Ghost Star (Ghost Star Adventures)

by Roger Eschbacher

  “I don’t possess the ability to transform into a Shre,” said Galen flatly.

  Mohk snorted. “And I’m supposed to take your word?”

  “The leader of a conquered people has challenged you to personal combat, Nell,” said Eria, standing a few steps behind Galen. “Your own customs dictate you must accept. Or do I smell the stench of your fear?”

  Mohk’s eyes narrowed to murderous slits.

  “Thanks a lot,” muttered Galen.

  “My pleasure,” said Eria.

  “The female is right,” said Mohk, planting himself in front of Galen and Eria. “It doesn’t matter if he’s lying or not. I must accept this challenge. Don’t worry, Dur. I’ll almost kill the boy. Then we’ll have the medics fix him.”

  “Very wise, my lord.”

  “Clear back!” commanded Mohk. “Give the boy plenty of room to run.”

  The Imps and the captive Ruam all moved back, creating a large circle around Galen and the Nell.

  Mohk grinned. “Choose any weapon, boy.”

  Galen’s heart was beating hard, but he managed to project a controlled image as he removed Nolo’s battle knife, his battle knife, from his belt.

  “Wouldn’t dream of using anything other than my knife. That would take away the sport of it all,” said Galen.

  Mohk’s eyes brightened as he took off his tunic and tossed it to Dur. “Such a brave little Ruam. For that flash of spirit, I will almost kill you quickly.”

  The Nell did a few stretches, then proceeded to flex his foreclaws in a way that made Galen’s stomach tighten involuntarily.

  “Kill it, Galen!” shouted Trem in a voice so fierce it surprised everyone who heard it, including Mohk. “Kill that stupid Nell!”

  Mohk glared at Trem, then returned his attention to Galen. “It starts!” The bulky Nell ran forward with such speed Galen barely had time to roll out of the way of those dreadful foreclaws, sweeping his blade as he did so. The recent blade practice with Eria and the years of training with his father kicked in. Mohk stopped at the edge of the circle and wheeled around. The grin on his face disappeared when he looked down at the gash on his thick leg.

  The Nell snorted almost regretfully. “I shall have to seriously hurt you now, young fool. Not that I wasn’t going to do that before.”

  Galen wiped his forehead on his sleeve and glanced about the circle. He knew he wasn’t going to survive many more of Mohk’s charges out here in the open. Cover was needed to prolong the battle, which was all he could hope for at this point. The smoldering wreck of the troop carrier destroyed by Burr’s drone caught his eye. That would do. As Mohk gathered himself for the next charge, Galen bolted.

  “Ha! He runs! Sooner than expected for all of his brave talk,” said Mohk, taking off after Galen. “No matter, little Ruam, the chase is what makes the hunt for the hunter.” Mohk frowned when Galen reached the ruined carrier and ran inside. “Going to ground, are we?” grumbled the Nell.

  A few strides later, Mohk reached the shattered carrier’s open evac doors but didn’t go in. As much as the bloodlust filled his mind at this point, he was a careful hunter. The gash on his leg served as a sobering reminder that sometimes your prey bit back. Crouching down, he sniffed the air. The boy’s fear pheromones poured out of his skin like methane from a geyser back on Mohk’s home world. The world he would soon return to in triumph.

  **

  Inside the carrier, Galen struggled to avoid the still hot and jagged metal, which stuck out from every direction. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Now he had an equal chance of being impaled on a red-hot shaft of steel as on Mohk’s foreclaws. He found an alcove off a central passageway and backed into it, willing his battle suit to reflect its green walls. The alcove offered a good view of the passageway. Anyone coming in from Mohk’s direction wouldn’t see him until it was too late. He’d have one shot at it. One shot at ambushing the Nell from a blind spot and plunging his blade into the humanoid beast.

  **

  Outside, Dur watched as his master cautiously stepped into the carrier’s wreckage. The balance of the universe had been in favor of this murderous creature for far too long. It would indeed be nice if it shifted back toward the good. Careful, Dur. That kind of thinking could cost you your head.

  **

  Inside the carrier, Galen could hear Mohk’s footsteps slowly coming down the passageway. “Little Ruam boy, come out!” said the Nell in a mocking tone. “I can smell your fear. It’s only a matter of time before I discover your hidey hole.”

  Galen gripped his blade tightly and pushed back against the wall of the alcove, tensing his muscles in preparation for the leap onto Mohk’s back. The footsteps stopped, and Galen knew his foe was near. Did the Nell know where he was? Had his fear betrayed him? Galen leaned forward ever so slightly, straining to see without being seen. No sign of Mohk in the few feet of corridor in front of him. To chance a better look would surely expose him to a quick swipe of Mohk’s foreclaws if he was nearby, but his fear-driven curiosity was pushing him to do it. As Galen struggled with the balance between self-preservation and an inbred need to act, he heard a small click from behind him. Galen froze. It could be anything—the contraction of cooling metal, the settling of the ship—

  The back panel of the alcove swung open. Galen tumbled backward into the grip of Lord Mohk, who hoisted him into the air. Galen struggled wildly, swinging his blade in every direction, but it was no use. He had been caught, and now he was going to be mauled until he was almost dead and then brought back to betray his people. He stopped struggling and went limp.

  “That was surprisingly easy,” said Mohk, flicking the blade from Galen’s hand. “Then again, I am the best hunter you’ll ever have the misfortune of meeting.” Mohk carried Galen slowly through the ruined ship, holding him at arm’s length the way one might hold an angry pet. “If you possess your father’s ability, now would be the time for you to use it, no?”

  **

  Trem said nothing, but her anger seemed to build with each moment Galen and the Nell lord were out of view. She was completely helpless to do anything to the hateful creature who had caused so much pain in her life and in the lives of those she loved. From Nolo to all of the other Ruam, and now to her own brother. Her vision narrowed and grew red around the edges. Trem blinked. Something was wrong. Teeth, claws, eyes. Horrible eyes filled with kindness . . . and rage.

  **

  Mohk emerged from the carrier’s wreckage and hoisted Galen into the air. The assembled Ruam gasped while several of the Imps applauded.

  “Behold, the leader of the Ruam who challenged me in personal combat and who I now claim as my trophy,” said Lord Mohk. “Watch as he suffers mightily!” Galen groaned as the Nell used the foreclaws to poke, jab, and slice down the length of his body. “It is acceptable to cry out and wail in pain,” whispered Mohk. “In fact, it is the preferred reaction.”

  Galen closed his eyes. He would not give this fiend the satisfaction of hearing his preferred reaction. He would endure the torture the best he could and—

  Shouts of alarm reached his ears, jarring him. Galen opened his eyes. Part of the assembled Ruam and several Imp marines stepped backward with terrified looks on their faces. Mohk had a puzzled look on his face. “What is it?” the Nell lord demanded. “Why are you—”

  Mohk’s eyes widened, and Galen followed his gaze.

  Racing toward them was a massive, heavily scaled biped with overlarge fangs protruding from its upper jaw. Even though he’d only caught a glimpse of such a beast in a blurry cam reel frame, Galen knew exactly what he was looking at.

  “A Shre. I see,” was all Mohk managed to croak out before the monster, healthy and at full strength, was upon him. The Shre slammed into Lord Mohk, and with one swipe of its powerful arms, knocked Galen out of the Nell’s grip and sent him flying. Galen hit the ground and tumbled several times before coming to a stop against Hex’s deactivated form. Rolling over, Galen watched in horror and amazement
as the hulking Nell and the monstrous Shre wrestled for position. Eria appeared at his side and pulled him back a few feet.

  “What—who is that? Which one of the Ruam?” stammered Galen.

  “It’s Trem.” Her eyes and Galen’s locked the instant she spoke those words.

  “It can’t be.”

  “She transformed the second Mohk started jabbing you.”

  Stunned, Galen watched the two creatures grapple for position, each digging their feet into the turf and pushing back hard. Mohk was the first to break away, leaping back with such speed the Shre lost her balance and fell forward. In a blink, the Nell was on her back, repeatedly driving his razor-sharp foreclaws deep into the Shre’s side—into Trem’s side—causing her to howl in pain. Galen struggled to get to his feet. He had to help.

  Eria grabbed him from behind and pulled him back. “You don’t want to get between those two, especially in your condition.”

  Galen grimaced. She’s right. He leaned back on his elbows. All he could do now was sit back and watch his little-sister-turned-monster in the fight of her life.

  The Shre flexed violently and bucked Mohk off her back, sending him tumbling onto the turf. He rolled a short distance before springing to his feet. The Nell sneered. “My compliments, beast. Now I see why we had such difficulty with your kind.” Mohk wiped the blood from the foreclaws on his pant legs, then dropped back into a defensive stance.

  The Shre snapped her wrist and a pair of dagger-like scales flew toward Mohk. The Nell lord dodged one, but the other hit its mark and dug deep into his shoulder.

  Galen’s eyes widened. Throwing scales!

  Mohk looked down at the scale, an offended expression on his face as if insulted that it would dare to do such a thing. He looked back up just as the Shre slammed into him. The collision dropped both combatants to the ground. Again, Mohk viciously thrust his foreclaws into the Shre, and again Galen had to fight the urge to run to his sister’s aid.

  This time, however, the Shre didn’t howl, despite Mohk’s foreclaws’ repeatedly plunging into her chest. In fact, she appeared to purposely ignore the jabs, focusing on working her taloned fingers up the Nell’s spine. Once the fingers reached the base of the neck, the Shre stopped and lowered her face to just above Mohk’s. “Goodbye, beast,” said the Shre, her voice surprisingly melodic. The foreclaw jabs slowed, and Galen watched a panicked look of realization fill the Nell’s widening eyes. “No . . . you can’t. Don’t—”

  The Shre paused briefly before pulling her claws swiftly away from Mohk’s neck in a violent cross motion that cleanly severed the Nell’s head from his overbroad shoulders. The head hit the ground heavily, and Galen would’ve laughed at the surprised expression on Mohk’s face if the image before him hadn’t been so completely and terribly gruesome.

  The Shre—Trem—sprang to her feet and repeatedly stomped Mohk’s head into the turf. An Imp closest to Galen lifted her rifer, but she lowered it again when Dur barked, “Hold! All of you.”

  The Imps lowered their weapons. Keeping an eye on the Shre, Dur stepped forward and dropped to one knee before Galen. “My Lord Bray, as the highest-ranking member of Imperium forces here on your planet, I formally offer my surrender.” A few of the nearby Imps protested, and Dur silenced them with a glance. “Seriously? The cruel Mohk has been killed, and we, Terrans all, are free of him. Think!”

  The would-be protesters did think, and they again lowered their weapons.

  “Good,” said Dur. “My Lord Bray, my offer of surrender stands.”

  Galen closed his eyes. “Accepted.”

  This time Eria didn’t stop Galen when he shakily rose to his feet and walked toward the seething Shre. “Trem?”

  The creature spun around and charged him, stopping only a step away, her breathing deep and ragged as she stared into Galen’s eyes.

  Galen swallowed hard, but he maintained eye contact. “It’s me, your brother.”

  An eternity seemed to pass before the Shre snorted, then stomped off to the far side of the meadow. Galen sank to the ground and watched the Shre pace, snarling and sending angry glances at him and anyone who took a step toward it.

  This went on for quite some time before it lay down and went to sleep. Galen stood and watched as the creature’s breathing became steady, and with each breath it grew smaller until, finally, it was the size and shape of a young girl.

  “Trem!” cried Eria as she ran forward, dropping to the ground when she reached her niece.

  Trem’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”

  “You—got really mad and became a monster.”

  “Galen?”

  Galen joined them and knelt next to her. “I’m here. You saved me, Trem. You saved all of us. Thank you.”

  A loud whirring noise filled the air when Hex rose from the ground, appendages raised. He spun around, apparently looking for combat, but seeing none, he dropped his defenses and calmly hovered toward Galen. “What did I miss?”

  Galen felt a presence behind him, turned, and found Dur staring at him with a deadly serious expression on his face. “Bad news, I’m guessing?”

  Dur nodded. “I’m afraid so, Lord Bray. Before the invasion began, Mohk ordered me to send a transmission back to the High Command detailing the location of Dob and giving specifics on the plasma tube and how to access it.”

  Galen frowned. “That is bad. Why would he have you do that?”

  “Insurance, I suppose. As overly confident as he was, he still knew getting in and out of the tube would be a nearly impossible challenge, at best.”

  Trem furrowed her brow. “What does all that mean?”

  “The Imperium is coming,” said Galen, “a lot sooner than we thought.”

  Epilogue

  Hovering over a large cluster of fully charged fuel cells, Techbot Three would have been smiling from appendage to appendage . . . if she had a mouth. It had been only sixteen planetary rotations since the departure of the Ghost Star, yet she and the other bots had located and transported a significant amount of salvageable Ruam technology, taking it from the wreckage of space station Zed to the hidden bunker under the former power station of Zidac. Everything from diagnostic equipment to tools and weapons had been located by the three techbots charged with scavenging. Techbot One remained in the bunker and repaired damaged items and made needed repairs to the Arrow, Lady Bray’s spacecraft. The three scavengers had also given formal burials to the remains of nearly three hundred Zed inhabitants, burying them where they were found. Techbot Three had no doubt there would be hundreds, if not thousands more bodies before salvage operations were complete.

  Lord Bray had commanded that the Bora model hover tank was to be refueled, and with the discovery of the cells directly beneath her, they’d be able to do just that. Currently in hibernation mode to conserve what little power she had left, the hover tank would be reactivated and sent out to survey the entire planet, looking for additional Ruam tech in the ruins that dotted the surface of Tac. If it were up to me, I’d leave Bora be, at least for a while, thought Techbot Three. That tank is too bossy, always issuing orders . . . The techbot stopped. Even though her security protocols detected nothing, she was sure she’d seen motion to her left. Was it a sensor malfunction?

  Techbot Two had picked up similar readings in an area of the debris field to the south, and a diagnostic had indicated his security systems needed recalibration. I hope it’s not that, she thought. The idea of being hardwired to the analytic modules of Techbot One would have made her skin crawl if she had that sort of biocovering.

  Techbot Three moved cautiously toward the mound of tangled wiring and ceramic conduits near where she had—rather, thought she had detected motion. Briefly pausing at the base of the mound, she shot upward, her stunner-tipped appendage fully extended. Cresting the top, she stopped and ran through her battery of scans and found . . . nothing. A small wave of relief pulsed through her systems as she sank to just above ground level. She hovered back toward the fuel ce
lls, and there it was again. This time much closer and—in an instant her sensors filled with a dizzying blur of teeth, claws, and eyes filled with rage.

  **

  Roger Eschbacher lives in Los Angeles, California with his family and their two couch potato Border Terriers. In addition to writing fantasy and sci-fi adventure novels, he's also an Emmy-nominated TV animation writer.

  Learn more about Roger’s books by visiting

  rogereschbacher.com

  If you liked GHOST STAR, please consider leaving a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Book reviews and personal recommendations help authors attract more readers and sell more books. Thanks!

  Also by Roger Eschbacher:

  Dragonfriend: Leonard the Great, Book 1

  Giantkiller: Leonard the Great, Book 2

  Undrastormur: A Viking Fantasy Adventure

  Undrastormur, Part 2: The Great Tree

  Undrastormur, Part 3: Revenge of the Giants

  Special thanks to my brain trust of beta readers. Keith, Brian, Jeff, Scott, Jaq, and Erin. Thanks also to Joy at Typo Detective.

  Finally, many thanks to Kristy, my Kindle Press Editor.