Star Child- Awakening

by Petra Landon

  Without allowing her saner self to talk her out of it, Novi stood up in a half crouch to face the mounted console. From the corner of her eye, she could see that the smoke in the Bay was now pervasive and thick. With the smoke obscuring visibility, she hoped the console activity would remain undetected from the slingers shooting at the rattling door inching its way up slowly.

  It took her a minute to transmit a short message to the same ID as before — home. The Captain’s assault on the Bay proved that he had received the first message. The message said bay door powered. It was short but precise and Novi hoped that it did the trick.

  A blast hit the console with a deafening crash to put it out of commission. Novi ducked instinctively, a scream torn out of her. More flasher fire sprayed over the platform as she cowered behind the barrier. A shivering Novi could only hope that the message had been transmitted before the flasher had taken out the console.

  The next few minutes stretched like an eon for Novi. The sound of flashers now reverberated throughout the hangar. The shuddering, screaming space door added to the din, even as the Bay continued to shake.

  YanTeo, please let them get my message.

  Through the din, she heard heavy footsteps climb the stairs to the console platform. Novi glanced up in trepidation to see a flasher pointed at her head. Her terrified gaze noted the finger on the trigger, as her life seemed to flash before her eyes.

  YanTeo!

  Payroll Convoy

  Ryfkin Soren used the scope to scour the terrain as the four-wheeler bumped its way up the mountain. On the lower slopes, the ground was arid with yellowing vegetation and scruffy grass; no tree cover in sight. Up higher, it was even more bare with the stone-cut face gazing down like a merciless sentinel. A faint pucker marked his brow, as it had for the better part of the day — no bandit worth his salt would pick such a location to ambush an armed convoy. It would be suicide. The mountain provided no cover. The Deziti guards might be green, but without the element of surprise on the bandits’ side, even a lightly armed convoy on this path possessed too much of an advantage for anyone to attempt an ambush.

  “Anything?” he asked the two sharp-shooters behind him.

  In the mid-section of the Wheeler, the two siblings had their telescopic flashers mounted on rotating axles. The sharp-shooters scanned the yellowed slopes, much like their Captain, ready to defend the Wheeler from an assault.

  “Nary a soul” confirmed Yukon.

  Ryf frowned. The nub of suspicion in the pit of his stomach seemed to deepen with every mile. Once they’d left the settlements behind, it had been desolate terrain. And now, it was steep and rugged to boot. The Wheeler hugged a rough path hewn into the lower slopes of the mighty mountain. Ryf suspected that the path had been carved by the monthly journey of Deziti’s payroll convoy. It was doubtful that anyone else had cause to tread this particular route. The Shuttle Vestibule could be accessed through the plains by an easier albeit slightly longer route.

  He pinged the men riding with the Deziti guards. “Jerik?”

  “All quiet, Boss” the InnerWorlder responded promptly on the Hailer.

  The patch by the slopes had been marked by Deziti as the danger zone, the very reason Ryfkin Soren had been hired to guard their cash. Jerik knew precisely why his Captain hailed him.

  Soren signed off to scan the terrain again. From the driver’s seat, Burok flashed his Captain a lightning glance. The RimWorlder crew had followed their Renegade leader when the stakes had been much higher. They knew him well and his apparent restlessness only served to heighten their own instincts.

  Ryf’s mind flashed to the scene at the bank this morning. While the Deziti guards in their starched uniforms had been astonished that a contingent of RimWorlders had been hired to protect the payroll, they had not recognized Soren. But the head of the bank, recruited off-world and wooed by Deziti to manage the fledgling financial institution, had. His flabbergasted expression had prompted the Captain to explain that Deziti desired extra protection from bandit attacks. The manager’s reaction had only served to put Ryf on his guard. That the highest ranking executive of the bank would be kept in the dark about any attempts on the payroll seemed utterly improbable to him.

  “It’s too quiet” Zinera Jeryn remarked from the mid-section.

  “No bandit ever got the drop on a convoy here” Yukon stated, laconic but precise as always. “There’s no cover for miles.”

  “This is all wrong” the Captain muttered.

  Despite his screaming instincts, Ryf couldn’t put his finger on how it benefited anyone to offer them a sinecure — a gig to protect a payload under no threat. Easy pickings had always made him suspicious. But he reminded himself that in an hour, they’d be done with their pockets heavier. At their current speed, they would be over the mountain in a little under an hour. The official convoy up ahead was to wait for them at the rendezvous, where they would transfer the payroll and collect Jerik and Vizir. With the danger zone safely navigated, the two teams would then go their separate ways — Soren and his crew to the Shuttle Vestibule and Deziti’s guards, with the payroll, to the private dock.

  His Hailer beeped discreetly, to interrupt his musings. To Ryf’s surprise, the device inquired if he wanted the communique voiced. He acquiesced, wondering why anyone would send him a transcribed message. Within seconds, the mechanized voice announced a short and pithy sentence into his ears.

  For a stunned moment, shock held him speechless. Then, he cursed loudly, colorful and fluent with it. But mingled with fury was relief. Finally, here was a clue to this strange job. Now, he could work to untangle this.

  “Ryf?” Commander Jeryn took her eyes off the scope to glance at him.

  “Stop the Wheeler” he directed.

  Burok pumped the brakes and with a screech, the heavy vehicle ground to a stop in a small cloud of dust.

  Soren turned to the two in the mid-section. “Yukon, open up the payroll. Check what’s in them.”

  “They’re sealed, Cap’n” the young RimWorlder reminded him. “Should I break the seal?”

  “Yes.”

  Without further ado, Yukon slid down the partition that separated the mid-section from the last, to leap into it. Four crates were stacked neatly to one side of the space. Pulling out a knife, he ripped into the official seal of the nearest one.

  Zinera Jeryn ignored the activity, her eyes on Soren.

  “That was a message from Ilar’s Justice” the Captain explained somberly. “Our old Renegade call sign, followed by one word — Reika’Sola.”

  This was a Renegade audience and they understood what the simple message implied. Burok’s eyes widened, Commander Jeryn swore under her breath and, back in the end-section, Yukon’s head snapped up from the crates.

  “The old Home ID?” Burok exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  Yukon took a breath. “Kali, that crafty beron, sent us a warning.”

  Zin was the one to state it succinctly. “The Cruiser is under attack.”

  After the first shock, Zinera Jeryn was back in action. A Renegade for five years, she was better at tackling problems that required solutions, instead of unraveling a corporation’s ulterior motives in offering them a job.

  “Aye” the Captain agreed, his mind working furiously. “Yukon, how’re those crates coming along?”

  “I’m into the first one. It’s all cash.”

  “Check the others. That cash is our backup plan.”

  “I’ll give him a hand, Cap’n.” Burok leapt out of the Wheeler to walk towards the end-section.

  “Has to be Deziti, Ryf” the Commander said slowly, her eyes holding his. “They feckin’ lured us here.”

  “That they did” he murmured, reaching for his Hailer. Ryf appeared calm, revealing no outward hint of his rage. To an observer, he looked nothing like a man under siege.

  Zin watched him. As far back as she could remember, Ryf always had a plan. He’d been the most easygoing of the three and yet, the one th
ey inevitably turned to when things went sour. A natural leader, he possessed the uncanny ability to instill unswerving faith in his comrades. For her, following Ryf during the war had been a natural progression of their dynamic. But the others had followed him because of this indefinable quality about him.

  “Vizir, there’s a change of plan.” Ryf spoke in the RimWorlder dialect, knowing that his old Renegade comrade would take the hint. “Have your convoy drop Jerik and you at the rendezvous and continue on. Tell them we’re running late and will hand over the payroll to Deziti ourselves.”

  There was a brief silence at the other end of the Hailer. “Any reason you’re running late, Cap’n?” Vizir asked in the same dialect, choosing his words with care.

  “Wheeler trouble.”

  “The Wheeler” Vizir repeated, his voice even. The armored four-wheeler had cost Ryfkin Soren a small fortune, nearly most of his fees from a handful of early Venn Corp contracts. They both knew it did not damage easily.

  The Captain ignored the subtle undertones. “Make them buy it, Vizir.”

  “I will, Cap’n. See you at the rendezvous.”

  “Watch your backs” Soren signed off.

  Burok addressed him from the end-section of the Wheeler, while Yukon bent over the contents of the strewn payroll crates. “It’s cash, Cap’n. All four crates.”

  “How much you reckon is in there?” the Captain asked.

  Burok shot a look at his young sharp-shooter companion. “Five, maybe six million?”

  “I’d say closer to six” Yukon confirmed.

  “Good.” Ryf looked pleased. “That’s our ace in the hole.”

  He glanced around him, at the yellowing slopes, the hardy terrain and the stony mountain face, his mind going over the plan one more time to make sure he’d covered all the bases. His crew, having followed him through hellfire, patiently awaited his orders.

  As usual, he came to a decision quickly.

  “Close the crates” he directed at the men in the end-section. “And let’s hustle to the rendezvous.”

  As the two RimWorlders applied themselves, Zin asked him. “We take the Cruiser back first, Ryf.” It wasn’t a question, but more a statement. She knew what the ship meant to him.

  “No one takes Ilar’s Justice from us, Zin” His voice hardened. “Not after the feckin’ Gorath took his namesake away.”

  She agreed with him, her eyes glittering. Reika’Sola dredged up very painful memories. It had been a time during the war when the Renegades had faced losing everything — their homes, their worlds, their friends and their very lives, all subsumed by the Guild’s greed.

  Ryf’s eyes entangled with her, understanding, concern and fury mingling in that fleeting glance.

  “This is not Reika’Sola, Zin” he reminded her softly. “Once we take the Cruiser back, I’ll feckin’ remind Deziti of it.”

  Burok climbed back into the driver’s seat as Yukon leapt into the mid-section. “All done, Cap’n.”

  “To the rendezvous and spare the brakes, Burok” the Captain said, standing up to bypass the two seats behind him and hop into the mid-section of the Wheeler.

  As Burok revved the Wheeler’s powerful engines, Ryf directed the others.

  “Yukon, dismantle the sharp-shooter axles. We won’t need them.”

  “Zin, you and I are going to inventory every piece of ammunition and equipment in the Wheeler.”

  When the Wheeler rolled into the rendezvous, an impatient Jerik and a grim-faced Vizir met them.

  “What’s going on, Boss?” Jerik asked, jumping into the Wheeler as Burok slowed down for the two men.

  The Captain’s response was laconic. “Kali sent out an SOS and the Cruiser is unreachable.”

  Jerik looked thunderstruck.

  “Find us some cover” Soren directed at Burok. “We’re in the open here.”

  The Renegades slipped back into old habits easily, working in tandem as the Captain directed them like the conductor of a world-class orchestra. In the end-section, Commander Jeryn sorted efficiently through the pile of ammunition, armor and sundry equipment. The Wheeler always carried emergency supplies and ammunition — they were often asked to camp out in unfriendly terrain on their gigs. Only a stunned Jerik seemed uncertain, not sure of his place in the mission.

  Ryf’s silver eyes took in the InnerWorlder’s hesitation. A born leader, his years leading the Renegades had taught him many skills when it came to marshaling his troops effectively. His men all had their strengths and it was his job to effectively execute the mission by playing to them.

  “I have another job for you, Jerik” he said. “We got this.”

  Jerik let out a breath to nod. He knew his way around weapons and was a darn good bounty hunter with contacts all over the Inner Worlds, but he was not a soldier, had not been a Renegade and felt a little out of his depth on this.

  Burok brought the Wheeler to a stop behind a ramshackle storage shed. In the distance, the white-washed Shuttle Vestibule stood out like a beacon, surrounded by parked craft. A large starship was locked to one of the gates that mirrored the docking ports of a Star Portico. Ilar’s Justice gleamed under the sun.

  “Alright” Soren remarked. “We need intel. Let’s gather it.”

  “Jerik, see what the Vestibule has to say. Keep your Hailer open and be canny. Don’t let out the cat before we’re ready” he warned.

  “You got it, Boss” Jerik responded, his confidence renewed. This was familiar territory for him.

  “Vizir and Yukon, case Ilar’s Justice. Don’t let anyone see you.”

  As the three hurried away, Ryf turned to the driver. “Burok, check the shed. I don’t want to worry about the payroll until we have the Cruiser.”

  He had held Burok back to pick his brains. The RimWorlder was an experienced mechanic and the Captain knew they’d need some ingenuity to take back what was theirs.

  Ryf made his way to the end-section of the Wheeler where the Commander had separated all their supplies into neat piles.

  She glanced at him, her expression neutral. “We have plenty of firepower, Ryf.”

  “Armor?” he inquired. They’d need it for the assault on the Cruiser. Kali was no greenhorn. If someone had boarded Ilar’s Justice on the pilot’s watch, retaking the ship would be no walk in the park.

  “Four sets.”

  “It’ll have to do” the Captain murmured.

  Burok informed them that the shed would suffice as a hiding place and the two men commenced stashing the payroll into it.

  “Boss.” Soren’s Hailer came to life just as they finished transferring the last of the payroll. Ryf punched it into speaker mode as the others crowded around him.

  “The Cruiser’s gate is blocked, Boss. The Vestibule guard says there’s been an unexpected blackout and they’re working to fix it.”

  “Blackout” Zin murmured under her breath.

  “What about Kali and Kidani?” the Captain inquired.

  “According to the guard, no one’s come through the Vestibule gate. And he won’t allow me aboard the ship — I have to prove I’m crew first. With the Cruiser disabled, he says the Vestibule must secure it.”

  Ryf’s eyes entangled with his deputy’s. “Sit tight, Jerik. Don’t draw any attention to yourself yet.”

  “Understood, Boss” Jerik signed off.

  “If they cut power to the Cruiser, Cap’n, the space door is dead” Burok pointed out in his calm way.

  “We can’t go in from the Vestibule” the Commander countered. “We’d have to get through their guards first. It has to be the Bay.”

  “Zin’s right” the Captain seconded her, meeting the mechanic’s eyes. Their options were limited.

  Burok pondered the matter. “We have explosives, Cap’n. I could rig something to blast a hole through one of the airlocks?” he offered.

  Ryf shook his head. “Too risky, Burok. I need the Cruiser space-worthy. If the damage is too severe, we’d be grounded until we can make repairs.�
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  The silver eyes glittered. “Zubiko Ethera is Deziti’s turf. Here, they have the advantage over us. Up in space, not so much.”

  Zin released her breath. “We might have to chance it, Ryf” she said slowly. “The Bay door needs a lot of juice. Our portable generator will not do the trick.”

  “Not the portable generator” Burok agreed, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “All we need is to scrape it up a little, enough for a man to slide under” Ryf reminded the mechanic. The Bay door was essentially a large hatch that slid up to provide space access from the hanger.

  “The Wheeler’s engines can power the door” the mechanic suggested. “I could rig it to the controls.”

  The Captain knew his crew well. “What’s the catch, Burok?”

  “You’ll lose the element of surprise.”

  “I’ll take it. There’s no way in without the space door.”

  “I’ll get on it, Cap’n.”

  Ryf’s Hailer pinged again and he put it on speaker.

  “Cap’n.” It was Vizir this time. “All quiet here. The Cruiser’s locked up tight. Looks like they’ve barricaded themselves inside.”

  “Check the Bay door controls, Vizir. Are they powered?”

  “Powered?” Vizir sounded startled.

  Ryf was blunt. “The Vestibule claims the Cruiser has gone black.”

  There was a short delay while the RimWorlders checked on the controls.

  “The space door’s dead” Vizir confirmed.

  “Alright, head back to the Wheeler.”

  “On our way, Cap’n.”

  It took them fifteen minutes to sort out the plan. Jerik was to create a diversion at the Vestibule gate, making noise and demanding explanations from the guards while the others mounted an assault from Space Bay. For whatever reason, Deziti didn’t seem inclined to an open confrontation — the Cruiser had been boarded stealthily while its crew was distracted with the payroll gig. They were gambling that Deziti’s desire to keep its hands clean would make the Vestibule guards indulge Jerik’s legitimate complaints.

  The setting sun had just commenced streaking the skies when the Wheeler rolled to a stop by Ilar’s Justice, parked squarely across the space door with its armored hood up. Yukon jumped out to drag the heavy cables to the Bay door controls while Vizir hooked them to the Wheeler’s engines.