Galactic Blues - Box Set Episodes 4-6: A Newton's Gate Space Opera Adventure (Galactic Blues Box Set Book 2)

by C. J. Clemens

  Remy followed her stricken gaze. He would’ve laughed if there was time for it. Tosh was drenched in blood. Droplets fell from his nose, eyebrows, and whiskers. A thick sludge ran down his chest, which only spread out more as he got to his feet. He looked like some kind of mad scientist performing a heart transplant without any medical training—and enjoying himself.

  “That’ll stain,” Tosh said mildly, brushing off his blood-splattered gloves on his enviro suit, then followed Dreyla out the doorway.

  Remy tried to dispel the ghoulish image from his mind as he headed back to the bridge. He sat down in what was obviously the pilot’s chair and rifled through the control and diagnostics screens as well as the various mystery buttons on the console. Just as he was about to switch on what he hoped would be the main engines, he heard a light thud behind him.

  “Drey?” he asked.

  Something hard hit the back of his head, and his world went black.

  Chapter 3

  REMY

  Voices.

  Angry voices.

  Too loud…

  Remy winced and lifted one eyelid, just a crack. Any more than that, experience told him, was going to hurt.

  He was lying on his side atop a hard mattress. His whole head pounded. Pain radiated from a white-hot line at the base of his skull. That’s where they’d hit him. Every heartbeat brought a fresh shard of memory and a fresh red flash behind his eyelids. He craved the cool blackness of oblivion.

  Dreyla!

  He wrenched his second eye open. The opposite wall was close. Not enough to touch, but almost. He was in a confined, but well-lit space. He shifted on the bottom bunk, noted some weird graffiti scrolled onto the frame above him, and took in his surroundings. The only other thing in the cell was an old-fashioned toilet made of a dull metal. Bars separated him from two more cells, whose occupants he couldn’t see, and a barred window faced what he figured was outside.

  Drey wasn’t here. Or if she was, she wasn’t conscious. She’d be calling his name if she were. He could only hope she was alive—and with Tosh in some other cell nearby. Or could they possibly have escaped and returned to the Jay?

  He was tired of waking up from forced darkness. Every bone and muscle in his body begged to fall back to sleep but he fought it. He groaned, compelling himself to sit upright on the bunk.

  OK, someone sounded really pissed off. Androgynous voice. A shrill, high timbre with a strange inflection. Not quite human. But not artificial. Accompanied by a very deep, male voice, also enraged.

  “They brutally murdered the entire crew, and you haven’t even bothered to revive him yet?”

  That was the androgynous voice. Imperious and bitter. The deeper voice didn’t answer him… or her. Remy waited.

  “Where’s the shipment?” came the shrill voice again.

  Even in his sluggish state, Remy understood the implications. These voices were talking—or, rather, arguing—about him. He was being blamed for the killings. No, they were. Which meant they’d captured Drey and Tosh. Damn.

  He could make out the figure in each adjoining cell. Neither was his crew.

  He stood up and staggered over to the barred door that faced the hallway. The argument, which continued to be heated, was coming from a nearby room.

  “Hey, psst,” a rough voice came from the cell to his left.

  Remy turned and saw a large, muscular man, with a bald head and deep-set eyes, unambiguously human.

  The man grinned cockily. He was chewing some kind of stick, like a reformed smoker, and he had perfected the sort of dangerous glint in his eyes that Remy had seen his fellow pirates use when trying to intimidate people. “Sounds like they got you for jacking the nano-biotics… and, from what I’ve heard, killing off the entire med crew.”

  Remy held the guy’s badass gaze and let a silence draw out. Two could play the intimidation game. Finally, he answered, “We didn’t kill anybody; they were all dead when we got there.”

  The meaty guy nodded and eyed him over.

  Remy turned away, straining to hear the ongoing argument about him and his crew. Through the front of his cell, he could see a door leading to the room where the voices were coming from. The door was partially made of thick glass, allowing him to see inside.

  If things back on Earth hadn’t gotten so strange when the Newton’s Gate incident happened—and portals started hauling creatures from across the galaxy, across time, and even from different universes—Remy probably would’ve been shocked at the sight of the two figures pacing in the other room.

  But as it stood, he was only mildly curious. One of the incensed beings looked like an elf: lean and pale with distinctively pointed features, especially the ears. The other resembled a dwarf: short, stout, with a ruddy complexion and a long beard that always seemed to be the trademark of the species, even in fiction.

  Remy really didn’t enjoy spending time on Earth, but on several trips over the last few years, he had come across beings that looked exactly like these two.

  “Where am I?” Remy murmured.

  “In jail, dumbass,” a man said from the cell on the right.

  Remy swung around and glared at him. The creep didn’t look in any way qualified to call anyone a dumbass.

  Turning back, he noticed the badass guy on the other side rolling his eyes. Either a gesture of attempted camaraderie or the guy just hated his other cellmate.

  “You’re in Naillik,” Badass said with a grim kind of emphasis that suggested it was the worst jail, or compound, or city, a man could find himself in. The name certainly suited.

  “Yeah. What planet?” Remy asked.

  “Vox.”

  Remy and his crew had guessed pretty quickly that they weren’t on Earth. Again, the whole giant moon and two-toned sky had confirmed that... not to mention the bizarre beast that had nearly taken off the doc’s head. The fact that people here seemed to speak English, however, was unexpected.

  Remy rubbed the back of his neck. Being told that he’d washed up on a planet he’d never even remotely heard of was not making his headache any better. Right now, he could really do with one of Tosh’s weird and wonderful concoctions that the doc had often served him when he was “under the weather.”

  “Funny, you don’t strike me as the type that would join those froufrou monks in Trame,” Badass continued.

  Remy blinked at him. Of all the things he’d been accused of, in all his travels, this had to be the best.

  “What type do I strike you as?” he asked gruffly.

  The man ignored the question and jabbed his thumb at the window. “Alright, so you’re not with them.”

  Remy stepped up to the window to see what group he’d been eliminated from. The view, surprisingly, was of a busy street. He saw mostly humans in the crowds milling outside, but there was also a smattering of elves and dwarves, along with several androids. His silly hope that he might spot his crew out there, shuffling around in disguise, was utterly dashed. Nobody even cast a glance at the jail cell.

  Then his gaze landed on the giant billboard screen looming across the street. It featured several purple-robed individuals—the said froufrou monks—posing in front of what appeared to be an old-school monastery. Underneath, a series of dates was listed in thick black lettering in addition to the typical “join us” pitch. The call to spirituality and salvation from eternal damnation was indeed universal.

  “Look, I’m from off-planet,” Remy said. “Our froufrou monks wear orange.”

  He glanced at the sign again.

  “And tend to be skinny old men, not hot young women.”

  The man snorted. “Everybody on Vox is from off-planet.”

  Remy regarded the man properly, searching beyond the badass exterior, taking in his merciless eyes. The dude had to be a pirate or at least organized crime. Remy had been around men like him almost his entire life.

  Or maybe it just takes one to know one?

  The man stepped toward his cell and shoved his hand through t
he adjoining bars. “I’m Yercer Taul.”

  Even the name screamed, I’m a criminal!

  Without hesitation, Remy took the man’s hand and shook it with a business-like smile. “Remy Bechet.”

  Yercer Taul’s grip was tight but Remy reciprocated, keeping his smile in place and resisting all of Taul’s attempts to twist his hand into a submissive position.

  What an idiot.

  “Hey! Sit the hell down, Yercer,” a woman’s voice barked.

  Chapter 4

  LILLY

  Lilly ramped up her glare at Yercer Taul, making sure he got the hint.

  Yercer smirked back, released the new prisoner’s hand, and sank onto his bunk. He swung one leg over the other and rolled up his convict-tunic sleeves to reveal hairy forearms, making a big show of getting comfortable. His gaze yo-yoed between her and the new prisoner, as if he expected some form of entertainment to ensue.

  But the entertainment was on a commercial break. The new prisoner hadn’t budged from where he’d stood to shake hands with Yercer. He remained still. Only his gleaming, hazel eyes moved as they tracked her and her two companions hovering in front of the cells.

  Like a bird of prey.

  Tim had had a thing for birds of prey. He had especially adored talconians and could watch videos of them for hours. Part of the fascination had arisen from how the raptors stood still, deathly still, before they pounced. He’d even tried to have one bioengineered on Vox, but it hadn’t worked out.

  She shook away the memory and cocked her head at Milo, the dworg rep from Yerdua, and Jacer, the aflin from Elocin, indicating they should come closer to the cell. “He won’t bite.”

  Milo stepped forward with hunched shoulders. “You sure? He looks just the type.”

  “Cybernetics scan was clean,” she said, checking the notes on her tablet.

  He was just a regular human, if a well-honed one, no implants or fancy stuff. Nothing that could bite through bars of titanium alloy.

  After a pause, Jacer shuffled forward as well, frowning at the new prisoner.

  Lilly was thankful for their silence. Milo and Jacer had just spent the last fifteen minutes blaming her for something she had zero control over. If she had to listen to another syllable of Jacer’s high-pitched, querulous voice or one more of Milo’s heavy sighs, she might just have to kill herself. Or them.

  At least she seemed to have convinced the prickly duo that the med shipment had been moved up without consulting any of them, including her, and that by the time she and her team had arrived at the drop location, the crew was dead and the nano-biotics were gone. But it had been a struggle to convince them. And what had actually happened was a total mystery.

  She didn’t like mysteries.

  Her eyes panned to the dark-haired prisoner, absorbing him properly for the first time. She held his insolent gaze which, surprisingly for a prisoner’s, didn’t wander across her curves, mentally stripping her. Just for that, she’d let him be fed a decent meal tonight. If he provided answers.

  Before she could start questioning him, though, the prisoner spoke first.

  “Where’s my crew?” he demanded, his tone reasonable but with an undercurrent of steel.

  These naturally authoritative types pissed her off. What business did criminal scum have to sound capable and rational?

  She took a step closer to the bars. “The madman is sedated in the psych wing at the med center.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at one corner of the prisoner’s mouth. But his eyes were still fixed on her, unblinking, serious.

  “The girl…” she said, suddenly sensing how important this was to him, “is at the juvenile detention center. We’re still trying to determine if she’s responsible for being at the crime scene, or if you kidnapped and coerced her into aiding you.” For what it was worth, she was giving the cooperative approach a shot—exchanging what she knew in the hope he’d do the same.

  The prisoner’s shoulder and arm muscles bunched up. He shifted his weight, glanced down at his feet and then back to her face. “First off,” he said in a quietly cold voice, “I didn’t kidnap Dreyla. She’s part of my crew, practically my daughter.”

  “Practically?” Milo sneered. “Oh, is that what you call it?”

  Lilly shot Milo a warning glance. This wasn’t helping.

  The prisoner didn’t show any reaction.

  “Well, Captain… Remy Bechet,” she said, consulting her notes, “you have a strange way of raising a daughter.”

  Not that she had any experience, but she was pretty sure the average sixteen-year-old shouldn’t be stealing meds and aiding her practically-father in killing off a team of innocent medics, along with all the other atrocities they’d doubtlessly committed prior to landing on Vox.

  Milo brushed past her, grasped the bars, and stared Bechet down. “Come on, where’s the shipment of nano-biotics, you piece of no-good thieving scum?”

  “You got it all wrong, dwarf. We didn’t steal anything, and we didn’t kill anybody.”

  Bechet’s steady, deadly tone rang with the truth. Which was a pity. Because this just got a whole lot more complicated.

  Lilly turned to Milo, expecting him to take offense. The dworg remained silent and unreactive.

  Jacer pushed past him. “That’s a likely story.”

  Bechet lifted his gaze to the aflin. “We found the ship like that… everyone was already dead.”

  “He’s in league with Taul and Darkbur and all the other Bane scum,” Jacer appealed to her, flapping his spindly fingers at the caged man.

  “Easy there, elf, I just met this man.” Bechet pointed backward with his thumb at Yercer Taul, who was gobbling up every word of this.

  Jacer bristled.

  Lilly exhaled slowly.

  “Jacer, Milo, we just saw them meet.” She indicated Yercer Taul sitting on his bunk. “So, he’s at least telling the truth about that.”

  “No, darlin’,” Yercer said, smiling wide, his hands clasped behind his head. “We’re all in it together. He’s one of us.”

  Bechet swung around. “Piss off, fat man.”

  Yercer leapt off his bunk and slammed against the bars, trying to grasp Bechet. But his stocky upper arms were too thick to reach him.

  Bechet didn’t even blink. He turned and grabbed one of Yercer’s hands. Twisting and bending it at the same time, he forced the man to kneel in his cell. It happened so fast, Lilly only managed to cup her hand around the grip of her pistol but not unholster it. She allowed her hand to rest there; she’d let this one play out.

  “Come on, pudge, tell the truth,” Bechet growled.

  But Yercer wasn’t that easy. He grabbed ahold of Bechet’s other arm and wrenched it through the bars, into his cell. It was fair play, but a secret part of Lilly wanted to see Captain Bechet break Yercer’s wrist.

  Which is exactly what he did. With a snap that made her wince, Yercer’s wrist bent into a position it was definitely not meant to be in. Any other human would have released his grip, but Yercer yanked down further on Bechet’s arm. The captain released Yercer’s broken wrist and pulled with all his might on his other arm, which brought Yercer’s body back up against the bars. He sent a fist through the bars, punching Yercer’s massive head. If he’d aimed for the big man’s left eye, then he’d hit his target. Yercer released Bechet’s arm and stumbled back to his bunk, squinting one eye, cradling his wrist, and growling death threats.

  Bechet stepped away from the bars. While the whole fight had taken less than twenty seconds, he’d dealt with one of the biggest, meanest criminals on the planet with apparent ease. That made him either extremely capable or extremely lucky.

  “Where are you from, Remy Bechet?” Lilly asked, keeping her voice as cool as possible as she surveyed the damage and the reactions of her companions.

  “First, how do you know my name? Second, how is it that you’re speaking English?”

  “The girl, Dreyla, she told me your name…” She looked up and met his s
teadfast gaze. “And I have no idea what English is.”

  A flash of something vulnerable in his eyes softened him, just for a moment, before his expression closed up again.

  “I’m from off-planet,” he said gruffly. “Really far off-planet.”

  Chapter 5

  DREYLA

  Dreyla sat huddled on a chair near a barred window, trying to block out the echoing voices around her, trying to concentrate. Three days she’d spent in this crap-hole “juvenile detention center” with its scratchy clothing, cardboard food, and dreary decor. It had taken her all of twenty minutes to figure out that it was essentially a drug rehab for female children and teenagers. Most of the inmates were too spaced out or too miserable to even consider escaping.

  Despite keeping to herself as she tended to do, she’d overheard whispers from the other kids about scoring scat—the drug of choice in the crazy little town she, Remy, and Tosh had found themselves in. They lived, breathed, and dreamt of scat. Their conversations were very limited.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I asked if you had any.”

  Dreyla looked up. A tall, stocky girl about her age with woefully self-dyed, blue-and-purple hair loomed over her. Dreyla assumed she was the one “in charge.” She thought she’d heard one of the other kids call her Mosi.

  “I told you yesterday,” Dreyla said, feigning boredom, “I don’t have anything for you.”

  The girl poked her face into Dreyla’s personal space, almost nose to nose. “Don’t talk down to me, little girl.” She then jabbed her, hard, with two fingers to the chest.

  Dreyla had seen this confrontation coming. Ten minutes after discovering that most of the kids were either on scat or recovering from it, she’d figured out the behemoth poking her was gonna be trouble.

  She rose slowly. “Don’t do that.”

  “Oh, I’ll do whatever I want,” Mosi shot back, glaring through narrowed eyes.

  She poked Dreyla again. Same place, just harder.

  In a flash, Dreyla grabbed the larger girl’s wrist, twisted and bent it, and forced the girl almost twice as big as she was to fall to her knees. It was a move she’d learned from Remy, a long time ago.