppered with the pebbled-skinned, lizard-like beings.
This one studied the Sword of Triumph with an avaricious, jagged-toothed grin. The sword twinkled brightly on a low table covered in dark velvet. The vertical slits of the Troclian’s golden eyes were rounded with interest. Despite his humble black cloak, he gave off an ominous air.
“And how did you come by this treasure?” He hissed in his native tongue as one clawed fingertip snaked down the gleaming metal of the sword.
“Don’t handle the merchandise,” Zocan rebuked mildly. “Papers will be provided in the event we reach a satisfactory agreement.” If he thought he could steal the Sword of Triumph from Zocan, he was sadly mistaken.
The Sword of Triumph was the last of the small, portable pieces from the ship that remained. Everything else, they’d sold in the first day and a half. He expected it would take another day or two to dispose of the sword and arrange to trade or sell the ship. After that, they would collect Nora and be on their way. He was mildly interested to see her reaction to the small wardrobe they’d acquired for her.
Right now, he wasn’t in the mood to waste time. “Make an offer or move along,” he advised the bumpy-skinned being. He thought the Troclian was a male, but it wasn’t easy to differentiate between the sexes.
Natar stepped up next to him, his hand on his holstered weapon. “You heard him. No one has the patience for your games or tricks today, Trocilan.”
The Troclian’s forked tongue swept over its thick lip ridges – either scenting the air or a nervous tick. “Would you be open to a trade? I have some fine slaves from Opu.”
“We aren’t interested in that kind of currency,” Zocan replied impassively, waving the Troclian along. Flesh peddlers were revolting, but it was part and parcel of dealing on the black market. Pirates dea
lt almost exclusively in revolting activities.
He and Natar had rented space from the Market Master, an oily Corian with scars over half his face who went by the name of Gofton. As protocol demanded, they paid their fees up front and gave him a preview of their wares, before setting up shop in a small, defensible booth. Gofton would send interested parties their way for an extra fee. That was how the market functioned on Coniru.
Because they were experienced and understood that Gofton or someone on his staff might betray them at any moment, Natar and Zocan had entered the underground a half-day behind Lyon and Z’cari. The only way to hang on to goods and coin in a place like this was to have allies scattered throughout the place.
Everyone here had an agenda and/or were running from law enforcement elsewhere. Alliances among thieves and brigands such as these were temporary and ever-changing. For the right prize, they’d work together today and slit one another’s throats tomorrow.
“Are you certain you don’t need flesh?” The Troclian asked, blinking a set of horizontal eyelids incredulously. “You arrived on the Ashwamaic bark, did you not? Won’t you have to…feed the priests?”
Zocan knew then that they’d been set up. Either Gofton had sold them out or someone else had been watching them over the past days and figured it out. It didn’t matter which, really. The only thing they could do was brazen it out and fight when the time came.
He shrugged carelessly. “The ship, like everything else, is for sale,” he said easily. “However, it does not come with priests or a crew.”
The Troclian chuffed out its version of a laugh. It made his skin crawl and Zocan tensed for attack. Beside him, he sensed Natar doing the same.
“In that case, I will give you six hundred tricoth for it,” the Troclian reached a clawed hand into his filthy black robes and whipped out a credit belt.
That was a generous first offer for an obviously stolen ship. Zocan raised his brow skeptically, still on the alert. There had to be a catch. “What are your terms?”