by David Roman
“Let’s go,” Exander said, hasting out of his chair as Spaide maneuvered the Serpent to land. He then turned to the rest of the crew and warned, “Put on your hoods. We definitely don’t want to be recognized here. Unlike Sebalon, this place is swarming with Imperials and mercenaries who might get smart ideas.”
Once the ship safely landed, they followed Exander.
Damocles and Gaia assisted Vincent on how to put on the so-called “lung filter”—a small device with an extended tube that was forked for the insertion into the vestibules of the nose.
“It purifies the contaminated air,” Gaia explained as Vincent studied the peculiar object, “separating oxygen from carbon dioxide. It works for several hours, but we don’t plan on being here any longer than that.”
Vincent attached the device to his belt and inserted the tubes into his nose. He then threw on the hooded jacket, retained his glasses, and joined the group at the back of the cabin.
Damocles carried a bag, seemingly filled with weapons. This time, he wore a hooded poncho over his broad shoulders. Exander covered his hair in a bandanna and lowered his hood, concealing his face and his unique blonde features. Gaia shrouded herself in a coat, and Spaide was empty-handed with the exception of the revolvers that clanged under his long leather jacket.
“Here we go.” Spaide hit a switch, and the gate opened, lowering the ramp onto the rooftop where a strange-looking robed creature awaited them.
The creature was a reptilian humanoid with squamous crimson skin. He had a flat nose which nearly blended with his face, his nostrils being just two slits above his upper lip. Instead of hair, he had long, golden spikes extending from the top of his head and neatly cut over his yellow eyes with the pupils in the shape of diamonds. He slightly hunched, and the back of his robes bulged out, indicating that he had a tail.
“We mussst hurry,” the creature said with a sibilant voice. His teeth were razor-sharp and his tongue was like that of a snake.
“Are we late?” Spaide asked, passing by the creature.
“They leave in half an hour,” the reptilian replied, disregarding the rest of the group and walking alongside the Dirsalian. “They are nearly complete with the refueling processs. The electric maintenanccce team was scheduled to be there twenty minutesss ago!”
“Relax, Servillas, that’s more than enough time.”
The creature rushed ahead to one of the two roof accesses. “Come on!”
“Are they taken care of?” Exander asked.
“Who?” the reptile asked.
“This maintenance team!”
“Yesss, we got them,” the creature replied, throwing Vincent a baffling look. “But we only have four uniformsss,” he added.
“Then one of us must stay,” Spaide said, first looking at Gaia, then at Vincent.
“Oh, stop!” Exander retorted. “We need everyone besides the human. But honestly, I’d rather die than let him out of my sight.”
“You’ll have to figure out a way to sneak me in, then.” Vincent spoke for himself, which made his alien companions stare at him in disbelief. He didn’t seem hesitant about it and just boldly said the last statement. He was tired of all this crap—the sight of that carrier made him realize that he’d more than likely not make it out of here anyway.
“Huh,” Exander scoffed, a smile appearing on his ever-irascible face. “Perhaps I have underestimated you, Vincent of Saturn. But worry not, we shall get on that ship together, and then we’ll see whether you are what you say you are.”
Vincent exhaled and followed the group, realizing that their full trust undeniably required some bloodshed.
The reptile led the party down the roof access. After twenty stories and hundreds of decaying steps, they exited the building. The air—a sickening cocktail of kerosene, methane, and gasoline—entered their lungs, forcing both Vincent and Gaia to spastically cough even though they wore the purifier. The streets were paved with black asphalt and stained with tar and oil spills that occurred on a daily basis. Thousands of different creatures and robots made their way to and from the spaceport, and the sly vendors found their way onto the corners, soliciting the public. Bikes and small jets hovered above the crowd in multiple directions.
Exander nudged Vincent, who was once again awestruck by the countless unknown things. “Head down,” he warned.
“You should’ve seen him on Sebalon… he—” Spaide began but then became quiet, lowering his head.
In front of them, marching amid the mass, was a large group of men armed to the teeth. They were dressed in dark-blue outfits topped with metallic armor. A thoroughly designed chest protector covered their upper torsos, pads covered their limbs and joints, and a round helmet with a visor covering their eyes was atop their heads. Their jaws and the upper portions of their necks were the only visible parts, and to Vincent, they looked human.
Servillas veered to the right, followed by the rest of the group, trying to inconspicuously go around the brigade.
The armed squad cursed and shoved their way through the crowd, going past the companions without throwing them a second look.
“Imperial soldiers,” Gaia whispered as the gunmen were afar. As she mentioned that, Vincent began to notice them everywhere, nearly on every corner. They were mostly dressed in the same outfit, with a few differentials in the color of their uniform—perhaps due to rank. But they all shared a common trait: an emblem of a triangle within a circle—the insignia of the Imperial Republic.
The group continued down the street towards the Nomad, a portion of which loomed on the visible horizon between the rows of buildings.
Despite the constant warnings of not acting like a “dumbfound child” (a handle Spaide came up with), Vincent continued gawking at the numerous combat vehicles that passed by: there were levitating machines with over a dozen cannons; tanks operating atop a number of rubber spheres, making them versatile in any rough terrain; and robots in shapes ranging from those of a human to giant insects, up to several stories in size and covered in weapons. A horde of soldiers marched alongside the war machines, ensuring their safety as they were transferred to and from the battleships.
The reptilian turned into an alley with stashed piles of metal and spills covering portions of the ground. The passage led them to an immense construction site, which was one of the few empty pieces of land on this planet, expanding to nearly a square mile. Heads down, they swiftly marched across to the opposite end.
Sounds of machinery resonated from their left where countless workers were building the foundation of a future structure. Vincent raised his hand to shield from the sun and looked over at the source of the sound. A grandiose round robot—perhaps a hundred feet in height—was among the workforce, sunrays gleaming on its metallic casing. Half a dozen limbs extended from its body, each ending in the shape of a different contrivance. It rigorously used its limbs to do the work, producing painstaking noises that drove Vincent insane. As the party passed by, the robot stopped its work and turned its head—lifeless and dull, like that of a wearisome machine.
“A little further,” Servillas said as they reached the path on the other side.
The short passage flowed into another boulevard. The left side led downhill to the airport, where the long body of the Nomad was still visible. The view was somehow breathtaking: the pallid-orange sky, the airstrip below, overlapping catwalks from the buildings, the flying vehicles, and the flowing crowd of different creatures. The reptilian then led them across the busy street to an underground entrance.
The staircase was wide, accommodating large groups of people heading in either direction along with panhandlers lining the walls and harassing the passersby. The staircase went deeper and deeper, and eventually, after descending for quarter of a mile, the group entered an enormous cavern.
“Nice,” Vincent whispered at yet another marvelous sight. The cavern was easily as large as two football stadiums and twice as deep. Its walls were flanked with dwellings, their beacons lighting
the quarry along with a sun-like mega-lamp that hung in the middle of its rocky ceiling. Their path was cut into the wall, spiraling all the way down to the base. A metal balustrade lined the edges of the path, making sure some poor soul wouldn’t fall into the chasm, and a number of bridges ran across, providing a quick access to the other side.
“How much further?” Spaide asked before Exander could open his mouth.
“Almossst there.” The reptilian turned left and approached one of the structures built in the wall. He neared the entry and slid his hand into an opening to its left.
The door opened, and everyone rushed in.
The establishment was a store—an antique shop, to be more precise—full of gadgets and items the reptilian had collected over the years: levitating clocks, robotic pets, urns, plates, and tons of odd sundries. Locking the door, Servillas guided everyone to the back of the shop, down a staircase, and into a small room.
The room was dimly lit by old fluorescent lights attached to the ceiling by cords. Tables, lamps, and numerous devices were piled up in one corner, while four creatures sat in the other, stripped of their clothes and tied up to each other by a gleaming rope. They were bigger than the average human, covered in light-brown fur, with feline features and a tail that stuck out through their undergarments. They indifferently looked up at the group and then began muttering between each other.
Beside them was a green man in a trench coat, sitting comfortably in a rocking chair with a long rifle in his hands. He had large pointy ears pierced with globe earrings, slanted eyebrows, and olive-green eyes. His hair was tied in a topknot. He had one leg over the other and rocked back and forth, throwing the companions a smirking look.
“Shut it!” said a deep voice. The feline aliens fell quiet, and a big creature stepped out of the shadows behind the sitting man. He was a purple alien, somewhat shorter than Damocles, but twice as wide because of his humongous belly and arms with hands big enough to clasp a basketball. He had a large head, tiny blue eyes, a massive jaw, a small nose, and, instead of ears, holes on either side of his head. A tattoo covered the left side of his face.
“Grenald,” Spaide said, recognizing the stocky giant. “Looks like your handiwork.” He glanced over at the cat creatures which continued staring at them with those impassive eyes.
“Ah, Captain Spaide.” The creature shook the Dirsalian’s hand—like a grown man shaking the hand of an infant. “They don’t pose much of a challenge anymore.”
“If you’re bored,” Damocles said, “then maybe you ought to hang out with us a bit more.”
“Now this guy”—Grenald threw his arm over Damocles’ shoulder—“could make me break a sweat any day.”
“Nah, Grenald.” The big man blushed. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“This guy,” Grenald said, chuckling. “Spaide, you’re going to get yourself killed hanging out with this bunch. The price on your head escalates every day. ”
“Oh, those damn bounty hunters,” Spaide replied. “We just ran into several of ’em on Sebalon.”
“The bounty hunters aren’t the only problem,” the green alien said. “Word is that the Conglomerate itself has put a price on your head.” His voice was shrill, with a tone of mockery.
“Really?” Spaide dubiously looked over at Grenald. “I don’t think so, my Sabelian friend…” he said, and then clenched his jaw and added, “And you should not speak of matters that don’t concern you.”
“Costiban Kane,” Grenald introduced the green stranger. “My new partner and co-pilot.”
The alien nodded, still retaining his arrogant sneer.
“You can’t trust everyone nowadays, Grenald,” Spaide said, not taking his gaze away from the green man. He maintained a smile, but his companions knew the Dirsalian was livid on the inside.
“I vouch for him, Cap,” Grenald said, feeling uneasy. “Besides, we got the job done.”
“On such short notice, I might add,” Kane said, defiantly staring back at Spaide. “And I do hope we get compensated soon.”
“Come on, Cap.” Grenald went in defense of his friend before Spaide blasted him away. “Costiban’s a stand-up guy. We recently came from Dirasali, and it’s just… well, you know… you’re a legend there. People talk, this and that…”
Spaide cooled down and then smiled. “Very well, then.” He smiled because he knew. Oh, yes, he knew. He knew he could’ve planted a hole between Kane’s eyes before the latter could even raise his rifle. “Grenald, remind your new friend to mind his manners the next time he meets strangers,” he said, turning to the purple giant. “And I shall transfer the funds into Servillas’ account within minutes.”
There was a second of awkward stillness, during which Kane simply grinned.
“Well?” Exander finally spoke, breaking the silence, impatiently looking at the reptilian.
“Here are the clothesss,” Servillas said, going into the corner. “I hope they fit you, my friend,” he added to Damocles as he brought back a stack of clothes.
Exander clutched the stack. “Okay, then. Let’s hurry.”
Gaia grabbed one of the uniforms and headed upstairs. As the rest of the group took off their coats, Servillas, the late maintenance team, and the two mercenaries began staring at Vincent.
“He’s a mutie,” Spaide said.
“Isss he a Xenian mutant?” Servillas asked.
“That’s none of your business!” Exander intervened. As the twins took off their coats, Vincent noticed that they were already dressed in a black outfit with combat boots and fingerless gloves. A belt full of daggers with a blaster was around their waist, and a sword was concealed on their back.
The reptilian shrugged. “It’sss jussst I’ve never seen anyone like him…” he explained his surprising reaction, continuing to stare at Vincent.
“What of them?” Grenald gestured at the feline creatures.
“Let them go once we complete our task,” Exander replied, going through their weapon bag.
“But they saw our facesss!” The reptilian panicked.
“And now the precise location of your little novelty store,” Kane instigated.
Exander stood up, looking at Servillas and Kane. “They’re not soldiers. There’s no honor in killing innocent people.”
“Honor?” Kane scoffed.
Exander frowned. “You will let them go and burn this place down.”
“Burn the place?” Servillas exclaimed.
“Yes, burn it,” Exander said and then turned to the Dirsalian. “Spaide?”
Spaide pulled out his handheld device and showed its screen to the reptile. “Transfer’s complete.”
The creature shut his mouth and charitably bowed before the blonde. “Asss you wish.”
“Wait a minute…” Spaide shoved Servillas aside and went to the pile of junk in the corner. He grabbed the handle of what seemed to be a large cart and gave it a tug, scattering the junk all over the room. He then whirled on one heel and said, “I think I’ve got a plan.”
CHAPTER VI
The Nomad
Two sentries stood guard outside the cargo entrance at the stern of the ship. The task they were given was the envy of the rest of the crew, virtually lacking any responsibility other than standing around and keeping an open eye. But, like everything else in the universe, even such a post ultimately becomes a victim of laziness. Being a guardian soldier of General Na’ar’s warship at first sounded like a prominent position, but after days and days of the same routine, it had become a killer, leaving the guards fragile and ignorant. The only actions they ever witnessed were occasionally fending off spaceport bums or chasing away prying kids.
“Did you hear about the new PR1700?” said one of them, sitting on a metal crate and polishing his rifle with a cloth.
“Yeah,” replied the other, looking out for commanding officers. “The one that holds seventeen hundred rounds and spits twenty per second?”
“That’s fast,” the former continued. “I’d love
to get my hands on one of those. With it you could wipe out an entire battalion devoid of recharging.”
The latter scoffed. “You’ve got a long way till that promotion.”
“Not as long as you.”
“Like we’re ever going to use it anyway,” the standing guard said, kicking away a pebble. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to see a battle, much less a promotion.” And then he muttered to himself, “Who would’ve thought the military could be so boring?”
“I heard we ran into some action on Zazaban.”
The footed guard turned around. “Really?”
“Yes, and that we’re carrying a very important prisoner.”
“That’s drivel. You shouldn’t listen to that gossip.”
“Oh yeah?” The seated guard looked up. “And what were we doing on that barren planet, huh? And why do you think they have both of us watching this gate?”
“But we would’ve been told by now…”
“He may be so important that they decided not to inform us at all. It may even be…” The sentry put aside the cloth, looked around, and then leaned forward, whispering, “Oryon Krynne himself.”
The latter gasped. “Oryon Krynne?”
“Hush your mouth!” The former nearly jumped up. “Mentioning that name alone can get you locked up, you idiot.”
“Someone’s coming.” The standing guard clenched his rifle.
An odd group clad in blue jumpsuits approached them. A Dirsalian man was leading the way, carrying nothing more than a small handheld computer. Following him was a young Xenian man in a blue bandana. Behind him was another creature—a female, from what the guard could tell—her face covered in a gas mask. And at the rear of the gang was a huge Xenian man pushing a cart full of equipment.
“Finally, it’s that damned maintenance crew,” the seated guard said. “Deal with them.”
“Sure, don’t bother getting up,” the latter said and walked up to the peculiar group.
“You’re late,” were the guard’s first words as he neared them.
“We were working on another ship,” the smaller Xenian replied.
