Lone Star Renegades

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “I think it’s a measurement … no … it’s a charge level. It’s asking you how powerful a charge level you want the laser to use.”

  “Holy shit. Look, Collin, we’re being lowered into that thing.”

  Collin didn’t need to look. What he needed to do was figure out how to fire the laser. He moved his palm over the motion pad associated with the weapon and watched as the strange characters changed.

  “Am I increasing the charge level or decreasing it?” he yelled.

  “I don’t know,” Orman yelled back.

  “Damn it!” Collin swept his palm again until the characters stopped changing. Had he turned it up to max, or just turned the damn thing off? He’d have to chance it. Now, what do I do to fire? Collin scoured the panel, his eyes moving from one section to the next. His gaze caught sight of the display and their furthering descent toward the compactor. Four massive block walls then separated, like the mouth of a hungry beast ready to devour its quarry.

  A big black hand reached over Collin’s shoulder and slapped at a section on the console that was high and to the right of Collin’s own right hand. The display flashed white and then blue as the ship shook. The noise erupting was so loud Collin and those around him had to cover their ears.

  The display cleared, revealing a black, smoldering orifice. Small at first with cracks and tears all around its circumference, the opening steadily began to expand—literally rip and tear outward. Within seconds the opening was now so large it even eclipsed the size of their ship.

  “Look!”

  Open-mouthed, Collin watched as debris started to fall through the vast opening. “We blasted a hole right through the compactor … right through the collector ship’s hull!” He watched the small display and saw the droids’ legs straining—actually shaking against the forces of the now-breached depressurizing fuselage. One of the droids toppled into the blackness.

  “We need to get back to the bridge,” Collin said, getting up from the stool. He made quick eye contact with Lydia and made another attempt at a smile.

  Bubba, DiMaggio and Orman were right on his heels as he entered the bridge. He sat down just in time to look up and see they were falling—no, being pulled—into the dark opening. He yelled, “Hold on!”

  Chapter 15

  “You did it!” It was Darren’s voice and he sounded truly amazed. “You got us out of there.”

  Collin glanced back, seeing virtually all on board standing in a semi-circle outside the entrance to the bridge.

  “Don’t start celebrating just yet, Sticks,” Humphrey said. He’d wedged himself into the bridge and was pointing to the observation window. The collector ship, which was even bigger than Collin thought, was starting to distort.

  Orman also moved into the bridge area and went to Collin’s side. “It’s imploding! We need to get as far away from that vessel as possible.”

  Collin nodded, seeing his point. He looked down at the console and, for a moment, forgot everything he’d learned mere moments before.

  Lydia was back at his side and he felt her hand on his shoulder. “You can do this, Collin.” He looked up to see she was smiling and gently nodding her head.

  “Two hands, Frost,” Bubba said, moving into the seat at his left.

  Collin brought his hands up and over the motion controls and began maneuvering the ship away from the sim rover.

  “We need to go faster … a lot faster,” Orman said, his eyes locked on the display.

  Collin noticed it too. The sim rover was starting to vent fiery explosions, which were quickly dissipating in the vacuum—the total lack of oxygen—of space.

  “It’s going to blow … like a mother fu—”

  The last word never left Humphrey’s lips. Collin jerked his palm forward, over the motion detection pad, and the ship abruptly lurched forward just as the sim rover exploded into a magnificent fireball. Lydia fell into Collin’s lap with a scream while, with the exception of Bubba, who was already seated, the others ended up on their backsides or sprawled awkwardly onto the deck.

  Somehow Lydia’s arms ended up encircling Collin’s neck—her face mere inches from his own. Again, his eyes took in her face: the play of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the expressive lips that were curled up ever so slightly, and her eyes, taking in his own features—his eyes—in the same way. He felt her hands slide from around his neck and come to rest on his cheeks. She kissed him. It was brief and she was up and off his lap before he could do or say anything. Was that a real kiss or just a good job kiss? Collin wondered.

  There was cheering and high fives and even Humphrey was throwing air punches and yelling “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  Like Collin, Bubba was leaning back in his seat. They exchanged a quick fist bump before bringing their attention back to the observation window and the total blackness of space. As the sounds of the teens’ excited voices left the bridge—other, repetitive sounds began to take their place. First one, then two, then five console panel lights began to flash. The rhythmic sound of alarms soon blended into a constant stream of annoying blaring.

  The three cat-like aliens had remained, still standing behind Collin and Bubba. The quiet one, named Pack, leaned in over the console.

  “Hull breaches on both decks. We’re also not properly filtering oxygen.”

  Collin’s mind flashed back to the sim rover and its hull breach. “Are we in trouble?”

  “We’ve got time … not a lot … but some.” The three Daccian cat creatures hurried from the bridge.

  DiMaggio took a seat to Collin’s right. “Is there any way to turn that alarm off?” Collin waved his hand over the flashing lights and, one by one, the sound volume on each began to lower to a tolerable level.

  Collin leaned forward, first taking in the distant stars beyond the observation window, and then, lower, on what was appearing on the group of display screens.

  “We’re not in Kansas anymore … or Texas, either, for that matter …” Bubba remarked.

  “Or even our own solar system,” Collin replied. The center display partially showed a single planet. It was primarily purple and deep amber in color, with wispy white streaks—perhaps from surrounding, high-atmospheric, cloud layers.

  “What do you say we give it a break for a bit? Explore the ship … maybe get situated?” Collin suggested.

  * * *

  Collin descended the stairs, followed by DiMaggio and Bubba. What they discovered on the first deck were kids busy at work cleaning up the area. Tink was in the kitchen, arguing with two of the Lone Stars’ defensive tackles—something about doing more work and less clowning around. The mess, or dining area, was already looking better—someone had cleaned the grime off the floors and straightened up the tables and chairs.

  Moving toward the stern, the three made a right, toward crew quarters. Ahead, Collin saw most of the doorways were open. They stopped at the first set of opposing hatchways, where two big guys were conversing across the hall from each other. Bubba signaled hello, with a slight chin nod, to a similarly large black kid, Royce White, who was the Lone Stars’ starting center.

  Collin took a look inside the compartment and was surprised to see it still held a bunch of things—possessions left from its previous occupant. Royce was holding up a three-dimensional, almost holographic-looking, image of an alien—actually two aliens. One was, Collin surmised, an infant, sitting on the other’s lap. Just like any mother and child portrait.

  “I can’t decide who’s uglier, the mother or the kid …” Royce said, holding up the image for Collin, Bubba and DiMaggio to see. “I was just telling Panichello that he should keep it since this one looks just like his own mother.”

  Everyone laughed, except Panichello. “Bite me,” he said, turning into his own quarters.

  “Compartments are pretty nice,” Collin said, taking in the bed, a small workspace that held a counter-like desk and what he assumed was a toilet, behind half a bulkhead wall.

  “Is that the can?” DiMaggio
asked Royce.

  “I hope so or I just dropped a deuce into something I shouldn’t have.”

  There were more chuckles. Collin continued down the corridor, waving or nodding to each cubicle’s inhabitant. He noticed friends took compartment cubicles next to their friends. The cheerleaders were all bunched together in one section of six compartments next door to each other. He looked for Lydia but didn’t see her in any of them.

  Collin made a left and found the corridor for quarters lining the starboard side of the ship. Quarters here looked to be inhabited as well. He found Humphrey, Clifford Bosh, Owen Platt and Garry Hurst had selected compartments clustered next to each other. Continuing on, he passed another compartment. Inside, Darren was sitting on a bed in deep discussion with Lydia sitting next to him—her hand resting on his knee. Collin waved as he passed. Darren scowled and used the toe of his shoe to swing the hatch closed.

  The next few compartment hatchways were wide open. Apparently no one had laid claim to these.

  “I guess I’ll take this one,” Collin said, looking inside the small area. For the first time he noticed each had a small porthole window that looked out to the black space beyond. Bubba and DiMaggio took the next two compartments down the line from Collin’s.

  Collin sat on the bed and looked around the sparse space. Strange … no personal items in here, he thought. He doubted anyone had lived here when … whatever … had happened to the ship.

  He heard a noise and looked back to the open hatchway. Orman stood there, looking agitated.

  “What is it, Orman?”

  “Looks like we’ll be able to patch the hull breaches. Cine and Pack are working on the last of them now.”

  “So, is there some other problem?” Collin asked, unsure what Orman wanted.

  “There’s an incoming hail. A ship is approaching.”

  Collin just stared at Orman. And this is the last thing on your list to inform me about? he thought. He got off the bed, squeezed by Orman, and yelled down the corridor: “Bubba, DiMaggio … we’ve got company!”

  He didn’t wait for the others as he made his way out of the crew quarters, past the mess and kitchen, and back up the stairs. When he entered the bridge, it was empty. Empty except for a video image of a humanoid face on the center display, staring back at him.

  Chapter 16

  Collin looked for a way to open up a line of communication. The man tilted his head and furrowed his brow. Collin turned toward Orman and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I already opened the channel. You can speak freely to him,” Orman said.

  Collin flushed, feeling stupid. He sat down and looked at the unkempt, unshaven man on the display. “Um … hello?”

  Again the man’s brow furrowed. He began speaking, though it took several beats for Collin to hear actual words coming from his mouth—and then they were totally out of sync.

  “It takes a second for the translation to catch up. The longer you talk the more it becomes in sync,” Orman said, looking exasperated at Collin’s total lack of understanding modern technology.

  “I am Capitano Dante Primo, Duca of the Brotherhood house of Torre, I am Captain of the Tyrant. I wish to speak to the commander of that vessel, boy.”

  Collin exchanged a quick glance with Bubba and DiMaggio. Bubba said, “That’s a mouthful … tell him he can suc—”

  “I’m the commander,” Collin said, putting his attention back on the display.

  Captain Primo looked somewhat bemused by that. “Okay … and who are you?”

  “Collin Frost … I’m Commander Collin Frost.” Collin purposely didn’t look over to Bubba or DiMaggio; so far, they hadn’t snickered or made any snide comments when he named himself commander.

  “Fine. Commander Frost. I’d like to commend you on your escape from that collector ship. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that occurring before.” Bubba began to fiddle with the console when a second display, to the left of the captain, suddenly came alive: the image of a sleek-looking spacecraft appeared. Without any nearby object around to compare its size to in open space, it was difficult to guesstimate how large a ship it actually was.

  “Thank you, Captain. It was a close call.”

  The captain slowly nodded as if considering his next words. “That’s a … um … mining or excavating vessel, if I’m not mistaken … yes?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “No weapons systems. So how did you—”

  “Excavation laser. Turned it up to the max setting and fired away.”

  Primo laughed out loud and Collin heard others laughing behind him, joining in. “You have a name for that ship, Commander?”

  This time Collin let his eyes quickly dart to DiMaggio before answering. “Best we can come up with is the Turd.” He laughed again as he rubbed his forehead, trying to get serious.

  “Look,” said Primo, “I don’t know what you’re doing way out here … surprisingly close to entering Her Majesty’s outer border.”

  “We’re not from here. We’re from planet Earth. We don’t know anything about a border … or Her Majesty, either, for that matter.”

  Primo looked like he’d swallowed something unsavory. “That collector ship you destroyed came through a Rolm portal about eight hours ago. It was one of her ships. Our sensor readings told us it was coming from more than twenty-eight light years’ distance away … from what we call frontier space.”

  Collin didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Listen, kid, you’ve picked a pretty nasty place to be cruising around in.”

  “Why’s that?” Collin asked.

  “There are two kinds of ships in this quadrant … those that are aligned with Her Majesty and those that oppose her.”

  “Who is …”

  “Her Majesty? She’s a goddess,” he snickered. “At least, that’s what her faithful minions would tell you. This is a vast solar system, with four suns and no less than one hundred surrounding planets. She is the undisputed ruler of all space within this system and she, and her council, do not take kindly to uninvited guests, travelers, interlopers … the consequences being a quick and not so glorious death at the hands of her Kardon Guard.”

  “Are you … a part of this Kardon Guard?”

  The captain’s teeth flashed white with a smile. “No, young man … I certainly am not associated with the Kardon Guard. You could say I …” he gestured to the unseen beings around him, “and all those here are on the other side of things … the side that opposes Her Majesty Queen Arabella Valora.”

  Collin thought her name was beautiful. He wondered if Her Majesty looked anything like her name.

  “Where did you say you originated from?” Captain Primo asked.

  “Earth. We need to get back there. We need to go home.”

  “Well … I’m sorry to tell you, but you’ll be stuck here for a while.” He continued to stare back at Collin for several long seconds. “I’m going to make you an offer. One you should take very seriously. Align with us, our Brotherhood, and perhaps we’ll find a place for you and your kind within our fleet.”

  Collin didn’t want anything to do with their space war, one taking place twenty-eight light years from Earth. He didn’t know anything about this man’s so-called Brotherhood, either. Why should he take for granted that Her Majesty, the one with the pretty name, would be any worse to align with than the captain?

  “We’ll take our chances. Perhaps we’ll go back the way we came … what did you call that portal? Rolm something?”

  “That’s right, it’s a Rolm portal. They’re interspersed throughout the universe … surprised you haven’t heard of them. Your problem will be getting anywhere close to it. The Kardon Guard maintain a small fleet of warships there … you’d be vaporized before you got within a light year’s distance of it.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to take our chances then, I guess.”

  Collin caught Bubba trying to get his attention out of the corner of his eye. Bubba spoke unde
r his breath, “We’re being pulled in toward their ship.”

  “Your compatriot is right, Commander Frost. Our readings tell us your AI is inoperable. I’m not so sure I could pilot a ship without an AI … it would be a challenge. How about we bring this conversation closer, to a one-on-one? We’ll assist you with that.”

  Collin sat back and watched as the perspective on the display changed to include the Brotherhood’s ship, the Tyrant, and their own slowly approaching, extremely small in comparison spacecraft. It was evident the Tyrant was four or five times the size of the Turd.

  For the first time, Collin was able to make out someone else on the display. Another man was talking in low tones into Primo’s ear. Primo then brought his attention back to Collin.

  “Seems your physiology isn’t as similar to our own as we’d first thought. We’re bringing your vessel into one of our freight bays.” He pursed his lips and looked contemplative. “Apparently not only is the gravity on your home planet significantly stronger than our own but your molecular structure is also different … your physiology, too. We certainly wouldn’t survive on your Earth planet … but you should be able to survive in our environment. We’ll need to make special accommodations for you, though. Stand by … this will only take a few minutes.”

  The display went dark. Orman checked the board and said, “The connection has been broken.”

  Collin let his last words sink in: should be able to survive. “Orman, what do you know about this Brotherhood … or any of this?” Collin asked.

  “Nothing. We’re as unfamiliar to this area of space as apparently you are. You are wise to keep your options open, but you may want to play along … don’t do anything to antagonize this Captain Primo. Our survival may depend on it.”

  Collin thought about Orman’s suggestion and nodded. “Agreed. We’re not exactly in any position to dictate anything, anyway. We’re pretty much at his … shit … everyone’s mercy.”