24:01 One Minute After

by Eric Diehl

  She could no longer remember why or even what, she simply knew it had to be. The fury drove her, the excitement of the bloodlust, the understanding that the others now feared her. She reveled in it, and just before impact she reversed herself, her wings breaking backward, and she extended her talons and roared a gout of flame that was ripped behind by the wind.

  The stony spire impaled her scaled underbelly, plunging up through her chest and her hearts, and she slammed to a halt with the gory pinnacle rammed through the ridge of armor along her spine. Her phosphoric blood spattered and mixed with the flammable venom of her ruptured glands, and a low blue flame sprang up and quickly burst into a blazing neon inferno. The intense heat shattered the cold stone, even melting it, and the landscape was consumed.

  On the battlefield, warriors performing the rites of death paused to gawp in astonishment at the huge torch that erupted on the distant mountainside, too bright to look at for long, and loosing a roiling black cloud of smoke to the heavens.

  ***

  A’qil again stood at the high window of his donjon, his chest splinted and bound, looking at the massive army, beaten, that retreated ploddingly from his walls like a huge slug burdened by its own weight. His newly-shaved scalp was puckered liberally with stitchwork, and he cocked his head to listen curiously. In the distance, from the mountains—raucous bedlam among the Draaka. He’d never before heard the like of it.

  He sighed, absently fingering his blade. He looked and draw the edge across an open palm. So sharp it was—the tissue took a moment to recognize the cut, but then a bright flow of blood welled. He stared at it moodily—he felt none of the old excitement. He put his hand to his lips, tasting the blood.

  Still nothing. He spat bloodied phlegm on the polished horn that lay at his feet, and he looked back to the retreating army.

  It’s not cowardice, what I do…

  He looked hard at his battered reflection in the pane of glass.

  Is it?

  He shook his head.

  I let them go, perhaps to one day regroup and come against me again, even stronger? I could finish them now, they have nothing left. Even without the cursed Draaka I could finish them…

  A’qil sighed, and he rubbed a rough hand across his bristly chin. He rang the bell to summon an attendant. He had decided—he would send emissaries to all the Great Houses.

  He could scarcely believe it. He—A’qil sa’n Alar, never defeated, most feared of all the warlords—intended to speak of peace.

  The End

  Vedara Lightstar

  Vedara ground her teeth, and ground them.

  You cross-dimensional—scatter-eyed—dungfly…

  It was as though the little monster was toying with her, though with a brain little more substantial than the trace particles of matter occupying a cube of deep space, that would be a stretch. She glowered at the luminescent insect where it flittered back and forth, as if taunting Nyah, nyah, come get me; she couldn’t guess how the damned thing had gotten through the decontamination screens at that last way-station, or how it had come to harbor at an open-space outpost in the first place. But nonetheless, here it was; very annoying.

  Judging by its size it must have enjoyed prosperous times on whatever planet it originated from, and it had certainly wasted no time freaking her out via an unexpected buzzing-strafe shortly after she’d detached from the supply station. Since then she’d pursued it off and on the entire trip, but it was so frakking fast she could never get close enough. The God’s bedeviled—the bloody thing followed her from cabin to cabin like some winged leech on a tether!

  A wicked smile began to play at Vedara’s lips then, but she quickly shook her head no. That would be playing it too loose, and if one meant to survive interplanetary transit there were certain rules to abide. Then the mischievous grin won out. What the hell—life beyond orbit was rarely a matter of prudence and stilted decorum, and there was always something to be said for brute force.

  She leaned to the side of the swiveling pilot console and popped the clasps holding the hand cannon in its bracket. She dialed it all the way down to its lowest stun setting, and weakened it to the max by spreading the coverage to its widest blanketing frame.

  Maybe the frakking dungfly wasn’t quite so dumb as she’d thought, though, because it now began to buzz frantically around the cabin, faster than before and staying lit nowhere for more than a moment, as if it somehow realized that the ante had just been upped. Vedara sighed and settled into her console, with the weapon pointed toward the rear bulkhead where there was no sensitive instrumentation to be disrupted, and she waited. She had a fair bit of time for this; still an hour out from the transfer station.

  Perhaps the dungfly decided she was bluffing, or maybe it really was scarcely brighter than a bulb with a burned-but filament. Whatever the case, when it returned to flit back and forth on the rear bulkhead Vedara squeezed the trigger and the hand cannon pulsed ever so slightly in her grip.

  She stood and walked to where the insect quivered on the floor, and she raised a foot and brought her knobbed boot down with finality. There was crunchy, squishy sound, and she turned her nose up at the nasty smell. She lifted her foot and saw that she was anchored to the floor panel by long elastic strands of phosphorescent goop.

  Yuck, what a mess. Like piloting a ground skimmer through a cloud of glow bugs on Tanzabnar.

  She slid the hepca-vac from its slot and suctioned up the crud from the floor and from the sole of her boot, and for good measure switched it to irradiate and swept it back over both. The sole of her foot tingled warmly—yet another rule that she’d broken in just the last few minutes. Oh well.

  She slid back into her console, almost disappointed that her interlude with the dungfly had finally come to its end. As irritating as the frakking bug had been, it had at least been a distraction and this had been a long and boring passage. But she brightened with the thought that the trip was now almost over, and she began to dial in the final coordinates.

  Once the StarGazer was docked and she was on-board the transit station, Vedara stood scanning the crowd bustling purposely about the yawning cavity comprising the terminal. The outbound/inbound staging platforms appeared the busiest, with their decontamination pass-throughs working full-time, but the barter station was also quite active, as were the variety of feeding stations and troughs. Finally she spotted Moraine in the opposite quarter and rose up on her toes and waved. Moraine pointed to the lounge midway between, and there they met. There was a strange glimmer of excitement about her friend, and after ordering a couple of spiced synthales and bringing each other up to date, Vedara inquired.

  “What is it that has you so charged up, Moraine? You’re squirming like you’ve got a scatworm.”

  Moraine giggled and reached across to squeeze Vedara’s arm. “It’s our contact, Vedara. A Seleneen! Gods! I wish he was our assigned cargo; I wouldn’t even quibble over details such as male or female!”

  Vedara shook her head. “Shades of a Dark Star, Moraine! You’d be well-advised to keep your libido in check. Not only are the Seleneen decidedly non-human, but I’ve heard some, ummm… very strange stories about their sexual proclivities.”

  Moraine giggled again and clasped her hands between her thighs, managing to squeeze her buxom chest into even greater prominence. “Oh yesss! You have never been with a Seleneen, Vedara? Shame on you—such a sheltered girl! They are indeed very sexual—in fact they are tri-sexual, and you know what that means!” Moraine lost herself to yet another fit of giggling.

  “Tri-sexual? Well, actually, I’m not so sure—”

  “Oh look!” interrupted Moraine, pointing to a silver-hued humanoid that approached in their direction. “Here he comes! That is a male, I’m fairly certain! Oh, the Gods; thrice blessed!”

  The Seleneen glided up to their table, moving with a singularly sinuous grace. “My greetings, ladies; I am Valtar Tasbok, of Selena. Per my Identity Scanner, I presume that the two of you are pil
ot Vedara Lightstar,” he nodded to Vedara, “and facilitator,” he gazed at Moraine’s chest, which seemed almost animated from her rapid respiration, “Moraine Fallasso?”

  Although Moraine was the broker for this contract she appeared unable to catch her breath, much less speak in a business-like manner, and so Vedara opened her mouth to respond, and found herself unable to do so. Her pulse was accelerated and she actually felt a bit woozy, as if she’d been standing too close to a platform jumper and had inhaled a bit of the bio-exhaust that some humanoids seem especially fond of. Then she remembered why.

  Bloody Gods, the Seleneen literally reeks of pheromones!

  She glanced again at Moraine, who looked as if she was ready to hump his leg or even the bar stool if nothing else availed itself. Vedara pushed herself a distance back from Valtar and tried to breathe air not permeated by his presence.

  “Uhhh, yes. I am Vedara and this,” she looked daggers at Moraine, who ignored her completely, “is Moraine. Per our agreement, I have delivered my cargo of Gordovian salt, bound for the Belavaar system, to the transfer facility here. After I have prepped the hold we will be ready to accept your cargo of—ah, you phrased it Selenian spirit, I believe? Bound for Drakor?”

  “Um? Oh yes.” The Seleneen diverted his gaze from Moraine’s chest and shifted his chair closer to Vedara. Vedara jockeyed to keep the table between them, while Moraine tried to edge back into Valtar’s line of sight.

  “The Spirit is a very powerful and sought after… ah, stimulant, is how I believe it would be phrased in Universal Speak,” said Valtar. “Quite valuable, and requiring a great deal of care during transport and storage. That is why our RFS specified that the cargo hold of the transport ship possess precisely modulated environmental controls, as well as grav-suppressors to eliminate the load of launch and deceleration. It is why the product is stored in a pressurized container requiring a hook-up to the ship’s environmental controls, and it is why we have offered a fifty percent premium for this transport.”

  Valtar slid off his stool and glided around the table toward her, followed closely by Moraine, who tried to press in inconspicuously, as if that was something she was capable of.

  Like a bloody game of contact-tag, mused Vedara, with poor Moraine desperate to be ‘it’.

  The Seleneen drew a packet of papers from his breast pocket and laid it on the table. “You have already seen this bill of lading in digital format; here are two hard-copies. The group I represent has signed both. If you will look them over and sign, you can submit one copy to the freight-master at the transfer station when you are ready to pick up your cargo. All the delivery details are included with the manifest.” Valtar indulged her with a broad smile, and Vedara could very much feel its beckoning effect. Moraine literally sighed—nearly a whimper. Vedara shook her head, trying to clear her vision.

  I’ll need a cold shower after this; this guy is a hormonal cocktail…

  “If you have no further questions,” said Valtar, “then that would conclude our business today.” He spread his incredibly elegant hands on the table and Vedara found herself staring at his long, sensuous, blue-tinged fingers. She forced her gaze away.

  “I will be taking leisure here at the station for one more duty-cycle,” Valtar smiled. “If you would care to join me?” He turned his gaze to Moraine, who was nodding vigorously. “Both of you? Perhaps you have a friend who might like to come along as well? A triple or quad, with its shared sensitivity, can be, ah… exceptionally stimulating—”

  Moraine was tugging at her sleeve, but Vedara pulled free. “Thank you, Valtar, but no. I have to make my craft ready for the flight.” She looked to Moraine and arched her brow. “My facilitator will report in a timely manner to the StarGazer, before our scheduled departure just one lunar cycle hence?”

  Moraine leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Oh, you can bet on that! I’ll then be able to regale you, in explicit detail, about everything you’re about to miss out on!”

  Valtar nodded and began to glide away, with Moraine flouncing and bouncing along behind, and Vedara grinned as she watched them leave. I’m not sure if she reminds me more of a trampy station-girl soliciting a ride or a young innocent following her daddy to the carnival…

  ***

  Vedara sighed in exasperation, pushing back in her console and shaking her head. “Moraine! That’s enough already!”

  Quite more than enough, she thought, as she’d already endured multiple retellings, in far more detail than she cared for, of Moraine’s beneath-the-sheets exploits with Valtar the Seleneen. Not that much of the physically-improbable endeavors had actually taken place in a bed, to hear Moraine tell it. Vedara shook her head again, in grudging wonder—her friend appeared to have broken various precepts of biological science. Exultant Moiraine had been the sole target of Valtar’s triple-pronged attack—apparently to his slight disappointment and her extreme delight.

  Vedara huffed and redirected her attention to the task at hand; consulting her star-charts to locate the numerous moons they skirted in proximity to a minor planet. Moraine tried to wriggle back into Vedara’s focus, unwilling to give it up. The woman was still flushed a bright pink, for the God’s sake!

  “I told you you’d be missing out, didn’t I?” She danced from foot to foot, cooing like a dove. “Oh oh, yes! By the God’s, I don’t know how the Seleneen ever get any work done! Why, I’d never be out of bed if—“

  Moraine took a petulant frown as she was shushed by an open palm thrust in her face. The control panel had begun to beep insistently, and a light was flashing on the lower port quadrant view-screen.

  “Look at that scanner trace,” said Vedara softly, pointing. “Two starcraft have just emerged from behind separate moons, and they’re converging upon us.”

  Moraine wound herself down, looking puzzled. “How could that be? Delefad is said to be very lightly populated, and those that do live there are an aboriginal, terra-bound species…”

  “They’re coming at us from either side, in something of a pincer movement,” growled Vedara. “Bloody frakking pirates, I’d wager! Looks like they were lying in wait—some flapping tongue on the transfer station must have tipped them about the value of our cargo and its destination.”

  Vedara jammed the pair of throttles to their stops and the hard thrust pressed both women back in their seats before the grav-suppressors compensated. Moraine had by now lost her radiant flush and was beginning to look rather blanched.

  Vedara studied the monitor. “The size and configuration of those star cruisers is a Confederation military specification,” she murmured. “I’ve heard rumors that some of the clusters of pirates are becoming more organized; banding together and accruing enough wealth to acquire hardware such as that,” she pointed to the large craft fast approaching, “from certain manufacturers who harbor no qualms regarding the character or purpose of their clients.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” whispered Moraine. “I’ve brokered plenty of armament purchases where the origin of the funds was buried in a sham of fronts, as was as the ultimate recipient of the purchase. The Ministry of Galactic Commerce turns a blind eye any time I bring it to their attention—they are obviously very well paid for it.”

  Vedara pressed her port thrusters and their course angled in toward to the denser cluster of moons. “We can’t outrun them in a straight line, but maybe I can shake them on a tighter course.” By the time they slipped in among the more tightly clustered moons and asteroids the pair of star cruisers had dramatically closed the distance, and Vedara bit down on her lip, flying a risky course, dodging and jagging between and through the asteroids. The pair of cruisers began to fall off, and she hooted.

  “But what’s the point in opening distance on them in this maze?” asked Moraine plaintively. “We can’t zig and zag around the moons of Delefad indefinitely, and when we’re back out in open space they’ll easily catch us.”

  Vedara gritted her teeth. “No. If I can open enoug
h space, and place enough obstacles between us and them, they’ll lose their line-of-sight visuals. I can then shut down everything but emergency-support and coast on a straight trajectory, and they’ll have also lost our energy signature.”

  “But,” Moraine shook her head, “there’s a very good chance they’ll be able to pick up their visuals again once back out in open space, or at least get a return on their pinging.”

  Vedara pressed her lips thin. “Listen Moraine, I’m about to tell you something—but you didn’t hear it, OK?” Moraine nodded uncertainly. “I’ve installed upgrades to my ship,” said Vedara quietly, “and one of them is a third generation SpaceCloak drive.”

  Moraine sucked in her breath. “Bloody Gods! That’s more than illegal, Vedara—that would be a pass-through judgment of treason on most of the planets in the Confederation! That’s just too dangerous—how did you pull it off?”

  Vedara swiped a hand down her face, watching the bank of monitors while she plotted her words and dodged asteroids. “Like I said—you didn’t hear this, just like you won’t hear what I say next. As for the how of it, I have connections, greased by Galactic Standard ingots and by the transfer of difficult-to-acquire merchandise—and,” she winked, “I could describe in intimate detail the sexual preferences of a certain High Minister of the Confederation.” Moraine’s jaw dropped. “As for the why of it,” Vedara pointed to the flashing scanner, “I think you can figure that out.”

  They were almost through the cluster of moons when Vedara saw the visual contact beacon blink out. She bumped the thrusters to rocket straight out of the scattering of asteroids, and she chopped all power. She flipped open a flush-set, concealed panel and her fingers began to fly over a keypad therein, but a gasp and a prodding from Moraine drew her attention. She followed her friend’s gaze, and there, hanging silent in space just a short distance off their bow, sat a third star cruiser, its curved bank of forward view-ports lit up like some great grinning monster. There came a pulsing from either cheek of the beast, and the StarGazer was slammed hard by bursts from the phase cannon. The impact was blinding and all systems went down; a piece of equipment jarred loose came spinning unseen through the darkness—it stuck one side of her head and Vedara saw a flash of red, and then all went black.