by Edward Zajac
“Rama, where are you?” said Dahlia. “You were supposed to be here by now.”
Rama grunted. “Dahly promise not be mad,” he aspirated as if gasping for air.
Dahlia’s hand began to tremble. “Rama, what did you do?”
“Rama bring Fawen to… to devi fire so dat… so dat spirit go to Welan but… but Rama not make it before… before… before…”
“Blood and guts,” said Dahlia in an ancient Weiylan curse. “Why the suns did you go there?”
“Rama do it for… for Fawen. Now Fawen with Welan and Rama happy.”
“Oh, you sunning…” said Dahlia, stopping herself before calling Rama an idiot. A sunning, caring, selfless idiot. “Where are you right now?”
“Engineering,” said Rama. “But ceiling collapse and tough ta… tough ta… tough ta….”
“Rama!” yelled Dahlia. “Rama!”
“Bye, Dahly,” Rama aspirated. “Rama love…”
“Rama!”
The comm crackled and hissed for a few moments then fell deathly quiet.
“Blood and guts,” said Dahlia, fumbling for her datapad. She searched for his transmitter code and found his blip on Level 3, sector 5.
That was two levels below engineering. He fell all that way. Blood and guts.
She looked around, her eyes wild. She had to save Rama. He was her everything. Without him, she had nothing. She had to do something. But what?
As if the universe was listening to her query, a panel clicked open and two sentients fell from the ceiling. Dahlia pulled out her sidearm, ready to fire. But it was just Fletcher and the other one.
They began to bicker like an old wedded couple when Fletcher turned and saw Dahlia. He waved then ran into the hangar.
“Dahlia, good thing you’re here. We need to get the Weiylans and get out of here now.”
“They’re already inside the ship,’ said Dahlia, her breathing heavy. “But there’s one problem. Rama was in the engine room when the engines failed.”
“Damn it,” said Fletcher, snapping his fingers. “So close. Is he still alive?”
“I think so,” said Dahlia. “But I don’t know how much more time he has.”
“All right,” said Fletcher. “You two stay here. I’ll see if I can get him.”
“I’m going with you,” said Dahlia.
“Trust me,” said Fletcher. “I’ll do better on my…”
Dahlia stormed forward. “I’m going with you,” she repeated.
Fletcher eyed her for the briefest moment then nodded. “All right. We’ll go together.”
“But what about me?” said the other one. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Lock the doors and wait for us,” said Fletcher. “We’ll be back in no time.”
“But what if the guards come here looking for you?”
“Then get those Weiylans out of here. We’ll find another way off the ship.”
“But I’ve never flown a ship before,” said the other one in that whiny manner of his.
“What are you talking about?” said Fletcher. “You’ve played UUUU, haven’t you?” The other one nodded. “Well, it’s just like that.”
“But…”
Fletcher grabbed the other one by the shoulders, turning him towards the ship. “They need your help. And Rama needs mine.”
The other one stared at the Weiylans for a moment then nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I ask,” said Fletcher. He handed him something. “And take Betty just in case.”
“And take this,” said Dahlia, pressing a comm into Zag’s hand. “I’ll comm you when we have Rama. Or when…” She swallowed hard. “If you don’t hear from us, go.”
hat is going on?” exclaimed Xena, slamming her fist on the table.
“We’re trying to find him, but the comms are down,” said Gevron, looking up from his datapad. “I’m working with Hallack to reroute the signal.”
“Well, work faster!” exploded Xena. She turned towards Leevee. “Did you at least seal all the escape pods and egress points like I asked?”
“That’s the first thing we did,” said Gevron. “He’s not getting off this ship until we eject his lifeless body through an airlock.” Gevron turned back to his other conversation. “Finally.”
“What?” said Xena Xa eagerly. “What?”
“The comms are back up,” said Gevron.
“Tell me we have that fellot,” said Xena Xa.
“No,” said Gevron. “He was last seen entering a maintenance shaft.”
“Get me camera feeds to all the maintenance shafts.”
Gevron grimaced. “We don’t have camera feeds in the maintenance shafts.”
“Sun it!” said Xena, slamming her fists on the conference table. “Sun it, sun it, sun it.”
“Wait,” said Gevron, looking up at the vidprojector. “We have him.”
“Show me,” said Xena, leaning forward over the conference table.
The vidprojector sprung to life, projecting the image of a hallway. KweeKore stood all alone in the hallway, staring at an open maintenance shaft.
“Of course,” said Xena. “He’s trying to escape on my ship. Oh, we have you now…” She paused, squinting in confusion. “He’s going the wrong way. Why is he going back up the maintenance shaft? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I think it does,” said Leevee.
Two things worried Xena Xa just then. Not only was that the first time Leevee had spoken for the last fifteen minutes or so, but it was also the first time Leevee had looked up from his PCD in that same amount of time. Then Xena saw his face and a third worry came mind.
“What?” asked Xena. “What is he doing?”
“We have to go,” said Leevee, standing. “Now.”
“Not before you tell me what the suns is going on. Tell me!”
Leevee grimaced. “I think I know why he blew up the engines.”
“Because he’s an idiot,” said Xena Xa. “If he had half a brain, he would have blown all the engines at once.”
“I don’t think that’s why he did it,” said Leevee. “I think this was part of his plan.”
“What plan?” said Xena, incensed. “Tell me!”
“Okay,” said Leevee. “Engine one is fueled with an Nerron plasma while engine three is fueled with a Prattetine distillate. When the engines exploded, both fuels turned gaseous.”
“So,” said Xena. “Both of them are completely harmless, even in gaseous form.”
“Normally, yes,” said Leevee. “But when mixed with devilium and ignited at a high enough temperature, it could be bad. I think that’s why he’s going back up to engineering, to knock down the stasis fields and finish his work.”
Xena suddenly felt her blood run cold. “How bad are we talking here?”
Leevee swallowed hard. “It could destroy the ship.”
“Suns,” breathed Xena. “We have to get out of here. Gevron, send your guards to stop that fellock. Now!”
“Suns that,” said Gevron. “I’m getting off the ship with you.”
“Of course you are,” said Xena. “But your guards don’t need to know that. Tell them this is just a drill.” Her eyes suddenly gleamed with delight. “Better still, offer a reward of one million credits to whoever captures KweeKore. And another reward to whoever retrieves the ‘fake’ bomb. If they succeed, we’ll be able to salvage the ship. If not, at least we’ll be safe.”
“Right,” said Gevron, manipulating his datapad. “I’m on it.”
“And we’re going to need an armed escort to the freighter,” said Xena. “They’re not going to take both my ships without a fight.”
he maintenance shafts were a labyrinth of ladders, gangways, and staircases. The area was dark and expansive, barely lit save for a few emergency lights here and there. And Fletcher found it best not to look down. Down, he decided, was bad. Dark, bottomless. Bad.
Definitely bad.
Up, however, was much more interesting
, especially the view of Dahlia climbing the ladder. Fletcher was smart enough not to mention that tidbit to Dahlia because he wasn’t sure if he could survive the fall.
So far, they had met little resistance. Only a few guards which Fletcher had disposed of with impunity. Or more precisely, with a pistol he had pilfered from a dead guard.
At least, Fletcher assumed the guard was dead. Most necks didn’t naturally bend that way.
When they reached another deusteel gangway, Dahlia quickly pulled herself onto it and then shimmied across to another ladder, continuing her ascent towards engineering with great alacrity.
As Fletcher pulled himself up the ladder, he caught a glimpse of movement in his periphery. Without turning, he aimed over his left shoulder and fired.
There was a short yell, followed by a long pause. Then came the unmistakable sound of a sentient hitting a deusteel walkway from a great height.
About a hundred feet from the sounds of it.
Dahlia paused before a dull gray deusteel panel. There were two handles, one at the top and one at the bottom, and a silver wheel in the center. She gave the wheel a quick turn and the panel came away, revealing a pulsing stasis field.
Fletcher pressed his gloved hand against the field. It wobbled and shimmied like Illorken jelly, but didn’t burst. He pressed harder. Still nothing.
“Got any ideas?” said Fletcher.
“One,” said Dahlia. She depressed a virtukey on a tiny datapad and the deusteel gangway quaked beneath them. A moment later, the stasis field melted away.
“How did you do that?” asked Fletcher. Dahlia ignored him and ran inside. Fletcher followed her, saying, “Seriously, how did you do that?”
A thick red mist saturated the corridor. Scorched illumi-tiles flickered in and out existence, illuminating the damage in coruscating flashes. The walls and floor were charred and deformed, littered with detritus from the ceiling, as well as from the levels above. At one point, Fletcher could see all the way to the Devilium tank in engineering, three levels up.
Fletcher finally caught up with Dahlia. “Dahlia, how did you do that back there?”
“Magic,” said Dahlia, storming forward.
As they rounded another corner, the red mist began to interweave with a thicker green haze that sparkled in the flashing light. It reminded Fletcher of Christmas back home.
At the end of the corridor, three guards whipped around, weapons at the ready.
Fletcher quickly brandished his weapon, shooting each one in the chest.
“No, seriously,” said Fletcher. “How did you do that? Because I want one of those.”
Before Dahlia could answer, another three guards came running down the corridor. The first guard swung at Fletcher’s head. The privateer deftly evaded the attack, ducking under the guard’s arm and slamming him with an uppercut. The guard stumbled back, clutching his side as he fell against the wall. Another guard swung at Fletcher’s ribcage. He blocked the shot with his elbow, stepping back with his right leg while extending his left arm. He wrapped his hand around the guard’s helmet, pulling his head down while introducing his right knee to the guard’s sternum.
The two instantly hit it off, sending the guard flying two feet into the air.
That left only one other challenger. A massive guard who seemed in a perpetual state of akimbo, as if his elbows and ribcages were magnetic polar opposites, forever repulsing each other.
The Bylarian guard sprinted forward like a feral beast, barreling shoulder first into Fletcher. But the privateer was ready for him. In one fluid motion, Fletcher grabbed the guard as he fell backwards, kicking the guard up and over his recumbent body. He rolled atop the guard, pressing hard against his throat until there was a loud crack and the guard fell still.
“Don’t tell Zag about that,” said Fletcher, standing. “He thinks I’m nice.” He looked up. Dahlia was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, for sun’s sake.”
Fletcher ran down the corridor, leaping over a five-foot gap in the floor. He caught up to Dahlia near the maglifts where she was discussing something with a nervous tech.
“Have you seen Rama?” she said, squeezing the tech’s neck.
The tech nodded. “Around the corner,” he aspirated like a malfunctioning air purifier.
“Thank you,” said Dahlia, the vein on her neck swelling as she squeezed tight. There was a loud pop and the tech fell limply to the ground. She glanced down at her datapad then scanned the area, yelling, “Rama! Rama!”
A pile of detritus shifted in the distance. Dahlia immediately stormed towards the debris, tossing about blood-stained tiles and severed limbs with reckless abandon. An arm even hit Fletcher in the chest. But he didn’t care. Not when he saw Rama’s goofy face.
Dahlia pulled the gentle giant close to her chest. “Rama, it’s Dahly.”
Rama coughed, a green substance trickling out of the corner of his mouth. “Hi, Dahly,” he said, grinning that goofy grin of his.
“Come on,” said Dahlia, heaving him from under the debris. “We gotta go. This ship is going to blow any minute now.”
“What are you talking about?” said Fletcher. “This ship is fine. The other two engines are working perfectly and this gas is completely harmless. We’re absolutely fine.” He paused. “Well, you’re fine. They still want to kill me. But I’m kind of used to that.”
“We’re not fine,” said Dahlia, leaning Rama up against the wall. “I placed a nucleative bomb in the devilium tank and it’s going to blow soon.”
Fletcher blinked blearily. “I’m sorry. What now?” he said, as if channeling Zagarat Cole.
“You heard me,” said Dahlia, heaving Rama over her left shoulder. She buckled slightly under the weight, bracing herself against the wall before righting herself.
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Fletcher, absently shooting two guards as they rounded the corner. “The device would have detonated the moment it touched the devilium furnace.”
“Not if it was placed inside a Veteen lined deusteel canister,” said Dahlia, grunting as she stumbled forward. “Then it would slowly erode, giving me time to escape before…”
“Big badda boom,” said Rama, his head lolling about.
“Yes,” said Dahlia. “Big badda boom.”
“Suns,” said Fletcher, his mouth drooping open. “How much time do we have?”
Dahlia eyed him obliquely. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes spoke volumes. Mostly volumes of books about how Fletcher was about to die.
“Why didn’t you ask for my help?” asked Fletcher, desperately. “I would have helped. That’s why I came here. To help.”
“Because I don’t know you,” said Dahlia, picking up her stride as if becoming inured to the great weight on her shoulder. “Besides, you don’t matter to me. Only Rama and the others matter.”
“Dahly love Rama,” said Rama in a sing-song voice. “Dahly love Rama.”
“Shut up,” said Dahlia, curtly. She turned towards Fletcher. “We don’t have a lot of time. Yes, I placed the bomb. Yes, I pointed the blame at you. And yes, I’d do it again. But we’re all going to die unless we get off this ship soon. Now, are you going to help me or not?”
At that moment, Fletcher wanted to say no. He wanted to suggest that Dahlia find a creative way to fornicate with herself. But then he saw Rama’s goofy grin.
“Oh, for sun’s sake,” groaned Fletcher, rubbing his eyes. “Why can’t anything ever be easy?” He then shot another two guards. “Come on. Follow me.”
“Fletcher gonna help?” said Rama, smiling.
“Yeah,” said Fletcher. He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m me. An idiot.”
agarat stood in the cockpit of the freighter, staring at the console. Up until now, Zag had always praised the makers of Galactic Privateers of Oron for their realistic gameplay. The flight scenes were so immersive, so seemingly authentic that he actually ducked and weaved as he fled the forest planet of Orzega.
Now, however, he considered sending a stro
ngly worded missive to the company because they failed to include one important item in their simulation: how to start the sunning ship.
The game made it seem so easy. All he had to do was sit down at the console, hold up his hands, and a virtual control panel would magically spring to life.
Zagarat tried doing the same thing now, but no such thing happened.
He took off his gloves and tried again. Still nothing. He took off his helmet so he could see better and then said, “OS command.”
More of the same nothing.
His hands began to tremble. He couldn’t believe it. He was going to die on this sunning ship because he couldn’t find the sunning ON switch.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time Zag had been certain of his imminent demise. He was sure he would die from embarrassment when he finally girded his nerves and asked out Enoise Harker. He could still hear her cackling laugh to this day. And he was sure he was going to die when Benry Nize cornered him in the school cafeteria and made him play, How Strong Is Your Neck: a brand new game where one lucky contestant had to keep his head up against the wall while another contestant, Benry in this case, tried to pull the other contestant’s head away.
Benry, being a benevolent bastard, let Zagarat win. Although, it didn’t exactly feel like winning when Zag slammed his head against the plasticrete wall. It felt more like agony, followed by darkness and a mild concussion.
Good times. Good times.
Zagarat continued to stare at the console, hoping that an idea would coalesce of its own volition. It didn’t.
Stars and suns, thought Zagarat. There had to be a way to start the engines. But how? It wasn’t like he could just ask the ship for help.
He cocked his head to one side. Or could he? This ship used Dauntlaside and that meant it had an OS Query Wizard.
He retrieved his LRX cable from the pocket of his lifesuit and jacked directly into the console. He mentally scanned the OS Index, his eyes darting around in syncopation with his thoughtful queries until he found the OS Query Wizard.
He activated the prog and a beautiful Bylarian woman appeared inches above the console. She had the ageless grace of most Bylarians with flowing canary hair, rich golden eyes, and taut ivory skin. “Welcome to the Dauntlaside Help Wizard,” she said with a vacuous smile. “My name is Keelee. For Universal, please say Universal. Pora Bylaria, vaccie…”
