by Keri Kruspe
“Well,” she hedged. “Not as open as I’d like. I was hoping together we can come up with a convincing strategy.”
Ah, finally, the real reason for the night’s emergency call. She shot off her mouth to throw suspicion away from her, most likely in a moment of panic. She’d lost control and came to him to clean up her mess.
“I tell you what, my dear,” he lowered his voice into a soothing rumble, “you send me everything you currently have on the council’s meeting through our normal channel. I will review it and connect with you again. How does that sound?”
“Oh, thank you, thank you.” She cooed the words in evident relief. “I just know this will work out for the best. You can count on me, never fear. I’ll have those records to you within the next few rotations.” She let out a breath in a long, slow drawl. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me in a visual playtime, Shon?” With boring predictably, she propositioned him again. It amazed him how she fathomed he would find it attractive.
He didn’t. However, he’d play the game with her. For now. “I thank you, my dear. But right now, it’s important for us to clean up your mess,” he said in brutal honesty. “I suggest you get me those records now rather than later. Do you understand?” He made sure his stern, emotionless tone communicated his patience was running out.
Her slight whimper filtered through the audio system and was music to his ears. “Yes, sir. I’ll get those to you right away.” She cut off their communication.
It was the first smart thing she’d done all night.
* * *
D’ZIA
Holy maggoty hell.
The last time D’zia woke up with his head pounding this hard was…from an alcoholic bender during his training days. Holy Goddess, that was over forty years ago. He doubted there was any “fun” involved this time. An uncontrollable urge to vomit inched up his esophagus. He swallowed a groan and pushed himself into a sitting position. He hung his head with his chin touching his chest. With tender fingers, he rubbed his abused temples and gazed through bleary eyes.
No surprise, things were bad. A quick glance revealed he was on the floor of a space brig. Behind him was a dirty cot, bare of a blanket or pillow. In front was a questionably working toilet and not much else. Great, a standard confinement cell on a pilotless shuttle headed to who knew where. Was it too much to ask the puntneji who’d thrown him in here to put him on the cot and not the dirty floor? With an embarrassing wobble, he grabbed the edge of the cot and flopped his sweating body onto the hard surface. The low light burned so he covered his eyes with an arm.
“JR10, are you here?” He kept his voice internal. Being on a prison pod, they’d keep him monitored. He took in a stale breath through his mouth to avoid the stench. It didn’t help as a rancid taste coated his tongue.
Silence. Damn it. D’zia’s stomach dropped. Was it possible something had happened to the little Spybot?
“JR10, report,” he said as he rubbed his weary eyes. Oh Holy Goddess, his whole head boomed in pain. Maybe it would help if he banged his head against the bulkhead. Who knows, it might make him feel better. He took his arm off his eyes. “JR10?”
“What?” An annoyed answer peeped back. “I’m not talking to you.”
A profound sense of relief warred with irritation. What in the nine systems was wrong with him now? D’zia didn’t have the energy to soothe hurt feelings, but what choice did he have? “Okay, I’ll bite.” He folded his hand across his belly and closed his eyes to blot out the weak light. “What did I do now?”
“Your stupidity got us captured.”
Behind closed eyes, D’zia grunted. “Yeah, well don’t you have a rare talent for stating the obvious?” A sharp pain twisted his sternum, telling him he’d torn something inside. He choked back a cough as the gritty air passed his windpipe. “Now tell me something I don’t know.”
“We’re on an unmanned prison pod headed back to the Chancellor’s palace.”
Perfect.
“And how did we get here?”
“See, it’s like this.” The spybot moved out of D’zia’s hair to sit on his forehead. The soft, pointy feet of the AI tickled as he walked over his skin.
“Some stupid, horny male Zerin lost all higher brain functions and didn’t bother to leave when he was supposed to.” Two taps from JR10’s leg emphasized his point and gave D’zia an itchy forehead. “Plus, when stupid Zerin males don’t check in, it forces the squad leader to find out where the idiot guard could be on a small ship. Then, when the idiot Zerin is found…surprise, surprise! He’s in the human female’s cell getting freaky.” The last part of the sentence came with a swat of a tiny leg as he spoke to emphasize his disgust.
D’zia pinched the bridge of his nose before he put his arm across his burning eyes. How could he argue with JR10 when he was right? “So, why don’t I remember how I got here?”
“Goddess save me from beings too stupid to…” JR10 muttered. “Okay, I’ll do the mental gymnastics for you. The suit you have on rendered you unconscious. One of the joys of being a Chancellor guard is they’ve equipped your suit with a state-of-the-art tracking system. So when you weren’t where you were supposed to be…zappo! We get an unconscious, stupid Zerin.”
D’zia ground his back molars to stop his impatience from exploding. “Well…thanks…you small annoying bug. Why didn’t you reroute my suit’s interface along with Lora’s cell monitors?”
“Not my responsibility, dude!” The loud, indignant snort from the small AI might have been funny some other time. “I was in charge of her cell! You never said anything to me about your suit. I assumed you knew what you were doing.”
Great, he would die because of an assumption. “Fine, whatever. Have you had a chance to analyze this ship so you can reroute us back to rendezvous with Lora?”
“Yes and no,” came the ambiguous answer.
When JR10 didn’t elaborate, D’zia took his arm away from his eyes to glare at the ceiling. At least the light was tolerable now. “Could you be any more confusing?”
“Of course.” The reply came as JR10 jumped off D’zia to wander on the cot beside his head. “But I’ll cut you some slack and give you the skinny of what’s going on.” His multi-faceted eyes reflected the light with a flare.
D’zia sat up, scooted back to rest against the wall with one leg splayed and the other bent at the knee to rest his forearm on. “Okay, go for it.” He eyed JR10 as the spybot folded his twelve legs under his bulbous two-pronged body.
“Yes, I can enter and adjust this simple ship’s computer to go wherever we want.”
Well, that was good news. He had only to figure out how to get back on the ship Lora was on to get her out of there…
“But,” the little bot interrupted D’zia’s planning, “we don’t have enough fuel to catch up with our ladies.”
Danka shit. “Where are we now?”
“We are only two rotations away from the Chancellor’s palatial space station.”
D’zia snorted in frustration. “Nice. That means we’re too far from a member system that could help us.” He slid off the cot and stretched, throwing his hands over his head to clasp and move back and forth. “I don’t suppose you can find somewhere else we can go?”
“Hmm,” the tiny bot gave an absent reply. “Oh wait, here’s something interesting.”
When JR10 didn’t explain, D’zia crossed his arms and scowled at him. The silence stretched for a few more clicks before D’zia snapped. “Any time now, JR10.”
“What?” JR10 shook his little body as if he had a hard time remembering he was in the middle of a conversation. “Oh, right. We’re actually coming up on a small abandoned planetoid called Naraka. It used to be a training station for the Imperial Forces, but it hasn’t been used for a couple hundred solar years.”
“And how is this helpful?” Abandoned meant no fuel or another ship to steal…ah, acquire.
“Because, my skeptical friend, there’s some unusual activity goin
g on there.”
D’zia raised his left eyebrow. He uncrossed his hands and put his fists on his hips. “Really? What kind of activity?”
“Oh, you know, heat signatures, power fluctuations, and various communications running amok.” The bot reported, holding his body still. “Wait…yes, I got it.” The little AI stood and gave a small hop of what D’zia hoped was excitement. Either that or he had a short circuit. He might be good with computers, but JR10’s construction was way out of his league.
“Ooh…they’ve got a fleet of sleek new 10-15’s just waiting for us to help ourselves.”
Okay, something to get excited about. 10-15’s were a new type of fighter ship, capable of intergalactic missions. Thin, able to hold a contingent of twenty but could be piloted by fewer. Its “M” shape was a maneuverable dream while the firepower was the best in the galaxy. No one could penetrate its cloaking ability, whether in warp or regular space. Best of all, its hull was impervious to any known blaster fire, able to absorb the shock and convert the energy into viable fuel for the craft.
How did a fleet of over 400 ships get on an abandoned planet? A secret base?
“Are they Imperial Forces ships?”
The bot gave a derisive snort. “What Kool-Aid have you been drinking? I’m not sure what kind of base is down there, but I can guarantee you it’s not the Imperial Forces.”
D’zia wouldn’t waste time asking what in the nine systems Kool-Aid was. “Why not?”
“Because the Imperial Forces don’t use Erkek and Friebbigh labor, that’s why not,” came the inarguable answer.
D’zia was speechless for a few clicks. Random explanations came and went. It horrified him a contingent of Friebbigh was this close to Zerin space. Erkeks only worked for themselves, and he couldn’t imagine them working with the Friebbigh. Those outlier species working together plus the coveted ships worried the danka shit out of him.
“But,” JR10 continued. “There is a small group separate from the large complex where the ships are. And let me tell you, they are an interesting bunch of folks.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, some are Zerins, but most are from each of the nine systems. There’s even a handful not affiliated with the Consortium.” The little bot gave a hoot of laughter. “Believe it or not, I can pick out a human or two.”
D’zia considered what JR10 told him. “Can you land us close enough to the compound to remain undetected by both groups?”
“Oh ye of little brain, of course I can,” JR10 assured him. “I can even get us close enough to, ah, liberate one of those lovely ships.”
“Well, aren’t you the little miracle worker?” D’zia asked in a dry tone. He needed to think. Hands at his side, he paced. “And speaking of miracles, I don’t suppose you could find me a change of clothes? I hate this uniform.”
“Ah, no can do, Kemosabe.” A fake cough. “You’ll have to suffer your smelly self the way it is. However, I did disable its monitoring system so you are free from prying eyes. No need to thank me, it’s my way of apologizing for thinking you were smart enough to take care of it earlier.”
JR10 landed the prison pod a few measures away from the main base. With extra care, D’zia left the small ship and made his way across the rock-strewn landscape, JR10 tucked within his usual place in D’zia’s hair. It was twilight and visibility would be a challenge. The only thing for cover was the wind as it whispered over the heat-baked dirt, sparse vegetation, and random small boulders strewn around. Which did little to conceal him as he scuttled around the dim landscape. He had to lay low and crawl as the two setting suns illuminated the area with a burst of fiery orange and red before disappearing into the night.
D’zia finally found a rock large enough to hide behind as he spied on the bustling compound several hundred lengths away. He clenched his fists in exasperation. He’d give anything to wrap his hand around a weapon. With narrowed eyes, he watched as various species hustled back and forth. Holy Goddess, the ships JR10 told him about were the least of their worries. There had to be thousands of guards, military leaders, and civilians roaming about in an organized frenzy.
He studied the comings and goings for several measures as he ignored the heat making his uniform stick in the usual places. He swiped the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand, studying the nearest cluster of 10-15’s. Absorbed in the activity below him, he jumped when JR10 squealed in his ear.
“Damn it, JR10!” There were only two sentries watching the entrance to the yard where the ships were. If he kept track of when the change of the guards occurred, he might sneak in and…
“VEET!” A loud squawk sounded again.
“What?” This time he verbally asked in a whisper.
A hard push to the back of head made him bob back and forth. That got his attention.
“Son of an asswipe…” D’zia snarled. He whipped his head around to see what was behind him. “Oh, danka shit.” He held his breath as he stared down the dark barrel of an enormous disintegrating blaster. He rolled his eyes up to look at the person holding the weapon.
D’zia’s stomach dropped like a lead ball. It was a Runihura, one of the deadliest and largest humanoid species in the galaxy. Even their translated name meant, “one who smashes.” He turned around and thumped on his ass with his mouth open.
A slow snarl lifted the corner of the giant’s lips, exposing two upper curling fangs. The male had on a white, loose shirt tucked into light trousers covered in black, thigh-high boots, putting his dark onyx skin in sharp contrast. His platinum-white hair flowed loose and reached his shoulders, as a thin band of silver encircled his forehead. The most discerning feature he had was his lack of pupils in bright neon-blue eyes…that were now narrowed in D’zia’s direction.
“Zerin.” The gravelly voice rumbled out of the massive chest in front of him. The Runihura species shot first and asked questions later, so D’zia decided he was fortunate to have his head still intact. Maybe the male would be open to having a dialogue before he pulled the trigger.
“Hi?” D’zia’s mind went blank. What do you say when death stared at you?
Those bright blue orbs regarded D’zia as if inspecting something distasteful. “You lost, soldier?”
D’zia made a quick assessment of his own. He doubted this behemoth in front of him was part of the Chancellor’s unit. If he was a betting Zerin (which he was on more than one occasion), he’d guess he stumbled onto someone from the smaller group JR10 had talked about.
Mercenaries, most likely.
“Nah,” he brazened. “Far from it. I’m here trying to figure a way to steal one of those 10-15’s.” Why not tell the truth? It was better than coming up with some stupid lie.
The large barrel wavered when the large male barked a laugh. “You got brass balls, boy. I’ll give you that.” The Runihura squatted without his gun moving a fraction. “I’ll only ask you this once. What are you doing here, boy?”
Picking up his hands from the dirt, D’zia brushed them off together in front of him before encircling his bent knees. “I told you, I’m trying to figure a way to steal one of those 10-15’s.”
The alien cocked his head as if he had a hard time understanding what D’zia said. “Why?”
Now D’zia was confused. “Why what?”
The large, stony face twisted in annoyance. “Why do you want one of those ships?”
“Oh, well that’s easy.” D’zia sat straighter and returned the steady gaze. “The Chancellor kidnapped my TrueBond and is taking her to FiPan to experiment on. I need a fast ship to intercept the prison barge she’s on, to rescue her.”
The dark man smirked. “I don’t see any scroll on your face, boy.”
“Stop calling me boy. My name is D’zia.”
“Yep, brass balls, boy.” The other male stood. “Get up. I’ll take you to the captain and we’ll see what she wants to do with you.”
D’zia had to admit he was getting off easy. At least he was alive, and few coul
d boast that accomplishment when encountering a hostile Runihura. JR10’s little legs dug into his scalp as if to make sure D’zia knew he was still with him. He took his time as he stood and kept his eyes on the blaster. Especially the male’s trigger finger. Not sure what he’d do if the finger twitched, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let it or the Runihura out of his sight.
They made their way in the opposite direction from where the ships were. The massive male kept his blaster poked into the middle of D’zia’s back and guided him.
D’zia found the silent trip unnerving. To keep as non-threatening as possible, he made sure his hands were loose at his sides as he watched the alien with his side view. He didn’t intend to experience a disintegration blaster. He shuddered as he imagined his atoms exploding before he’d knew what hit him. Yep, he’d be careful around this one.
His confidence flagged when he caught sight of the small emblem on the Runihura’s upper sleeve. It boasted the trademark of the Alliance of Assassins. Bold black “AoA” lettering with the inner letter as a sun and a bloody dagger through the right side with a bolt of lightning on the left. Depending on the reason the mercenaries were there, either he’d find helpful allies, or as the humans loved to say, he’d find he was in a total FUBAR predicament.
D’zia activated the internal communication with JR10 and asked the spybot his opinion.
“Bro, we’re either going to be okay or we are totally fucked-up beyond all recognition.”
How reassuring…he and the bot were in harmony on the Earth slang.
“Yeah, got that all on my own. Thanks.” He had to stop from snorting aloud in annoyance. “Did you see the AoA patch on the guy’s sleeve?”
“What? He’s an Alliance guy?” JR10’s excitement surprised D’zia. “Dude, we are so going to be okay if that’s real.” The little bot must have poked out of the pile of hair on D’zia’s head because his man bun shifted a little.
Before D’zia asked JR10 what he meant, the large male grabbed the back of his suit and halted him in his tracks.
