Starfire and the Space Dragons: A Grennig Crew Adenture

by Christine Westhead

  “Please yourself,” said Tranter with a manic grin. He didn’t know if he was high from the recent lack of oxygen to his brain, but he seemed to be accepting this abstract turn of events with more ease than usual. “Anyway, I think we found our people,” he said, brightly. “We should go and say hello.” He stood up, a little unsteadily and slid his seat under the console. They waited by the hatch and Tranter took a deep breath. “Full security, Rebel. Only me and Hal get in. Understand?”

  “Yes, Con Tranter.”

  “Oh, and keep an eye out for anything suspicious," Tranter hovered his hand over the port hatch and it slid aside. "Here we go.” Thirty assorted weapons tracked them as they jumped down from the Rebel and walked a few paces to stand in front of it. There was a subtle hiss from behind them as the port hatch closed.

  “We’re looking for Honoray,” said Tranter, scanning the crowd in front of them for a friendly face. “General Honoray.”

  “Drop your weapons, Terrellians,” A slender Aurian girl wearing a flowing blouse and skin tight, red jeans pointed a blaster at them in a rock steady grip. The muzzle centred on Hal’s heart with unwavering accuracy. She made a great pretence of sliding the safety catch to the off position. “Drop your weapons. I won’t ask again.” Hal shook his head.

  “Nope.” She pulled the trigger and a sonic blast whizzed past Hal’s ear and zinged off the wall behind them. He didn’t move a muscle. She fired again between his feet. Apart from the pungent aroma of burning plasti-cement and a little plume of smoke, nothing else moved. The woman growled like a cat and raised the gun again but a muscular, tattooed hand from behind her gently placed itself over hers and pointed the barrel to the floor.

  “Hal, Tranter,” The owner of the hand nodded politely to them, stepped out from behind the young woman and stood with his hands on his hips.

  “Howdy, Carl,” said Tranter. The man was Aurian, his long copper hair tied in a ponytail that hung half way down his back. A scar ran vertically down the left side of his face and his left eye was white and milky. The scar had also caught the side of his mouth, and it turned down in a parody of a sneer. He wore a plain, cream shirt, open at the neck to show a small, gold chain, and a brown leather coat that went down past his hips at the back, but was cut short at the front to allow access to his weapons. A sabre with a silver hilt sat on his right hip and a blaster in a forward facing holster was clipped to his belt at the left. His trousers were of the same leather as his jacket and his boots were black and knee high. He also wore a wide brimmed, black hat that had several laser knife hilts and other small weapons stuck in the red, silk band. Both his ears were pierced with gold rings and he had tattoos on the backs of his hands and the side of his neck.

  “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” he asked, walking towards them. He was light and careful on his feet, like a tiger.

  “Need your help,” said Hal.

  “We don’t help people,” spat the young woman as she holstered her pistol. She was dressed much like the man, but was hatless. Her copper hair hung down her back and was littered with silver and gold ornaments. “We rob people.”

  “Mind your manners, Penna,” the man snapped. “These men are our guests. Tell your mother to prepare a meal.” He walked towards Hal and Tranter, arms outstretched. He placed an arm over each of their shoulders and the three of them ambled out of the bay. “Tranter, you wouldn’t consider parting with that talking ship of yours, would you?”

  They were on a space station. It was roughly spherical, but it had a long boom with a tail fin at the end. A rod grew up from the centre of the station and a solar sail stretched all the way to the end of the fin. Tranter whispered to Hal that this would be their power source and method of propulsion. They had gathered quite an army of followers as they walked along and a chubby Terrellian child grabbed hold of Tranter’s hand. The young woman followed Hal and contented herself with glowering at his back.

  “Hal! Tranter! It is good to see you again.” They walked into a small room that smelled of spices and vanilla. A statuesque, striking Aurian woman looked up as they entered, smiled warmly and rose to greet them.

  “Meena,” Hal and Tranter nodded, respectfully. She wore a full, white blouse, a flowing red skirt and her throat and wrists dripped with gold chains. Her long, copper hair was kept from her face by a long, red band that matched her skirt. She accepted a kiss from Hal on both cheeks and grabbed his lean backside with hands that had at least one gold ring on every finger and thumb. “You don’t need to tell me you have not found a woman, Hal,” she smiled, showing perfect, white teeth. “You need feeding up; you are too skinny.” She turned to Tranter. “You now, you have the look of a man in love. Come here.” She gave him a hug that just about crushed the life out of him and he grinned, sheepishly.

  “Please, sit,” commanded Honoray. He pointed to an overstuffed couch that was draped with fine Valasian silk shawls, tasselled blankets and velvet cushions. “Meena, would you sort out refreshments for these fine men.” The door slid open and the young woman who had threatened Hal walked in. She smiled warmly at General Honoray, sat down opposite Hal on another couch and stared at him with barely concealed contempt.

  “Penna, you have already met, gentlemen,” Honoray grinned with pride. “She is my beautiful daughter and the best shot in the galaxy.” Penna scowled at Hal.

  “I thought you were a myth,” she said. “Father told me about you but I thought they were stories. I didn’t think you existed.”

  “Well, I gotta admit he ain’t really with us for a lot of the time,” grinned Tranter, “it’s the medication.” She pursed her lips and looked down,

  “I always thought you were Aurian.”

  “Penna!” her mother was appalled at the breach of Pirate manners.

  “Well, I never expected a Terry…Terrellian. You never said, Papa.” She stared at Hal, looked down and muttered, “Sorry.” The apology wasn’t meant. She knew her mother would have demanded one and got in first in the hope that it would make the forthcoming punishment less severe.

  They waited while Meena fussed over the food replicator and carried a groaning tray over to the small table in front of them.

  “I would like to know how you found us,” said Honoray. “We have this station shielded.”

  “A lucky guess?” suggested Tranter. Honoray laughed, but the smile didn’t quite reach his good eye.

  “Now, tell me what you have come here for?” Hal and Tranter shared a look. The negotiations were about to start.

  “You know your way around the Badlands,” said Hal. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Like the back of my hand, old friend.”

  “We need a guide,” added Tranter, sipping his coffee. It was black, sweet and very strong.

  “For you? Why would you need a guide? You found your way here?”

  “Like I said, we got lucky, Carl,” said Tranter.

  “And this ship that needs a guide,” Carl Honoray leaned back, feigning disinterest, “it is a Rebel ship?”

  “Ships,” corrected Hal. Normally, the game would go on for much longer, but Hal was in a hurry and wanted to get back. “Ten supertankers, two corvettes, Tranter’s Rebel and twenty fighters.” Honoray sat straight up in his seat and leaned forward so fast, his black cigarillo dropped from his mouth and onto the floor. “And yeah,” added Hal, “they’re Rebel ships.” Honoray picked up his cigarillo and took a hefty drag before answering.

  “I despise the Federation and the Galactic Police, Hal, you know that, but this cannot be done.”

  “We only want to get them from the edge of the Aurian system and in the back door to Serrell,” said Tranter.

  “It will be very dangerous,” said Honoray. “That many ships will be picked up as soon as they enter Terrellian airspace.”

  “Too dangerous for us to handle, father,” said Penna.

  “I ain’t asking you to do anything dangerous, General,” said Hal, keeping his eyes on Carl Honoray. He remo
ved the cigarillo from his mouth and used it to point at Honoray. “Just lead us through the Badlands and then you can run back to your little hideout, all safe and sound.”

  “Father, are you going to let him talk to you like that?”

  “Penna!” snapped Honoray. She had overstepped the mark and she sat back, cheeks reddening. Honoray stroked his chin, pensively.

  “What you say is true, Hal, and if I took it on, the price would reflect this. When is this convoy to move?” Hal shrugged,

  “Tomorrow, day after; as soon as we can arrange it.”

  “And what is your cargo?” asked Meena, cleaning her nails with a flick knife.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Tranter smiled, broadly and she smiled back. The game was afoot.

  “I shall have to discuss this with my men,” said Honoray, slowly. “A job such as this will need much arranging. The Badlands are fraught with danger; electromagnetic storms and solar whirlwinds. Every ship will need a guide to keep it on the path.”

  “And how long will we need to wait for you?” asked Meena. She was peeling some sort of fruit with the flick knife now.

  “Just one way, Meena,” said Hal, “Just get us there. We’ll use the star drives to get out of the system.”

  “A job like this, Hal, it is not our usual employment. It will not be cheap, but we are the best and we can do it.” Honoray tried to look apologetic but, like Hal, it wasn’t in his repertoire. Hal shrugged.

  “I’d expect nothing less, Carl,”

  “This decision will need to be made by the Clan,” said Meena. “You must stay with us while we have our meeting.”

  “Where would we go?” asked Tranter, “our ship is out of fuel.”

  “Do not worry about your crazy ship, Tranter. If it lets anyone near it, we will refuel it for you.” General Honoray grinned like a Corsair Raider. “Anyway, tonight is Theatre night.” Tranter’s eyes lit up with a few distant, but very happy memories. “Yes, my friend, girls, dancing, gambling, brawling. This is what you do best after building beautiful ships, yes?” The smile left his face for a moment, “I apologise, good friends, but I have another guest that I must see to this evening.” He turned to his daughter. “Penna, please take these gentlemen to the other guest room and make them comfortable. Give them anything they want then take them to the Theatre if they wish to go.”

  “Come on then,” she said with bad grace and stood by a hatch to let them through. “The Vanity is through there,” she pointed, “and you can sleep here,” she gestured to the two, low beds against opposite walls. “Our best room is already taken,” she said. “General Berrin is already here.” Hal looked at Tranter, his face asking a question. Tranter shrugged and shook his head. He didn’t know who General Berrin was either. “Would you like to come to the Theatre?” she asked, “I can promise you that no meeting will be held tonight. Not until late tomorrow will everyone be recovered.”

  “Recovered?” asked Tranter.

  “When General Berrin comes there is always Theatre. There will be drinking, dancing, singing, gambling and probably fighting,” said Penna, staring at Hal’s gun.

  “When in Rome,” grinned Tranter. “Lead the way.” Hal sighed wearily and followed them out of the hatch. The corridors of the space station were almost empty as they made their way to the centre. The place wasn’t really big enough for an aircar system, but one rose up and down the central shaft to deliver people and goods up and down the fifteen floors.

  Tranter had been there before, when it was hidden somewhere in the Norbus system and knew that raiding was what Pirates liked to do best, but celebrating came a very close second. The Theatre, as Penna called it, was situated on the top storey of the station. It had a glass roof and the black sky was visible through it. It was sectioned off and each huge room had its own entertainment. They strolled past two heavily tattooed men who were in the middle of an arm wrestling contest, surrounded by shouting, betting men and weaved their way through a bar where substantial quaffing was going on. They walked around the edge of a small ballroom where a quartet played lively, Valasian jazz and several couples jived around the floor to the music. General Honoray’s space station might not have been very big, but there didn’t seem to be a shortage of entertainment.

  “Ah,” Tranter rubbed his hands together as they walked into a smoky casino, “this’ll do for me,” he smirked. “I’ll catch you later.” He wandered over to a big Pan table in the centre of the room and slid into an empty seat. “Room for players?” he asked.

  “You got credit?” asked the dealer, a short, stocky, Aurian woman of about forty five. She handled the cards expertly and gave them a flashy, one handed shuffle.

  “Check with General Honoray,” said Tranter. “My credit is good up to five hundred.” The woman nodded and sent a young lad off to obviously do just that. Tranter guessed that they assumed he was from Berrin’s party, or he would have been treated with more suspicion.

  “This is what I wanted to show you,” said Penna, eagerly, leading Hal through a hatch. It was a big room with a wooden floor, dotted with gymnastic mats. Some men were practising unarmed combat on the mats, using a variety of Kung Foo, Karate, or just plain fist fighting. It looked violent, but everyone seemed to follow some sort of rules and the loser would step back, raise his left arm in a complicated flourish, bow low and point his right arm to the floor to honour the winner. A few people were throwing large knives into targets and others were fencing with long sabres. They watched for a while as the shining blades flashed and clanged together. The tips had been blunted with a button, and a hit on the body made the hilt of the sabre glow red. Three hits later, the hilt changed to blue and the loser bowed low with a similar flourish and pointed his sabre to the feet of the winner.

  Penna walked right to the back of the room where several people were watching a middle aged, hard faced man wearing a red bandana as he stood in front of a hovering target about thirty feet away. A buzzer went off, the crowd held its breath and man adjusted his stance, his hand crooked over the butt of a laser pistol in a tied down holster. A green light flashed, the man’s hand jerked and the target at the other end of the room was obliterated. A clock registered a very fast time and everyone cheered.

  Hal started to walk away. He had no need to know how fast he could draw and shoot. All he had to do was be faster than his opponents. Every time he went up against an enemy, there was always the chance that he would die. An old friend of his, another gunfighter, once told him, ‘there’s always somebody faster than you; one day you’ll meet him’. That had been true for him. Hal knew this because it had been Hal that had killed him.

  “Come on!” Penna tried to grab his wrist, then gasped in pain as he easily evaded her reaching fingers and caught her wrist in a vice like grip.

  “Take your hand off me!” she spat, her temper not improving. Hal let her free and it looked like she was going to shout some obscenities at him, but by then, her friends had spotted her and a chant of Penna! Penna! reverberated around the room. She threw him a glance full of hate and ran to her friends, rubbing her wrist.

  Hal sauntered to the wall at the back of the room, leaned his elbow on a shelf that had charging stations for all the weapons and looked up as Honoray and another Pirate, obviously Berrin, walked up to him.

  “Hal, I would like to introduce you to General Berrin, from the Badlands.” Honoray was smiling, but it was clear to Hal that this was a purely business association. Hal stood up and nodded a greeting.

  “General.”

  “Word of your expertise has reached us even in the Badlands,” he said, putting his fat cigar into his mouth so that he could touch palms with Hal. He was Valasian, of medium height, but barrel chested and stocky. His neck was wider than his bald head and seemed to mould into his shoulders, which in turn, rounded into powerful sinewy muscles. His dark face split into a grin, showing several gold teeth and he too had several gold rings in his ears and a thick, gold chain around his neck that Hal suspe
cted had a hilt for a laser knife in there somewhere. He too, was dressed in a flowing shirt and tight, leather trousers like Honoray, but had a wide, black silk sash around his firm waist instead of a holster for his sabre and laser pistol.

  “I never heard of you,” admitted Hal, softly. He didn’t take to many people at the best of times, but this man had the hard, glassy grin of an attack dog. All that was missing was the low growl. General Berrin’s expression did not change and Honoray slapped him hard on the back.

  “This is what you get when you hide away in the Badlands, my friend” he grinned. “Ah,” he looked up, hastily trying to change the subject. “There is my daughter, Penna at the targets. Come, let’s watch her.” He looked at Hal, “She is very fast, like you.” He herded Berrin towards the target area and left Hal to follow along behind. Penna stood in the same spot as the other man and settled the laser pistol in its holder. Her fingers spayed out and she flexed them once or twice. The buzzer sounded and light went off. The pistol jerked in her hand and the target was hit with blinding speed. She placed the gun back in its holster to cheers and clapping and walked to her father. The time on the clock was exactly the same as the man with the red bandana. Hal turned away, already bored and found his way blocked by four young men. They were barely out of their teens and the youngest one was still spotty.

  “So, you’re the great Hal,” one of them spoke. Hal stayed silent. He had been in this situation far too many times to know that it wouldn’t matter what he said one way or the other.

  “Let’s see how fast you really are, Terrellian,” said his friend, looking down enviously at the polished, black gunbelt and the shining gun in its tied down holster. “Go on the clock, unless you are afraid.” Hal shook his head, tried to shoulder his way past them and the spotty one said,

  “You’re not fast at all, are you, old man? I bet you had just the one lucky shot and you’ve been living on that reputation ever since.”

  “Yeah, that’s what it is all right, Kavena,” said the last. They were all dressed to the height of Pirate fashion and plainly could not hold their drink. They didn’t deserve to die for that, so Hal pushed through them, ignoring the jeers and taunts that followed him.