by Drew Avera
“Is that you?” Deis asked, this time stepping forward.
Neular looked down at Malikea before responding. “It is,” he said, the modulator strapped to his throat giving his voice a distinctly electronic sound.
“I thought you were dead,” Deis said, echoing Malikea’s own thoughts from before.
Neular glared at Deis. “Only because you left me to die.” Malikea felt the barrel bear down on his skull again, this time on the back of his head.
“No. Mal told me he saw you before he came to find me. He told me they had cut out your tongue and left your dead body on their chair. Your blood had already dried to your body. You were dead.”
Neular’s arm trembled, his weapon tapping against the sides of Malikea’s head. Malikea anticipated its going off at any moment as he imagined Neular was toying with his prey, the casual stance of a murderer before pulling the trigger. “Well, I wasn’t dead,” he said sardonically. “If not for Crase I would have been, though. Maybe if you two weren’t so selfish, you would have saved me. Maybe if you two really were my friends as you said you were those years ago, then things would be different, but they are not. Instead, I count you among those who took my life from me.”
“Crase? I know about Crase Tuin, the smuggler and trafficker. He’s the one responsible for what happened to us. He was the one who abducted us because he wanted to sell us into bondage. He’s a murderous psychopath. Do you really think he saved you? Don’t be naïve—”
Crase silenced Deis with a kick in the teeth, sending the gray man sprawling out over the deck. Blood oozed from Deis mouth, frothing as he breathed heavily, probably choking back tears.
“Deis,” Malikea croaked through a hoarse throat. His legs shifted as he tried to stand, but Neular kicked one of his legs out from under him, causing him to crash hard onto the deck.
“Shut up, Neular, kill them and be done with it,” Crase ordered, redrawing his own weapon and holding it at his side.
Neular stood over Malikea dumbfounded. He looked down at him and then over at Deis who lay slumped over on the deck, blood still oozing from his mouth.
“It’s true,” Malikea said. “You were dead. I promise you, we would not have left you there otherwise.”
Neular stepped back, a confused expression scrawled on his face. “I want to believe you.” Malikea could see in Neular’s eyes that the plausibility of their story danced in the man’s mind, probably contradicting everything he had believed up until this point.
“What? Are you seriously getting sentimental because these cowards are scared to die? They left you to die, abandoned you. If not for me, you would be dead.” Crase stalked over to Neular and slapped him in the face with his own weapon. “When I tell you to kill I mean kill. Now, pull the fucking trigger and let’s go,” he hissed.
Malikea watched as Neular wiped blood from his face and the newly formed cut next to his eye. Anger flushed Neular’s face and Malikea was sure the next moment would end in a gunshot to his own face followed by another round in the back of Deis’ head.
“Hey!” A voice called from the forward part of the cargo bay.
All of them looked up to see Brendle staring back at them, a large rifle in his hands.
“Who‒” Crase started to say, but was cut off.
“Get off my ship, asshole,” he said as his weapon discharged and the projectile sent Crase’s body out the cargo bay door. Malikea watched as kinetic energy bolted like static electricity around the large man as he flew from the cargo bay and struck the dirty tarmac below.
Brendle leveled his rifle at Neular next, but Malikea rose and stood between them. “No, don’t shoot him,” he pleaded. He turned to look into Neular’s eyes, the confusion and hatred still battling behind his yellow irises. Neular’s weapon clattered to the ground as his grip faltered.
“Why not?” Brendle asked, the look of confusion on his face matching that of Neular’s.
“It’s a long story, but don’t.” Malikea said, placing a friendly hand on Neular’s trembling shoulder. Tears began to well in the man’s eyes.
Brendle nodded and ordered the ship to depart. “Pilot, let’s go. Someone needs to keep an eye on the new guy.” Brendle moved over to check on Deis, who was slowly rising from the deck, wiping blood from his chin.
“I’ve got him,” Anki said as she withdrew from the shadows and leveled her own weapon in Neular’s direction.
“That’s not necessary,” Malikea said.
“That’s not your call, Mal. I just watched him come seconds away from planting a slug in your brain. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t trust him.”
“What took you so long?” Deis asked.
“It’s complicated. Let’s just say it’s really hard to line up a shot when your friend is standing in the way.”
Malikea looked back at Neular and the other man simply nodded and knelt on the deck as he wiped blood from his face. Malikea didn’t know what they would do, now that they knew Neular was alive, but he was confident in the fact that the truth had been revealed. It was up to Neular, though, if he was going to accept it or not. He had no idea how hard it might be for Neular to accept the truth, or if he ever would. He just had to hope for the best.
Malikea watched as Anki bound Neular’s wrists together and helped him sit. She no longer had her weapon drawn, but she eyed him warily, ready to act if the situation called for it. Brendle aided Deis as Malikea rose on shaky legs. His heart hurt for Neular, for what he had to endure had to have been in some way be more painful than death. He and Deis had come close to the same fate, and he was thankful it had never come to that. Malikea stepped quietly over to his husband and wrapped his arms around him, the warmth of his body making Malikea feel more at home than he had in a long time. Brendle smiled and nodded as he stepped away, giving the Lechun husbands time to comfort one another.
Beneath them, Farax fell away as the Replicade’s drives lifted the warship off the ground, leaving the monster Crase quivering under the electricity coursing through his body from Brendle’s weapon. Malikea looked down and watched him curl and arch in pain as the cargo bay door slowly closed, and he hoped that would be the last time he would ever see Crase Tuin.
24
Crase
His body contorted from the pain as kinetic energy arced all around him. His teeth ground involuntarily as he struggled to keep from swallowing his tongue under the prickling attack on his body. This was not Crase’s first time being shot, far from it, but it was the first time he’d been struck by a kinetic weapon of this kind. The pain enveloping his body was unlike any he’d experienced before, and one he would hope to never endure again. His extremities felt as if they were on fire, the muscles curling his arms and legs up into his torso, but it was just how his nerves communicated with his brain. He was lying on his back, arms and legs spread out now that the contortion phase was over. To his relief the sensation waned the further the Replicade drifted upward. Soon, he found the worst of it was over and he sat up in the dust, looking to the sky.
His body ached in a way it had not in a long time, but he was a man accustomed to pain. It, like most things, would eventually pass. What he was not was a man who gave up easily. He vowed to take back the Replicade, and that was exactly what he intended to do, even if that meant he had to act alone now.
“They got to him,” he said, his mind drifting to the way the other Lechun men manipulated Neular into believing they hadn’t left him to die. The fact they discovered the truth was inconsequential. Crase did save Neular’s life, but it was done purely for profit. Otherwise, Neular would be just as dead as the rest of his people on Lechushe’. Crase had given the man a life free from religious oppression, free from serving the dirt of their creator’s design. If anything, Crase had done Neular a favor by allowing the man to serve him.
It was a long time before Crase had begun to like Neular, but by that point it was because the man had adopted parts of Crase’s own personality, acting out the deeds as Crase co
njured them up. All it took was a simple look and Neular acted on Crase’s behalf. It was a kind of silent communication: Crase’s will and Neular’s hand. It desensitized Crase to the need to handle problems himself and allowed him to feel himself the capable leader regardless of what reality would prove otherwise. All good things come to an end.
He swore under his breath as he stood up. His already sore muscles ached more from the tension of the electricity’s having through his body, but he was sure it would pass by time he caught up to the fleeing ship. At least he hoped it would. Crase lifted his arm and pressed a button on his wrist that summoned the transport ship to his location. I’ll be damned if I let you get away again, he thought as he waited impatiently. Technology had brought him far in all the years he built his business. Being able to use that technology was a gift that would deliver him to the Replicade, where he would finish what he started.
The transport arrived and hovered overhead moments later and Crase leapt onto the ramp leading into the back of the craft. He stomped forward and collapsed into the pilot’s seat to pursue the Replicade and kill everyone onboard. Everyone, including Neular. He couldn’t risk whatever damage they had done to him in hopes of turning Neular against him. “They will all die.”
Where the transport lacked in entering atmosphere it made up for in flying through the thinner lower atmosphere. It was agile, sleek, and fast to accelerate due to the monstrous drive powering the smaller craft. It darted through the sky like a bullet, the only limit being how much strain the hull could handle before it was ripped apart. Crase commanded it to ninety-percent of its capabilities. Not enough to destroy it, but enough to get him where he needed to be. The Replicade was a heavy ship and moved slowly until it breached orbit. This gave Crase valuable time to catch up and climb much higher, faster than the Replicade was capable of doing.
The Greshian who shot me must have been the one in charge, he thought as he drove the transport to the upper limits of its capabilities. It quaked under the strain, but continued to accelerate as it climbed up the gravity well and out towards the drive cone of the mighty warship. He knew they would see him coming, so he made no attempt at sneaking behind them. Once in range, he launched his attack by firing missiles from hidden launchers within the skin of the transport until they were extinguished. They were spent faster than he had anticipated, and he cursed as each one missed the target. Agitated, he moved the weapons system over to cannon fire, pelting the hull with tungsten rounds which he discovered simply skipped over the shielding.
“Fuck it,” he seethed, driving the transport faster. It bucked and strained to keep up with his demands, but he kept driving harder until he caught up with her. I will have the ship one way or another. Now, matching velocity, Crase moved closer to the Replicade hoping to dock with the airlock. It was a ballsy move, but it was one he doubted they would be able to do anything about, unless they were willing to crash their ship in order to keep him from taking it. The closer he got to her hull, the more alarms were triggered in the transport. The collision alarm wailed, monitors turned red, the entire cabin was filled with annoyance after annoyance. I know what I’m doing. I know it’s dangerous. “Now shut the fuck up,” he hissed as he silenced the alarms in a huff.
Less than a meter from the ship, the docking computers engaged and began to bring the ships together automatically. Such maneuvers were meant to be used in vacuum, when weight and inertia were easier to synchronize and there was less risk of destroying each ship. His blind rage dulled his ability to care about that now. He would use any tool available to take back his ship and kill everyone on board, even if that meant they all died, Crase included.
The transport docked with the airlock, the chime of a bell letting Crase know that his plan worked. They were safely mated, thanks to his own design elements implemented into the Replicade. It was the last computer system I installed in the Replicade before they took her and it is last tool at my disposal to ensure I get her back, he thought with fierce satisfaction. Now that the ships were mated, he could prepare to embark. By his count, there were five personnel on board. He doubted whether his docking would go unnoticed, so on the other side of that airlock was the potential for five weapons to be discharged in his direction. That won’t do, he thought in a manic playground sing-song as he adjusted a setting on the ship’s console. I’m going to need a decoy.
Jumping from his seat and drawing a weapon from the bulkhead, he waited for the airlock to depressurize so he could board. Even not in vacuum, the airlocks vented as part of a safety precaution. He used it to prepare himself for the coming siege.
25
Brendle
Brendle stood on the bridge of the Replicade, sweat pouring from his brow. This trip had turned on them in a way he never could have expected, and it almost cost Malikea his life. What was meant to be a simple mission, the sale some weapons and repair the ship, had become complicated to the point of madness, and now there was another Lechun man in the cargo bay of the ship. It wasn’t hard to see the eyes of a killer in the man’s stare. Perhaps Crase had brainwashed him and turned the man into a killer, or perhaps the man had murder in his heart all along. If so, can he even be saved, Brendle wondered as he manipulated the controls of the warship.
His plan was for them to head for another key to take them outside of the Greshian Sector and hopefully away from the madness they witnessed on Farax. This Faraxian stopover had been a mistake, and he’d had enough of those to last more than a lifetime. Brendle was pissed that complacency brought them to this point, and he swore under his breath that it would never happen again.
Strain from leaving the lower Faraxian atmosphere caused the ship to shake. Somewhere outside of orbit the ship would enter vacuum and settle down, but until then it would fight against gravity and thick air until the Replicade could be free from the hellish planet’s snare.
He watched the monitor’s readout slowly climb in altitude as the instruments measured the barometric pressure around them. "Faster," he urged the ship as he manipulated the controls, craning the Replicade upward. Many thoughts rushed through his mind as he tried to escape Farax. He knew that Crase Tuin was not dead, and anyone with his background would have no problem tracking down the Replicade. Looking over his shoulder was not Brendle’s idea of how he wanted to live his life. But he also did not want to take another life if he could help it.
"Are we through the lower atmosphere yet?" Anki asked as she ran into the bridge. He could see the stress in her eyes.
"What about the prisoner?" He asked without looking away from the monitor.
"Deis and Malikea have him bound and guarded," she replied, taking her place behind him. "Besides, I don't think he's going to give us any problems."
"Oh yeah, what makes you so sure?" He asked stoically. He had spent most of his military life dealing with people who seemed as though they would not be a problem, only to find them to be the kind of person who would turn on you at the drop of a hat. Ilium came to mind, and Brendle felt his teeth grind as he thought of how he had been set up and labeled a traitor just to further Ilium’s career. It was a thought that almost made him wish he had pulled the trigger when he had the opportunity.
"I monitored the situation," she said. "They are talking him down and trying to explain what happened. It would appear they have a history, but I’m not sure the person they are talking to is the same person they remember. If you ask me, he is a pretty damaged man."
"Aren't we all?" Brendle scrolled across the console and the ship pitched upward. The G forces applied to the Replicade caused him to shuffle backwards momentarily.
An alarm sounded on the monitor, drawing Brendle's attention. "Shit."
"What is it?" She asked, looking over his shoulder as the display illuminated red, showing that they were being targeted.
Brendle adjusted the monitor and leaned forward. "It looks like we're being followed. You might want to strap in and let the rest of the guys know. This is going to get bumpy." He moved
to another monitor and shuffled through the weapons display as Anki strapped in across the bridge from him. "Pilot, what do we have for this guy?"
"Point defense countermeasures are activated, captain. We do have a cannon, but in close range any damage to his transport could affect us."
“Malikea, Deis, get strapped in. We’re being followed,” Anki said over the intercom.
“Any ideas?” Brendle asked her. It wasn’t worth killing everyone just to get away from one man, one particularly skilled and dangerous man, he thought.
“Can we outrun him?”
Brendle looked down at the drive parameters. The Replicade was too heavy to handle higher speeds without pushing the drive out of limits. “No, he’s gaining on us.” Brendle watched the monitor as the transport fired missiles towards the Replicade. His eyes widened as the ship rolled to avoid them. His stomach lurched, but nothing came up. “Luckily those weren’t heat-seeking missiles or that wouldn’t have worked. Pilot, I need you to add power to the shield.”
“Already done just in case one of the missiles hit. I will maintain the shield.”
“Any ideas now?”
Anki shook her head. “I think he’s missing on purpose. Maybe he wants to take the ship?”
It seemed unlikely at first, but the more Brendle thought about it, the more it started to make sense. “Oh, well, that’s not about to happen,” he said. “I don’t know how he expects to take us when we’re not in orbit yet, but if that is his plan, we need to be ready.”
