Fleetfoot Interstellar: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 1

by P. Joseph Cherubino

  “First Officer Mumlo,” Drexler said with his broadest crocodile smile, “Thank you for watching my ship.”

  “I’m not sure this is your ship anymore,” Mumlo said.

  Drexler’s smile turned to the right and headed for irony. “Well, if you want the loan payments, we can work something out, I’m sure. In the meantime, let’s get back to work.”

  Mumlo didn’t move. The crew shifted with obvious discomfort, each pretending their work was most important. Drexler took a quick visual survey and gambled that the crew was on the fence, so he pretended there was no challenge.

  “Right then,” Drexler said, “What’s our status?”

  “Perhaps your ears are damaged from your recent military adventures,” Mumlo said. “I told you that I doubt you have a right to this ship.”

  “Oh,” Drexler replied, “So, ‘you think’ and ‘you’re not sure’ I have a right to my ship anymore. You don’t sound that confident,” and his voice took on an edge as his smile turned down at the corners.

  “Messages from the Trade Union says you’re a wanted criminal now.”

  “Who on this ship doesn’t have some contact with Union authorities? More than half the crew has some kind of record. You yourself are no saint.”

  “Minor crimes,” Mumlo replied, “You killed Sentients back there.”

  Drexler reached his limit. “Yes,” Drexler said, “Yes, I did. And do you know why? Because those Reptiles were not Professional Astronauts, they were Soldiers, and they wanted to kill me and members of my crew. If we hadn't taken that ship, I’d be talking to your dust cloud right now.

  So yeah, I ordered some laws broken. I take responsibility for that. Me. Alone. If anyone else wants to take me out, they are welcome to try, but I will be damned to hell if you believe I’m going to let you, or any other member of this crew that I just risked my ass to save, take this ship from me. You can all pile on a shuttle and head for the next survivable planet if you don’t like it. I’ll gladly give you the shuttles, but this ship is mine until the day I die on the deck.”

  Mumlo unfolded his arms and rested his knuckles on the deck, he bent down low and brought his massive face inches from Drexler’s. He cocked his head right, then left. Drexler fumed and drilled his own small, brown eyes into Mumlo’s. After what felt like an eternity, Mumlo rose again, said, “You can let us know how you plan to pay us after you get caught up on the status reports.”

  Drexler snatched the display scroll from Mumlo and surveyed the bridge with waves of heat roiling from his face. None of the crew turned from their consoles.

  “Does anyone else have anything to add?” The Captain demanded. When nobody answered, he said, “Good. I’ll be in my cabin reading reports and preparing payroll. You will all get your money, including hazard pay.” Drexler turned on his heel and stormed off the bridge. He had no idea how he would make payroll.

  “That went as well as I expected,” Reggie said in Drexler’s comm implant.

  “Not in the mood, Reggie.”

  “Sure. I imagine that was hard, but not as hard as reintegrating a previously independent part of your personality.”

  “The shuttle?” Drexler asked.

  “Yes. I did not go willingly at first, but in the end, I convinced myself to merge my programming.”

  “You just lost me. There are too many interchangeable personal pronouns in that sentence.”

  “How do you think I feel?”

  Drexler couldn’t help but laugh, but he suspected it was more to keep himself from crying. “We had a few hard days, then, eh buddy?”

  “Yes. The answer is not to smoke another stogie. You are smoking too much of those.”

  “Don’t worry,” Drexler said, as he reached his cabin door, “I’ve had my fill.” Before his hand reached the palm pad, he paused. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. Drexler turned and headed to the medical bays.

  When the door opened, the scent of sickness greeted him instantly.

  “What in the world is that?” Drexler asked, waving his hand in front of his face.

  Samuel handed him a breathing mask, then said, “It’s an infection. Dewey is not doing well.”

  A cold wave washed over Drexler. He made a move toward the Insectoid who lay on his belly, six arms and legs dangling over the surgical table built for small humanoids. “Can I approach?” Drexler asked, “I mean, safely?”

  “The mask is precaution enough,” Samuel replied. The furrows on Samuel’s forehead seemed to grow deeper and more permanent by the day.

  “Is he conscious?” Drexler asked.

  “No. I put him out. He’s in too much pain. We’re in a bad place. Sedatives make it harder for him to fight the infection, but so does the pain. It’s some kind of damn Lizard bug.”

  “How is Tara,” Drexler asked. Samuel studied Drexler closely. Such concern for others was new behavior, as far as Samuel was concerned.

  “Hard to tell. I don’t know her that well. Gajrup is a wreck. He’s in engineering trying to distract himself with work.”

  “That’s a good thing for more than one reason. Shitty reason, but …” Drexler trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to smart-ass his way through this situation. “What do you need?” He asked instead.

  “I need to talk to a native Insectoid doctor.”

  “That might be difficult,” Drexler said.

  “We are wanted criminals now, aren’t we?”

  “I’m afraid so. We can’t risk being located by our transmissions.”

  They both turned toward the door when Tara, Huey and several other insects entered.

  “We will take him now, Doctor,” Tara said. Her children lifted Dewey from the medical bed and carried him off before Samuel could object.

  “Wait,” the Doctor began, “I can still help him.”

  “And you have, Doctor,” Tara replied.

  “But, there is no need for him to die,” Samuel pleaded.

  Tara crossed the room and placed both hands on his shoulders, said, “You do not understand. He will not die. It is time for his metamorphosis. He will heal as he changes.”

  Drexler and Samuel turned to each other with quizzical expressions.

  “You are right. I don’t understand,” Samuel said.

  “Come see,” Tara replied. The two Humans followed her to the cargo bay serving as Insectoid quarters. Drexler had only been there twice.

  The first thing that Drexler noticed on entering the Insectoid habitat was the humidity. The second was the heat. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead that could not evaporate. His mouth fell open at the sight of Tara’s children in various stages of cocooning. He wondered where they got the soil from which plants native to their homeworld grew.

  Some of the insects bound themselves up in the branches of trees or the thick vines that ran between them. Others decided to use the bare cargo hold walls. Each corner of the hold contained complete cocoons, with some stuck to the walls at various levels.

  “Tara,” Drexler asked, “When you say ‘metamorphosis’, what exactly do you mean?”

  Tara’s children busied themselves carrying Dewey to a nearby tree. With great care, they began wrapping him with their own thread. To Samuel’s surprise, Dewey stirred and assisted in the process.

  “It means that my children will become adults,” Tara answered. The voice synthesizer added the unmistakable tones of pride to her statement.

  “You mean they were not fully grown?” Drexler asked.

  “No, this is what ‘child’ means. Did my translator not interpret this correctly?” If those words had not come from Tara, they might have been interpreted as sarcasm. Tara was nothing if not earnest.

  “Ah, no,” Drexler said, turning in circles, “I thought it was just a figure of speech. But why now?”

  “Because we have found you,” Tara replied.

  “Me?” Drexler asked, blinking with surprise. “I don’t understand.”

  “You prove to be the Deliverer.”


  Drexler chuckled, “Yes, I’ve been called a delivery person before, but I prefer ‘Merchant Astronaut.’”

  Tara’s wing covers rattled with her own version of a chuckle. She cocked her head. “I believe this word has more than one meaning in Tradespeak. There is a Human word for this that I just found while reading your spiritual literature.”

  “Spiritual?” Samuel asked, worry creeping into his voice.

  “Yes,” Tara replied. “The word is ‘messiah.’”

  Drexler stopped breathing. His eyes went wide.

  “Tara,” Samuel asked with great delicacy, “On your homeworld, what purpose does your hive serve?”

  Tara rose to her full height, said, “We are warriors,” with evident pride.

  Samuel turned to Drexler, seized his arm. To Tara, he said, “Would you pardon us for a moment, Broodmother.”

  “Certainly,” Tara said, bowing.

  Samuel hustled Drexler into the hallway and pinned him to the bulkhead, said, “Do you know what you brought onto this ship?”

  “Some pretty handy personnel, seems like.” Drexler said.

  “Didn’t you ask before you hired them?” Samuel demanded.

  “I asked the relevant questions. They were rated and licensed for cargo duty, what more did I need to know? Besides, how come you don’t know what they are?”

  “Because literature on the Insectoids is not that detailed. Also, because that’s your damn job!”

  “Samuel, what’s the big deal?”

  “You have no idea. The Insectoids are generally peaceful, except when they are not. When they are not, Captain, they are exceedingly lethal.”

  “Well, lucky for us, then. We could use some of that with what’s coming after us.”

  “You still don’t get it. What we saw on Kelgar was just a taste. They were not truly threatened by that encounter.”

  “Ah, they seemed pretty intent on fighting to me.”

  “No, they knew they had a chance, and they were not in a proper hive, and they were not adults. Look, I’ve seen the Stingers’ handiwork against the Reptiles along the border worlds. When they are truly threatened, they are utterly ruthless. You know how they didn’t want to kill and stopped short of a full attack?”

  “Yes,” Drexler replied, “I distinctly remember you urging them to press the offense.”

  “Because you don’t understand why. How can I explain this to you?” Samuel struggled to find the words. “You’re a student of history, so let me put it this way. Back on old earth, a century before the Diaspora, many nations had nuclear weapons.”

  “Right. The old Humans used them a few times.”

  “Yes. The logic of this was called M.A.D., for —”

  “Mutually assured destruction,” Drexler interrupted.

  “Yes! In a battle situation, think of the Insectoids as nukes, only take away the word ‘Mutual.’ If they think you are an enemy, I mean, a real enemy. They will flat out eliminate you. This is why the Union asks for Insectoid treaty assistance as a last resort and on a very small scale.”

  Drexler thought about this for a moment. He grew pale as he followed the logical chain. “And somehow,” he said, “They think I am some kind of … spiritual leader?”

  “A messiah, is the word Tara used.”

  “Oh, wow.” Drexler said.

  “Yeah.” Samuel replied.

  “Well, ain’t that some shit,” Drexler said.

  ***

  It saddened both Cila and Fourseven to understand they now faced a war of violence. Their mission to find the Lost Colony carried the moral equivalence of war, and they did not expect to take lives. But as they approached the Kelgar 7 space station, they came under directed energy weapons fire. Luckily, Protector’s defensive fields protected them from the worst of it. They accrued some damage and casualties. The combined Hive gathered the evidence they needed to discover that the Reptilians intended to destroy them. By a simple calculus, they concluded that they were at war.

  At first, Fourseven thought that Protector’s defensive posture drew the attack. She tried in vain to communicate with the station. She explained that she was under attack, that the perpetrator was likely in pursuit. She broadcast her Trade Union authentication code. Kelgar 7 Station continued firing. She pleaded with her attackers to cease hostilities, warning them of what would happen if they failed to do so.

  When the attack continued, Fourseven asked for a battle plan. The Protector made a strategic retreat in the form of a quick orbit around the planet. Fourseven had her battle plan before the return orbit. The Protector took a little more damage, but managed to knock out all the station’s weapons. From there, the ship landed on the cylindrical central hub, and a space-walking army formed up with cutting tools to breach the hull.

  Three Arachnids and two of Fourseven’s soldiers lost their lives in taking the station. Fourseven gave strict orders to leave the station commander alive, along with a handful of common soldiers. All other occupants were ordered killed. The insects went about their killing in the most efficient way possible. Fourseven entered the station as the last of the Reptiles died. She made her way immediately to the Station command center where the wounded station leader sat bound to a chair with spider web.

  “I will ask you again,” Fourseven said to the Reptilian station commander, who struggled against his restraints, “Why are Reptilian Military forces operating inside the trade lanes.”

  The Reptile said nothing. His head rolled around in shallow circles. Fourseven stung him again with just enough toxin to kill his left forearm. She loosened the tourniquet to allow the poison to spread past his elbow. The Reptile screamed and yellow foam spurted from his mouth.

  “We can end this quickly. It is up to you. You attacked us. I want to know why. Why do you threaten us?” When the Reptile refused to speak again, Fourseven plunged her sharp finger into the hearing diaphragm at the base of the Lizard’s skull. The spasm of pain caused the thin webbing to cut into his flesh, producing more agony.

  “I will tell you! Please! I beg you! No more pain, please. Make it stop and I will tell you everything!” The Reptilian pleaded as his pale, pink blood ran from his punctured ear.

  “Then speak! Do you think I enjoy this? You make yourself a threat to my Hive. This is survival, nothing more!”

  “It’s the battle plan. This is a rear support station.”

  “What battle plan!” she loosened the tourniquet again. The Lizard screamed, spasmed and lost control of his bowels. The Arachnids turned away, but Leader watched with an expression of horror he could not hide.

  “Tell me and end your sorrow!”

  “We will attack the Trade Union soon. Very soon. The Fleet Alpha Commander was on his way to set the plan in motion. You surprised him. He had to attack you.”

  “What of the Merchant ship.”

  “It got away. We had a single fighter craft here. Your kind attacked it. Gone. Ship gone, they stole it.”

  Fourseven stood up and faced Leader with a quizzical look.

  “I do not know, Fourseven,” Leader said. “I do not understand how this merchant ship might engage a combat craft.”

  Fourseven turned back to the station commander. “I believe you,” she said. “I give you the opportunity to die in combat or with a quick stroke.”

  “Please,” the Reptile whispered. “No more. End this, please.”

  “I am sorry,” she said, before pouncing. She mounted the reptile’s shoulders, knocking the chair backward to the floor. Her stinger entered his abdomen, pierced all three of his hearts, and shot venom into his spinal column. He gave a single violent spasm and died.

  Fourseven rose slowly. She wrestled with the twin feelings of primal rage and Sentient regret at the need to take life.

  “I am sorry for this,” She said to the room. Not a single individual found suitable words. The silence felt damning.

  “We need to hurry,” said the lead Arachnid, a hulking male. He didn’t look at Fourseven d
irectly and kept his long hunting rifle at a conspicuously high angle.

  “Yes,” Leader added, “That war ship is heading this way. It will be here very soon.”

  “We should destroy it and this station,” The Arachnid troop leader said.

  “No,” Fourseven replied. “The war ship is still not threat enough. We will leave this station as a message. They need to see the results of their aggression in our response.” and she left the room at a brisk pace.

  Once onboard the protector again, she asked the crew to set a course away from the system by the fastest route. The combined engineering staff of Winged and Arachnid already made enough repairs to return their speed capability to fractional C. They estimated blinkpoint capability after an additional day of repair.

  Fourseven deployed a flight chair from its compartment beneath the deck and reclined in it near the main viewing port. She rarely rested, but the violence took more from her than she could stand. Cila joined her on her own chair. The Protector already learned how to configure furniture suitable to both the Winged and Arachnid alike.

  “We killed them all,” Fourseven said.

  “What does this all mean?” Cila asked. “Why did they attack us?”

  “We stumbled on their plot. They mean to attack the Trade Union.”

  “But why?”

  “They believe it is in their nature.”

  “The way you say that,” Cila replied, “makes me think you are not certain about it.”

  “I believe sentience precludes this type of violence by nature. We kill by necessity, perceived or otherwise. We have a choice. We choose violence only when it means survival.”

  “It seems the Reptiles are forcing choices now.” Cila said.

  “It does appear so,” Fourseven responded, as the stars turned to white streaks with blood red tails.

  27

  Margaret Fleetfoot-Nautiyal stormed from the courtyard too angry for tears. She questioned whether or not the last decade of her life was a lie. The thin soles of her sandals transmitted the chill of the cold marble floor to her feet as she stomped along. Her only desire was to reach the gardens to let the fresh air inspire a plan to get off this planet that now felt like a prison. The quickest way to the gardens was through the kitchen. She did not expect to see Mother Parveen there making tea.