Death Drop (The D-Evolution)

by Sean Allen

  Sparks sprayed from Bertie’s undercarriage as Otto applied a grinding wheel to a fresh weld with deft strokes. The golden-orange showers arced beautifully into the air and fell to the floor, skittering a few inches before the quick ember of their lives flickered out. The sparks cast a dazzling luminance on Otto’s hood and goggles, and with each pass of the grinder his shadow danced in an eerie glow on the wall behind him. Light from the corridor poured into the dimly lit room as the hatch slid open, and Otto immediately stopped his work and removed his protective gear. He was pulling off thick gloves that covered his slightly webbed fingers, and he gave a welcoming smile as Malo stepped into the hold.

  “Malo report. Two hours from Rilek,” the Moxen said as he looked forlornly at Bertie. Otto read his saddened expression and thought about what he could say to ease his regret without letting on that Bertie was every bit alive as he had been when they had left the shipyard on Satiri 9.

  “Don’t worry, Malo. There might be some of Bertie left in this old can,” he said optimistically while patting the warm spot he had been grinding just moments ago. He pulled his bare hand back quickly from the heat and shook it vigorously before smiling up at Malo.

  “Malo hope. Malo like Bertie,” he said, frowning slightly. Otto’s eyes were full of sympathy for the big soldier but he couldn’t help but flash them momentarily at Bertie. He was certain Malo’s sentiment would cause the emotional machine to either salute the Moxen or hug him, and Otto braced for the inevitable; but, much to Bertie’s credit, he played dead flawlessly.

  “Too many dead.” The soft words rang with all the hurt Malo had felt in his lifetime, and Otto’s heart sank into his feet as he caught Malo glancing toward the covered cryolech that encased the body of his closest friend.

  “Long before Talfus or Bertie were lost, there were too many, Malo.” Otto’s own memories sent a sting of misery up from his chest into his eyes. He shook off the urge to succumb to the familiar melancholy and caught Malo’s gaze again. “You can pay your respects, Malo. I’m going to get ready to meet Rilek.” Otto turned off his work light and whispered a farewell to Bertie. As the cargo bay door slid quietly closed behind him, a familiar Moxen reverie—like the voice of sadness itself—touched his ears for a moment and then disappeared behind the heavy portal.

  Otto returned to his cramped quarters on the Hellion to prepare for his meeting with the admiral. He bathed himself, paying particular attention to the grease and oil that had turned the fur around his fingers black. After he was sufficiently clean, he donned his aquatics brigade uniform and attached a belt, complete with a holster for his service revolver and compartments for extra ammunition, to finish the ensemble. He was straightening his outfit in the full-length mirror on the inside of his door when the holodex interrupted him.

  “Major, approaching Lodestar. Request dock.” Malo’s deep voice rumbled through the com.

  “Permission granted, Malo. I’ll be up in a second. Otto out.” He punched in the key combination for the infirmary on the holodex and waited for a connection. “Doctor, are you ready?”

  “I’m ready,” Blink’s voice squeaked back.

  “Right. Meet me at the helm in three. Otto out.” Otto adjusted the neck of his uniform one last time and stood as straight as he could as he gave himself a final inspection. “Sure beats going naked. You look fit to greet an admiral,” he said confidently, then turned on his heel and headed for the bridge.

  The Lodestar loomed dead ahead and stretched past the edges of the viewing panes on the small Hellion fighter. Rilek’s Runner outfit, Company 327, was legendary, and Rilek himself was renowned across every charted galaxy as a great sailor and a fearsome warrior. Not much was known about the man himself—he never spoke of his people and his mysterious manner was known to turn as cold and hard as metal if anyone dared to pursue a line of questioning that might relate to his past. He was what sailors and pilots called a “duster”—a man who had sailed untold seas on countless planets, charted unknown stars in the deepest regions of space, and fought an incalculable number of battles.

  Although he had several ships under his command, the Lodestar was Admiral Rilek’s pride and joy. It was shaped like a blade. The top deck was flat except for the conning tower that rose from its barren expanse three quarters of the ship’s length from the bow, like a smooth rock majestically rising from a river bed, shaped by the endless flow of water and air pouring around its edges. The gunwales were lined with ominous, darkened slots that ran the length of the top rail. The keel was the cutting edge of the blade and ran in an arc from stern to bow. The angle where the keel met the bow was more abrupt than at the stern and it gave the front of the ship a savage point that looked like it could split a rogue asteroid in two without flinching—and by the looks of her finish, she had endured such activities and then some. She was scratched and gouged fore and aft and only trace patches of her once-proud gray coat shone in the light from Enok’s sun.

  At first glance, she didn’t look like she belonged in space. In fact, if another sailor was passing by, he might think that the ship was a deserted salvage, a rusted-out derelict once in tow to some planet with a waiting sea that would become her watery grave, somehow set loose from her tethers and abandoned—a lost and forgotten ghost ship left to drift among the stars. Closer inspection would reveal four bullet-shaped attachments just aft of the bow, two on each side of the ship and parallel to one another, all of which could be retracted within the hull to carry on the façade. At the moment, their shiny casings were exposed, and they offered the only evidence that the Lodestar might be more than she appeared. The attachments were propulsion engines and they were currently pointed ahead. The battle ship would have been cruising forward at incredible speed for a vessel her size except there was no glow from the back side of the turbines: a tell-tale sign that her engines were on all stop. There were also various lines in the big ship’s hull—too straight to be scratches or battle scars—that hid unknown surprises for her would-be attackers.

  Otto, Blink, and Malo stood gaping at the famed ship as one of its many side compartments yawned open to welcome the tiny Hellion into its docking bay. None of them spoke until the auto-pilot touched the runners of their small craft onto the designated landing site. The heavy bay door groaned on its chains and the old ship let out a haunting wail as it sealed shut.

  “So this is the Lodestar, huh?” Otto said skeptically as he leaned over the control console of the Hellion and peered up through the viewing pane. Blink raised an eyebrow from behind his glasses and bent his mouth in a half-frown. Malo, never one to mince words, simply let out a doubtful snort. “Here they come.” Otto motioned at several figures now making their way toward them on the hangar floor. “Let’s meet our hosts, shall we?” He took a deep breath, smoothed his uniform, and walked past Blink and Malo toward amidships and the gangway.

  Otto disembarked first and descended the plank. He was met by a gruff-looking character who blocked out the light from behind him and dwarfed Otto in his shadow. The man was big. He didn’t have the height or the muscular build of Malo, but something told Otto that his soft-looking exterior masked tremendous power just beneath the surface. His face was battle-worn and a massive pink scar ran from the crown of his brown, bald head through the socket where his eye had once been and halfway down to his whiskered jowls. A large, sharp tusk extended down from the right side of his mouth and the jagged, broken remnant of its twin hung just a few short inches from his lip on the other side. He wore heavy black boots that ended just below his knees. Dark trousers billowed slightly from the tops before slimming again and ending at his large belt. The thick strap had an ornately jeweled buckle that Otto was certain would have glittered in brilliant shades of orange, red, and green if the stranger had been facing the light. Next to the buckle, on one side, was the hilt of a scabbard that was equally dazzling, and Otto could just make out the handle of a pistol on the other side. The stranger had on a traditional white sailor’s shirt and the sleeve
s fluttered as he presented a salute.

  “Welcome aboard, sir. I am Admiral Rilek’s first mate aboard the Lodestar, Bopa Booktu.” His melodious voice betrayed his rugged looks, and Otto hoped his surprise wasn’t clearly written on his face. “And this,” Booktu said without looking away from Otto, “is Ensign Nori.” Otto waited for a moment but didn’t see anyone except Booktu standing in front of him. He opened his mouth to ask for clarification when a slender figure, with a spiny green face and red eyes, stepped from behind Booktu on the right and saluted; and an instant later, his twin appeared to the left of the rotund commander and struck an identical pose. Otto saluted in response to the twins as he wondered how Rilek and the rest of the crew could tell them apart.

  “Calling them both Ensign Nori—although technically accurate—couldn’t be very efficient when it came to the chain of command. Perhaps they work different parts of the ship,” Otto thought to himself, but before he was able to question Booktu on the matter, he saw the first mate’s small, dark eye flicker over his head towards the hatch of the Hellion.

  Artie walked cautiously down the plank, eyeing the fascinating welcoming committee with discerning, medical curiosity and attention to detail.

  “This is Doctor Artemus Blink,” Otto said, studying Booktu’s expression and deciding he was particularly difficult to read. Otto also decided that, instead of subjecting everyone present to the awkwardness of one of Blink’s “why you don’t need to salute me” lectures, he would head them all off at the pass. “The doctor doesn’t consider himself a military man or feel that your crew needs to salute him. However, he was considered the foremost authority in biology and medicine across multiple species in the universe before the reign of the Durax, which makes him an invaluable asset to our operation.” Blink pushed his spectacles back on his snout with his forefinger in an unintentional gesture of intellectualism that underscored Otto’s comments perfectly.

  Booktu and both ensigns stared skeptically at the little doctor and his meticulously clean and pressed lab coat. “I also know firsthand,” Otto continued, “that although he doesn’t consider himself a military man, he is a man of courage in the face of danger. He saved my life when we were escaping from the Berzerkers.” Blink didn’t quite understand Otto’s need to disclose the details of their escape and he lowered his head just a fraction in embarrassment. But Otto knew soldiers and sailors all too well—they didn’t trust a man that couldn’t take action when the need arose, and Blink’s presence would never be accepted on the Lodestar outside of the infirmary if Otto had not vouched for him. He could see the hard faces of their hosts soften as all three glanced at Blink and gave curt nods of approval.

  Clop! Clop! CLOP!

  Booktu and the Noris suddenly snapped their heads up at the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the Hellion. Otto always got a kick out of watching the expressions of anyone who saw Malo for the first time. He could usually tell which soldiers had seen action on several fronts by their reactions—they were better traveled and had experienced more things. It was also a good way for Otto to size up their skills as fighting men. If they had been around long enough to come across different worlds and species, then they were either good at keeping themselves alive or lucky. Both had their advantages on the field of battle.

  He expected any crew of the legendary Lodestar not to give Malo a second glance, and now he was surprised at the looks that he saw before him. The Noris reacted at the exact same instant, staring with astonished eyes and slightly opened mouths. Booktu, whom Otto guessed to be the more experienced sailor of the three, based on his battle-hardened looks and his rank, had a much more subtle reaction—but it was still there. He simply raised the brow over his good eye in genuine surprise and then the look vanished, replaced by the return of his brooding, tough sailor’s grimace. Otto glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t help but smirk inwardly as he recognized why Rilek’s crew might find Malo so…interesting. In addition to his intimidating size, Malo was sporting his huge battle hammer across his back and the formidable shape of The Guardian was clutched in his right hand.

  Otto waited silently as the crew watched Malo descending the gangplank, their eyes falling lower with each heavy clop, until they steadily rose again as the Moxen approached and stopped just behind him to the right.

  “And this is Lieutenant Malo Schunkari.” Booktu and the Noris lifted simultaneous salutes. Malo shifted the big cannon from one hand to the other as easily as Otto or Booktu would handle their pistols and raised his free hand in a salute to acknowledge their courtesy.

  “If you will follow me to the bridge, please, gentlemen. The admiral would like a word with you,” Booktu said as he swept his hand ceremoniously across his round body and toward the door at the back of the dockyard. The Noris turned on their heels in unison and led the way, single file, followed by Booktu, Otto, Blink, and Malo. Malo’s cloven hoofs clicked on the smooth floor, and the sound bounced from the walls to the vaulted ceiling and back again. The dock was a pittance compared to the shipyard at the Dissension mine base but Otto was still impressed. The Lodestar wasn’t a monstrous battle cruiser but a mid-sized ship and she still managed to carry three skiffs and the little Hellion comfortably in her bay.

  They crossed the threshold of the docking bay and entered into a dark passage. Otto had to adjust his eyes to the dim light as they marched toward the bridge. He blinked several times and as his eyes became accustomed to his surroundings, he was amazed at the contrast between the hallway and the no-frills dockyard.

  Instead of a barren floor, they walked along panels of rich, dark wood seamed together with the skill of an expert craftsman. The walls were lined with artifacts Rilek had carefully collected on his adventures through the galaxies. Beautifully rendered paintings—encompassing all manner of subjects from ancient vessels at sea to galactic cataclysmic events—hung among ornate tapestries and finely detailed masks. The soft, warm light that emanated from equally attractive fixtures spaced between the pieces reminded Otto of glowing embers from a crackling fire.

  They kept marching and the awe-inspiring collection continued to pass by. Otto was so enchanted by the art that he didn’t notice his convoy leaders had stopped at the base of a very steep set of metal stairs, and he almost ran into Booktu, who had turned to address them. Otto heard the stumble of feet and a loud snort behind him and knew he wasn’t the only one entranced by the display leading to the Lodestar’s command center. He glanced up past Booktu’s large, scarred head and could see that the Noris were perched on a landing outside a heavy, metal door with a large, white wheel-lock.

  “I hope you enjoyed the artwork. Perhaps the admiral will regale you with the history behind the acquisition of the pieces hanging here. But for now, he would like to be debriefed on the situation we are facing.” As Booktu finished, the Noris yanked on the wheel-lock, one pushing from one side and the other pulling opposite him. The device let out a metallic squeal as it reluctantly gave up its seal, and the door swung open on its hinges. The noise of navigation controls spilled onto the landing where Otto, Blink, and Malo now stood. The familiar sound focused their minds on the mission given to them by Colonel Abalias before he and Sergeant Graale were taken by the Berzerkers—hunt down perhaps the deadliest creature known to exist, uncover his intentions, and destroy him.

  The Noris stepped over the threshold and went immediately to their respective positions, taking up their duties as if they had never left. Booktu entered next and strode confidently across the deck toward a dark figure who was standing in the center of the room examining a star map floating in front of him in a brilliant blue glow of light.

  “Admiral,” Booktu said as he raised a salute, “Major Von Holt and his team from the Dissension mine base are here, sir.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Booktu,” Rilek replied without turning from his chart. He spoke slowly and softly yet every word commanded attention. His voice resonated with the depth and knowledge of a creature who had lived an impossibly lon
g life.

  Booktu vanished into the periphery of the room as Otto, Blink, and Malo strained their eyes to catch the slightest glimpse of the mysterious admiral. He reached out and touched one of the illuminated orbs in front of him. The dot grew brighter as the blue luminescence radiated out from its edges in waves. “Done,” Rilek announced and the chart faded until it was swallowed by the darkness.

  He slowly turned to face Otto and the others as he brushed the long folds of his sailor’s coat behind him with one hand and raised a perfect salute with the other. Otto couldn’t help but notice his meticulous dress—at least what he could make out in the dark seemed so. He was attired in a style similar to his first mate’s—black boots that approached his knees, dark pants tucked into the tops, and a heavy belt with the handle of a pistol arching from its band to the left of a gilded buckle. The edges of a white button-down shirt were barely visible beneath a dark vest, and an admiral’s hat perched commandingly on top of his head.

  The room was still dimly lit; the only light came from the various instruments on the bridge and the distant glow of stars shining through the enormous viewing panes. They ran from the deck upward for fifteen feet before arching abruptly at their peak and meeting at a center junction high above their heads. If Otto or the others had turned around, they would have noticed that the entire conning tower, save for the heavy, wheel-locked door that led them in, was constructed of viewing panes that gave a near three hundred and sixty degree view of the universe around them. But as it was, all three were still trying desperately to make out the features of the admiral.

  “Ah, how inconsiderate of me. Lights, three-quarters.”