Lone Star Renegades

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  The second display began to distort and then it too went totally black.

  “They’ve jammed our video inputs,” Orman said. “It’s unsurprising they’d want to hide their technology from outsiders.”

  The ship shook as loud sounds from outside the hull reverberated within the confines of the small bridge. Then everything was still.

  “I guess we’ve arrived,” Collin said, getting to his feet. “Let’s go hear what the captain is offering us.”

  Collin met Darren and Humphrey as they descended the stairs.

  “What the hell’s going on, Sticks?” Humphrey said.

  Bubba, directly behind Collin, answered, “It’s Commander Frost to you, Humph. We’re meeting a few more aliens so we need to keep things cool … you understand?”

  This was the first time Bubba had openly sided with Collin against his close teammates. Humphrey looked at Bubba with suspicion.

  “Oh … He’s a commander now? Give me a break. There’s no way I’m calling Sticks Commander.”

  Humphrey and Darren realized they’d have to walk backward down the stairs to make way for those descending. Darren stopped at the bottom of the steps and held up his palms. “Just stop for a second and tell me what’s happening. Can you do that, Frost?”

  “I’m not real sure what’s happening, Darren. Another ship just arrived and now we’ve been sucked over to that one. And apparently we dropped into some kind of interstellar war.”

  “Terrific job, Commander Sticks,” Humphrey said. “You’re definitely the one to be leading us. Yup, a first rate job there, Commander Sticks.”

  Collin ignored Humphrey and continued toward the airlock compartment. He thought about whom he wanted with him for the forced meet-and-greet. He entered the airlock and stopped at the mid-ship hatch. “Bubba, DiMaggio and Orman, please come with me. Darren, someone needs to be in charge here while I’m gone.”

  Darren’s nod was subtle, but it was enough to convey his acceptance. “Let us know what’s going on, okay?”

  “I will, I promise.”

  Darren slapped Humphrey’s chest with an open hand and the two stepped back and closed the inside airlock door. Orman initiated the opening of the outside hatch and the four waited, side by side, to greet Captain Primo.

  Chapter 17

  When the outer hatch opened, Collin saw eight armed, uniformed men waiting for them, pointing energy weapons of some kind in their direction. The ninth man, the one Collin recognized as Captain Primo, stood off to the right of the hatch and was inspecting the hull of the Turd. He rapped on its surface with his bare knuckles.

  “Exotic dense metals … no wonder Her Majesty sent a collector ship into the frontier. Your little turd of a ship may not look like much, but its composition would be highly coveted in these parts.” Primo looked over to Collin. “You see, it’s the molecular structure of things, of everything from where you’re from, beyond doubt also affected by the eons of time, since the environmental gravitational forces are far greater there.”

  Collin noticed Captain Primo was as tall as he was, but the similarities ended there. He was far more muscular and moved with a confidence Collin couldn’t imagine ever having. Dressed in the same black trousers and dark maroon jacket the others wore, he alone wore a gold sash running diagonally across his chest. There was something cool about the way these guys dressed.

  “Welcome to Notares space. Commander Frost, I presume?” he asked, holding out his hand, like someone from Earth would do. “Is it customary for your people to shake hands on Earth?” Primo asked.

  “Yes, it is.” Collin stepped forward, leaving the airlock of the Turd, and entered the freight bay of the Tyrant. With his right hand outstretched, Collin took Primo’s hand in his own. Suddenly and for no apparent reason the captain went down on his knees and tried using his left hand to pry free the hand held in Collin’s grasp. His face was locked in a painful grimace—his rapid breathing coming in short, agonizing breaths.

  Two soldiers rushed forward, placing the muzzles of their weapons pointblank toward Collin’s head. One of the men said, “Release him … do it now!”

  Collin did as told and raised his hands. The mere action of moving his hands upward caused him to rise up off the deck several inches.

  “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry, Captain Primo,” Collin said, a look of real concern on his face. “I don’t know …”

  “It’s all right, nothing’s broken,” Primo answered, standing upright again. “I should have known better. We already knew your physiology was different.” He rubbed his one hand with the other. “Mother of Dawn, that hurt!” Almost smiling now, Primo appraised the others in Frost’s group. “Why don’t you introduce me to your team?”

  Self-consciously, Collin looked to his friend: “This is Paul DiMaggio.”

  DiMaggio put out a hand and then changed it to a fist. “We sometimes do what is called a fist-bump on Earth.” He turned to Bubba and the two exchanged a quick bump. Slowly he turned back to the captain and held out a fist. Primo raised his eyebrows and carefully gave DiMaggio’s fist a solid bump of his own. He seemed to like that, turning to one of his own men and repeating the fist-bump process with him.

  Collin noticed Primo had a small circular device, about an inch in diameter, high up on his jacket, near his collar. He suspected it was a translation device of some sort. There was no lag or delay hearing him speak their language, although the movements of his mouth did not synchronize with the words he heard.

  “Again, who are your team members?”

  “This is John Washington, we call him Bubba. Over there is Orman.”

  Primo took in Bubba’s sheer girth and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to mess with you, young man. You seem to have great physical prowess.” He gave Bubba a more gentle fist-bump. Collin was sure it was to save himself from more pain. The captain turned toward Orman. Orman didn’t extend out a hand or fist, but nodded in the captain’s direction.

  “I’m sorry for what happens next. We cannot have you moving about this vessel in your current physiological state.”

  It was then Collin noticed the hovering cart. Apparently defying the rules of gravity, the cart hovered several feet off the deck and was maneuvering over to where Primo was standing. There were twenty or thirty circular bands, like bracelets, positioned in two rows on the cart’s top surface.

  “These are what we call minimizers. For as long as I’ve been in command here, or any other place, for that matter, I don’t remember having to use these.”

  “What exactly are they?” Collin asked, looking suspiciously at the devices.

  “They will normalize your movements. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that you are having a hard time keeping your feet securely on the deck. And you’ve already seen firsthand what your body strength can accomplish here. Wearing these is just as much a protection for you as it is for us.”

  One of the armed soldiers placed his weapon on the second shelf of the cart, picked up one of the bracelets, and approached Orman. With the flick of a small switch, the minimizer bracelet opened. Collin watched as the soldier knelt on one knee and, still holding on to the bracelet, reached for Orman’s furry leg.

  The feline-like creature’s reactions took everyone by surprise. With one swipe of his clawed hand, the soldier’s hand was cleanly removed at the wrist. Blood spurted into the air from the man’s stump in quick, rhythmic jets that covered the bulkheads and everyone around him in red.

  Total chaos followed. Three energy pulses burned into Orman’s upper torso. When he didn’t immediately go down, five more followed. Collin stood transfixed, his mouth agape. Bubba, on the other hand, was already moving. Collin had seen the big guy move like that a hundred, maybe a thousand, times before—where he’d come up from his three-point stance and rocket forward just as the ball was snapped. Two hundred and fifty pounds of sheer brute force that typically devastated the opposing lineman—no matter how big he was. Bubba was almost always the bigger, and certai
nly the stronger, player.

  The first unfortunate soldier to come into contact with him never knew what hit him. As Bubba’s thick left forearm came up, another automatic movement gleaned from countless practice hours on the field, the soldier was hit across his chest, elevated up and off the deck several feet, and plummeted hard against the bulkhead fifteen feet behind him. His body stayed where it hit, within the same identical-shaped indentation.

  DiMaggio gave Collin a shove, saving him from a soldier’s weapon fire. DiMaggio moved like lightning, and was upon that same soldier in the blink of an eye. Finally Collin joined the fight as well, but his target was Primo. Fists clenched, Collin headed for the captain who, at this point, hadn’t made any aggressive movements.

  “Stop!”

  It was too late. Collin’s forward momentum jammed his shoulder directly into Primo. The impact struck the captain in his midsection and threw him ten feet away, skittering across the deck. Still conscious, he yelled again, “Everyone stop!”

  As fists poised in the air, energy rifles raised and ready to fire, everyone stopped where they stood. Primo held his injured ribs and spit blood. “No one move.”

  He slowly, painfully, got to his feet. Collin watched him grimace and, as he assessed the injured around him, Collin did the same. Both the soldier who’d lost his hand and Orman were dead. The smell of burnt fur still permeated the air. The soldier still buried within the back bulkhead was obviously dead, and four more lay unconscious on the deck. Bubba had multiple burn marks across his chest and upper thighs. Collin realized that he too had been shot, once in the upper arm and once on the back. The wounds stung but didn’t seem to be life-threatening.

  The four still-standing soldiers maintained their weapons’ aim on Collin, DiMaggio and Bubba.

  As Captain Primo approached, Collin braced himself for whatever would be coming next. The man stood up as tall as his injuries would allow and was now face to face with Collin. Through bloodied teeth, the captain smiled.

  “You may be young … but you are warriors just the same.”

  Chapter 18

  Sitting in the Tyrant’s infirmary, Collin tensed as a medical technician, or maybe a doctor? swabbed at the burn marks on his back.

  “Just sit still … this is the last of them,” the older man with a white beard said. He sounded grumpy, almost angry, but his eyes betrayed humor and kindness. “Your wounds are superficial, which shouldn’t be possible … your physiology is quite remarkable.”

  Collin felt a slight tingle occurring on both earlobes. Touching his left ear with his fingertips, he felt where the doctor had pierced his earlobe; now a small device was inserted there, no larger than the size of a pinhead. He’d been told that once these were attached, he’d have no trouble understanding what was being said, as well as communicating to others. He’d also be able to remove the devices within a few days—the doctor didn’t explain how—but he’d soon be able to easily converse in their common language Maisann.

  DiMaggio and Bubba were both being treated by other medical personnel off to his left, while Orman’s body lay prone on a table directly across from him.

  “Is Orman going to be all right?” Collin asked, surprised he was still alive.

  “You can call me Dr. Albergo, and yes, he’s fine … just unconscious.”

  Collin nodded and assessed the black bands now secured around his ankles and wrists. He saw Bubba and DiMaggio doing the same thing. The effect on his overall physiology was profound. He felt drained just lifting an arm.

  Seeing his fatigue, Dr. Albergo said, “Your energy will return ... in time. Those are necessary to keep your muscle strength in check.”

  Collin was about to protest when he heard a familiar voice, “I’m fine …”

  “Well, your ribs need attention; at least two or more are cracked,” a woman’s voice said from behind a bulkhead.

  “I’ll come back when time allows … I promise.” Captain Primo stepped from around the corner. He looked like crap. He swiped at a bead of perspiration over his brow as he headed directly for Collin.

  “You should be dead, you know. You all should … especially the furry one over there.”

  Collin shrugged, which he immediately regretted. Teenagers shrug. Spacecraft captains do or say something cool. Dr. Albergo nodded to the captain and left.

  Bubba and DiMaggio, finished with their medical treatments, were now standing on either side of Captain Primo.

  “I need to get back to my people, my crew,” Collin said.

  Primo pulled up a stool and sat down with a grimace. “As I said before, this is not an area of space you want to roam around in without protection.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  The captain said, “You think? Well, let me tell you a little about the Kardon Guard. When it comes to vessels outside of the monarchy’s own … they shoot first and don’t bother asking questions later.”

  “This Brotherhood of yours … who are you. What’s your deal?”

  Primo didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be thinking about something else, or perhaps he didn’t like the question. “The Brotherhood has been around as long as the monarchy. Only recently has friction arisen to the point the two ruling bodies had to separate. The balance of power has gone back and forth over the last few years. Where once my ancestors, the knights of the Brotherhood, protected the monarchy against the queen’s enemies, we now fight her Kardon Guard on a daily basis.”

  “Why? What’s your … the Brotherhood’s beef with the monarchy about, anyway?”

  Primo exhaled, looking tired and reluctant to explain.

  “Can’t you just resolve your differences, maybe rule together? Maybe you can put your hatred aside and—”

  “I never said I hated the queen,” Primo said back, irritated. “You’re young and naïve, Commander Frost. There are far too many things you are unaware of that I don’t have the time or inclination to explain. Leave it to say there are fundamental differences between the two of us. The Brotherhood is about the joint-rule of independent planetary states … the monarchy is all about one rule governing … the queen’s rule.”

  “You said she was revered, thought of as a goddess? If the people like her, love her, maybe that’s good enough.”

  “Yes, they do love her. But they don’t love the often-cruel monarchy’s Council of Elders and they certainly don’t love the lack of personal freedom and independence that’s now placed on all who live within Notares space. It’s a dichotomy, but that’s simply life here.”

  Collin didn’t see how any of this concerned him, or his people back on the Turd. What he really needed was to get home—to whatever was left of Earth in the aftermath of that sim rover collector ship’s assault on the planet.

  “Captain Primo, we just want to get back home. Can you help us do that?”

  “Yes, that I can do. But the price for that will be one year of service to the Brotherhood.”

  “Are you crazy? We’re not giving you a whole year of our lives … that’s totally ludicrous!”

  “You need to settle down, and I mean right now!” The captain’s steady gaze did not falter from Collin’s face.

  Collin’s lips hardened into a tight, straight line. In a lowered tone he said, “Service? What kind of service?”

  “Brotherhood forces have taken terrible losses in recent years. We’ve sustained devastating military setbacks. Our numbers are waning. Simply put, we need able-bodied combatants to go up against the Kardon Guard. Your crew will be properly trained: integrated into our fleets, our armies.”

  Collin was already shaking his head. “No fucking way. If—and it’s a big if—we go along with this year-of-service-thing, we stay together. And how do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

  Primo thought about that for a moment, then said, “There’s a Rolm portal here in Notares space. It’s how you arrived here. With the right equipment installed on your vessel, and a specific input code, you can travel back to the se
ctor of your own home world. Every three months, I’ll provide four digits of the sixteen digit code. You’ll know the digits are valid, since entering even one incorrect digit results in an error message.”

  “There’s two problems with that,” Collin responded. “One, how would I know the code you provide will take us where you say it will … and the final four digits … those could be totally bogus.”

  Primo raised his eyebrows. “You make good points. The portal interface updates as you enter the digits … the more digits entered, the more specific the interface is to the location where the exiting portal will be. By the end of the twelfth digit entered, you’ll have narrowed the field of exit portals down to a dozen or so within the sector of your home world. But understand, if you don’t exit through the one closest to Earth, your trip home will be many months, if not years. So … there will be a level of mutual trust required for this to work.”

  Collin thought about that and the simple fact that he … that they’d … all be giving up a year of their lives stuck here. What were their odds of even surviving out the year? What did any of them know about interstellar wars? When it came down to it, would they be able to fight … to kill others in battle as part of the captain’s deal? He didn’t know the answers but didn’t see any alternatives, either.

  “The Turd is not a combat vessel … it’s like … really hard to maneuver.”

  “That’s because the AI’s fried. Nobody flies manually unless it’s an emergency. A new, highly-advanced AI can be added to your ship.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better just to give us a new ship?”

  “First of all, we don’t have extra ships just lying around to hand out. Second, that ship of yours is unique … the hull’s dense molecular structure would be nearly impervious to Kardon Guard weapons.” Primo continued to stare at Collin and then at Bubba and DiMaggio. “I propose we retrofit your ship … it will take us a least four weeks at Nero Station … maybe as many as six.”