by S M Briscoe
Jarred gave him a simple nod before firing one clean shot from just over the cloaked child’s head, the bolt burning through one of the Sumarian’s eyes, dropping him to the ground.
The wounded man looked from the fallen trooper up to Jarred, seeming more than a bit bewildered. Jarred quickly closed the distance between them, picking up the fallen soldier’s plasma rifle and checking around the corner for any more incoming. He then knelt down next to the man and examined his injury, grimacing. It was bad. Looking up into his eyes, it was obvious that he knew as much.
Unsure of exactly what to say, Jarred looked back at the cloaked child, only to see that it was not a child at all. To be honest, he didn’t know what it was. The being’s skin was a pale blue, almost translucent. It’s eyes were large and intelligent and they seemed to look straight through him . . . or into him. He suddenly had the distinct feeling that he somehow knew the strange looking being, or it knew him.
The odd thought left him when the dying man reached out, taking hold of his arm.
“Trycon . . .” he began, weakly. “Take . . . take her to . . . Trycon.”
“What?” Jarred asked, looking from the man back to the child-like being. Behind it, he saw Elora and the others approaching.
What were they doing? They were supposed to stay put.
“I told you to stay put,” he called out.
Elora was about to speak when the small being turned around to face her. She froze, as did Ethan.
“Do not be afraid,” the being spoke, her feminine sounding voice carrying reassurance.
The dying man tugged at Jarred’s tunic, causing him to turn his attention back to him.
“You . . . have to get Orna . . . to Trycon.”
“Orna?” Jarred looked up at the small being, who nodded once to him in return. “To Trycon?” he asked, suddenly realizing what was being requested of him. “Take her to Trycon City? On Solta?” He shook his head, emphatically. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t go to Solta.”
The man looked pained as he struggled to sit up.
“Please,” he began. “She . . . has to make it out.”
“I can’t,” Jarred sighed. “I’m a bounty hunter. I have to deliver my prisoner or I don’t get paid. You understand.” He looked up to see Elora returning his gaze, that same look of desperation on her face. His own face hardened. Not this time.
“No,” he said to her, being as stern as possible, and looked back to the injured man.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “but this isn’t my problem.”
“Please,” the man pleaded, a burst of strength seeming to have suddenly flooded into him, his tone resolute. “You know I’m not going to make it. Please, she has to escape. Get her to Trycon.” He took hold of Jarred’s arm and slipped an access card of some kind into his hand.
“Someone will meet you here.” He breathed heavily, swallowing. “Her name is . . . Sierra Lore. She will take Orna from there.” He tore a chain from his neck, handing it to Jarred. “Give her this. She’ll know . . . I sent you.”
Jarred sighed and looked back at Orna, Elora standing close by, her eyes pleading with him to help. He nodded to the dying man, who breathed a steady sigh of relief and leaned his head back against the container.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a bare whisper.
Jarred nodded, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, and watched as he let out a slow labored breath, his eyes becoming unfocused and glazed. He seemed at peace as the life finally vanished from them. Jarred passed his hand over the man’s face, closing his eyes, then knelt there for a moment before looking back at the others.
“Alright,” he began slowly, turning to poke his head out to look around the corner of the container again and survey the area. He was startled to find himself staring directly into the faces of a number of angry looking Sumarians only a few meters away and immediately pulled his head back behind the container’s corner, his eyes wide.
Elora looked at him, questioningly. “What is it?”
Jarred raised an eyebrow at her, doing the same with his newly acquired rifle, and without hesitation, dove out and away from the container, firing a flurry of plasma blasts into the group of Sect troops in front of him. The troops that weren’t hit quickly began returning fire or diving for cover.
Jarred hit the ground and rolled to his feet, firing a few more shots before ducking behind another container, multiple plasma blasts narrowly missing him all the way. Staying put a moment, he spared a glance back over to the other container, seeing Elora and Ethan both staring back at him. Behind them, Orna, the curious looking being, still stood calmly, regarding him as well. And behind her . . . nothing.
Mac. He was gone.
Jarred’s eyes darted around the area, searching for any trace of his bounty, and quickly spotted him, running awkwardly away from the docking ring, his hands still bound.
“Mac!” he yelled angrily, and took a step in the man’s direction, quickly diving back behind his cover as a fresh volley of plasma blasts shot past his head. He could only watch in frustration as Mac vanished from his sight, blending into the chaos of the docking ring.
Returning his attention to the immediate danger, Jarred poked his head around the corner of the container and back, counting five more troops, now covering themselves behind a medium sized crate, about ten meters away, rifles leveled at his position. He reached into his cloak, pulling a small fragmentation grenade from his belt, and set it for a five second delay. Taking a step backwards, he reached back and tossed the grenade up over top of the container, then waited. Three. Two. One.
Jarred heard the surprised curses, immediately followed by a brief, but loud explosion. He stepped out from behind the container and checked quickly to make sure the coast was clear before running back across to Elora and Ethan.
“You were supposed to be watching him!” Jarred scolded, pointing off in the direction Mac had gone. “You just cost me ten thousand credits.”
“Sorry!” Elora answered, defensively, but matching his tone. “We got distracted.”
Jarred leaned up against the container and stared off in the direction Mac had run, considering how he could salvage the situation. After a few moments he could see that Elora was watching him.
“You’re not planning on going after him?” she asked, incredulously, seeming to read his mind.
“Are you going to give me ten thousand credits to take you out of here?” he asked, sarcastically, and pointed to where he had been looking. “I needed that bounty!”
“Well, I’m sorry!” Elora apologized, with little to no sincerity. “But if you go after him, you’re going to get us all killed.”
“Please, don’t let me hold you up,” he began, opening his hand to the madness breaking loose around them. “Feel free to find your own way out of here.”
Elora stood there for a moment, glaring back at him.
Jarred looked away first, and for the third time, he found himself giving in to her. Obviously, there was no way he could still go after Mac. He knew that. What was irritating him was his inability to stand his ground against this woman he’d just met.
“So what are we going to do?” she asked, as though on cue. Her demeanor had softened now, which only added to Jarred’s frustration. She knew she had won . . . again.
“We leave,” he answered, plainly. “As quickly and quietly as possible.” He glanced back at Orna, who he’d noticed had been quietly observing him.
“I guess you’re coming with me, then.” It was a statement, not a question. Where else would she be going now, with her caretakers both dead? Jarred was starting to feel like a baby sitter himself.
“I place my life in your hands,” Orna responded, pausing briefly before adding a single word. “Hybrid.”
Jarred felt a cold chill run up his spine at the comment, though he was unsure as to why, and slowly returned his gaze to the small being. She was staring back at him, speculatively, as though measuring his reaction, and it wa
s immediately obvious to him that she had said it with the intention of getting a reaction out him. What she expected to see, and to what end, he hadn’t the faintest idea, but the fact that she was trying made him feel uneasy and his defenses went on full alert. He searched the being’s face for signs of malevolence or I’ll intent, but it was entirely unreadable. Even so, he felt strangely reassured that, whatever the being’s intent, it was not an immediate threat to him. Even so, his guard remained in place and instinctively he went on the offensive, stepping towards the small being, opening his mouth to question her.
The sounds of the surrounding fire fight halted his advance and Jarred was drawn back to what he could be sure was an immediate threat. There would be time to delve deeper into Orna’s meaning and intent later, if he survived. Right now, there was the much more pressing matter of making his escape, with three unexpected stowaways.
He looked to everyone in the group. “We’re heading straight for the ship,” he began, evenly. “You move where I move, when I move, got it?”
Receiving nods of understanding from both Elora and Ethan, Jarred then looked past them to Orna.
“I will keep up,” Orna answered simply, without being asked.
Jarred observed the being a moment longer before turning his attention back to the action around the docking bay. There were no troopers bearing down on their location in particular, so they weren’t in any immediate danger. No gunfire was being directed at them presently, but a stray shot would be just as deadly as an aimed one, so he led the group out carefully, moving as discreetly as possible towards his docked freighter.
The docking ring was madness. Everywhere people were running or returning fire on the Sect troops. The numerous docked vessels served as decent cover for the group as Jarred brought them under the nose of his ship. He fired a few rapid bursts from his plasma rifle, taking out two troopers that had taken notice of them. Moving quickly under the belly of the freighter, they came out beneath the entry hatch. Jarred punched a code sequence into the entry panel, the hatch hesitating a moment before opening and lowering to the ground. He sent Elora, Ethan and Orna up the ramp, remaining behind as cover for them.
The patrol ships were still hovering over the outpost, taking shots at those fleeing the ground based troops inside the compound. Around the dock, he saw more ships attempting to lift off in the commotion. Outnumbering the few patrol ships, some were managing to escape.
A nearby explosion shook the docking ring and Jarred leaned against his own rattling ship for support. He looked around to find the source of the explosion and saw a Sumarian trooper less than twenty meters away, firing magnetic mines at any ships attempting to lift off the deck. Being blown out of the sky by one of those wouldn’t help matters. Jarred turned from the ramp and stealthily made his way out towards the trooper.
The Sumarian was taking aim on another ship, following it as it began to rise up off of the deck. He seemed to be laughing to himself as he readied for a shot. Jarred came up behind the trooper quickly, raising the launcher’s firing tube straight up and pulling the weapon off his shoulder as he used one foot to half kick, half shove him forward. Stunned, the Sumarian turned to at Jarred, a confused expression on his face. His eyes seemed to grow to twice their normal size when he saw that he was staring directly into the barrel of his own launcher. He managed to blink before Jarred pulled the trigger, launching him, along with the mine projectile, across the deck of the docking ring, sending him crashing into a group of Gnolith troops.
Jarred watched as the troopers got themselves back on their feet, barking confused and angry questions at their fallen comrade. Amazingly, he’d survived the blast and the crash, probably due to his heavy body armor. The same armor he was now desperately trying to pry the magnetic mine from while barking a nonsensical explanation to his comrades. They seemed to catch on just in time for the mine’s spectacular detonation.
Jarred turned around, raising the launcher to his shoulder, and taking aim on the closest patrol ship, he fired off another of the magnetic projectiles. The mine stuck to the hull of the patrol ship as it came about, firing on a group of unarmed civilians below. In a spectacular display, the ship exploded, sending wreckage out in all directions.
Dropping the launcher, Jarred turned and ran back to his ship, striding up the ramp and sealing it behind him. Making his way to the flight deck, where the others were already waiting, he threw himself into the pilot’s seat, quickly running through the freighter’s startup and launching sequences. The engines whined in protest, slowly sputtering to life. Very slowly. Energy bolts passed back and forth through the front viewport from the fire fight still raging outside, a constant reminder of their need to make a speedy retreat.
“Strap yourselves in,” Jarred ordered, once the engines had finally warmed to the point that he could manage dust off. “This won’t be a smooth exit.”
Everyone did as he suggested, Ethan buckling himself into the seat closest to Jarred’s, grinning excitedly.
Working the controls, Jarred raised the ship off of the deck, maneuvering it around. Almost immediately, the freighter was rocked by a number of incoming laser blasts. System alarms began wailing in protest as Jarred struggled to regain control of the lurching ship. They were rocked again by more blasts and he cursed to himself, putting the craft into a slow turn. Much slower than it was capable of. The ship lurched around in a circle, which Jarred hoped would give his attackers the impression that they were dead in the air.
The attacking patrol ship seemed to take the bait, its attack ceasing as it lowered down into a position directly in front of the freighter.
“Look!” Elora cried, pointing at it through the viewport.
“I see it,” Jarred replied, calmly. He kept the ship steady, maintaining its look of helplessness. Keeping up the facade was a lot harder than it looked, the old bucket wanting desperately to fall back to the ground.
Through his viewport, Jarred could see the pilot in the cockpit of the patrol ship across from him. He smiled to himself as he flipped a switch on his control panel, opening up the freighter’s hidden missile tubes. He switched on the targeting computer, and to his amazement and relief, it immediately responded and locked onto the enemy patrol craft.
He saw the other pilot’s look of surprise as he pulled the trigger on his control stick, launching a missile directly into the patrol ship’s cockpit. The ship exploded instantly, Jarred simultaneously pulling up on his control yoke and punching the thrusters to maximum, trying to avoid as much of the flaming debris as possible.
He fought to maintain the ship’s slow ascent as it was spattered by chunks of burning metal. It choked for a moment, dropping back down a few meters before the thrusters kicked in again, receiving a collective gasp from everyone on the flight deck as the wind was knocked out of them.
“Is this heap of garbage going to stay together long enough to get us out of here?” Elora shouted.
“Don’t worry,” Jarred reassured her, sparing her a backward glance. “The old girl’s got a few clicks left on her still. She’ll make it.”
He hoped.
Punching the accelerators, Jarred sent the ship roaring away from the outpost, streams of laser fire stretching out past the viewports on both sides, finding no purchase.
The streaks of fury light soon faded as they ascended beyond their range, leaving only the empty night sky out the front viewport. The sudden peace and calm made Jarred’s stomach feel uneasy. It was always the same in places like this. Sooner or later, they swallowed up anything and anyone that dared linger too long upon their surface. He cringed as his mind flashed to all the ones left behind in the dying outpost far below them. No one would ever know, or care.
Just another forgotten outpost, buried beneath the sand of this unforgiving rock.
* * *
“Perhaps we should retreat to a safer vantage point aboard the vessel?” Traug’s personal mech, Praxis, suggested from where they stood atop their large cargo freight
er’s boarding ramp.
Traug smirked. His mechanical assistant, which had been specially programmed to perfectly suit and mirror his own personal needs and characteristics, was of course looking out for, not only his owner’s physical well being, but his own as well. It had also been modified to match Traug’s height and stature. Though he did not see his physical dimensions as a weakness in any way, he also did not intend to have to look up to his own assistant.
“Thank you for your concern, Praxis,” he answered, “but I’m sure we are quite safe here with the High Commander and his troops.”
They had remained safely out of range of the insurgence taking place throughout the outpost, maintaining a position behind Durak and his soldiers, the High Commander angrily shouting orders to his subordinates. Standing there, watching the destruction, Traug couldn’t help but feel saddened by it all. It was such a waste.
Violence had never been Traug’s strong suit. Though many facets of his employers’ enterprises included the manufacturing of a wide variety of destructive weapons and war machinery, he personally preferred to wage a different sort of war against his own enemies. One which required cunning and the use of deceit and misdirection, as opposed to brute strength. It was far more profitable to use one’s enemies than to simply destroy them. A dead foe gained one nothing. But a living enemy, carefully mislead and manipulated . . . now that was something else entirely.
It was for these reasons that Traug felt disheartened, as he stood gazing out across the burning dock ring. What could be gained from this? He had expected a number of casualties of course, but as it was, far too many humans had been killed to make this deal worth his while. After all, these people were to be the compensation for a service rendered, and dead slaves were of no value to him or anyone else.
He supposed he would have to make due with what he received though. Durak would not appreciate any complaints on his part. Especially considering that a number of ships had managed to escape the compound, and the individual he sought had most likely been aboard one of them. In fact, he surmised that Durak would, in all likelihood, wish to slaughter the entire outpost in retribution for the loss, and nothing short of predicting Orna’s next destination would save him his new slave acquisition.
