by Tristan Vick
“Hot, hot,” she said, chewing with her mouth open and sucking in as much air as possible to help cool the scalding, yet succulent, meat. Even as it burned her tongue, the meat’s juices dribbled down her chin and, overwrought with the savory deliciousness of it, tears welled up in her eyes.
It dawned on her that this was the first reprieve she’d been granted since she’d set foot on this savage alien world. And, for now, this was enough to give her the slightest shred of hope that she might survive being stranded in this godforsaken place long enough for a rescue mission to find her. But that could take days. Weeks. Months even. So she had to find water and shelter and prepare for the long haul.
Although she hadn’t very much survival training, she had read more than a fair share of prepper books during her globe-trotting daydream phase when she was all about backpacking across Europe, India, and other far-off exotic destinations. As a quaint librarian back on Earth, who wanted nothing more than to get away from her dusty collection of books and see the world, she had a fairly good idea of the survival basics. The rest would have to be relegated to guesswork and trial and error.
When she was still Jessica Hemsworth of Omaha, Nebraska, she’d dreamed of seeing Paris, Madrid, Rome, and Ankara. But her former self wasn’t the type of woman to simply uproot and boldly set out to chase her dreams. She had been timid, shy, and predisposed to worry more often than not. So, books were her only escape. They were wondrous, but above all, they were safe.
Of course, she had the annual camping trips with her father in which he’d taught her the basics of starting a camp fire using only sticks and dry moss for kindling, along with things such as how to gut a fish and skin a rabbit. But their camping excursions came to an abrupt end when her father ran out on her and her mother after her thirteenth birthday. She only saw him once, at her high school graduation, before he disappeared from her life for good. She carried a deep-seated resentment for him ever since.
She understood that sometimes people fell out of love. In fact, it didn’t bother her that he’d wanted distance from her mother, who could be overbearing at times. Nevertheless, what hurt her more than anything was that he had brushed her aside, too. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but he had merely discarded her as though she was somehow part of the problem, a source of his unhappiness. And this crushed her.
Jegra shook her head and took a deep breath of the evening air. Surprisingly, this planet cooled far more than she had expected. Even after having acclimated to the drastic desert temperature swings on Thessalonica, which could get as hot as one-forty during the day and drop up to around forty at night, she was starting to shiver. But that could also be due to her level of exhaustion and that fact that she hardly wore any clothes.
As she was about to take another helping of meat, a fierce roar cut through the night air and Jegra tensed up. It sounded like a mix between a lion and a howler monkey, but several decibels lower and much, much more vicious.
“That can’t be good,” Jegra said to herself as she scanned the perimeter of visible area before the firelight’s illumination was devoured by the darkness. It was that dim area, just on the cusp of her visibility, where she peered with bated breath, watching for any signs of movement. Something was out there. And it sounded hungry.
Slowly, she reached over and grabbed a long stick she had sharpened into a spear and which she had intended to use as a kabob skewer for the dino-bird’s dense thighs. Now, however, it was her only means of defense against whatever was breathing heavily in the seclusion of the shadows.
She could make out the beast’s breath rattling in its nostrils more clearly now as the sound grew incrementally nearer to her little barbecue. Obviously attracted by the scent of her cooking, Jegra kept crouched and slowly slunk back into the darkness and away from the glowing halo of the fire. Gripping her spear tightly as she gradually sunk away into the shadows, she squatted low and waited.
The soft, prowling footsteps picked up and erupted into a rumbling charge. Out of the darkness thundered a tyrannosaurus rex. Or, what appeared to be every bit as identical as the long extinct terrestrial dinosaur of her home world.
“What is this place, The Lost World?” she muttered under her breath as the T-Rex burst into view. Now she was beginning to think convergent evolution was a bit of a stretch. One winged creature, maybe. But two identical species? The odds were astronomical. Now, it seemed that she was stuck on some kind of preserve; maybe some alien zoo-keeper’s exotic, prehistoric menagerie.
After all, if poachers had picked her up and sold her off to the Intergalactic Gladiatorial Syndicate, it wasn’t that far of a stretch to imagine poachers having collected dinosaurs off Earth and sold them off as pets, spectacles, and perhaps even food to upper class patrons willing to dole out their credits for a chance to sample exotic wonders from other worlds.
The dinosaur whipped its tail around and arched, snout up, and roared at the moon. Then, without so much as a care for whose meal it was, it trampled her campfire, and gobbled up her only food. Snatching the pteranodon meat, it shook the dead bird just for good measure and, then, tossed it up into the air before gulping it down with three, jaw chomping bites.
Satisfied, its belly full, the tyrannosaurus huffed out from its nostrils and then stalked off into the night.
Jegra let out a pent-up breath, one she had been holding so as to avoid detection, and then walked over to the smoldering fire. A disappointed look came across her face when she realized there wasn’t a scrap of food left. And the three eggs she’d tried to preserved lay trampled, their contents mashed into the dirt.
She fiddled with her stick, stirring the broken egg yolk into the earth and making a mess when, all of a sudden, she got a phenomenal idea. Setting her mind to the task at hand, she used the mud to make molds of her breasts, shoulders, shins and forearms.
After mixing a batch of yoke laced mud, she set it out carefully and lay down close to the smoldering fire pit, and slept uneasily until day break.
The morning sun was subdued behind the dun colored sky and looked like a yellow faded stain on a brown carpet. Jegra couldn’t help but grin at the ugliness of this planet. It was the first world she’d been on in which the sunrise was as repulsive as the rest of the godforsaken wasteland. The only redeeming quality was that it had a breathable atmosphere. At least, breathable enough for her to stay alive. And that gave her hope that if she could tough it out long enough, help would come.
After stretching out her cold, aching muscles, she headed over to her molds and checked them. Once they were finished, she gathered together every bit of scrap metal she had collected on the long hike to find the pteranodon and, with the aid of a rock, she hammered it all with a smooth rock fastened to the end of a thigh bone till each and every piece of plating fit the molds.
Not letting what little remained of the creature go to waste, she tore out some of the finer teeth from the beak, the ones which were thin enough and sharp enough to fashion into needles, and used her own hair to thread the armor plating to the cloth of the leather bikini that she’d cut from a small piece of hide left from the quarter section of the dino-bird’s severed tail. Although only a bony morsel ignored by the tyrannosaur, it suited her needs perfectly.
Of course, she’d busted the first needle-tooth on the metal before realizing she needed to use the acid to etch holes into the metal plates. Dipping the end of the sewing needle into the acid, she then applied it to the metal. The tip of the acid-coated tooth burned its way through the metal plating. Although an agonizingly slow process, she had all the time in the world.
As for the strength of the thread, like the rest of her, her hair had been made ridiculously strong by the super-serum. It hung down her back to her butt, and though lightweight, the brown strands of hair had the tensile strength of slender steel wire. Plucking out a few strands, she whimpered slightly and then held up the fistful of hair above her. The strands crisscrossed against the dim dawn’s light and she whispered, “This’
ll do.”
That afternoon, Jegra stretched what remained of the pteranodon’s hide over several branches, crafting a modest awning to keep the sun at bay while she added the finishing touches to her armor.
With a metal bikini, shoulder plates, and bracers for her shins and forearms, she had at least minimal protection against whatever else might be stalking her. She slipped on her newly fashioned body armor and tested it by karate chopping a nearby rock in half.
If that wasn’t enough, the long, forty-one-hour days of this strange world gave her more than enough time to fashion a crude blade, using the acid pool to temper and sharpen one of the ship’s ore cutter blades intended for asteroid mining. She’d happened luckily on the piece of debris a few clicks west of the encampment when she was looking for a water source. After all, she knew the dinosaurs had to be getting their water from somewhere. But, still, no sign of it. Not a spring. Not a creek. Just desert and deadwood as far as the eye could see in every direction.
Although extremely heavy, the ore cutter being about as long as a two-handed longsword and twice as thick, she’d managed to give it a bone handle and a Tsukamaki leather wrap, the same style that ancient Japanese samurai swords used.
She briefly inspected her work, then, satisfied it was the best she could do with what she had, tucked the blade under her leather sash. She then tied it off leaving enough length on the ends to use for making strips should she need to sew anything together using the needle tooth of the pteranodon in the future.
She fastened her armor plating to herself with thin strands of leather that she’d shredded, and by the end of the day, she looked like a barbarian woman with a gladiatrix pedigree. Even so, she was starting to feel like her old self again. A powerful warrioress, not just a survivor stranded on an alien world.
Jegra didn’t dare sleep that evening, for as tired as she was, she couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that the T-Rex was still out there, circling her for when it grew hungry enough to pay her a return visit.
Dehydrated and a bit delirious from the long day’s heat, she licked her chapped lips and then laughed out loud at nothing. Curling up next to the fire, she clutched the blade to her chest like a teddy bear, and gazed wearily into the flames. Their hypnotic dancing had brought her to the verge of slumber when she heard the roar off in the distance and sat upright. Eyes wide open, she held her blade at the ready and peered into the darkness.
After a few minutes of nail-biting anticipation, every muscle in her body wound tighter than bridge cable as a pair of them came into view. One male, one female, lumbering along the cracked landscape, dry branches snapping underfoot, as they bared down on her.
“Balls,” she muttered as she realized she was out matched by the tyrannosaur team.
11
Emperor Dakroth Rhadamanthus returned Commander Blackstar’s salute and set her at ease. “Please, my dear, this visit is merely an informality. You see, I too saw the empress’s shuttle destroyed after that terrible pirate, Novac Tamoran, shamelessly attacked her.” Dakroth spat at the floor to make his ire known to all the crew.
Lianica nodded at her XO and she blew her whistle, calling everyone to attention. The entire deck clicked their heels, straightened into a formal posture, and saluted. Dakroth returned their salutes as he passed the long line of officers.
“This way, if you please, Your Grace.” Lianica motioned to the open doors of the shuttle bay and the emperor nodded.
They passed the rows of crew members, and every person lowered their salute once the emperor had passed.
In the corridor, Lianica turned and nodded at the XO, who waited for the doors to shut and then blew his digital whistle and shouted, “Dismissed.”
“Your Excellency,” Commander Blackstar began, “We have it on good authority that the empress’s ship was not destroyed, but rather transported out of the system.”
“Really? That’s excellent news,” he lied. “What system?”
“Well, it’s a bit complicated, you see—”
Emperor Dakroth raised a hand and stopped her. “Let me stop you there, commander. Either you know where she is or you don’t.”
Lianica looked at the red-skinned woman who stood in silence just behind the emperor and then back at Dakroth. She lowered her gaze. “I’m afraid we don’t know. Not with any certainty.”
“Then you agree with me,” he stated as they resumed strolling along up the corridor, “that until we have definitive proof of life, we must assume the worst.”
“Rescue operation protocols dictate that we—”
The emperor shot her a sharp glance. “What rescue operation? I wasn’t aware I had issued any such orders.”
“No, Your Excellency. I took it upon myself to issue the orders on your behalf. After all, I know how much the empress means to you. I know you’d want us doing our best to ensure the safe retrieval of—”
He raised his hand again, cutting her off for the third time in a row, something she was beginning to find more than a little bit aggravating. She clenched her jaw in annoyance at the constant interruptions and complete dismissal of her position but kept any further signs of protest to herself.
“Yes, and that’s all fine. We must search high and low for the empress. But there is a slightly more pressing matter I need you to help me with.”
They came around the bend to Blackstar’s personal ready room and she showed them in. Making himself at home, the emperor deliberately sat in her chair to remind her of his position over her.
“Would you like some tea?” she offered, motioning to the pot she had made before rushing down to the hangar deck to greet the Lord Emperor. He shook his head, declining her offer.
She took her seat across from him in one of two reception chairs and glanced behind herself, finding Ishtar Bantu standing just over her shoulder like an intimidating centurion.
“With all due respect, your excellency, what could be more pressing than retrieving the empress?”
Dakroth leaned back in her chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and grinned. “In the coming days, Nyctan will declare war against the Dagon Empire,” he informed her. “My best intelligence officers say the Nyctans are already amassing their fleet along the border. I am promoting you to Captain and want you to lead the blockade, Commander Blackstar.”
“Me?” Lianica gasped. At once she felt under qualified, but at the same time had dreamed of this opportunity for so long that she couldn’t say no. Such chances only came once in a blue moon. She’d be a fool to decline the emperor’s offer.
“Is that a problem?” Dakroth asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent!” Dakroth chirped. He waved his hand, a subtle gesture to Ishtar to back off, and she took a couple of steps back.
Lianica looked over her shoulder at the red-skinned woman, acknowledging that she was there to ensure Blackstar fell in line with the emperor’s wishes, one way or another.
The Lord Emperor pulled out a small wooden box made of beautiful Dagon cherry wood, and slid it across the table. “Open it,” he said, his grin holding firm on his mauve lips.
Lianica opened the box to find bars the rank of Captain. Pulling out the small brass pins, she admired them and began to fasten them to her uniform.
Dakroth stood up and walked around the table. Even though it was completely unnecessary, he helped her fasten the bars, and said, “I’ll expect your plan of attack in two weeks.”
Captain Lianica Blackstar stood up and turned toward him. She bowed her head reverently.
“Seeing as this is the most advanced ship in the fleet, I am giving you full command of the Shard.” The emperor turned to leave, but pausing in front of the door, he snapped his fingers as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, there’s one more thing. Whether you know it or not, you’re harboring a traitor aboard this ship.”
Lianica gulped and looked at Ishtar then back t
o Dakroth. Although he didn’t know that she was the one who had piloted the other fighter, he definitely knew Danica had been at the helm of one. She’d gone off the rails and tried to kill him herself, something Dakroth wasn’t likely to forgive anytime soon.
“A traitor?” she gasped, acting as though she had no clue. “Aboard the empress’s vessel?”
“Indeed,” Dakroth grinned viciously. “A woman by the name of Vice Admiral Cassera Van Danica Amelorak. Of course, she now goes by Danica Valencia.”
“The servant of the empress?!” Lianica balked, feigning surprise. “But she looks nothing like the vice admiral.”
“She’s had modifications. A fair warning, though, Captain, she’s ruthless and cunning and may be the most dangerous fugitive in the galaxy.” He pulled out a holovid tablet and held it out. Tapping it with his thumb, a picture of Danica, as she appeared now, popped up. “This image was recorded on Novac Tamoran’s vessel. The woman attacking me is the so-called servant you speak of. Now, I trust you will resolve the matter and help me apprehend this fugitive.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lianica said. Even as she said it, she could feel her heart pounding inside. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how she could warn Danica. But it didn’t seem like there was any way out of this.
“Lead the way, Captain, my Captain,” Dakroth said with a wave of his hand, gesturing her to go on ahead of him.
Both the red-skinned woman and Emperor Dakroth accompanied Lianica to the astrometrics lab where they happened upon Danica.
Caught up in her work, Danica didn’t even notice them come in. When she looked up from the star charts, a shocked expression came over her, one which quickly faded into one of profound disappointment. When her eyes fell onto Lianica’s, she noticed the shiny new bars signifying the rank of Captain. Lianica, realizing she’d betrayed Danica in the most unforgivable way, looked away in shame.
