“Come,” Rondo said. “Let’s get indoors.”
The group waited for the arachnids to finish their rounds before slipping east toward the residence. Once there, they received a much-needed stroke of luck—Rondo’s access code to the building still worked.
In stark contrast to the scene outside, the structure’s interior was surprisingly well kept. The walls were clean and painted, the floors polished and shined. Even the windows were in good shape, many still adorned with the drapes and décor one would expect from a house of state.
Somebody’s been taking care of this place. Matt hooked past a corner off the main hallway, while Rondo hooked the other direction to sweep the room. Nothing. They’d just crossed the floor of a large common area when the hum of a laser rifle stopped the group in their tracks.
“Don’t move,” a new voice ordered in Earth Common.
Female.
Rondo’s breath caught in his chest. “Breonda?”
“Rondo?” The woman gasped.
All eyes turned to a nearby staircase where a small Cynzu woman wearing cream-colored robes with long, white hair bounded toward Rondo.
“It is you!” She plowed into his arms. “Thank the gods! Thank the gods! It’s really you!”
The group waited for the Cynzu to end their embrace.
“Captain Furyk.” Rondo turned. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Breonda K’tar. Breonda, this is Captain Matthew Furyk of the Akallan freighter Bonifay, and his wife, Commander Leslie Furyk.”
“Ma’am,” Matt greeted.
“Hi,” Leslie added.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Breonda wiped her face then returned to her husband. “How is it possible that you’ve—” Her blue eyes locked on the Bith. “Wait, what are they—”
A loud crash rocked the scene.
“Behind you, Matt!” Tenza yelled.
Matt whirled with his rifle as three arachnids stormed the room.
“Wait!” Breonda shrieked. “It’s not what you think!”
The group stood their ground with power cells charged and trigger fingers at the ready.
“What’s the call?” Leslie asked.
Matt watched in disbelief as Breonda K’tar walked over to the lead arachnid and placed her hand on its head.
“What is this?” Rondo asked.
“I can assure you, husband, they mean you no harm. Their people came to Cynzua seeking sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary from what?” Rondo’s mouth hung open with the question.
“A race of beings known as the Sorigg.” The lead arachnid’s voice carried a harsh rasp. “Our two species have been at war for generations. The Sorigg attempted genocide against us more than three centuries ago. Those of us who remain have lived on the run ever since.”
Matt turned to Loegoth. “Tell me you’ve got some insights on this.”
“The Xajok speaks the truth.” The Bith folded his arms. “The Sorigg are indeed a formidable race, and quite savage. Anyone in their path is right to fear them.”
“So why come here?” Rondo asked.
“Dorinium,” Breonda said.
“Dor what?” Matt wrinkled his nose.
“Dorinium,” Breonda said. “It’s a common element found in abundance here on Cynzua, mostly in our soil. It’s a source of nourishment for the Xajok species, consumed through our plants and water supply.”
“So you’re vegetarians then,” Leslie surmised.
The Xajok nodded.
“When did you arrive on our world?” ‘Rondo asked.
The Xajok seemed to hesitate before answering, “Eighteen months ago.”
Rondo’s expression went blank, as if he were assembling the pieces to some unknown puzzle in his mind. He jerked up his pistol. “You!”
The Xajok dropped its head.
“Rondo, wait!” Breonda leapt in front of her husband.
“It was them!” Rondo shouted. “They attacked the Bith envoy! They’re responsible for the closure of our stargate!”
“Hear me, husband,” Breonda said. “There is much more at play here than you realize!”
“Like what?”
“Like the salvation of our people!”
A disgusted Rondo whirled from his wife.
“The Xajok aren’t the only species in the galaxy that craves dorinium,” Breonda said. “The Sorigg do as well. It’s what started their war with the Xajok.”
“What’s your point?” Rondo grumbled.
“When the Bith made first contact with us two and a half years ago, the galaxy at large learned of Cynzua,” Breonda said. “They learned of our people and our customs. They also learned of our natural resources.”
Rondo blinked. “You’re saying the Sorigg learned of Cynzua, too?”
Breonda nodded. “Closing the stargate was the only way for the Xajok to keep the last of their people and ours safe. Attacking a Bith envoy of eight was the quickest way to ensure that happened with the least amount of collateral damage.”
“Collateral…” Rondo guffawed. “Have you seen our city? Our world? Am I honestly to believe that these Xajok aren’t responsible for that?”
Breonda aimed a pensive stare at the floor. “No. We were.”
Rondo opened his mouth to speak again but didn’t right away. Revelation set in after that. “The Drugasso.”
Breonda swallowed. “The Drugasso lacked the numbers before the gate closed to gain any real traction with the masses. Once the Xajok surfaced, however, all of that changed. Soon, fathers turned on sons, and sons turned on fathers, then the fighting truly began.”
“When did it end?” Leslie asked.
“It hasn’t.” Breonda looked up. “The Drugas issued kill orders for every single being in this room, myself included.”
Matt stepped aside and rubbed his face. “That would explain why the Xajok attacked us back in the starport. They pegged us as these Druga folks.”
Rondo flicked a gaze to the aliens then back to his wife.
“Thank you,” the lead Xajok said to the Bith.
“I’m sorry?” Loegoth snapped from his thought.
“Thank you for bringing Emissary K’tar back to his mate,” the Xajok said. “She has been quite lonely without him.”
Loegoth and Bindar traded looks.
“We did not bring the Cynzu here,” the latter said. “Captain Furyk did, on his freighter.”
The Xajok troops began to stir.
“I do not understand,” the lead Xajok said. “Only the Bith possess the means to travel between systems sans a stargate. How is it a human vessel has come to do so?”
“It didn’t,” Matt said. “We came here through the Cynzu gate. Loegoth, here, re-opened it so we could bring Rondo home.”
Three sets of globular eyes went abruptly wide.
“You re-opened the gate?” the lead Xajok rattled out.
“That’s right,” Matt said.
A frantic chatter erupted between the arachnids.
“The gate must be closed at once,” the lead Xajok said.
“That’s not possible,” Loegoth said. “The fact that I re-opened it to begin with will prompt an investigation by the Council. That will take time. It is our way.”
“Fools!” another arachnid shouted. “You’ve undone everything! Don’t you see? You’ve doomed us all!”
“My comrade is right.” The lead Xajok regarded Matt and the others with a look of fright. “They’re coming. The Sorrig are coming.”
* * * * *
Ian J. Malone Bio
Sci-fi author Ian J. Malone has written in a variety of arenas over the years, ranging from public health to news and sports. When it comes to his fictional work, he’s a firm believer that nothing shapes a person’s writing like experience. That’s why he credits his tenures in radio, law enforcement, and military contracting for much of his inspiration, plus the legion of family and friends who’ve stood with him along the way.
Beyond writing, Malone serves as
co-host of “The Dudes in Hyperspace Podcast” and is an avid fan of audiobooks (he’s legally blind). It’s also not uncommon to find him at a ballgame, a concert, or somewhere out by a grill.
Malone is an active member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America and a resident of Durham, North Carolina -- but he’ll always be a “Florida boy” at heart.
For more on Ian J. Malone and his books, visit him online at ianjmalone.net. You can also follow him on Twitter (@ianjmalone) or befriend him on Facebook.
# # # # #
Venatrix by Marisa Wolf
“So, here’s the thing.”
A chorus of groans and at least one empty container answered Elma’s usual opening salvo. She waited with her earless head cocked to the side for the noise to subside and swept down to pick up the container and launch it back roughly in the direction it came from.
“No more things!” Dekko batted the trash out of the air, winced when it rebounded off Selithra’s long head, and forged onward. “All your things lead us into lengthy repairs!”
“And profit!” Elma declared, kicking back in her chair. “Are you against profit now, Dek?”
“I’m against you taking us down into fresnickted systems where we get the algura beat out of us and have to pay prices to repair shops we don’t know to limp back up to the gate again!” Dekko, a Cyrrid with more superstitions and opinions than one medium-sized being should be able to hold, often used words their translators couldn’t quite catch. He swore they were the filthiest of curses, but most of his crewmates believed he made up half of them.
“And have we ever left one of those fre—fresn—dang systems without more credit than we went in with?” Elma crossed her arms over her chest, hands on opposite shoulders, and regarded them with perfect calm. “No, no we did not. So. Here’s the thing.”
“Void-bringers save me from Pikith with ideas,” Dekko muttered, earning a long look from Selithra and the return of the empty container from Jillian.
“Go on, El. Dek’s cranky because he keeps losing at cards.” Jillian crossed her arms and sat straight in her chair, ignoring the rest of her meal.
With most of the crew hanging around its tight space, the galley felt full, but not crowded. The Smilps rarely joined them for meals, preferring to run rampant through the ship-workings in a pack of shimmering engineers. Everyone else, though they ate wildly different nutrients, tended to clump together at intervals that had come to stand in for mealtimes.
“The Githan system has had an uptick in pirates lately. It’s all over the reports—”
“I haven’t seen anything about—”
“Fine, it’s all between the reports, and you know I’m better than you at that, Sinan, so shove it and let me talk.” Elma took a deep breath, placed her hands on her thin knees, and deliberately spaced her words to keep from running them together. “The Githan system has been balanced between the Girros and the Hethans for hundreds of years, but recently, the Hethans have been popping out all over out-systems and in new trade deals and even have, like, three splashy holos about them. There’s been enough unrest in the system that chances are real, real, real good pirates have moved in, capitalizing on the disagreements, and the Githan Security Forces are probably getting too tied up in planetary tension to do anything about it.”
“Think of all the orphan ships, needing someone to avenge them.” Jillian’s human face did sad and worried nearly as well as Sinan’s Caldivar one.
“Think of the percentages we can collect in recovering ill-gotten goods,” Sinan chimed in, mirroring Jillian’s expression, even as she retracted and extended her claws in glee.
“Think of the ill-gotten goods!” Elma crowed, picking her hands up to slap them down again.
“Think of the repairs!” Dek interjected, his furry muzzle retracting with worry.
“Think of the pirates we will kill.” Selithra, their Isloran Captain, stood. With her neck fully extended, she nearly doubled the height of the tallest of her crew, but at this moment, her long head remained relatively close to her shoulders.
No argument ever stood up to that one. Each of them had found their way to this particular ship and this particular crew through a series of events, all of which had one thing in common. Regardless of species and system, various pirate crews had gotten a little too ruthless, and one way or another, the crew of the Venatrix had come together.
“We’ll do your thing, Elma.” Selithra gathered the segmented dish she’d been eating from and brought it to the cleaner. “Dekko, get us on track for the gate to take us to Githan when you are done here.”
“And then we play cards!” Sinan offered, following her captain at as much of a respectful distance as a broadly-built six-foot-tall Caldivar could leave in the tight dimensions of the galley.
“But if he loses at cards, how will he buy the stenchiest fruits for his meals?” Selithra asked, her curved ears flicking back to show her humor.
“Thank you, Captain; that decides it.” Jillian stood and stretched, her usual sardonic half-smile tugging nearly across her entire mouth. “Double cards tonight.”
* * *
Elma’s fingers blurred over the console’s pad as she scanned for the key information the captain would want to see before they reached the Githan system. They’d have plenty of time in transit, but she’d learned years ago that Selithra would have questions. Better to put information in front of the captain now, let her turn it over, and still give Elma time to download anything else of interest before they hit the gate out of the Hssarthi system.
Her mind apportioned attention in three different, and unequal, areas—scanning news and articles, considering the outcomes of the card games they’d played that night, and picking over old conversations to determine if any of the crew had any history in the Githan system.
The first two, easy routines, took little of her actual brainpower. Something had tugged at her in the earlier conversation with the crew, and so the most active of her attention was allocated to uncovering it.
Deciphering others’ emotional responses didn’t top Elma’s list of skills—other beings, even her beloved crewmates, moved so slowly compared to her Pikith peers, and they didn’t always make sense to her on first viewing.
She couldn’t even pinpoint who had had the reaction, or if it had been something visible at all. Perhaps a memory, trying to surface, something connecting one of them with the Githans?
The crew in its current combination had been together for over five years. In that time, they’d had two temporary crewmembers move on to new lives, and one killed ramming her fighter into a fleeing pirate ship.
Elma ran her free hand through her brilliantly white hair and scowled at the scrolling information in front of her. Triple loss, that. They’d thought Tenna would last as part of the crew, but she’d been so reckless—so in love with violence—that they’d lost her, one of their three fighter ships, and the prize money off a fast little pirate ship.
At least the pirate crew had died, either in the explosion or the total failure of life support that resulted, so there was the slimmest of bright linings.
Still, the scowl the memory brought lingered as she quickly cycled through what she knew of each of her crewmates’ histories.
Selithra had been on board first, before their ship had even been the Venatrix. An engineer on a team of engineers—Elma always had to remind herself their captain hadn’t always been in charge—Selithra knew the ship literally inside and out. Which worked in her favor when it was overtaken and boarded by eight-foot-tall Gritloths. The captain rarely dropped details, but Elma knew it had been weeks before Selithra had successfully picked off each of the pirates, taking what was now her ship by stealth, general engineering cleverness, and extreme violence.
She’d picked up the Smilps immediately after that, knowing she needed help to keep the ship running. Sinan next, at a broken-down station halfway across the universe. Sinan could develop and execute a firing solution better than anyon
e, faster even than Elma. The Caldivar had also managed to run dark a long way in a shot-up escape pod before getting stranded at the station, so Selithra had known a good thing when she saw one.
Dekko they’d recruited while negotiating the reclamation of pirate booty they’d seized. Dekko had lost a mate and a fortune to pirates in his system, and his grumpily fluffy self belied the implacable rage beating through his three hearts.
Elma, herself, next. As usual, she skipped over her own story—she knew she didn’t have any connection to the Githans or Githan system, so no need to dig into further unpleasant memories.
Jillian next, locked in a small cabinet of a ship they’d recovered. She’d been imprisoned and left after ripping out one of the pirates’ throats, and had attacked Sinan the moment she was free, though she’d been pitifully weak after being caged for so long. Sinan and Jillian had become the closest of friends near-instantly and—Elma’s thoughts snagged again, and she took her other hand away from the desk, concentrating with a full two-thirds of her attention. The pictures in her head came into focus slowly.
Sinan and Jillian, combing through the supplies, before Jillian officially became their cargomaster. Jillian, slow to bond but determined to be part of the crew, making an effort to include Elma in their conversation.
Jillian…
“The further out you go, the bumpier it is. Even the Bith don’t man some of those gates waay out. Past Githan, you know, the outerlands, different numbers of coordinates and all…”
Jillian had been telling stories, passing the time and pushing herself to connect.
Or she’d been all the way out to Githan, and further besides. Their captain knew Jillian’s story, as she knew all of theirs, though she never forced anyone to share with the rest of the crew. If Jillian had information about Githan though, better to dig it out before they got to the gate.
Elma was out of her small quarters and halfway down the hall before she’d made the conscious decision to move. She could have sent a message, but better to stretch her legs, so she bounded to Jillian’s room and onward to the common area when her buzz went unanswered.
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