The Imperium Chronicles Collection, 2nd Edition - Stories

by W. H. Mitchell

  “Shut up,” Ramus whispered.

  Fugg rolled his brown, beady eyes.

  “Life support is minimal,” he said. “This ship’s dead as a doornail.”

  “Really? Then what’s that?”

  Ramus pointed the barrel of his blaster at a shape farther up the corridor and partially around a bend. As they crept closer, the shadow took on a mechanical shape.

  “It’s a Parvulian mech,” the captain said.

  The walker, scorched and smoldering, lay on its side against the wall. The hatch in its chest was open and something lay outside it. Something pink.

  Ramus rushed to the Parvulian’s side. Bending on one knee, the captain leaned closer. The Parvulian wore a gray bodysuit similar to the one worn by Bos Kecil, except burned in places.

  “He’s breathing,” Ramus said.

  The Parvulian’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Seeing Ramus looming over him, he screamed in terror.

  “No! Get away!”

  “Take it easy!” Ramus shouted. “Bos Kecil sent us...”

  The Parvulian rubbed his eyes and stared at the captain more closely.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I thought you were one of them.”

  “Who?” Ramus asked.

  “I don’t know exactly, but they looked a lot like you.”

  “The Dahl attacked your ship?”

  “Never trusted them myself...” Fugg muttered.

  “No, not exactly,” the Parvulian said, coughing. “Their skin was dark violet and their hair was bright white.”

  He coughed again. “And their eyes... their terrible eyes...”

  “Where’s the rest of your crew?” Ramus asked.

  “Gone. The female Dahl took them away. They hypnotized the men somehow.”

  “Then why didn’t they take you too?” Fugg asked.

  “They shot my mech-walker, but they must have thought I was a robot.”

  “You’re safe now,” Ramus said, “We’ll get you to sickbay.”

  From down the corridor, a bolt of energy seared the darkness, blowing the tiny Parvulian into pieces.

  Ramus jumped up and sprinted towards the attacker, firing as he ran. When he reached the source of the fire, he found only a stack of cargo containers.

  Fugg caught up moments later, his chest heaving.

  “Thanks for waiting for me!” he said.

  “Whoever it was is gone...” Ramus replied.

  “Well, the Parvulian’s toast,” Fugg replied. “Also, you’ve got bits of him in your hair.”

  “Goddamn it.”

  Ramus and Fugg searched the ship, hunting for whoever killed the Parvulian. When they reached the crew quarters, Fugg took the cabins on the left while Ramus took the ones on the right. Each stateroom contained double berths, storage lockers, and trunks full of personal effects.

  The whole place was a ghost ship, Ramus thought. It was giving him the creeps.

  Reaching another cabin door, Ramus expected another carbon copy of the half dozen before. The hatch slid open and Ramus stepped inside. This time, he saw a woman lay on the bottom bunk, her arm hanging over the side. Ramus came closer, noticing something rusty-brown on her neck. With his weapon drawn and ready, he moved to the center of the cabin, only a few feet from the bed.

  “What the hell?” Ramus said.

  The woman’s head was facing towards the wall, her neck fully exposed. Along her jugular were two puncture marks and dark, dried blood.

  Ramus felt someone behind him. He turned in time to see a man with long silver hair in the doorway. His skin was a shade of violet and his eyes were white with black slits.

  The man smiled, revealing a pair of protruding fangs.

  Despite a strong desire to move, Ramus couldn’t. The blood in his veins ice cold, he was frozen in fear.

  From the corridor, someone fired a blaster, its bolt of energy slamming into the stranger’s back. He fell face first onto the cabin floor.

  Fugg stood in the doorway.

  Ramus glanced from the smoldering corpse to his engineer.

  “We needed him alive,” Ramus said.

  Fugg glared at him. “You’re welcome!”

  In his earpiece, Ramus heard Gen’s voice come over the comm.

  “Master Ramus,” she said, “things are happening!”

  “What kind of things?” Ramus replied.

  “Well, first a ship just appeared on sensors, next to us,” she said. “It wasn’t there a second ago and then it just materialized and jumped to hyperspace. Also, another ship is approaching at high velocity!”

  “Okay, Gen,” the captain said. “Power up the engines. We’re heading back.”

  Fugg and Ramus returned across the gangway to the Wanderer, leaving the body of the strange Dahl behind. The captain headed to the cockpit while Fugg went to the engine room. The hatch to the bridge opened and Gen, still sitting in the command chair, turned.

  “I’m so glad you’re back!” she said.

  “Get out of my chair,” Ramus replied.

  Settling into his seat, he checked for a visual on the incoming ship. The vessel was at least ten times the size of the Wanderer, with a looming superstructure from which masts extended like a crown of spikes.

  “Jump capacitors are charged,” Ramus said under his breath. “Navcom calculating escape vector...”

  The ships radio crackled.

  “Unidentified ship,” a stern, official-sounding voice said, “This is the HIMS heavy cruiser Baron Lancaster. Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded!”

  “Are we getting out of here or what?” Fugg said over the intercom.

  “It’s a Navy ship,” Ramus replied. “It looks like they want to talk.”

  “Oh, well in that case,” Fugg growled, “let’s invite them over for some goddamn tea and biscuits!”

  “Shall I prepare the tea and biscuits, sir?” Gen asked.

  Ramus, who hadn’t realized Gen was still in the cockpit, stammered.

  “What? No! Get out of the cockpit!”

  Aboard the Baron Lancaster, Ramus sat on a metal chair behind a metal table while the captain of the Imperial warship, Lord Redgrave, asked questions in the hot, suffocating interrogation room.

  “I already told you,” Ramus insisted, “the Parvulians hired us to investigate that ship!”

  Redgrave leaned forward, his hands spread flat on the table. His shadow fell across Ramus in the chair.

  “The Imperial Navy fights pirates,” the officer said. “The Parvulians should have contacted us, not some Dahlvish exile like you.”

  “Maybe they got sick of losing their crews under your nose.”

  “We are an empire of laws,” Redgrave said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or another.”

  “Meanwhile,” Ramus said, “more people go missing...”

  Redgrave took a palm-sized disk from his uniform pocket and placed it on the table. The holo-emitter projected a translucent image of a ship with a black fuselage and wings of thin, purple membranes. Bone-like structures within the wings ended in sharp barbs.

  “As we approached,” Redgrave said, “this ship decloaked and jumping into hyperspace. Ever seen a ship like this?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “I thought Dahls knew everything,” Redgrave said.

  Ramus shrugged.

  “Not always,” he said. “Sometimes we forget.”

  “I guess you just remember the good stuff...”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “What about the dead woman with the blood drained from her body?”

  “I already told you,” Ramus said, “she was dead when I found her. Why don’t you ask the guy with the vampire teeth?”

  “He’s not talking...” Redgrave said, tapping the holo-emitter.

  The image of the ship vanished.

  “I’ve got a missing crew and two dead bodies,” Redgrave said. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you into the brig!”

  “Becaus
e I can help you,” Ramus replied.

  “Really? How?”

  “You’ve been fishing for these guys for a while now, but without any luck.”

  “So?”

  “Well, maybe you’ve been using the wrong bait...”

  Part 3

  A week later, the Wanderer was traveling alone in a nearby star system. In the galley, Fugg sat at the table, drinking from a 24 ounce can of Genuine Draft Fungus Beer, while Ramus leaned against the counter with his arms folded.

  “We’re wasting our time,” Fugg said.

  “Maybe,” Ramus replied.

  “Explain it to me again...”

  “This is the same trade route that was attacked before. If we keep on this heading, there’s a chance we’ll get hijacked.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “If we want to know where those missing crew were taken to, yes.” Ramus said. “The nanos we swallowed will let the Lancaster track us, no matter where we end up.”

  Fugg pounded his chest, releasing a thunderous belch.

  “And you think Redgrave is going to just swoop in and save our asses?” Fugg asked.

  “Maybe.”

  Gen’s voice came over the intercom. “There’s a contact on sensors, Master Sirs!”

  “I’m on my way,” Ramus replied, heading toward the cockpit.

  “Send her down to the engine room!” Fugg called after him.

  Once the captain was gone, the engineer pressed the beer can against his forehead until the aluminum crumpled. Using his bulbous fingers, he felt for the ring-shaped indention on his skin. Grinning with satisfaction, he dislodged himself from behind the table and staggered down the corridor toward the rear of the ship.

  In the engine room, Fugg punched the call button on the intercom.

  “What do you see up there?” he asked.

  “It’s the ship that Redgrave showed me,” Ramus replied.

  The Wanderer shuddered.

  “They’re firing,” Ramus said over the speaker.

  “No shit,” Fugg said to himself.

  Another hit jolted the ship, followed by two more in rapid succession. A control panel near the ceiling exploded and Fugg threw up his hands to protect himself from the shower of sparks.

  “Son of a bitch!” he swore. “She’s not built for shit like this...”

  Gen stepped through the hatch.

  “Thanks for showing up!” Fugg yelled.

  “Always happy to help, Master Fugg!” Gen replied cheerfully.

  At that moment, an explosion rocked the Wanderer, sending both Fugg and the robot to the deck.

  “The shields appear to have failed,” Gen said, lying on her back.

  Sprawled on the floor, facing down, Fugg mumbled “Ya think?”

  Struggling to get to her feet, Gen managed to stand upright while the heavy-set engineer took a few seconds longer.

  “The engines are offline too,” the robot said. “Is this part of Master Ramus’ plan?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  The captain’s voice spoke again over the intercom.

  “They’re coming alongside,” Ramus said. “Gen, make yourself scarce...”

  Gen hesitated, looking perplexed.

  “He means hide, stupid!” Fugg said.

  “Ah, very good,” she said. “But where?”

  “Try the trash compactor.”

  “Really?” Gen asked.

  “No!”

  Ramus met Fugg at a corridor junction just down from the Wanderer’s airlock. Both were armed, each with a blaster in their hands.

  “Let’s make this look good,” the captain said.

  “I want a raise,” Fugg replied.

  The hull of the ship reverberated as a vessel docked and secured itself to the airlock. The hatch swung open as Ramus peered cautiously around the corner. The figure who stepped through the doorway, while similar to the man who attacked Ramus on the Parvulian freighter, carried himself with a sense of authority, even arrogance. His skin was a shade of violet and his hair had a silvery tinge of white, but his ruby-like eyes revealed someone who commanded a room the moment he entered.

  “My children,” he said, “the ship is ours!”

  Three more people, all women, boarded. Each wore black and red robes, with heavy collars tight around their necks. The man stayed by the hatch, but the three females came toward Ramus and Fugg, who still hid behind the corner. One of the women took the lead while the other two walked slowly behind her.

  Ramus nodded at his engineer and both leaped out, firing their blasters. Following the plan, their shots went wide, purposely missing the intruders down the corridor.

  The women stopped, but made no attempt to avoid the plasma bolts searing the bulkheads around them. They stared directly ahead, fixing their gaze on Ramus and Fugg. The engineer stopped firing. Ramus looked at Fugg, standing with his mouth open and his weapon hanging loosely at his side. Ramus glanced back at the women. It wasn’t their eyes at all, he realized. He could hear them in his mind like sirens singing, numbing his senses and clouding his thoughts. The hallway grew darker, like a heavy fog seeping in around the edges. His head wobbling, Ramus saw the light go out and felt his body hit the floor.

  Ramus woke with a splitting headache, but at least the pain proved he was still alive.

  “Welcome to the larder,” a voice said.

  Ramus opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of what looked like a cargo hold, his back against a wall. Fugg was in a fetal position, still unconscious, beside him. People of various races were arranged randomly about the room. Most looked sick.

  Only one person was standing and he was talking to Ramus.

  “Nice to see you awake,” he said.

  His head cocked to one side, Ramus looked up at the man, a human dressed in dingy workman’s overalls.

  “Who are you?” the captain asked.

  “I’m Marcus,” he said, “first mate of the Konpira Maru.”

  “I talked to your captain,” Ramus said.

  “He’s still alive?” Marcus asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. One of those things killed him.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “They’re called the Dokk,” he said.

  “Why did you call this the larder?” Ramus asked.

  “They keep us here,” Marcus said, “to feed on our blood.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Apparently they’ve been in space so long, their bodies can’t produce hemoglobin. I guess we provide them with a steady supply.”

  “That’s sick,” Ramus said.

  Fugg began to stir.

  “Where’d those blue bitches go...” he groaned.

  “They were purple, you idiot,” Ramus said, shaking his engineer awake.

  “They’re Shadow Maidens,” Marcus said.

  Fugg opened his eyes, only to scowl at the first mate.

  “Yeah? Did they give you that hickie?” he said.

  Ramus noticed, for the first time, that Marcus had two puncture wounds on his neck.

  “It’s not a love bite,” Marcus said. “They’ve fed on me several times. Luckily, I haven’t been here very long, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

  Fugg sat up, his face full of rage.

  “That ain’t right!” he shouted. “I don’t care how hot they are!”

  Ramus gingerly got to his feet. Unsteady, he kept his balance by leaning against the wall.

  “We’re getting out of here,” he said. “That I can promise you.”

  Across the room, a large hatch opened with a screech, the mechanism grinding from age and lack of maintenance. A Dokk male entered holding a blaster pistol.

  “Captain Ramus,” he said. “Come with me.”

  The Dokk led Ramus down several poorly lit passageways. Ramus guessed this was a space station, one that had seen better days. From the rust and mildew, it looked to be a hundred years old.

  At the end of a corridor, a hatch opened into a large ro
om. Through the window ports in the ceiling a bleak, barren planet was visible. In the center of the room, steps led to a raised platform where another male sat on a chair built like a throne. Ramus recognized him as the Dokk who boarded the Wanderer. Flanking him were the three women.

  When he started speaking, the words sounded like gibberish until Ramus recognized some of them as High Dahlvish, his own native tongue.

  The man stopped.

  “I apologize,” he began again, this time in the Imperial, human speech. “I should have known our languages have diverged too much to be comprehensible. I am Tomil Druril, Blood Prince of this brood.”

  “You’re saying you’re Dahl?” Ramus asked.

  “Long ago...” the man said.

  “Who the hell are you people anyway?”

  Druril laughed, his fangs evident.

  “I assume you’ve never heard of the lost tribes of the Dahl?”

  “I can’t say that I have...”

  “Then we are truly one of the Forgotten.”

  Ramus’ eyebrow raised.

  “Ah,” Druril said, “so that is familiar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then, perhaps we are more brothers than you first realized.”

  “Well, I may be an exile,” Ramus admitted, “but what’s your story?”

  Druril rested his chin on his hand thoughtfully.

  “Centuries ago,” he said, “my people — this brood and others like it — were banished from the Dahlvish home world into the vacuum of space. The Dahl removed us from their memories as well, as if forgetting could erase us from history. In time, we learned to exist here in the void, but not without... changes.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Ramus remarked.

  “Forever living on ships, traveling from system to system, we were no longer exposed to sunlight as we once were. We tried producing the needed proteins for our blood, but nothing seemed to work. We grew weaker, almost to the point of extinction. Finally, we did what we needed to do. We drank the blood of those we captured, and we’ve survived ever since.”

  “But those people in the cargo hold,” Ramus said, “they won’t be so lucky.”

  Druril’s eyes narrowed in anger.

  “Survival has a cost, Captain! Those men are the price we must pay to live!”

  Ramus paused, silently staring out the windows in the ceiling.

  “Well,” he said finally, “I guess we all have to pay sooner or later. Sometimes, it’s just a lot sooner than we thought.”