by James Wisher
Children of Darkness
Copyright August 5, 2015
James E. Wisher
CHAPTER ONE
“No, you can’t try the new cloaking device,” The Rogue Star emerged from hyperspace five hundred thousand miles away from Yourin 3. Captain Marcus Drake guided his ship toward the brown, ugly moon orbiting a beautiful, green gas giant. A pair of heavy cruisers patrolled the system for unauthorized ships.
“Come on, Marcus.” His navigator and best friend, Solomon Keyes, took every opportunity to nag him about trying the latest toy First Councilor Dra’Kor’s technicians had installed on the star. “We have to test it. What if it doesn’t work when we need it to?”
“We don’t need to sneak down to the planet; they’re expecting the load of medical supplies in the hold. If we go in cloaked they’re apt to think we’re smugglers and blast us out of the sky the instant we hit the atmosphere. I never got shot down when I was a smuggler so I’m certainly not going to risk it now that I’m doing honest work. I’d never live it down.”
“What about that time we snuck the three eyed princess off her home world before they could marry her off to that old guy with the horns? Our engines got shot up pretty bad.”
The star streaked toward the nearest cruiser. Marcus expected to receive a call any second. “That didn’t count. I landed us safe and sound. Besides the cloak’s Vencar tech. Anyway if we get shot down how are we supposed to get the councilor’s negotiator off the planet?”
Solomon crossed his arms over his ample stomach and frowned. “Fine, forget I asked.”
A beep from the comm spared Marcus further pouting. “You going to get that?”
Solomon hit the flashing button. “This is the Rogue Star, go ahead.” Marcus smiled. All traces of the pout vanished when Solomon went to work.
“This is Captain Korbin of the heavy cruiser Defiance. Please transmit your cargo manifest and shipping permit.”
Solomon typed a short command into his console. “Transmission commencing.”
The data transferred and a few seconds later Captain Korbin said, “Everything looks in order Rogue Star, they’ll be expecting you at beacon six.”
“Understood, Defiance, Rogue Star out.” Solomon cut the connection.
A grid overlaid the main view-screen showing Marcus his landing coordinates. “See, no sweat.”
“Don’t say that, Marcus. Every time you say that someone tries to kill us.”
Marcus ginned and accelerated toward the moon.
***
Someone centuries earlier named the town Frontier X, and the spaceport comprised a dirt field half a mile from the town proper. If any rhyme or reason existed for the landing arrangements Marcus couldn’t figure it out. Three other ships, two bigger and one smaller than his, sat on their landing gear at whatever angle had suited their pilots when they landed. Marcus brought her in for a soft landing, the loading ramp pointed toward the town.
He powered down everything but the external defenses, slipped on his command gauntlet, and headed toward the cargo hold. As usual his cargo handler came to life at his approach. “Time to go to work.”
Herc switched from guard mode to work mode and followed Marcus through stacks of crates toward the ramp, the robot’s heavy steps rattling the deck. Marcus hit the switch and lowered the ramp. Not wanting to blast their customer he switched the auto-guns off. Marcus walked down the ramp and looked around. A flatbed wheeled hauler approached at a sedate pace surrounded by a cloud of dust. Marcus shook his head. This planet was low tech. He hadn’t seen a truck like that outside Willie’s Junkyard, ever.
The flatbed turned around and backed up to the loading ramp. The driver’s side door opened and a bow legged fellow in a broad brimmed hat hopped out. He ambled over to Marcus, thumbs stuck through his belt loops, an antiquated slug thrower holstered at his hip.
“You got the medical supplies?” The stranger squinted up at Marcus who noted the small horns jutting from his brow. They’d sent a native rather than one of the council’s aid workers.
“That’s right,” Marcus said. “If you want to lower your tailgate I’ll get started unloading.”
The native frowned. “Don’t you want to see my paperwork?”
Marcus shrugged. “I got paid on the front end. All I want now is to unload and get a drink.”
The native barked a laugh and stuck out his hand. “Man after my own heart. Name’s Jack.”
Marcus shook his hand. Jack had a firm grip for such a scrawny fellow. “Marcus.” If the native’s given name was Jack then Marcus would eat his gauntlet. No doubt the other spacers had given a nickname easier to pronounce than his native name and it stuck.
Jack unlatched the tailgate and Marcus typed a short command into his gauntlet. Herc grabbed the first crate and started for the truck. Marcus and Jack moved a little ways away from the noisy robot.
Jack spat into the dust. “Quite a machine.” He nodded toward Herc.
“It gets the job done. A buddy of mine recommend The Dancing Trollop for a good place to get a drink, you know it?”
Jack nodded. “Sure though most of the off-worlders prefer The Bent Rocket. The trollop’s a good place to get a drink or have a poke if you want to blow off steam. The road to the med-center goes right by it if you want to ride in with me.”
“Thanks.” Marcus looked at the gun at Jack’s waist. “Do I need a weapon?”
Jack patted his holster. “Nah, this is more fashion than protection. Nobody bothers the off-worlders much beyond a fist fight now and then.”
Marcus took that pronouncement with a grain of salt as his contact said the council’s negotiator had a bounty on his head equal to ten pounds of gold. Marcus glanced into the hold and found it three-quarters empty. “Excuse me a moment.”
He waited until Herc went past with another crate and trotted up the ramp and continued on to the cockpit. Marcus stuck his head in. “I’m going to ride in with the hauler and get our passenger. Keep everything powered up in case we need to make a fast getaway.”
Solomon waved without turning around. He kept his eye glued to something on his screen. Marcus often thought Solomon believed the world displayed on his screen was more real then the real world. He shook his head and returned in time to watch Herc load the last crate and retreat up the ramp. Marcus typed a command to reset the robot to guard mode and left the ship. He spun around at the bottom of the ramp and pushed another button. The ramp closed with a solid thunk.
“Ready?” Jack finished securing the tailgate of his overloaded hauler.
Marcus nodded, walked to the passenger side, and climbed in. Jack joined him a moment later and fired up the engine. The truck lurched when the native put it in gear and they were off. As they rumbled toward the town Marcus marveled at how rough the truck rode. For someone used to antigrav vehicles the combination of tires and shocks jarred.
“Do you really have no hover vehicles on his planet?” Marcus asked.
Jack spat out the window. “A few here and there, but since the blockade no repair parts get through so when one breaks down that’s the end of it. Same deal with weapons. We’re down to using what we can make ourselves.”
“Has it done anything to slow down the killing?”
Jack laughed. “No, the warlords keep killing each other at the same pace; they just have to work harder at it now. At least they let medical tech through. The doc knows his business, but without these supplies a lot more people would die.”
They reached the edge of town, a collection of one and two story wood buildings, some painted some not. Hand painted signs hung here and there. Primitive wheeled transports rolled up and down the
streets. Willie would love this place; everything looked like it came out his junkyard only with more rust. Every native on the streets carried a weapon of some sort. Marcus would have liked a blaster, but they weren’t allowed off your ship. He couldn’t finish his mission from the inside of a local jail.
The flatbed jerked to a stop in front of a wide, two story building with tan siding and a deck on the second floor. On the deck native females in low cut dresses waved and whistled. They lifted their skirts part way up revealing long legs covered in coarse gray fur. Marcus suppressed a shudder.
Jack licked his lips. “This is it. Wish I could join you.”
They shook hands again. “Next time. Thanks for the lift.”
Marcus hopped down and slammed the door shut. Jack guided the hauler down the street toward where Marcus assumed the med-center waited. Marcus wished him luck. He couldn’t wait to collect his passenger and blast off this back water dust ball.
Marcus went up the front steps and pushed through the swinging doors. Inside a raucous group of natives drank, gambled, and generally made a hideous volume of braying laughter. Marcus scanned the room, the negotiator had orders to meet him here at noon local time for extraction. His watch read quarter of so maybe he hadn’t arrived yet. A skinny, seven foot tall, four armed alien with horn-rimmed glasses couldn’t very well hide in a place like this.
Marcus walked up to the bar and found an empty stool. The bartender ambled down. “What can I get you?”
“A mug of whatever’s on tap.” The bartender poured a glass of frothy green liquid prompting another shudder from Marcus. “You haven’t seen a tall, skinny alien by any chance?”
The bartender set the glass in front of Marcus. “If you’re looking to collect the bounty you’re too late. The sheriff grabbed him the second he walked into town. Poor bugger’s over at the jail. I hear the Red Devil’s coming to collect him personally.”
“Damn it!” The Red Devil was the handle of the nastiest warlord on the planet. He put the bounty on the negotiator. “Where’s the jail anyway?”
“Center of town. Go out the door and hook a right walk three blocks and turn left. You can’t miss it.”
Marcus slapped a twenty credit coin on the table. “Thanks.”
He left without taking a sip of the nasty looking drink. Outside the saloon Marcus turned right and followed the bartender’s directions. It took about five minutes to walk to the jail, an imposing stone building with iron bars set into the windows. At the front four natives with rifles stood beside a pair of double doors above which hung a large sign with sheriff written in red letters. The guards wore deep frowns and held their weapons in death grips. Talking his way in seemed unlikely. Looked like you could buy justice everywhere in the galaxy, even the backwater worlds.
***
The loading ramp opened at Marcus’s command as he approached the star. He ran up the ramp and over to the storage cylinder. Marcus typed in his access code and the cylinder spun around.
“Where is he?” Solomon stood in the cargo hold door.
Marcus turned away from his gleaming black armor. “The locals grabbed him. He’s in jail, and the warlord that wanted him is on his way to collect.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you think?” Marcus turned back to his armor. “Black Dragon, armor up.”
Lights switched on as the suit’s computer went from stand by to active. Marcus stepped into the armor which wrapped itself around him. Servo motors whirled to life and plasma seals engaged. The HUD flickered to life and all systems read go. Marcus stepped back out of the cylinder and turned toward the door.
“We’re not supposed to interfere in local politics,” Solomon said.
“Unless you want to go ask them nicely to release the negotiator it’s this or we let him die. I don’t think that’s what the first councilor had in mind when he sent us to pick him up. Keep the shields up and power the engines. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Be careful.”
Marcus activated his antigravity generator then blasted off toward the center of town. He appreciated Solomon’s concern, but his armor could survive a direct hit from a heavy cannon, if the native’s slug throwers would even chip the enamel he be stunned.
The guards’ eyes about bugged out of their heads when Marcus landed on the street in front of the jail. He smiled. “Run away now and I won’t hurt you.”
One guard raised his weapon and opened fire. Bullets pinged off his armor without damage. It reminded Marcus of the time he’d flown through a hail storm, annoying but harmless. When the natives ran out of ammo Marcus advance toward the nearest man. He snatched the rifle out of his hand, bent the barrel into a circle, and handed it back. Before Marcus could repeat the procedure with the other three they all took off as fast as their feet could carry them, quick learners anyway.
Marcus grabbed the door and yanked it open. The door tore off its hinges and dangled in Marcus’s hand. He tossed it aside. He’d have to be more careful. Marcus stepped into the sheriff’s office’s lobby. There were chairs and a table in the waiting room. Behind a glass enclosure a female native cowered in her chair. To his right a door led deeper into the office.
He stepped up the glass. “Would you open the door, please?”
She sat there and blinked at him. “It’s unlocked.”
“Thank you.” Marcus went to the door and opened it as gently as possible. He got it open with damaging anything. He started down the hall then turned around and returned to the waiting room. “Which way are the cells?”
“All the way back. The holding area door is locked.”
Marcus waved a gauntleted hand at her. “I’ll manage. Thanks again.”
No one tried to stop his as he walked down to the holding cells. Like the secretary said a heavy steel door blocked the end of the hall. Marcus grabbed the handle and yanked. The handle came out, but the door didn’t budge. He tossed the handle over his shoulder, reared back, and punched the door. It flew across the hall and slammed into the bars of an empty cell. A weapon cracked and a bullet pinged off his back. He spun around and found a fat slob of a native pointing a pistol at him. The trembling native wore a silver badge on his chest.
Marcus stomped down the hall toward the sheriff who emptied his weapon to no effect into Marcus’s armored chest. He snatched the pistol out of the sheriff’s hands and crumpled it up into a ball. He handed it back. “Shoot at me again and I’ll do that to your head, got it?”
The sheriff nodded and fled into his office, slamming the door behind him. It seemed no further interruptions would be forth coming, so he returned to the cell block. He checked three empty cells before he found the negotiator sitting on a lumpy mattress, both sets of skinny arms hugging his knees.
“Chief negotiator, Raan?”
The skinny alien looked up. “Yes.”
“The council sends its thanks for your efforts and has instructed me to give you a lift home.” Marcus ripped the cell door free and tossed it aside. “We should go. The Red Devil is on his way.”
The negotiator’s buggy eyes got even larger. “Let’s hurry. I’ve seldom met a nastier character in my long career.”
Marcus led the way out of the jail. He saw no sign of opposition. When they reached the waiting room he waved to the still concerned secretary who managed a weak smile.
Outside the street was empty, in the distance his audio enhancers picked up a vibration which the computer identified as an antigravity generator. “Does the Red Devil have a working hover vehicle?”
“Yes, one of the few still functioning on the planet. He mounted a crude mortar on the rear and uses it like a tank.”
“A tank?” Terrific. Marcus doubted he’d be in any danger, but Raan wouldn’t survive even a near impact. “I need to deal with it now. Take cover until I get back.”
Raan grabbed Marcus’s shoulder. “We can’t interfere. It’s for the locals to deal with.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,
but unless you can guarantee he won’t shoot that thing at us I need to take it out.”
Marcus blasted into the air. The computer spotted movement several miles away from the town. He zoomed in on the most tricked out hover truck he’d ever seen. Like Raan said the warlord had bolted a hundred and twenty millimeter cannon to the bed.
He swooped down toward the approaching warlord at just shy of mach one. The gunner got off one round that didn’t even come close before Marcus closed the distance. He pulled up in front of the truck and cored out the engine with his vortex cannons then sliced the barrel of their cannon in half with the laser cutter in is gauntlet. The threat eliminated, Marcus offered a little salute and flew away in a hail of gun fire.
He landed beside Raan a minute later. “Problem solved.” Marcus crouched down. “Climb aboard.”
The gangly alien wrapped his arms around Marcus and when he indicated he had a good grip they took off. A short flight brought them to the star’s loading ramp. The negotiator climbed down and they walked up the ramp.
***
Marcus flipped a switch and the star dropped out of hyperspace. A three hour jump brought them to the rendezvous with the council transport that would carry Raan the rest of the way home. Scanners showed no sign of the transport, but they’d arrived early so he wasn’t worried. The exhausted negotiator slept in the spare room.
“Did you really rip the door off its hinges?” Solomon asked. Marcus had finished the story of the jail break a moment before.
“Yeah, they only attached it with a few screws.”
Solomon shook his head. “I think your suit needs calibration.”
“No, it works fine.” He got up from his seat. “I’m going to check on our passenger. Let me know when the transport arrives.”
“Sure.”
Marcus left Solomon in the cockpit and walked down the narrow hall to the guest quarters. He tapped the chime and a minute later the door slid open. A haggard Raan stooped beside the door.
“Sorry about the ceiling, we don’t get many passengers as tall as you.”
