The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation

by Joseph J. Madden

  “Wasn’t this originally a colony planet?” Kym asked, having spotted the chance to question Boke about what she had learned earlier that day. Jesse was glad she had taken the initiative. By now he was growing impatient with all the pleasantries. His line of questioning would have been more blunt. “I thought I read somewhere that they discovered a vein of Tydrium Thirteen almost directly beneath where they settled.”

  Boke favored Kym with that practiced smile of his. “This is true. A small vein, to be sure, but one of the most pure ever discovered. My mining division came in and verified the find. The colonists were all able to retire in great comfort for the rest of their lives,” His demeanor changed then, his eyes taking on a glassy look. “Sadly, most of them did not get to enjoy their newfound wealth for very long. Their transport was hit by a Chinsharra raider just before they jumped out of the system. I’m sure you know of the Chinsharra. They leave no survivors.”

  They did indeed know of the Chinsharra, a savage race that thrived on brigandry and plunder, stealing starships to add to their rag-tag armadas, and leaving nothing but chaos in their wake. They had dealt with them too many times in the past. Jesse also knew that this system was too far outside their boundaries for a raider to travel, but he played dumb for Boke’s sake. “I didn’t know that the Chinsharra had made any incursions into this area of the galaxy.”

  “They may have in the early days, but I assure you they are no longer so bold. I had my own ships pursue those black-souled monsters. They paid dearly for every life they took,” Boke replied, and his mood brightened as suddenly as it had soured. “Some of the wreckage from their ship is displayed in the Valhalla history museum. You should give it a look”

  “So, I suppose that between tourism and mining, this planet must make you quite the tidy profit outside of your other industries?” K’Tran asked.

  Boke dabbed at the side of his mouth with a napkin, and gave K’Tran that reptilian smile. “Mining was only performed in the early days of my acquisition of the planet, while Valhalla City and all you see around you were being constructed. In an ironic twist, it was only a matter of months after taking possession before the vein ran dry.”

  “Really? That’s interesting, because we spotted a number of ore haulers out over the far side of the lagoon earlier today.” Kym rested her elbows on the tabletop, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin atop them, her eyes wide in a look that said explain that one away. Jesse had to turn away quickly or risk laughing at the display.

  The most cursory look of annoyance crossed Boke’s features. Had Jesse not been looking directly at him, he would have missed it. The look faded, replaced by that insincere smile. “We have many vehicles at our disposal here. I’m sure that what you saw may have looked like—”

  “They were Capissen Thirty-Eight ore tenders,” Kym answered, a hint of her former sweetness peeling away, replaced with a rare assuredness. “I’m an engineer. I know machinery when I see it.”

  Boke’s cool veneer cracked more visibly this time, his eyes narrowing in her direction. He paused, steepling his fingers before him. After a tense few seconds, he said, “I do suppose it is possible. We do have some private prospecting firms that continually scout for other sources of Tydrium. Perhaps what you saw belonged to one of them.”

  Kym bowed her head slightly, appearing, at least, to concede that he was right. Jesse could have kissed her at that point. Her questions had unbalanced Boke enough that Jesse saw his opening, and took it.

  “Mr. Boke, what can you tell us about the attempt on your life today? It seems strange that a girl so young would want to try to kill you.” He quickly added, “I ask only because I’ll have to file a statement with our guild. Standard procedure, since we are contracted through them.”

  Boke dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, his eyes taking on a contemplative gaze. “Yes, that poor girl. Obviously very troubled. All I can say is that she is in custody, pending evaluation. I honestly cannot imagine why she would want to harm me. I had never even seen her before today.”

  “She did say that you killed her father,” Jesse said, holding his hands up to stave off Boke’s protest before it began. “Not saying that her claim is true, but you have to admit, it is a pretty big claim.”

  “I agree, a very big claim,” Boke replied quickly. “And an unfounded one. As I said, I’ve never seen her before today. And I have no enemies.”

  “You are a businessman,” K’Tran joined in. “And a very successful one at that. A man doesn’t get to be that successful without stepping on a few toes.”

  Now Boke’s glacial dememanor began to truly fade, as he glared openly at the implication K’Tran made. “Other businessmen, perhaps, Mister Pasker, but not me.”

  Jesse picked up on K’Tran’s line of thought. “Guilt by association, perhaps? Maybe someone you employ—”

  Boke leaned forward in his seat, rising slightly, his voice rising along with his actions. “I have already stated that I have taken no actions of a harmful nature against anyone. If anyone under my employ has done so, it shall be found out and that associate dealt with in the swiftest manner possible.”

  “That young woman obviously has some very deep running emotional issues, and as I said, will be evaluated for such. I have a fully competent medical staff on hand, and we shall do everything necessary to give her the help she needs.”

  Jesse feigned a sheepish demeanor. “If I offended you, then I am sorry.”

  Not in the least, Jesse thought, but by the way Boke relaxed back into his seat, Jesse knew Boke thought he had the upper hand. The rest of his crew played dumb, staring at their plates or pushing food around with their utensils, though he thought he heard the slightest bit of a chuckle come from K’Tran.

  Servants brought out dessert just as the ensuing silence had reached its awkward point. Each plate had a variety of exotic fruits and pastries to choose from. It all looked as incredible as the rest of the meal had.

  Jesse was reaching for a piece of fruit at the same time that a young servant, who looked to be no more than seventeen or eighteen years of age, was circling the table, refilling glasses where necessary. She looked visibly nervous, a fact belied by the shaking of her hands as she filled each glass. She him bumped accidentally as she was topping off his drink, spilling some on the sleeve of his jacket. Her face went white with fear and she began to apologize almost immediately. Jesse shrugged it off, grateful for anything to break the uncomfortable silence. “No harm done.”

  Boke, on the other hand, reacted as though she had spilled acid on his guest instead of water. His small eyes focused on the girl with all the intensity of a surgical laser. “Stupid little fool! What do you think you are doing?”

  Jesse waved him off as he reached for a napkin and began to dry himself, forcing a chuckle. “It’s all right. No problem.”

  Boke seethed. “My apologies, Captain Forster. There is absolutely no excuse for such clumsiness. I expect more from my serving staff than common laborers. I assure you, she will be most severely disciplined.”

  At this, the girl visibly started. Her eyes had the look of some small prey animal suddenly targeted by a larger carnivore. Jesse saw her reaction and reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm. The girl jumped at the touch, then calmed as she realized he meant her no harm.

  “Mister Boke, I said it is all right!” Jesse replied, the anger in his voice matching his hosts. “No harm has been done.”

  Boke turned his baleful gaze on Jesse and the two locked eyes for long moments. Everyone else at or around the table tensed, awaiting the outcome. In the end, it was Boke who surrendered the battle of wills.

  “Again, I must apologize, Captain,” Boke said, “As you can imagine, the day has been a most stressful one.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he waved the girl away. She hurried away, but not before flashing a thankful smile in Jesse’s direction.

  At that moment, a side door slid open and a man walked in, heading st
raight for Boke. He was taller than average and walked with the kind of cadence that spoke of military training, dressed in all black, which offset his white-blond hair and eerie blue eyes. To Jesse, however, the most startling fact was the effect the man’s entrance had on K’Tran.

  Jesse saw his friend’s reaction from the corner of his eye, subtle though it was. K’Tran’s entire body went rigid, as if he were the sudden recipient of an electric shock. His breath sucked in and his eyes locked on the newcomer. Jesse made a gesture to try to get his friend’s attention, to no avail. K’Tran was not taking his attention off of Boke’s new arrival.

  The newcomer finished his whispered conversation with Boke, then stood and straightened. As he did, he locked eyes with K’Tran, and they held the look for several tense seconds before breaking the contact, then straightened and, turning abruptly on his heel, marched back over to the doorway from which he had entered, stopped again, and waited at parade rest.

  Boke pushed back, and placing his napkin on the table, slowly rose. “You must excuse me. My chief of security has just informed me of some urgent matter that I must see to. Please, feel free to continue your meals.” With a curt nod, he swept away from the table to the door.

  The associate turned to follow, but not before fixing Jesse with that cold blue gaze this time. With the barest hint of a smile crossing his lips, he followed Boke out the door.

  ***

  Jesse stood at the window of their suite once more after returning from dinner. The city was still ablaze with lights, but he saw none of it. He was replaying the dinner incident over and over in his mind, and his troubles deepened with each memory.

  After a few moments, K’Tran approached after having gone back to his room to “change out of that monkeysuit.” Jesse felt, more than heard, his approach. Without turning, he asked, “Is this where you tell me what it was about Ol’ Blue Eyes that got you so worked up?”

  K’Tran sighed, joining him in staring sightlessly out the window. “His name’s Arvane Scarab. He was a hunter once. Belonged to the same guild your old man and I did. Efficiently ruthless bastard. Got the job done, but not without doing major damage to most of his captures.”

  He paused to draw a breath, and out of the corner of his eye Jesse thought he saw his friend give a slight shudder. “About a year or so before your dad died, we were on the same hunt, after a low-level member of a smuggling group. Capture warrant only. The guy was harmless, just wanted for data fraud, or something. I don’t even remember. That’s how low-key he was. Scarab caught up with him just before we did and was beating the guy senseless. We tried to intervene, but he held us off. The guy he was beating started pleading for mercy. That’s when Scarab pulled his weapon and blasted the guy right between the eyes.”

  K’Tran stopped again, and it was clear to Jesse that even after all the years since, the incident still shook him. Jesse waited for his friend to continue.

  “I’ve seen a lot of death. Five years in the war. Plenty of kill orders, both with you and your dad. None of them ever bothered me. Every one of them deserved it. Scum of the galaxy. I don’t even recall a lot of their faces, but this one guy, this one, little guy, pleading for his life, stays with me.”

  “Thom brought Scarab down. Took three stun blasts to do it. We brought him before the Guild where he was charged with excessive force in a capture-only situation. Bastard disappeared before he could be prosecuted. Three weeks after that, Thom received a holo-message from Scarab, originating from Wayfarer Station. In a nutshell, Scarab said that if he ever crossed our paths again, we were dead men.”

  “And tonight he shows up as Boke’s head of security.” Jesse shook his head. “Even if I had no other reason to dislike Boke, I’ve got a very big one now. Anyone who hires a psychopath like that has got to have a lot of dirty laundry.” He turned and faced his friend for the first time. “We’re going to air it out.”

  “I figured as much,” K’Tran smirked, easing into a seat near the window. “What’s the game plan?”

  “Someone say something about a game plan?”

  Jesse looked up and saw the rest of his crew watching from the mezzanine, having all changed back into their casual clothes. Kym, who had voiced the question, was looking decidedly more comfortable in coveralls once again, though she had left her hair and makeup as it had been for the dinner.

  “You were listening in from the start, I assume?” A trio of nodding heads gave him his answer. Jesse waved for them to come downstairs.

  “I have to admit,” Kym said, taking a spot on the couch, “I was wondering if you weren’t a little off-course on your theories about Boke until dinner. That little server girl at dinner was absolutely terrified. I couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened to her if you hadn’t said something.”

  Podo nodded. “I thought I was imagining it myself. Every employee I’ve seen seems like they’re walking on eggshells.”

  “Boke’s got something very dirty going on here, and I don’t like it.” Jesse said, “And after finding out that that Scarab guy is in charge of security, I get the feeling that the kid who tried to knock Boke off is in real danger.”

  Podo leaned forward in his chair. “So what do we do?”

  “K’Tran and I are going to go over to the security office where she’s being held. I want to know exactly why she tried to kill Boke. None of this poor, troubled child crap that Boke is spewing. Someone that age tries taking a shot at a high profile target in public like that has got to have a good reason for doing it.”

  “For now, the rest of you just hang tight here. Contact Bokschh and tell him to dig up anything he can on Boke and his holdings. See just how many dirty, little secrets he’s trying to hide. We’ll contact you when we leave the security center and go from there.”

  He returned to his room, quickly changing from his dinner wear back into street clothes, his twin-holster rig strapped on his hips giving him reassurance. This was something he could deal with, getting to the root of a problem with action. Boke was too much into playing his games of pawns and intrigue. Jesse admitted he just did not have the mindset for all of that.

  All the dinner had accomplished was to put Jesse and Boke even further across opposing lines. At least now he had some idea of what he was up against.

  Kym approached as he returned to the living area. “I tried contacting Bokschh. No response. Not on his internal frequency or on the ships’.”

  “Jammed?”

  “No,” Kym shrugged. “Just no response at all. Even if he had to leave the ship for some reason, his internal comm band should still pick up.”

  Jesse thought about it. “Keep trying. It may be nothing. Atmospheric interference, perhaps. If you can’t get through within the hour, you might have to take a trip over there.”

  She nodded. “Will do.”

  K’Tran met him at the door, checking over his own sidearm. “We’ll be back in a few hours,” Jesse said.

  “And what do we do if you’re not?” Podo called after him.

  Jesse paused in the doorway. A rakish grin played across his face. “Raise some Hell.

  Chapter Eleven

  The security center was on the opposite side of Valhalla City, far from any of the main visitor attractions. The guard at the forward duty station, a young Rycan barely old enough to legally carry a weapon, regarded Jesse and K’Tran as though the two of them had suddenly sprouted horns and a tail. Despite his youth, he sported an air of arrogance that told Jesse that security here was more accustomed to dealing with rowdy, drunken tourists. “That particular prisoner is to have no unsanctioned visitations. No exceptions.”

  Jesse bristled at the guard’s tone. He opened his mouth to reply, but K’Tran beat him to it. “What your superiors tell you is one thing, son. What the law actually states is another.”

  With each word he spoke, the older hunter became more impassioned, his fervor beginning to rival even the most zealous evangelists. “If you don’t let us talk to the prisoner, you�
��ll be in direct violation of Confederation Interstellar Penal Code one-nine-seven-seven, sub-section five-two-five which states that the officer or officers involved in the apprehension of a suspect have twenty-six hours to personally interview said suspect for the purposes of pre-interrogation disposition. Willfully obstructing an arresting officer in such a manner brings with it a fine of twenty-five hundred Galactic Standard Credit units or incarceration of no less than six weeks at a Stenax prison facility!”

  It was an impressive performance. The Rycan looked mortified. He sat behind his console, eyes like saucers, mouth agape. Jesse had no doubt that he was nearly about to wet his uniform trousers, and K’Tran was not finished yet.

  “Now, as arresting officers of an outside agency, we have the right to file a grievance through our guild which could also result in an additional fine of seventeen-hundred GSC’s.”

  “Even if you avoid prosecution, I find it very unlikely you’ll retain employment in any form of law enforcement. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a job mucking out bogo stalls at the constable’s station on Piraxis Three!”

  K’Tran paused, eyes pinning the guard to his seat. He took a long, slow breath, then smiled at the guard. “Now,” he said, his tone more conversational. “how about you let us see the prisoner?”

  The guard stared, silent, for the better part of a minute, his mouth starting to move, but it took several more seconds before any sound made its way out. “I, um, I,” He made a nasal bleating sound, which Jesse assumed was him clearing his throat. “Yes, I, um, I apologize, sirs. It’s possible I forgot about that part of the Interstellar Penal Code.”

  K’Tran fixed him with a stern look. “Well I’d start studying up if I were you so this doesn’t happen again.”

  “Yes. Yes sir,” the guard stammered. He pointed to one side to a waiting lift-shaft. “Sub-level Three. The guard on duty will direct you from there.”