Revolutionary Right

by Wayne Basta

  This point was ultimately the only reason Saracasi ever agreed to the plan. The desire not to put anyone in danger overcame her misgivings. She did not object to the delay or disagree that the plan made logical sense. The truth was that she did not trust their clients to have set enough time for them to make the delivery and did not understand how this did not worry Maarkean. Their clients would stab them in the back for a credit. She could not fathom how he took it on faith that they wouldn’t try to screw them out of their fee by giving them less time than was necessary.

  After another twenty minutes, the communications panel chirped to life. Saracasi reopened the link to the docking master, who said, “Cutty Sark, stand by for tractoring.”

  The warning was immediately followed by a vibration through the ship as a tractor beam locked on. The Cutty Sark lifted up off the hangar deck and was slowly guided to one of the few open areas. Coming in behind them, another ship was lowered into the spot they had been occupying.

  After they were suspended in the open space for a few moments, another tractor beam activated above them. The first one shut off, and they were pulled upwards into a large airlock. The door below them sealed, and then the exterior door above opened. The tractor beam pulled them up through the opening and onto the launch deck, which was currently open to space.

  Using maneuvering thrusters, Maarkean lifted the Cutty Sark off of the launch deck. With short bursts, he flew through the opening and out into deep space. When they were clear, Maarkean powered up the main sublight engines and left the Black Market behind.

  With a rush of escaping air, the concealed door panel on the cargo crate cracked open. Carefully, Zeric Dustlighter eased the door open and examined the room. His view was partially obstructed by other cargo crates, but there was no one he could see. Slowly, he squeezed just far enough out of the crate to get a better view.

  The cargo bay contained little other than crates similar to the one he was crawling out of. Compared to the total darkness Zeric had experienced inside the container, the dim lighting of the cargo bay proved more than adequate. The cavernous space was only partially filled, leaving him little to survey.

  After pausing for several moments to listen, Zeric felt reassured no one had seen or heard him coming out of the cargo container. He reached back inside and pulled his pack out. Opening the bag, he pulled his gun and holster, strapping them around his waist. He then drew out the ball cap he always wore. It was emblazoned with the logo of the Ba’aar Razors, his favorite hockey team. He placed the cap on his head, covering his close-cropped reddish-brown hair.

  Zeric then turned his attention to examining the other containers. It took him a few minutes to find the ones with the telltale mark. The first one was easy to get open, revealing a tan-skinned Liw’kel male, Gu’od Dos’redna, who crawled out and took his own survey of the room without saying a word.

  Externally, the Liw’kel were similar to Braz and Terrans, aside from a set of antennae that they used for limited communication with one another, no body hair, and a few other minor differences. The biggest difference was that they had a wider range of skin colors, from tan to purple to red. While those colors were a dull shade, not bright like the scales of a Dotran, they did stand out next to the limited range of tans and browns of Terrans and almost universally pale cream of Braz.

  Gu’od himself was well muscled and slightly taller than Zeric. His strong jaw and powerful arms were similar to what you’d see on any male in an advertisement. Zeric considered himself quite attractive, but always felt inadequate if anyone were to compare the two of them side by side. He was more of an everyday type, unlike Gu’od, with his powerful, athletic look.

  Together they found the final container, but when they did, Zeric let out a curse. The container was packed in tightly next to another container. The way they were aligned prevented the secret hatch from opening. More containers were packed on top, which made moving them slow and difficult.

  “What do you want to do?” Zeric asked.

  With a determined expression, Gu’od turned away from the container. “We stick to the plan.”

  “But Gamaly…”

  “Would tell us to stick to the plan. We’ll get her out later.”

  Zeric shrugged and drew the AY-19 pistol on his hip. “All right, she’s your wife.”

  With a final look back at the container, Gu’od turned to follow his friend toward the set of stairs at the back of the cargo bay. Zeric trained his pistol up the stairs while Gu’od began moving up them with slow, quiet steps.

  While Gu’od climbed, Zeric shifted his weight nervously. He tried to keep his pistol steady and aimed up the ramp. This part was what always made him nervous. The insertion with the cargo, the long wait in the dark, the constant chance of discovery — none of that fazed him. Anything that went wrong then was outside his control. But in this moment, it all came down to him. The confrontation with the ship’s crew could go many different ways. Despite their planning, many things could go wrong. There could be more crew than they knew about, or the crew could be better armed than they expected. Anything could result in their deaths or the deaths of the crew. While he had no problem with killing when necessary, and had killed before, he didn’t like doing it.

  Zeric had seen combat most of his adult life. He had joined the Alliance Marines as a teenager during the last few years of the Colonial War against the Dotran Confederacy. They said some of the battles he had been in had been some of the worst the galaxy had experienced since the Kravic Invasion. Since there was no one in the known galaxy who had been alive when the Kravic had been in control, much less during the initial invasion, Zeric assumed that was hyperbole.

  Even still, the battles had been intense. For a long while after that, he thought he could face anything without fear. Since the war, he had not been involved in anything that deadly, but he had still seen his share of firefights. The realization had eventually come to him that a fight was a fight. A major battle and a one-on-one shoot-out both usually resulted in the same problem: someone dead.

  The difference was in scale. In a major battle, thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, could die. Those fights usually involved thousands or millions fighting on either side, though casualty rates rarely went above 30%. But in a one-on-one fight, you were almost guaranteed a 50% casualty rate. Zeric had grown much more cautious when going into combat in the fourteen years that had passed since his Marine days.

  Once at the top of the stairs, Gu’od looked down at Zeric, who tightened the grip on his pistol and nodded, trying to keep the nervousness from showing. He envied Gu’od’s composed and calm demeanor. Not for the first time, he wished he could learn that trick.

  At Zeric’s nod, Gu’od triggered the door controls. As the door slid open, a slight mechanical noise rang like an entire symphony orchestra to Zeric’s ears. As soon as the door started to open, Gu’od poked his head inside the room and then back out again. He then held his hand up and gestured forward with it. Before the door was completely open, Zeric charged up the stairs.

  Reaching the top in a matter of seconds, Zeric dashed into the room above. The doorway led into a cramped living area with several dilapidated couches and chairs set around a table built into the floor. Sweeping his pistol to his right, Zeric turned to scan the rest of the room. A small counter and kitchen area were to the right of the door he’d come through. There was a pot billowing steam from the stove top.

  Zeric took all of this in and dismissed it just as quickly when he saw no people. He continued his turn to the right as he entered the room, which brought him to a view down the central corridor of the ship. There, he came face to face with a tall male Braz, a look of surprise covering his face.

  For a second, they stood staring at each other. Zeric recovered a split second after the Braz and lifted his pistol up to get better aim. By the time he had steadied his pistol and commanded the Braz to get down on the ground, Zeric found himself also staring down the barrel of a gun. The Braz had
drawn an SK-9 from his hip holster, and now Zeric found himself in a standoff.

  Internally, Zeric cursed himself for hesitating. This was the kind of situation he always feared he’d find himself in. He considered his position. Gu’od was still behind him, but Zeric’s position in the room blocked his ally from being able to help. Fortunately, it also prevented the Braz from seeing Gu’od.

  “What are you doing on my ship?” the Braz asked. His voice was level, and he held his pistol steady, which was far more than Zeric thought he would be able to manage if their roles were reversed.

  “This is my ship now. Lower your weapon, and no one has to get hurt.”

  “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you,” replied the Braz.

  “Good, now that we’ve got that out of the way, how about we both lower our weapons, so no one gets hurt unnecessarily.”

  The Braz smirked at that. “Sounds good. You go first so your buddy doesn’t get any bright ideas.”

  So much for that plan, Zeric thought. He considered just shooting and hoping the stun effect took the Braz down before he could return the shot, but he dismissed it as probably resulting in his death. Taking a second to move his eyes away from the Braz’s, he tried to see if the SK-9 was also set to stun. Taking a stun blast wasn’t fun, but he would feel a lot better about attempting to shoot if he knew failure wouldn’t result in his immediate death. Unfortunately, at this angle, he was unable to tell the setting of the pistol.

  Zeric returned to locking eyes with the Braz. They resumed their standoff for what felt like the second year. Time was on the Braz’s side. The longer they stood here staring at each other, the sooner the other crew members could come to help. They had been told there were only two, but that information had been wrong before.

  “Maark, what’s going on?”

  The voice broke Zeric’s concentration and his eyes shifted. His eyes drifted off the Braz for a split second, and he saw a figure down the corridor. He only took a quick look, enough to see that it was probably a female and that she was not brandishing a weapon. He immediately shifted his gaze back to the Braz, but with a suddenness that surprised Zeric, the Braz leaped into motion and dropped to Zeric’s left. Zeric pulled his trigger and saw the blast flash through the space where the Braz had been a moment before. His shot flew down the corridor, hitting the female. Then Zeric felt the sensation of his neurons misfiring, and the world went black.

  For a moment, Maarkean stared at the limp form of the man he had just stunned. His body wanted to stay right where he was, but his mind knew the man wouldn’t have been alone. He had no idea how anyone had gotten aboard while the ship was in hyperspace, but he couldn’t think about that now.

  Easing up carefully, Maarkean moved to the edge of the kitchen counter in a squat. Moving slowly, he tried to peer around the corner to see the door that led to the cargo bay. The moment he did so, pain shot through him. Thrown backward from the force of the blow to his head, Maarkean dropped his pistol as he fell. The last thing he saw was the blurry image of a figure towering over him.

  Chapter Two

  When Zeric woke up, he expected to either have Gu’od tending to him or find himself restrained and a captive. What he did not expect to see was an Alliance Internal Security officer standing over him while he rested comfortably in a hospital bed. He had to double-check his wrists to make sure they were unbound.

  “Ah, Mr. Franklin, good, you’re awake,” the AIS officer said as Zeric turned his eyes from his wrists to the officer.

  It took Zeric a moment to realize the officer was using the name of the fake ID he had been carrying. Fortunately, the officer didn’t notice his hesitation to respond.

  “Uh, yes?” Zeric finally managed to get out.

  “You are in an Alliance hospital in Ciread, Sulas. Do you remember what happened?”

  Zeric paused to consider his answer. It was a good sign that he wasn’t restrained and that the officer was using his fake name. He decided that ignorance was the best approach.

  “No, how did I get here?”

  The officer nodded as if he had expected that. “Stun blasts can mess with your short-term memory sometimes. Your ship was boarded by pirates. You were knocked out.”

  “Pirates?” Zeric asked, trying to sound confused and scared. It did not prove that difficult to convey.

  “Yes, a pair of nasty Bobbles. They hid in your cargo containers.”

  Zeric struggled to keep the frown from creeping onto his face. ‘Bobbles’ was a derogatory slur some Terrans and Braz used to describe Liw’kel; the word described the constant movement of their antennae.

  “How did you stop them?” Zeric asked, trying to redirect some of his disgust. He hated bigots, but under the circumstances, he decided it was best to play along.

  The officer smiled, seemingly pleased at the chance to explain his heroics.

  “It seems the pair was bright enough to sneak aboard your ship but then too stupid to know how to operate the ship. They pulled out of hyperspace too close to the planet in a zone being patrolled by one of our ships. We detained them and boarded the ship. That’s when we found you, your captain and the rest of your crew unconscious.”

  Zeric cursed their luck. It appeared Gu’od had succeeded in taking the ship and getting Gamaly out of the cargo container, only to have been snapped up because of sheer bad luck. Why the officer thought he was one of the crew, Zeric still did not know, but as long as it kept him out of prison, he would roll with it.

  “The captain?” Zeric asked. He was disappointed that the officer didn’t think he was the captain. He supposed he couldn’t have everything.

  “Yes, Captain Maaron Ocaitvik,” the officer said, indicating a bed beside Zeric’s.

  Lying in the bed, still unconscious, was the Braz Zeric had had the standoff with. Now able to get a good look at the man, Zeric figured him to be at least couple years older than himself, probably in his late thirties or early forties. The screfa was one of the lower-key kinds, only covering a small part of his face.

  The officer continued, “He appears to have taken quite a beating trying to fight off the pirates. He still hasn’t regained consciousness. There was also another crew member, a Sarca Ocaitric. What can you tell me about her?”

  Zeric tried to think of something noncommittal. “Um, not much. I didn’t get to know her very well.”

  “As I suspected,” the officer said as he wrote notes in his data pad. “I guessed she hadn’t been with you long. Probably played on your captain’s sense of clan obligation to get the job.”

  Zeric just shrugged, and the officer continued to write as he spoke. “Turns out her real name is Saracasi Ocaitchi, a wanted criminal back on Braz. Looks like there was some benefit to this after all, Mr. Franklin. You got a criminal off your ship, and those slimy Bobbles are in custody as well.”

  The officer looked at his watch. “I think that’s all I need from you. Let your captain know that his ship is at docking bay 4A. We had to impound the cargo as evidence, but you’re free to return to your ship once the doctors clear you. Oh, and don’t leave the planet. We’ll need your official testimony.”

  With that, the officer turned and left the room without another word. A nurse moved over beside Zeric and began checking his vitals. Zeric pondered what had just happened. He had been shot during a hijacking attempt and was now being let go by the police. To top that off, he had been told exactly where to find the ship he had been trying to steal – and that it was unprotected.

  When the nurse finished, Zeric asked where he could find his clothes.

  The trip over to the starport from the hospital was un-eventful for Zeric. The public transit car he rode in was relatively empty, giving him plenty of time to consider his options.

  Gu’od and Gamaly being in prison left him in a tight spot. If he moved quickly, he could take the ship and get off-world before the police realized their mistake. But leaving now would mean abandoning Gu’od and Gamaly to the Alliance criminal j
ustice system.

  On the other hand, prison was not a place he wished to end up, which was the exact reason he thought he shouldn’t stay. Finding them a good lawyer would only cause the AIS to take another look at him and breaking them out of jail was not within his means. It wasn’t like he was abandoning them to die alone on some remote world or leaving them in the hands of a bloodthirsty crime lord – both of which he had faced before.

  With this reasoning firmly in mind, Zeric suppressed his conscience and resolved to get off the planet at his first opportunity.

  When he finally arrived at the spaceport, it took him longer than he would have liked to navigate the facility. The building was massive, with long stretches of expansive corridors that ran between docking bays. The bays themselves were nothing more than open-air spaces of reinforced blast-proof landing pads separated from one another by a chain-link fence.

  As Zeric walked, he noted many holes in the starport security. Briefly, he considered stealing another ship and leaving the Cutty Sark where she was. It would be easy enough to slip aboard any of the commercial delivery or passenger transports and get away before anyone caught on. After a few minutes, he dismissed this idea as being too risky. Without doing proper surveillance beforehand, it was unlikely that he could find a ship that was fueled, had a good hyperdrive, and was either fast enough to evade capture or well enough armed to fight, should the authorities catch on. He doubted more than a handful of the craft here had any defenses beyond a light shield. This was, after all, a civilized Alliance planet, free of pirates and smugglers that would have necessitated civilians arming themselves.

  Continuing to the Cutty Sark may have made him predictable, but Zeric decided that this was worth the risk. The ship was the perfect candidate for him. She was based on a courier design, which meant she was fast both in and out of hyperspace, and Zeric had noticed decent shielding and at least one weapon.