The Fiercest Craving

by Max Jager

  He noticed the outlines of two figures standing at the entrance to the hall, both wielding spear-like objects with glowing points. Apparently, they had lost interest in their job and had instead erupted into animated chatter, none of which Jaren could understand. Jaren attempted to ignore their ceaseless banter, which was now echoing off the walls of the hall, and tried to figure out how he had landed in his predicament.

  He recalled Drek's dead body, then Kraen's message to the Emperor's undersecretary that he was unfit to join the crew of the Emperor's flagship. Everything after that was a blur, and Jaren couldn't muster the willpower to dig deeper into his mind to find the answers. He lay hopelessly bound to the wall and endured the monotonous sounds of conversation from the guards ahead, unable to move his hands to his ears.

  Suddenly, the guards stopped their conversation and turned toward the entrance to their domain, brandishing their weapons fiercely.

  "Who the hell do you think you a—"

  The guards, wracked by countless pulsating shocks, fell to the ground. Jaren gasped in fright as the source, a humanoid figure engulfed in electricity, turned a dial on its left wrist and ceased to be threatening.

  "Jaren Sikel, I am here to bail you out," it said.

  The voice, undoubtedly masculine and altered to an artificially gruff quality, came from the mouthpiece of an intricately designed helmet. The visor was silver in color and extended most of the circumference of the head. The rest of the helmet appeared to be made of mithril and exuded a faint, blue glow. Jaren immediately recognized the metal, as he knew it to be a precious commodity, only spared for the most elite-grade weapons, armor, and tools. With the exception of the gauntlets and boots, which were apparently made at least partly out of gold, the rest of the body armor was made entirely from mithril. Jaren also noticed several gold wires that originated in the left gauntlet and snaked their way around different parts of the body, each ending in a node. Unable to think up a response, Jaren sat silently and gaped in awe.

  "I see you are impressed with my accoutrements," the gruff voice continued. "As you can tell, being a bounty hunter definitely has its rewards. Anyhow, we don't have time."

  Flicking the dial on his left wrist, the hunter grasped two of the bars of Jaren's jail cell. In a matter of seconds, the bars became red-hot, and the hunter demolished each with a punch. After adjusting the dial, he approached Jaren.

  "What kind of security do they have here these days?" the hunter asked, sighing and shaking his head. He slightly turned the dial again, and his gauntlets emitted a brief, high-pitched shriek which Jaren associated with something being energized. He broke off all of Jaren's restraints with karate chops. Just then, several guards wielding rifles entered the vicinity, headed by a captain, also sporting mithril armor.

  "Hands behind your head or we shoot!" the captain ordered.

  "Alright, alright," the hunter mumbled, failing to sound melodramatic, as his hand remained on the dial. The guards quickly surrounded him in a tight circle.

  "You might want to cover your ears, Jaren."

  Jaren quickly brought his hands to his ears, and then a wave of sound several times louder than the one emitted earlier flooded the room. Jaren noticed all the guards, including the captain, collapse instantly before nausea washed over him and sent him reeling to the ground as well.

  B1 Chapter 2

  II

  5:39 a.m.

  Jaren awoke to the sound of bustling activity in Brisbane Skydock. His head and body hurt from the strain caused by his improvised bed-a bench protruding from the wall. He rubbed his eyes and assessed the situation. Only moments earlier, he was trapped in a jail cell and held at the mercy of the law, and before that, it seemed that all the hope he had gained from his promotion to work on the Emperor's flagship had been lost to an unfortunate slip of fate. Yet fate had undoubtedly acted in his favor and sent him help in the form of a very gifted bounty hunter. None of this Jaren understood, or even wanted to understand. Right now, he wanted three answers. Firstly, he needed to know the identity of his savior, the bounty hunter who knew who Jaren was. Secondly, given that the bounty hunter had dropped Jaren off at the Skydock, was he indicating that Jaren should merely continue with his assignment and not worry about the impending criminal charges? Finally, Jaren needed to know about his mysterious ability that allowed him to turn the tables on Drek in an instant and how he could prevent it from taking another life against his will. As far as he knew, the ability existed outside his realm of control. All he could tell for sure was that it triggered when he felt a sudden immense amount of panic or if he found himself in a fight for life and death.

  Lost in thought, Jaren took a while to realize that a scrap of paper and a piece of plastic lay clenched in his right fist. He examined the scrap first. In a messy scrawl it read, "Don't forget, Jaren Sikel Does Not Exist." Confused by the note, he quickly pocketed it and examined the piece of plastic, which happened to be an ID card. The card, virtually identical to the one Jaren had received with his letter, had two notable points of contrast: the name and the photo. The name, printed in black bold letters at the top, was Trace Reid. The face in the photo featured the same high cheekbones as Jaren's, but they were less prominent. It also sported red hair, in a loose ponytail, green eyes and red stubble scattered all around the mouth, cheeks and chin. The skin had about the same tone and condition as Jaren's except slightly more tan. The face was somewhat tranquil compared to the picture on Jaren's ID card. After all, he had been happy to be working on a flagship instead of a dingy factory. The card also read at the bottom, "For mechanical/engineering sectors and residential access only." Although the possibility that he actually looked like the man in the photo didn't occur to him, Jaren squinted down at his facial hair, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of red stubble. To be absolutely sure he wasn't hallucinating, he felt his hair. It felt fuller and smooth as opposed to the soft, but bristly, sensation of his short buzz cut. He followed the flow of the hair down his scalp, and it unmistakably ended in a ponytail. Jaren couldn't possibly believe that someone would go through such great lengths to make sure that he still continued his job even though he had just barely escaped from the clutches of the law. If anyone in the authorities found out about his new identity, Jaren knew he wouldn't just be executed. He would be brutally tortured first; he was certain of that. Ever since the imperial ruling system returned thirty years ago, cruel and unusual punishment knew no bounds.

  Even though panic had set in, it did not compromise Jaren's keen ability to think clearly and rationally. Jaren, by nature, was not a gambler, and he did not want to gamble being right under the Emperor's nose in his own flagship. Moreover, thanks to the free makeover, he would have a higher chance of living in seclusion without being caught. This indisputable fact cleared Jaren's conscious, and he headed back toward the entrance to Brisbane Skydock. His luck turned on him that very moment. A brunette with her hair done up in a bun and square-rimmed glasses, wearing a dress suit that had the Imperial Seal pinned to the breast pocket, looked in Jaren's direction, widening her soft, brown, childlike eyes.

  Although Jaren wasn't necessarily into women, he was drawn instantly to the radiance of her blemish-free tanned skin and her sleek body.

  "Can I help you?" he muttered hoarsely.

  "Why, yes, you're that new recruit aren't ya? In the engineering whatcha-ma-call-it division?"

  Jaren cursed under his breath. "Me? No, I think you got the wrong guy."

  "Why, then, are ya holding what I think you're holding?"

  Sweat now began to form on Jaren's forehead and palms. He quickly flashed the ID card in her direction, "Oh, this? Well that's just my work ID. I work at GX Laboratories, you know."

  "Fascinating," she said, keeping her stare on him as a hunter would its prey. "May I see it?"

  "Oh, no, I'm afraid not. Personal proper-hey!" In a blink of an eye, she had deftly snatched the card from his greased palms, while he momentarily returned her stare.


  "Well, well, well, looks like you are Mr. Reid after all; I've been looking all over for ya. The flagship's leavin' in fifteen, so ya better get your ass over there. They're mighty pissed that they might've given a last-minute departee's position to someone who dun't show up anyway."

  "Oh, I see. Well, thank you, Miss..."

  "Sharon. Pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Reid. You better make yer way to the flagship now. I'm on the way there myself now that I've found ya."

  Jaren saw no point in resisting now that the authorities would know if he ditched the job as his new alias. He crossed his fingers and hoped that whoever had made the elaborate arrangement to change his appearance and identity (as well as make him the replacement of himself!) knew what they were doing.

  The smell of freshly-made breakfast at Brisbane Skydock's food courts tantalized Jaren's nose and made his ailing stomach growl ferociously. His tired legs fought to keep pace with Sharon's as they weaved their way in and out of the bustling crowds of people.

  "How much longer?" Jaren panted.

  "Oh we're almost there; around a two minute walk from here, I reckon."

  About half a minute later, they passed under a huge banner bearing the Imperial seal, which read, "Congratulations New Inductees! Please report to Hangar Omega." The banner also featured a large arrow pointing in the forward direction at the bottom. Subsequent banners led them through a left turn, a right turn and finally a moderately long straight stretch leading toward a large clearing that acted as a threshold to the outside.

  The flagship in all its majestic glory had already pulled into the spacious, open air Hangar. To describe the craft as colossal was an understatement, Jaren thought. Its dazzling, tetrahedron-shaped Zirconium chassis officially measured half a mile long, a quarter of a mile wide at its broadest point and a sixth of a mile high at its deepest point. Jaren unquestionably ranked it as the most incredible feat of engineering he had ever seen. The light blue haze of force field around the entire framework glowed brilliantly against the night sky, and the gargantuan electric blue turbines-two to each side-made for a fascinating light show. The ship's weaponry consisted of twelve high-energy laser Gatling guns-four on the front, three on each side and two guarding its rear. Finally, printed on either side of the hull were the words, "I. F. S. Scorpio" in large block print. The initials I. F. S. stood for "Imperial Flag Ship" and customarily labeled all of the highest order flagships in the Imperial Fleet. Jaren's mouth watered at the manifestation of the fantasies he had frequently read about in warfare magazines. With its entire arsenal, the I. F. S. Scorpio was a force to be reckoned with. The magazines Jaren read estimated that if the flagship discharged all of its guns simultaneously on full power at the same target, the destructive power could bring an entire planet to its knees. Furthermore, the flagship concealed fifty seeker missiles below its hull, each capable of exploding with enough force to pulverize a good portion of any large, industrialized city.

  Sharon interrupted Jaren's stupor-like infatuation, "Amazing, ain't she?"

  "Yeah, she's a real looker alright," Jaren replied, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling it all through a long whistle.

  They headed down several flights of stairs and made their way to the nearest boarding platform leading into the flagship, about fifty yards away from the periphery of the hangar. The traffic going into the flagship had thinned out, as the departure time was only minutes away. Finally, at the top, Jaren and Sharon were greeted by an attendant standing outside the doors, wearing a uniform identical to Sharon's. She uttered a polite "welcome," and Sharon smiled back at her as they finally made their way inside.

  After Jaren and Sharon exchanged goodbyes, they parted in opposite directions, and Jaren followed the rest of the crowd to a checkpoint on the perimeter of the ship where guards and other officials checked the incoming people for ID cards. Much to Jaren's annoyance, almost half of the people in queue didn't even possess ID. A lot of manpower, therefore, had to be dedicated to escorting people outside. Finally, Jaren approached a clerk, handed over his ID card, and drew in a deep breath. When the card worked, he exhaled deeply and proceeded toward the center of the vast mini-metropolis that comprised much of the flagship's interior.

  "Sir!"

  Jaren felt a sudden rush of blood to his head and looked back at the clerk tentatively.

  "Your living quarters are situated in Apartment Complex sixteen; your room is sixteen eighty-one."

  "Oh, thanks."

  Heart pounding, Jaren trekked down the spiraling ramp into the lower quarters of the ship. This interior "metropolis" consisted of many tall buildings and a few short ones that attached to and blended in with the dome-like curvature of the surrounding inner walls. Jaren continued walking along the same path extending from the ramp and eventually found himself in the central quad. Along with many other inductees, he gaped in awe at the sight of an enormous fountain that formed the basic curves and outlines of the Imperial seal with its jets of water, but relied on the assistance of holographic projections to form the words and finer details. Situated above the fountain, a large, transparent projector screen hovered inconspicuously, displaying the assignment locations for the various occupations of new inductees. Jaren's eyes hovered down the list, "Administrative... Biochemical... Cooking/Meal Preparation... Fitness/Health Services... Janitorial... Life Support..." finally stopping at "Mechanical/Engineering." He steadily moved his gaze over to the next column of information: "Venue: G40; Arrive By: 6:30 a.m." Jaren's watch read ten minutes into dawn, meaning he still had twenty minutes to find Conference Room G40. On the far end of the quad, Jaren noticed several other tables with clerks set up, apparently to give directions to the rookies.

  Jaren approached a clerk who instructed him to take the train that covers sectors A through G. The conference room would then be the large building nestled in at the end of the G-block. Jaren thanked the clerk and headed toward the train station along with the general flow of traffic, going through the south exit to the quad. Of the three trains - A-G, H-N and O-Z - the A-G ran through the most industrialized areas of the ship, covering the factories, sectors for various functional parts of the ship (such as the turbines), and development labs where scientists would conduct research and create new inventions through grants provided by the Imperial government. All this information was relayed to Jaren via an engaging and informative video playing and repeating on a display attached to the station wall.

  Jaren had watched the video around three times already when the A-G train entered the station, announcing its presence with a pre-recorded voice, "Train approaching... please back away from the rails and wait for the doors to open. Thank you for your cooperation." Once the train stopped and the doors opened, another pre-recorded voice filled the area, "Route A through G, Northbound... first stop is Sector A: Factories and industrial development." Jaren recalled from the video that the A-G train had two routes, north and south. Taking the northbound would mean an undulating ten-minute ride through the depths of the flagship before arriving at the last stop, Sector G. Instead, Jaren waited for the arrival of the southbound two minutes later.

  The train arrived and spewed out the same recording as the previous one with the exception of the route being southbound and the first stop being Sector G: Administrative facilities and conference halls. Jaren boarded the middle-left of four cars along with around eight other people, and the train took off shortly afterward. From the perspective facing the entrance to the station, the southbound route dipped off to the right, toward the lower parts of the hull. The ride started with a fair loss in altitude through a narrow tunnel. The view upon exiting the tunnel was truly a sight to behold, an epiphany of man-made beauty. The industrial sector of the flagship sparkled with dazzling machinery and bustling activity. In the distance, Jaren could make out advanced and streamlined factory lines consisting of robots that carried out every task, from inspection to all aspects of production. Jaren also saw other factory lines that consisted of workers who sported black bodies an
d a mere white loincloth for clothing. A similar kind of cloth covered their heads as well. Something about these creatures awoke some sort of hidden disgust in Jaren, something he had never felt before.

  Jaren ignored the feeling and looked elsewhere as the train started to approach a slope and ascend. He saw mechanics and engineers working together in labs to create various fascinating items, from guns and machinery to chemicals and devices with a biological application. The entrances to other sectors and parts of the ship also came into sight in this wide, open space. The train finally stopped at Sector G, approximately two minutes after it had departed.

  The familiar voice in the intercom sounded once again, "Now arriving in Sector G - Administrative facilities and conference halls - please wait for the train to come to a complete stop and watch your step as you exit the train. Have a nice day." Tired and groggy, Jaren slowly rose and exited the train, taking slow but labored steps toward the end of the vast hall in front of him. His stomach growled fiercely once again, making him feel even worse about his current state.

  Sector G consisted of various offices and meeting rooms, some visible through clear glass walls that separated them from the main hallway. A few non-inductees already sat in their offices working at the early hour, straining their eyes to look at their computer screens and sipping coffee. Some watched the flood of mechanical and engineering inductees heading toward the main conference hall and grinned, most likely recalling their first time onboard.