by Chris Turner
Regers and his crew howled in approval as they sauntered through the streets all keyed up for some carnal festivities. They queued up at a virtual instateller off the main drag at the corner of Catchy and Nozzle, happy to be out of their confined quarters on Xaromar. The sharp sulfur tinge of mezolene tainted the air with a rare muggy mist. Mangy dogs with fur half ripped off scabby backs roamed about the dingy, puddled alleys begging for scraps, snarling when competing for the meager fare. Beggars in the alleys chorused along with them, lolling backs against grimy brick walls, chewing on old dog bones the strays left behind. Regers prodded Dez up to the holo-dispersal unit. The CEO tapped some digits on a pad, entered a passcode, then passed the retina test before he withdrew 10k. Regers prodded him for 5k more, then nodded in happy unison, pocketing the cash and distributing 300 yols to each of his crew as spending money.
“Don’t blow it too fast, boys—or you’ll have to appeal to Dez for more.”
They hoofed it over to a specialty shop between a corner convenience and a fancy-dancy wine shop—or deli. They purchased costumes—big black boots, masks, wrists bands, metal neck collars, the whole shebang, to blend in with the locals. Holo-billboards swung high into the night sky, advertising everything from cotton candy to wide screen holo displays to deluxe dildos. Lewd pictures of female and male parts lay interlaced with ads for mega corporations. Laughter, chatter of droning voices, wails and cries of the intoxicated, jacked on Bandex, Quintox, Verizan, anything they could get their hands on. The whistling rush of magno trams caught Regers’ ear as they slewed by, disgorging people of all ages, races and sizes. Sounds, smells, sensations of myriad numbers. Sensory overload compared to the murky confines of Xaromar and its cramped hold.
Regers and crew went bar-hopping down Asteroid strip, bubbling with laughter, bragging to each other about their escape from the tanks, happy to be alive. All except Jennings. And Dez. Two grumpy embittered souls shaking their heads with contempt at what surrounded them. Appalled at the seedy conditions of Mekeroid. Jennings snarled in Regers’ ear, “You could have picked a better world than this bloody, hedonistic cesspool.”
Regers shoved him away. “I didn’t for a reason, Jiminy.” His scowl annoyed Jennings. A source of amusement for Regers. He would have kept the sniveling killjoy on the ship, but he didn’t trust him not to fly off to a NOA base, spilling his guts about floaters down on a desolate moon and a crew of mercs breaking laws. Happy hour was on. The brazen crew at last hit the Hothouse Blues roundhouse bar.
“Looks more like the respectable establishment we’ve been hankering for,” Regers mused.
Low translucent tables ranged to the sides, with touch-screen menus to order from—synthesized beef jerky, caramel tarts, ranghorn stew. Smoky clouds of dry ice and incense lit up in colors from the dusky lights above—blue, muted orange, red, and grey. A weird stage lurked on a low dais, and weirder band members wearing colored costumes, wielding electro-wind instruments that oozed out a seedy beat while sleek, bronzed, naked women and men paraded around the tables selling their wares. Which weren’t bad all in all, considering the low-ball price. Not a shabby little joint, Regers thought.
Everything went as expected. Deakes soaking up the vibes, Vincent wearing a shit-eating grin. Drinks, fun, grab and snatch, time to peel off some layers and hit the back rooms. Until Ramra got too excited and like a hungry wolf, groped for some passing ass and had the unlucky timing of interfering with a musclebound sod’s grab. A mean type who objected to Ramra’s sweaty paws on the woman he wanted to take to an upstairs room. Deakes moved in fast for his size but Ramra got his horns boxed and staggered back, his eyes glazing over as one who sees stars. “Stay down, you dumb billygoat,” roared muscle boy. Deakes stepped in and drew back a fist but Regers held him back, a thick grin on his face.
“Got a problem there, chief?” snarled the angry man.
Regers faced him. “No, do you?” The brute’s oiled bald pate gleamed in the sultry light with oily skin smelling like musk.
“Your baby face friend’s the problem, chief,” spat the man. “Had eyes on my lady.”
“Who says it’s ‘your’ lady? You own this joint?”
“I’m a regular paying customer. I come here a lot. First time I’ve seen you and your yobos’ faces.”
“Well, whippy doo. I’ll just run out and get a merit medal and pin it on your chest.”
Joe Atlas took a swing. Regers ducked, leaning in to slam a left jab at the man’s chest. The other was big, clumsy and tipsy too, a bad combo, carrying more synthetic whisky than his capacity for his height and weight. The night was still young. Regers was well under the limit.
The brute came in swinging with both fists and a roar in his throat. He overshot and Regers snuck under the hairy arm, flung out his metal hand and knuckle-wiped him under the chin.
The man gasped. Regers snatched up a blue pellet from his pocket and jammed the sniffer in the brute’s nostrils.
Blue smoke wafted from his face and sent his world tumbling. The giant went down, gagging and Deakes stomped on his head.
Regers nodded in appreciation. Sensing trouble brewing in the smoky haze, Regers pulled them all back to their table. “Play dumb.”
Robot bouncers with reinforced plate metal on their forearms and chests, came to drag the fallen man by his heels and eject him out into the street. Two came to study Regers and his crew. Deakes and Regers put in their pleas how they were minding their business when this brute started hassling them. The two robot bouncers blinked. The offworlders had paid out a lot of yols from Dez’s funds, so they let them off with a warning.
Regers nodded. “All’s well that ends well, Ramra. You’ve earned your skin, but don’t get too grab-happy next time. Go right on ahead with that sweet gal, and we’ll see you in a bit. Vincent and I got our eyes on some choice pieces in the back.”
Ramra nodded, Deakes let out a belch. Jennings shook his head, fuming.
Ramra and Vincent came out of back rooms, taking turns, while Creib watched over Dez. Jennings stayed put, scowling into his meal of synthetic fried veal. The man didn’t drink or smoke a synth-hash pipe or mix with the ladies. Much to the jeers of Deakes and Vincent.
Dez stared off in stony silence.
The sweat under Regers’ mask was starting to make his face itch, so he pulled it off. “Come on, Dezzy, get into the spirit of it,” he coaxed. “Join the fun. You’re a wet blanket on a dry day. Not likely I’m going to let you out of my sight, even if I had all my buddies aboard like Creib and goody-goody Jennings manning the fort. Might get some fool idea to call the NOA or Santie Claus and report us. Wouldn’t want that.”
Deakes’s whiskey-rich laugh assaulted Regers’ nose. “I say we deep six the bastard. Look at him sulking over there like a warmed-over toad in the hot sun. Think of the hassle he could cause us. What do we need him for?”
“We may need him, Deakes.” Regers scowled. “For something down the road. Let sleeping dogs lie and let me do the thinking. You do the brawling. Got it?”
“Sure.” Deakes shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He turned away.
Lots of fresh, oiled and scented meat came by but Dez refused any offer of female company. Or male. Regers smiled at that and shrugged. “Your choice, Dez. You and Jiminy can sit here and twiddle your pricks for all I care. I’m due for another release. Just got to catch my second wind.”
Vincent managed a half chuckle but was red-faced enough by the end of the night of carousing that he was slurring his words.
Regers grunted. “Enough for you. I’m cutting you off titty and booze.” He slapped Vincent’s cheeks. “Celebration’s over. All of you!” He pushed Vincent aside who hung off his shoulder, slobbering like a baby. “Back to the ship. The hour’s old. Time to get back to work.”
Chapter 6
It was a long haul to The Dim Zone. They had plenty of time to dry out, jettison their costumes and recuperate their wits. Nonetheless, Regers was leery about heading to Remus, knowing fu
ll well the horrors that haunted this region of space. He had only to remember how Albatross, his last ship, had been boarded by Zikri squids that stormed them on the bridge and wiped out most of the crew. Zikri—those octopus-like aliens with motilators that could navigate like walking creatures did and could squeeze the life out of one—grotesque creatures who commanded pirate Orbs, and scavenged ships and stole whatever technology they could, from space stations, floating junk, weapons grids, and abandoned bases. They worked in collusion with the Mentera, the locust race who enslaved man, woman and alien in glass tanks and fed off their life force via some infathomable technology, keeping their victims alive in a state of suspended animation.
Regers had no idea what to expect on Remus, this middle planet of the Dizon system, boasting a dwarf star and dim amber sun.
Xaromar came out of light drive and approached the dim grey planet.
“Full shields. Yellow alert,” Regers muttered. “Creib, keep your eyes peeled for hostiles. Jennings, Ramra, the same. Deakes and Vincent, keep weapons at full kill capacity.”
“Aye, aye.” Grunts of acknowledgement came Regers’ way.
“Atmosphere’s not breathable,” said Creib. “A cold mix of methane, ozone and traces of unstable hydrocarbons.”
A dawn’s glimmer of burnt orange crept over the alien landscape from the distant sun. Much different topography, yet the terrain gave Regers eerie deja-vu of planet Xeses where he and Yul had first harvested the alien plants that so interested Mathias and his research scientists.
A jumble of Mars-like rocks greeted the crew and low black, obsidian outcrops with ghostly plains in between. A desolate world. Why Hresh had picked such a shit-dismal place far from civilized worlds for his research was beyond him—but then, Hresh was an eccentric, according to Dez, who knew only mad schemes and esoteric sciences. Who knew what twisted ideas ran through that brainiac geek’s mind? Hresh had worked for Cyber Corp—that was telling enough. From what Regers’d heard, Hresh’d gotten on the wrong side of company policy and incurred Mathias’s wrath by going on the lam. Regers stroked his chin. Mathias must have tracked Hresh down, turned up unannounced and gotten a rude surprise.
He curled his thin lip. Served the fucker right. But it didn’t help his own situation in terms of getting full payment and restitution from Mathias for his injuries. Unless he milked Dez for all he was worth. Not a bad plan. Another return to Mekeroid or similar scumhole and a double draw of company funds.
A blip showed up on the holo screen. The ship skimmed over the broken landscapes and approached the planet’s only settlement—the one that had to be Hresh’s hideaway.
Zikri war Orbs lay scattered in ruin—large hulking derelicts with bent spikes on the outside like prickly blowfish. Crumpled mantis-like Mentera craft ranged alongside, twisted and broken from heavy cannon fire. A full-scale war had broken out here—only charred leftovers remained, suited bodies, twisted metal. A huge, rectangular complex, likely Hresh’s installation, lay shredded in heaps of blackened metal. The adjoining hangar was also destroyed.
Regers paused, chewing his lip. The ship glided over the rubble on low thrust, each man gazing with awe, drawing his own conclusions. The base was utterly destroyed. What was once Hresh’s highly-advanced, hi-tech research lab lay in crumbled ruin.
The lightfighter passed between twin bent control towers then past an upright mechnobot, a hulking inert shape, intact in the middle of the dusky yard. The thing, shaped like an armored tank standing on its end, rose easily two stories high. “What in shit’s name is that?” muttered Regers in a dark voice. “Looks untouched.”
“Beats me,” said Deakes.
“It’s Hresh’s handiwork,” responded Dez in a hoarse whisper. “A new breed of mechnobots… Incredible.”
“Those are the marks of heavy duty fire all around, Regers,” Ramra muttered. “Zikri war ships. Which indicates Uro bombs.”
“I can see that, Ramra. No need for the report.”
Regers’ eyes scanned the surroundings. Low hills curved out in an S-shape to flank the complex. No vegetation that he could see, only masses of wholesale destruction, toppled barrels and ripped open shipping crates and crumpled heaps of machinery on the hill side, framing them all in a sinister U.
The shadowy derelict of a mechnobot stirred—a pilot light flared to sudden blue life on its hideous turret. Impossible. His eyes must be screwed on wrong. In slow synchrony, the mechno vibrated and rose up to the level of their LV3 lightfighter as if spurred by some eerie force of intelligence.
Regers’ jaw dropped. It was as if it were scouting out the incoming vessel in curiosity, not threat.
“What the flaming—? What powers the thing?”
The grotesque vehicle jetted closer to the ship’s belvedere as the crew watched in stunned silence.
The ship, or whatever the thing was, suddenly lurched as if concluding Xaromar and its crew were hostile, for a robotic appendage spurred out of the armored fuselage, a cannon of sorts, that began spurting fire at Xaromar.
The ship’s shields flared. A porthole opened. A giant winged insect, more dragonfly than moth, flashed out of the black aperture high on the outerbody with a deft thrust of colored wings.
Regers choked out a yell. What the fuck? Same type of creature he’d been tasked with down on the Zikri Orb. Though this one was slightly different. More iridescent in the wings, longer thorax, redder antenna and blacker, bulgier eyes.
Without warning, the dragonfly flitted right up to the viewport glass to stare at them with glassy abandon. It flew closer to gaze at Regers through the glass, now with a cold depthlessness of expression that could barely be described. Its impossibility of existence, the fabulous dexterity of its alien wings had the other crew members awed, but not Regers—or Dez who knew this type of species all too well. Regers’ eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets with the utter horror of it.
“What in fuck’s name?” Deakes muttered.
“It’s controlling the mechno—” Dez lifted an arm “—like the creatures did down in our labs on Phallanor.”
“What, you know about these things?” Jennings croaked.
“It’s one of those ‘Dim Zone’ creatures hatched from the plant bulbs Yul brought back. Hresh must have gotten his hands on one and tried to use it to power his bots, like we did. This time the thing destroyed his lab. Regers, turn this ship around and get the hell out of here.”
“Mathias may be down there.”
“Forget Mathias. The man’s dead if that dragonfly thing is flitting around loose.”
Regers grunted. The fact was true enough.
The dragonfly and its avatar came closer. Creib muttered a curse. He tried to gun the engine and strike at the thing. The maneuver only slapped it hard against the glass and sent it buzzing back. The insect, juiced with malicious intent, looped around in a dizzy semicircle and smashed its blunt nose against the glass.
“What in hell are you doing, Creib, you stupid A-hole?”
“I didn’t like how it was hovering there mooning at us. The wings could gum up the Varwol antenna or the stabilizer plate.”
“You think?”
The insect came buzzing in again to strike at the glass with the mechnobot in tow.
“Shutter the glass! Blast the thing!”
Creib struck a fist on a blue knob. The armored plates slid down over the viewing glass. Deakes let out a lusty howl. He tapped at keypads and set sights on the creature with the fore-cannon.
Dez raced toward him to slap his hand away. “No, you fool. Don’t fire at the thing! It’ll only retaliate and kill us all!”
“How? A little bug like that?” Deakes snorted.
“Don’t underestimate them. The insect already thinks we’re a threat to its habitat.”
“Why the fuck would it?” Vincent sneered. He turned to look over his shoulder, then zoomed in on the weapons array, touching pads to target the thing. “Does it look like we’re going to mess up its crib?”
&n
bsp; “They’re aliens, you dumbfuck,” Regers said, clenching his fist. “What do you think?”
“How do you know all of this?” Jennings demanded of Dez.
“I studied them on Phallanor,” panted Dez. “The same type of creature Yul brought back from The Dim Zone as a bulb. It hatched. Two of them. Into one of these dragonfly-moths. They’re practically invincible. We tried to control the specimen. It only made a shambles of our lab—like this base. Something must have gone wrong down here. Hresh’s experiments gone amok.”
A sudden movement had the visual monitor beeping warnings. A bug-shaped prow emerged, lifting over the battered hills to the north of the base.
Deakes gave a low whistle. “A fine parade here. Just what we need. So much for Hresh and Mathias.”
The disturbing shape loomed out of the morning stillness and came straight at them. A mantis-shaped craft with high curving bow and sweeping cannons.
“What the fuck?” Vincent swore.
“It’s a LY-Mentera fighter.” Creib’s hands shook as he punched in escape coordinates on the console.
Regers leveled his E1 at Dez’s neck. “Some sneaky trick of yours, Dez? If you want your head blown off, then you’re off to a good start.” He pushed the E1 closer to the man’s ear.
“I don’t know anything!” Dez babbled. “Christ, Regers! Mathias must have gotten in trouble, like you said, stirred up the Mentera, but it was Zikri he got entangled with before he went missing, not Mentera. I don’t get it. Don’t blame me.”
“I don’t believe you, you egg-sucking slime.”