Galaxy Run: Otanzia

by Sam Renner

  GALAXY RUN:

  OTANZIA

  by

  Sam Renner

  +++++

  PUBLISHED BY:

  SIX to ONE Books & Media

  Copyright © 2021

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  01

  EHL’s cooking unit sounds a chime, letting Nixon know that whatever he’d put inside is sufficiently warm. Truth is that he doesn’t care if it’s as hot as one of the galaxy’s suns or cold as an ice cap on one of the far, far off planets where heat is only a rumor. It’s noodles and they aren’t for him.

  They are for Laana. He pulls the container from the unit and drops it on the table in front of her. The liquid inside slops over the side and lands partly in her lap.

  Must not be that warm.

  “I don’t have anything to eat with.”

  “You have two hands.”

  She tugs at the restraint that has her right arm bound to the table. “Only one technically,” she says. “And I’m not a lefty.”

  “Make do.”

  Nixon turns from her and starts putting together his own food. Truth is he’s not hungry. Adrenaline kills his appetite, and right now, after his little shootout with Laana, he’s pulsing with the stuff. It’s running through his veins so fast that he’s surprised he’s not shaking.

  He starts piling a plate so high with meats and breads, enough to make even a rich man wonder how he could afford all of it. Then he stops. He puts everything back where he got it then sits.

  Laana is bringing the noodle container to her face with her left hand and drinking them like they are coming from a cup. The broth runs down her chin and gathers in little pools on the table.

  “Not hungry?” she asks, her mouth half full.

  Nixon shakes his head no.

  “You’ll sleep here tonight.”

  Laana puts the noodle container back on the small table. “Here?”

  Nixon nods.

  “Like a prisoner?”

  “You’re not a prisoner.”

  Laana tugs again at the restraints. Smears the broth on her chin across the rest of the bottom of her face. “Sure feels like it.”

  Nixon stands. “I can’t help the way you feel.”

  He picks up the noodles from the table and throws them away as he walks to the door.

  “Hey …” Laana protests.

  He doesn’t respond and turns off the light as he exits.

  ++xxx++

  He turns the light back on the next morning, and Laana is just staring at the door when he arrives. He opens up a cabinet and pulls out a medic kit. He sits it on the table in front of Laana and pulls out a spray can of antiseptic and a sterile cloth.

  “This is going to sting,” he says just before he liberally applies the spray to her blaster wounds from the day before. She winces, and some of the spray wets the back of the seat behind her.

  “Hold still. This is going to be worse.”

  She closes her eyes and breaths while Nixon wipes the wounds with a rag, digging a finger into each hole.

  Laana shouts something in Snapsit that Nixon doesn’t understand but doesn’t really need any translation. “You enjoying this?”

  “I’m not. But if you’re going to help me—and you are—then I need you better. This hurts, but it’s how you heal.”

  She watches him remove the last of the dirt and dust from her wounds. “So you’re a medic now?”

  “I know enough.”

  Nixon grabs two absorbent pads and places them above each of the wounds then takes a cloth bandage and wraps it around the pads and her shoulder, tucking the loose end back into a fold in the fabric to close the bandage off.

  “And why didn’t you do this last night?”

  “You didn’t deserve it last night.”

  “You’re sure I’m not a prisoner?”

  Nixon puts the medical kit away and comes back to the table. He unlocks the restraint.

  “See,” he says. “Not a prisoner. Now stand.”

  She does, and he spins her around. He puts her arm up in a sling to immobilize her shoulder as best he can.

  “But we do have work to do.”

  She follows him as he leaves the galley and heads toward the main deck. The ramp is still open, and the cool morning has made its way into the ship.

  “EHL,” Nixon says as he comes into the room.

  “Sir?” the ship responds.

  “This is Laana. She’s with us now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are never to take an order from her. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Laana sighs. “You’re welcoming committee is top notch.”

  Nixon ignores her. “Repeat that back to me, EHL.”

  “This is Laana. I’m not to take orders from her.”

  “Never.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ever.”

  “Your point is made,” Laana says.

  Nixon gathers the tools that were scattered the afternoon before in their gun fight, and Laana gets a closer look at the long gashes ripped in the floor and walls by her blaster bolts.

  “You’re a bad shot,” Nixon says.

  She starts working the floor back into place as best she can with one free hand. “I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she says.

  Nixon pulls a panel off of the ramp and sets it to the side. “That’s not what it felt like from this side.”

  “You’re worth 100,000 credits alive. I had to bring you in breathing. Looks like someone wanted to see you squirm under their thumb. Can’t say I blame them at this point.”

  Nixon doesn’t respond; he just continues to work on the ramp. He watches Laana struggle to make any kind of progress. Most of the day passes, and he thinks about what she said. He’s more valuable to her and to whoever put the credits on him if he’s alive. So, was this foolish? Was keeping her around going to be that last and final decision that he’ll regret as he transitions into whatever kind of existence comes next?

  The first of the galaxy’s suns is disappearing behind the tops of the hills. Shadows from the trees are beginning to reach into the ship like long fingers. A cool breeze whips in through the open ramp and across the floor of the ship. It spins up leaves that have found their way inside.

  Nixon secures a few final fasteners then stands. He moves to the panel on the wall that controls the ramp and punches the button that will activate it. A moment’s pause then it starts to close. Nixon smiles.

  Laana: “Look at you, Mr Fix-It.”

  The ramp seals itself shut, and Nixon looks down at Laana. She’s proud of her joke, a little barb meant to sting. But Nixon won’t let it. He’s fixed the ramp. He’s proud of himself, and he’s thinking again about different directions, about how if life had taken another turn here or a twist there this could have been what he did. Not running mystery cases to mystery places, dodging blaster fire and mixing with people who had to think about whether or not they wanted him alive or dead.

  “Get up,” he tells Laana. She is still struggling to make more than minimal progress on her project. She puts down the mallet she’d been using and stands.

  She grabs at her bandaged shoulder and rubs it gently.

  “How’s it feel?”

  She tries to shrug but winces.

  “We can put more spray on it after we eat. Should make it feel better and heal it faster.”

  He turns and heads down the hall to the galley. Laana follows.

  It’s noodles for both, because they sound good to Nixon. Sometimes the simple things are the most appealing. He gives Laana a spoon this time, but she still struggles with her left hand. Maybe more tonight than she did the night before. The broth has slicked h
er chin. Loose noodles lay curled on the table in pools of liquid.

  Nixon laughs.

  “When this is healed,” she says, “I”ll shoot you twice in your good arm since it seems to be good for a laugh.”

  Nixon takes his container to the trash and drops it in. “Calm down.”

  He tosses her one of the cloth napkins that sits folded on a shelf above the sink. She wipes her face dry and then the table.

  “Check the seat, too,” Nixon says. “You’re sleeping here again tonight.”

  “Restrained?”

  Nixon shakes no. “Not tonight. Just don’t kill me in my sleep.”

  “I told you. You’re more valuable if you’re breathing.”

  02

  Nixon wakes with a start. Laana’s cried out. He grabs the blaster as he rushes out of the crew quarters and to the galley. In the hall, he hears her mumbling something in between muffled cries of pain.

  Please? Please? Is she begging? Pleading?

  He steps before turning the corner into the galley. The blaster is raised. He’s primed to fire. He just needs a clear shot at whoever this is that’s broken into his ship. But it’s no one. Laana is alone. She’s laying on the floor. Tears have tracked her cheeks. The canister of antiseptic spray is in her hand and the bandage is off her wound.

  Nixon sighs, relieved. “You scared me.”

  He bends and hooks one of his arms under her only good one and helps her to her feet.

  “I haven’t slept at all.” She puts a hand to her shoulder and rubs hard. “This thing won’t let me. I was just trying …”

  Nixon takes the canister of spray from her and tells her to go sit back down. She picks a spot on one of the stools. Nixon grabs the rest of the medic kit and stands next to her. He sprays her shoulder liberally, and he sees the muscles physically relax.

  “Thank you,” she says, but Nixon doesn’t respond. He just continues to work. He digs through the kit for a tube of ointment. He squeezes out an amount that nearly covers his palm and begins rubbing it into the wounds, the white ointment extra bright against her blue skin.

  Laana screams.

  “Give it a minute. This is good stuff. It’ll numb the whole thing.”

  She breathes heavy and deep, but soon that returns to normal.

  “Better?” Nixon asks.

  She nods. He rewraps the bandages then tells her to sit at the table. She does, and he takes the seat across from her.

  It’s early. Too early. Nixon had barely been asleep when Laana cried out, but he knows that returning to sleep now is going to be impossible. His mind is running too fast.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep because he’d been regretting his decision. He should have shot Laana out on that hill when she was leaning against that rock. Closed his eyes and put a blaster bolt through her forehead. Turned around, opened his eyes, and walked away. Wouldn’t have been the first time he’d killed someone. He’d killed Uzel the Uzek. He’d killed one of the men Uzel sent after him. Killed Uzel’s daughter just days later. He was familiar with death. Intimate even.

  But those were all different. Each of the others were all capable of fighting back. It was him, or it was them. But not her. Not that day at least. She was unarmed, and she was injured. He couldn’t kill her. He didn’t know that he had a code, but apparently he does. Is that code going to come back and bite him once she’s better? Maybe. But for now, she’s mostly harmless down one arm.

  “So what are you doing out here? Middle of the forest on a backwater planet in the middle of the galaxy.”

  “You chased me here. I had no intention of landing here.”

  “Then where were you going to land?”

  Nixon begins to speak then pauses. How much of this does he tell her? “I was heading to Azken.”

  “Planet Tychon?”

  “Azken.”

  She laughs then winces when her shoulder bounces. “No, I know. We call it Planet Tychon.”

  “We?”

  “Anyone who doesn’t work for Tychon.”

  “Oh,” Nixon says. “I didn’t realize we called it that.”

  “What’s on Azken?”

  “I’m making a delivery.”

  “What kind of delivery?”

  “A case.”

  “So you’re a courier?”

  “A reluctant one. For now.”

  “Reluctant?”

  Nixon hesitates again then begins to explain. Whether she knows the story or not doesn’t matter. She’s here. She’s part of it now. So he tells her about Shaine and Exte and watching his friend get torn apart by blaster fire. He tells her about the escape from Exte, being chased by the Uzeks and also the humans who are after him. Then he gets up and steps into the main cabin. He grabs the case and takes it back to the galley. He hands it to her.

  She rolls it around in her hand. She runs fingers along the corners. She traces a finger along the thin grooves that have been carved in its sides.

  “It’s pretty.” She starts punching the buttons on the locking mechanism.

  “I suppose. I hate the thing.”

  “Why?” She starts pulling it from either end, but it doesn’t open. Doesn’t even separate.

  “It’s not worth everything it’s cost.”

  He takes the case back and returns it to the main cabin.

  “So the faster I can get that thing off this ship and out of my life the better.”

  She shakes her head. “I’d want to know what’s inside before I gave it up. Find out what was worth all of this. You’re worth a lot of credits to someone. I’d want to know why.”

  Nixon considers it and nods. If this were a few days and a couple of planets ago he’d have agreed. Just off Exte, all he wanted was to know what was in that case and what Shaine had gotten himself into. But since then he’s been more concerned with staying alive. With making this delivery. With getting on with his life.

  “How much do you think your friend knew about what was in that case?”

  Nixon stands and pulls food from the cabinet. He grabs a loaf of nut and berry bread and cuts two thick slices. He puts one in front of Laana and sits back down across from her with his own. He takes a big bite.

  “So …” Laana says.

  “Honestly,” Nixon says and swallows,”I don’t know. I’ve thought about it. I don’t think he’d put me in a situation to get …”

  Laana is shaking her head as he speaks, and he doesn’t finish his thought.

  “He knew. He absolutely knew.”

  “But he knew what?”

  “He knew it was dangerous. He knew this would happen. It’s why he asked you to deliver the case.”

  Nixon is shaking his head now. “I contacted him. He hadn’t approached me.”

  “He would have. And if not you, someone else. He knew the dangers and was pawning them off on someone else, keeping most of the spoils as his own.”

  It’s like all of the things Nixon has been thinking now have an actual voice, and hearing those thoughts spoken out loud by someone else helps them make sense. He stands and tells Laana to stay here. She needs to rest. He’s going to go keep working on repairs to the main deck.

  He gathers tools on his way and sets to getting these fixes complete today. He’s getting an early start and the work is easy. So easy that his mind wanders back to his childhood and the schemes he started running with Shaine. Then when they are a little older. Then older still. Most of the time it’s Shaine giving orders. It’s Shaine overseeing. It’s Shaine picking out a crew, everyone putting themselves at some kind of risk. Everyone but Shaine.

  Nixon is getting mad all over again. He can feel it. His face is flushed. His movements are more violent. His chest begins to ache. He stops for a moment and stands. Laana is in the hall watching him.

  He tries to shake these feelings. Tries to throw them off his back and onto the floor.

  “I was thinking,” she says, “that even when we get these repairs made we still need to change out the transponder. It
’s trackable too.”

  Nixon nods as she speaks. “On my list of things to do.”

  “All right,” she says, and they just look at each other for a moment. “You OK?”