by Bret Brown
Chapter 1
In the deep vastness of space, amidst the trillions of galaxies that burn through the blackened veil of eternity. An innumerable amount of stars shimmer a polychromatic spectrum across the expanse, showing off the various stages of star life, as nuclear fusion ignites the basic elements within them. Hidden in plain sight, a large silhouette glides across the dark abyss, appearing as if it bending light on this speckled canvas from a stationary standpoint, barely seen with the naked eye, except for a white luminescence following closely in the wake of this shadow. The silhouette lies far beyond any planets or other magnificent celestial bodies. However, the blackened mass is not alone as a small personnel carrier speeds by with its engines burning hot, giving a dim yellow haze as it is approaching this shadow, a transport ship.
The small ship has no noticeable markings on the exterior for providing identification and its weapons armament, too miniscule to provide any real damage to the transport ship, sets its path direct to the transport. Whatever the small vessel lacks in firepower, it makes up in maneuverability as is catches up to the transport quickly without any resistance. As the two ships get closer in proximity, communications begin playing over a PA system throughout the entire transport ship.
"Transport cruiser, lay down your arms and surrender your vessel. Comply.... the possibility that you'll live may increase depending if we sell you with the cargo." Said a sinister, raspy voice over the intercom. "Resist....haha... I fucking hope you do."
The smaller ship docks on the side of the transport ship to an airlock hatch in a lower level, as groans from the metal connecting echo throughout the transport. Sounds of gases pressurizing between the two masses hiss loudly for a brief moment until it's drowned out by fierce battle cries and excitement coming from the smaller vessel.
The hatch opens up swiftly, and a crew of twelve heavily armed, robust men dressed in full combat gear; complete with composite armor plating from head to toe, storm aboard the transport. They break off into groups of two and begin to check all the decks for any possible resistance.
"Team two, deck six, clear.", says a trooper of the assault team through the communications headset.
"Team five, deck eight, clear.", says another assault trooper on the headset. As the groups makes their sweeps through the decks, they continually check in with the other teams through their headsets. During their search, they repeatedly miss dried pools of blood as it blends in with the dark interior of the ship.
One of the assault teams make their way down to the cargo bay. As they open up the doors to the entrance, a foul smell hits them. "Smells like we got a rotter.", says one teammate to his partner.
They do a quick sweep of the cargo bay, not seeing the pile of rotting, decomposing bodies under a loosely draped tarp. Careless in their efforts, they check the computer console of the cargo. "Team four, cargo bay. Area clear, it smells like we got a rotter, but systems say all cargo is all intact.", they report back to the assault team commander.
"Bridge is clear. All teams report back to the bridge this boat is ours boys.", says the commander happily.
Cleared from any threats, the assault team begin removing their gear and dropping their guard as they regroup at the bridge; joking and laughing with one another about such an easy take.
"No one on board sir. All cargo is intact. We're good here and we'll meet up with you at the rendezvous.", says the assault commander.
"No one on board? Where the fuck is the crew?", asks the captain.
"Who gives a shit?", replied the assault commander. "The cargo is intact, and that's all we came for."
"Fuck yeah boys! This is a great haul, we'll be rich on this one for awhile.", the captain replied. "I'm undocking now and bugging the fuck outta here "
The ship disengages with the transport and jumps into hyperspace; leaving the area and transport alone. Once the transport is out of communications range, odd noises like metal creaking from pressure, eerily come from the bowels of the ship. Suddenly, deafening alarms start to sound off and a control panel in the bridge is lighting up madly; projecting imminent warnings on its screen.
"What the fuck is going on?!", screams the commander. Desperately working on the controls at the same console giving the alarm, a soldier replies, "All the airlocks are opening on the ship and the atmospheric pressure for the entire transport is dropping fast!"
"Get those fucking doors sealed and get this under control!", replies the commander.
"I can't.", the same soldier answers in a panic. "All safety protocol and controls are malfunctioning and I can't seal anything."
An overpowering, deafening roar starts to howl throughout the entire ship as the ships entire atmosphere is rapidly dissipating into space. The air rushing out from this change in pressure has become strong enough to disperse the assault teams combat gear and weapons out the airlocks. The assault team desperately try to hold onto anything to avoid to being sucked out into the abyss. Their screams and struggles are drowned out by the rushing wind. The temperature is dropping rapidly to freezing conditions making it harder to hold on for life. However, their efforts end up in futility as, one by one, the entire assault team is sucked out of the ship into the hazardous depths of space.
Upon entering the void, their bodies swell immensely and burst open from the lack of atmospheric pressure that held their bodies intact. The blood and remnants of internal organs get exposed to the subzero temperature, they become completely frozen and crystallize.
The last of the remaining air leaves the transport, and the deafening roar dies down to a low hiss and then empty silence. Suddenly, the airlocks begin to close as if on cue. Inside the ship, air is being pumped back in at a hellacious rate, filling the ship again with much needed oxygen. Frost that built up on the metal is slowly recedes as the internal temperature rises.
The blaring alarms that have been resonating throughout the ship, die off and all is quiet again on the transport. A few moments later, down a corridor, a hatch opens up from the floor. A large, heavyset man pulls himself out of this small storage hatch. Signs of frostbite show on the exposed parts of his bearded face, as well as, his arms and hands.
As the man gets out of his hiding place, he is eating a small, rectangular, dark brown bar, that is often referred to as S.L.A.G. to those whom had the displeasure of eating it. Soon afterwards, the visible damage from the extreme cold erodes away from his body.
With a grumble, he says, "Fucking amateurs."
He heads to the bridge and begins to set a new course for the transport. As the ship makes its maneuvers, the expelled remains of the assault team hit the ship and shatter into hundreds of pieces, only to be vaporized by the engines as they propel the ship forward. Any remaining remnants of the assault team are frozen solid left drifting for an eternity.
A few days later, the transport exits its hyperspace travel several hundred thousand miles from a destroyed rocky protoplanet. Ripped apart by a nearby moon that is also partially destroyed. Debris strung out several thousand miles, encircle this collision of celestial bodies as it comes closer into view. A few thousand miles from the swirling of destruction and creation, is a massive asteroid with a mining outpost built on it. As the transport approaches closer, the man at the helm begins radio transmissions to the outpost.
"Gamma gamma echo bravo 4-5-8. This is P-T 6 coming in on approach. Access code 8-9-2-Hector-8-Delta-7-Quincy-6-2-6-7-8." Says the man in a stern and plain voice.
Several seconds pass and he repeats the same sequence of identifiers and codes. Several moments pass, but still no response.
Frustrated he shouts "Hey! Anyone fucking there?!"
Fi
nally, a reply as a man's voice calmly comes over the intercom, "P-T 6, you are clear to land.... and fuck you."
As the transport makes its final approach it drops its deflector shields. As the shields are dropped, a high speed micrometeor shower rushes past and begins to hit the ship; penetrating the hull and going right through several of the cargo units. Unaware, P-T docks at the outpost and begins to unload the cargo.
The cargo is hundreds of bundles that have six units of rectangular pods stacked on top of each other, three wide, side by side. Each pod has a small view port near the top and a small control panel off to the side. A glance inside the unit's viewport, you can see a human being inside. Both men and women, all young adults, physically fit and completely unconscious.
On the control panel near the viewport, it has the vitals of the person in the pod displayed. Along with the vitals, the panel is also running a program for the subconscious, imperative for keeping people sane. The people in these cargo containers are totally unaware of their new destinies as new programming indoctrinates them through the control panel.
A man enters from the outpost and approaches the cargo bay where P-T is unloading the cargo. The person approaching is hunched over with a limp. Dragging his right foot behind him as he steps, he talks to himself excitedly; wringing his bony, thin hands together with joy. He's dressed in ragged, torn clothes. A dark blanket, ripped in half riddled with holes and stains, is used as a cloak covering his head and upper body. Looking up, he exposes his face. A long narrow nose with a high bridge runs down his face and deep, sunken eyes lie buried behind his prominent cheek bones. His face is scarred heavily from years of abuse and torment. The odd man shouts at P-T, "Six!...Six!... Hey Six... can you stop for fucking minute?"
Still going about his business, P-T keeps working on unloading his cargo. Frustrated, the odd man gets obnoxiously in P-T's face and screams, "Six, can you fucking stop for a minute and listen to me!". P-T gives the odd man a long, stoic look and then shuts down the machinery he was using to unload the cargo hold.
"Thanks.", says the odd man with a wry smile; missing a few teeth. "I told you this was going to be a good score. Two thousand units of pure bred fighters straight from those fucking Ictarians. Word is these berserkers got something special done to them, or something like that, I don't know. Who cares! I'll take it, if it'll fetch us such a great price. This should set us up for the next five months. What do you think?"
P-T, still giving the same stoic look, snaps out of his emotionless stare, and gives a slight nod of agreement.
Continuing the conversation, the odd man steps off the loader and inspects the cargo. "Well, as usual, you're really a fucking great conversationalist. Did you come across any trouble besides the crew of this transport?"
No response from P-T and there's a long awkward silence as the odd man waits for a P-T to say something. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. You're here, they're here, obviously, a success."
Suddenly, the odd man sees the units that were damaged by the micrometeor shower. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" He exclaims in a panic pointing to the damage, "What the fuck happened here? Are you fucking kidding me? Shit! Fucking shit!"
He heads back to P-T, red in the face with anguish. "Do you know what the fuck happened here? The Kangguns expect a full regiment of these fucking berserker units. If we are short, who's to say they won't take us and filet our hides, layer by layer, to the bone for pure fucking amusement. Huh?! We'd be lucky if they only take our asses as replacements."
Pacing back and forth the odd man continues to vent his concerns and frustrations. Completely unconcerned, P-T turns on the loader and continues his work.
The odd man speaking excitedly, "This is our arrangement, I find the work and keep our freedom, you fucking bring back the haul. It's that fucking simple. Ah... fuck me! Maybe, we can get a few people from the outpost here to fill in? Shit, the cryochambers are fucked so we can't use them. Argh... dammit!"
As the odd man is ranting, a giant, bipedal reptilian creature comes into the docking port. The stocky creature towering over twelve feet tall enters the port calling out in an alien language for the odd man.
"Seeker", exclaims the beast in a deep gurgling sound, "Do you have my regiment?"
"Yes, I certainly do!", replies Seeker nervously, "We are getting them ready for loading on your transport ship. Shouldn't be much longer now...." Changing his tone slightly, "When should we expect payment?", he asks coyly.
The Kanggun completely ignores the question and looks over the remaining cargo. As the giant beast is examining the remaining units, a transmission comes on the creature’s wrist device and reports to the massive being.
Once the Kanggun ends the transmission, it heads to Seeker and picks him up by the throat and holds him to eye level. It's massive, three fingered hand easily wraps around Seekers neck and chest. The short, curved black claws dig into his back, but not enough to break the skin, for the time being.
"Are you trying to cheat me?", says the giant beast. Its yellow eyes and vertical slit pupils glaring directly at Seeker as it dangles him in the air effortlessly. A milky membrane quickly covers the large eye and disappears as the creature blinks; trying to get an even closer look at Seeker.
Gagging, Seeker can barely get a reply out while his are feet swinging wildly in the air. Truthfully, any reply given wouldn't have been satisfactory to the giant beast.
Releasing the frail man from the height of several feet, the Kanggun says, "Short five units, your payment will be half. Hope, I don't change my mind." The Kanggun exits the docking port leaving Seeker still grasping at his throat and taking large gulps of air.
All the while, P-T is still operating the loader as if nothing happened. Weakly, Seeker holds out his hand towards the direction of the Kanggun, "Nice doing business with you.", he says straining to get the words out. Just before he passes out, he flips off the Kanggun leaving the docking port.
Later that day, P-T and Seeker are walking down a corridor heading to the creditor for payment. The corridor, which is typical throughout the outpost is solid concrete on three sides. Fluorescent lights flood the hall with its dull lighting from high above, while the constant buzz of electricity flows through them.
Since Kangguns are known to visit, the corridors are built high and wide to give them plenty of room for transit. On the fourth side of the corridor, nearest the center of the octagonal outpost is dense metal paneling. This covers the main power conduit that runs throughout the entire outpost.
Behind the paneling is the home of the human scavengers. Human scavengers are too worthless and ill to sell for war or work. They are sickly from the shakes caused by cannibalism and grotesque in shape from tumors developed from living near the power conduits. If you are patient and watch close enough in the corridors, you may even catch a rare glimpse of these scavengers. They pose no threat unless you're dead, and there's plenty of dead bodies on mining outposts. Scavengers are vile and hideous, but for the most part, they are ignored by all.
While Seeker and P-T make their way down the corridor, Seeker breaks the silence "You know, it's your fault.", he says weakly, rubbing his neck still feeling the effects of his confrontation with the Kanggun. "Since we are getting only half of the payment, I'll have to find us something soon. Honestly, since it's REALLY your fault the split should be 80-20."
P-T stops and grabs Seeker by the shirt, pushing him against the concrete wall with a stern look on his face.
Seeker quickly backs down on what he said. "Hey now, I only said should. I wouldn't do that to you. Really! Can we just go to the fucking creditor now and get our credits?"
P-T releases Seeker and continues down the corridor alone. Seeker mumbling, as he catches up. "Fucking guy. I can't even think out loud with this fucking prick around. Asshole!"
For both Kanggun and Ictarian races, money or any concept of currency has absolutely no value to them. However, for the human species, it is something they cannot conceive, doing something for
no value. So, credits were created to give the idea to humans that they were doing something that made progress, no matter how insignificant it truly is. Receiving a credit means you've earned your keep, and you can bargain with it. However, credits are useless beyond sex, drugs, and alcohol to the human race.
They approach a facility with dozens of people in line. Men and women covered with dirt and grime from the mining machinery, looking exhausted from a long day’s work of hard labor. At the front of the facility is a single window with one person working behind a counter. Lingering around the line are prostitutes, both women and effeminate men doing their best to look sexy by tearing up their clothes down to practically nothing and showing off their best assets. They were once miners, but decided this line of work was much easier than working in the mines; knowing that everyone needs something.
Working the mines practically guarantees early death, as all the hazards involved will provide the means for you one way or another. The prostitutes hang around so they can steal and fuck away someone’s credits. On the outpost, there's no law and no enforcement of any resemblance other than the heavily guarded credit facility.
