The Omega Drive

by Nik Whittaker

  “You better have a good explanation for shooting Thrysk, Vittoria, or this meeting will end quickly,” he said, holding her eye contact.

  “I do,” she said.

  “Kill that wench Val!” Thrysk screeched, still on the floor. The blood was pooling. Valen held up a finger to him.

  “Thrysk has been skimming from your profits for years Val, not to mention the side deals.”

  Valen smiled, a glance at Thrysk’a face of horror confirmed his suspicions.

  “Tell me something I didn’t know,” Valen replied, “I’ve been keeping track of his extracurricular activities for some time, but thank you for making it easier for me to deal with.”

  “I can assume, then, that you also know that he has also been trading the slavers in your pits, with the trafficking channels through the Azure Network?”

  The Azure Network was the back channels of the galaxy, where the darkest and most vile deals were made. Even many criminals steered clear of it due to its nature, Valen included. His slavery network wasn’t the most honest business, however he had a moral code that he followed, his own set of standards.

  “Is this true?” Valen turned to Thrysk.

  “Well… ” Thrysk paused for too long.

  “Explain,” Valen demanded.

  “How do you think we keep our numbers up Val?” Thrysk argued, between gasps, “we were losing traction, and I had to find a way to keep us profitable! I did what I had to, so we stayed in business!” Thrysk went from pleading, to anger.

  “You know my reasons, never innocents, never the helpless!” He shouted back.

  Lyla had been watching the event unfold, flashed a glance at Vittoria, curious as to why she was taken by the clan if that was the case. She didn’t have time to think on the topic any longer, as Thrysk jumped to his feet. Diving forward as he drew a side arm, and aimed it at Vittoria.

  “Little wench! This is your fault!” He rasped.

  With a smooth motion Jonir, shrugged his shoulders to swing his hammer over his head. As it arched around him, he grabbed the long handle and forced the hard metal block into Thrysk’s wrist. The crunch was audible for a second, before the scream filled the air. Thrysk's hand dangled limply from his arm, his gun tumbling to the ground.

  Valen nodded at Jonir, his actions were fair in the situation, no action would be taken against him. He then waved over a guard from behind the lights to take Thrysk away.

  “It appears I owe you a favour, Vittoria. Let us go somewhere more habitable to speak,” He gave the slightest of bows, this was the most gratitude they would get for outing the rot within his ranks.

  25

  It had been two hours since Oswell had visited the jail. The three Coyotes had been moved from the cells, and were now in a locker room. On a small pop-up table in front of them, an assortment of food and drinks had been put out, nourishment to ensure they were at fighting strength.

  “Any ideas?” Tanner asked Dack and Tylr.

  They both shrugged as they ate, what they could only assume was some type of chicken.

  “I’ve heard of O.H. Network productions before,” Dack said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Mostly shock factor entertainment, death-matches and the like.”

  “Well, that sounds wonderful.”

  “Three against four,” Tylr said without looking up from their food.

  “Come again?” Tanner asked.

  Tylr finished their mouthful before continuing.

  “There’s four Jackals against the three of us,” they explained, “Three against four.”

  “Even better,” Tanner rolled his eyes.

  A voice rang on the PA system, it echoed around the room, and sounded as though it was playing in several rooms around them.

  “Five minutes until showtime.”

  A view screen on a trolly that was at the side of the locker room stuttered into life. The face of Orwell appeared on it, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hello Coyotes,” he beamed. “It’s nearly time for action! Now, you will be heading into a classic deathmatch, which means anything goes. I don’t expect you all to survive, the more death, the better the ratings,” another giggle from Orwell trickled out.

  “What about the odds?” Tylr asked dryly.

  “Odds? Oh, good question! It is three on four, so here’s the deal. The fighters will be time released, at random, to enter the ring. So the odds will change as the fight goes on. Fair?”

  “Not really,” Dack sighed.

  “Perhaps not, but the ratings will be through the roof! Now prepare for battle Coyotes! The Jackals will be waiting!”

  The television cut off, and footsteps at the door indicated the arrival of the guards. Seven of them poured into the room, all wearing full body armour and carrying rifles.

  “On your feet,” they barked, the Coyotes had no choice but to follow.

  “This mission is going beautifully well so far don’t you think?” Dack said, as they marched out the room.

  They walked into a room which contained several small cages, each with a chain extended above it.

  “Get in,” the guards shouted. Each cage was only big enough for one person, and made of solid metal bars. Once inside, the guards locked the doors to the cage, checking they were sealed, then left the room.

  “Isn’t this exciting,” Dack said, sarcastically.

  Seconds later they were being raised. The cages lifting through a trapdoor in the ceiling, and into the arena.

  The roar of spectators filled the air, and the smell of stale alcohol, sweat, and smoke was almost smothering. The cages swung through the arena, until they were close to the centre. On the opposite side, the Jackals were in similar cages. Each cage was barely large enough for any of them to move, and several meters apart.

  Below them, a large ring was scattered with an assortment of weaponry and objects, from hammers and axes, to chairs and tables. Three ropes ran around the ring and the space outside, contained more items.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Oswell’s voice reverberated around the area. “Welcome to the show! To the twenty thousand here in attendance, and to the millions watching across the Galaxy, I hope you are ready for this! The Coyotes, The Jackals, a fight to the death!”

  “Hey Dack,” Tanner shouted over from his cage, his voice barely travelling over the crowd.

  “Yeah?”

  Before Dack could reply, his cage opened from beneath him, the floor hatch swinging.

  Dack crumpled to the ring mat, the shock of the fall not allowing him time to be ready for the landing. On the opposite side of the ring, Dos, the second of the Jackals, had also fallen and was scrambling to his feet.

  A massive screen on the far wall of the arena, depicted the two of them in close up, overlaid by a timer which had began counting down from two minutes.

  Dack’s eyes darted back and forth around the ring, before pausing on a long-handled hammer which he grabbed and rose to meet Dos.

  Dos had picked up a large iron bar, his straining muscles defined under his black armour, showed the weight of the bar. He was a large man, twice the size of Dack.

  “So, we still working together here?”

  Dos swung the bar over his head, the end crashing to the mat. Dack barely had time to dive to his right to avoid it smashing into his head.

  “Take that as a no then,” he swung the hammer towards Dos’ right ankle, where it connected with a sickening crack. The crowd cheered as the replay of the damage in slow motion played on the screens above them.

  Dos dropped to his left knee, and tried to put weight to his foot. Before he could rise, Dack had leapt forward and swung the hammer across Dos’ back. The force snapped the wooden handle and Dos fell forward into the mat. Another roar of the crowd, and Dack raised the broken bar in defiance. The energy from the crowd was infectious.

  Dos rolled onto his back, and stared at Dack, his eyes bulging from under the dark red skull mask he wore. A klaxon went off, and the crowd went silent.


  A thud behind Dack made him spin on the spot, Tres had landed on the floor behind him. She was smaller than Dos, but with an agility, and focus that made up for it. Perfectly balanced on her feet, she was poised ready to attack.

  “Shit,” Dack whispered and searched for another weapon.

  Tres rolled forward with grace and picked up a metal chain laying near her feet. Dack had ran for a chair which was near him. Before he reached it, Tres had whipped the chain and it caught his left arm. The momentum wrapping the chain around his arm, she pulled it backwards. It nearly wrenched his arm from its socket, as the force caused him to fall to the floor. Tres pulled the chain, dragging Dack towards her. He scrambled for anything he could grab with his right hand; it caught the broken end of the hammer he’d just dropped.

  As he got into range, he thrust the wooden shard upwards, aiming for Tres’ arm, but she expected the attack and kicked his hand away. Lifting him by the chain, she pulled him to a kneeling position in front of her, and with the other end of the chain wrapped around her fist, punched him in the jaw.

  The blood flew from his mouth like a fountain of crimson, the only thing stopping him falling to the floor was the chain, which still held to his arm. He hung from it, dangling like a marionette. A step behind him indicated that Dos had returned to the fight, walking gingerly, but walking nonetheless, on his damaged ankle. Dos grabbed Dack’s head with his giant hands, almost covering it, and began to squeeze.

  The klaxon rang out, and another Jackal dropped into the ring.

  26

  The Fortean headquarters was sparse, efficiency over style. A table in the centre of the room had enough seats to accommodate ten people, though now it only had four, Vittoria, Valen, Lyra and Jonir. Valen had insisted his guards wait outside, knowledge of Thrysk’s betrayal had led him to have doubts of his entire organisation.

  “Now that we are away from prying eyes and ears, what is it you want to know?” Valen got straight to business.

  “Triton, an object was found there. I need to know where it went,” Vittoria answered equally.

  “Triton? That seems so long ago, in fact, wasn’t that where we last spoke?”

  Vittoria nodded. “It was. I know you took the object, I just want to know where it ended up”

  Valen put his hands to his temples, massaging his head.

  “If you mean the metal artefact, I sold it,” he said, “it was just a trinket from a forgotten time, I had no use for it.”

  “Who bought it?” Lyla said, her interest peaked, now they had confirmation Valen had it.

  “Erm, I’ll have to check my books. Why do you need it?”

  “That’s not information on the table Val,” Vittoria replied.

  “Fair enough, let me check,” he rose, and moved over to a computer set into the wall. His hands danced over the keys.

  “How did you know about Thrysk?” He asked, while he worked.

  “He’s been dealing with the Azure Network since I was part of your slaves,” Vittoria said.

  “I never saw you as a slave,” he said, his voice sounded sincere, but Vittoria ignored the comment.

  “I saw him bringing new slaves into the pits, they were women and children. He gave the transport guards a payoff. It wasn’t until I spoke to one woman, I found out they’d been pulled off the streets of Plutia, kidnapped.”

  “This was when?”

  “The day I decided I needed to get away from you, I thought perhaps it was normal procedure, I wanted you to pay,” Vittoria replied.

  “I really didn’t know. I’m sorry. Tell me, how did you escape?”

  “I studied, learnt the ins and outs of the ships from books we smuggled into the mines. I got my hands on as much information I could, I wanted to know everything about the technology and engineering I could.”

  “Engineering? Makes sense, you always seemed to find the best way to streamline the work, always one of the highest quality…” his voice trailed off.

  “Slave?” Vittoria finished his sentence.

  “Workers,” Valen corrected.

  “Anyway, it allowed me all I needed to know about getting into the transport pods. Hacking the controls, and changing the logs to allow me to travel up to the Orbital Station,” she continued, “once there, I rigged up a beacon that bounced my tracking bracelets’ signal to the pod. Then set it to blow, once it left the station again.”

  “So when we finally tracked you, you weren’t even there?” Valen smiled, despite the fact she’d tricked him.

  “Exactly, it was only after I did more research that I realised you weren’t part of Thrysks’ plans. I wanted to get the information to you sooner, but my path was taken in other directions,” Vittoria glanced at Lyla. “I hoped that you would work it out for yourself, but it looks like you never did.”

  Valen paused, his head down for a moment before he continued his search.

  “I would never,” he whispered, “I started all this to help keep the prison population down, whilst helping the galaxy industries. I would choose only those who deserved to be punished to work the pits. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it’s all I could do,” he spoke as if confessing his sins.

  “Well, Thrysk wasn’t on the same page as you,” Vittoria replied.

  “Apparently so, I’ll need to root out all his followers now, maybe even close operations for a time.”

  “You’re welcome,” Vittoria said, her harshness had mellowed.

  The air went silent, Jonir and Lyla looked at each other uncomfortably.

  “Ah, here it is,” Valen broke the silence.

  “Well?” Lyla demanded.

  “It appears, I sold it onto Oswell Howlin,” Valen said.

  “Who?” Vittoria asked.

  “Shyza,” Jonir cursed, “Oswell Howlin, owner of Oh Entertainment. This moon’s primary entertainment source.”

  “I remember now. He had a fascination with all things historic a while back, when he was broadcasting some documentary about the Endlings.”

  “Where can we find him?” Lyla was getting up from the table, they'd wasted enough time already.

  “Well, his newest venture is the death-matches, the arena he works out of is a few miles away, but not far.”

  “Great, point us in the direction and we’ll be on our merry way,” Lyla was halfway out the door.

  “Wait, I think there’s a show on,” Valen pressed a button on the table, and a holographic television flicked into view on one of the walls.

  “Oh. My. God.” Lyla gasped, and held up her hands to her mouth.

  On the screen in front of them, Dack was lying on the floor of a ring, blood pouring from his mouth and several other wounds. Above him three Jackals stood, arms raised in victory.

  27

  Dack had lost a lot of blood.

  The arrival of another Jackal had meant he had no hope of fighting back now, outnumbered as he was.

  The new addition, Cuatro, was a small man, but he hit the floor with a thud, the weight of his muscles pulling him down.

  Whilst Dos still held Dack between his massive hands, and Tres holding him arm in chains, Cuatro simply moved in front of him and planted a kick to his chest. He was sure he heard the crack of his ribs, before he felt the pain; he wanted to curl up into a ball but the others held him upright.

  Glancing upwards, he could see Tanner and Tylr swinging above him, they looked like singing birds in cages. The blood loss was making his head swim.

  There’s worse way to go, he thought as he blinked, waiting for another strike.

  It came in the form of a kick from the little man; he felt his nose crunch under foot as it landed. This time the larger Jackal released him, he fell sideways, as Tres pulled his arm. Landing onto the mat, he felt a shot of pain jolt through his body. He thought he would vomit from the pain, but instead he lay there, the warmth of blood surround his face as it pooled around him.

  “Finish Him!” A voice shouted around the arena. Oswell was feeding the bloodlust of th
e crowd who, despite their love of the beating Dack was getting, were growing tired of the one-sided nature of the fight.

  Cuatro looked around the ring and, finding an axe, armed himself, and walked back towards Dack.

  The crowd fell into hushed anticipation, eyes peeled on what was to come.

  Dos kicked at Dack, rolling him onto his back. The lights of the arena shone into his face, causing him to squint, though the pain of his injuries made it hard to hold even keep his eyes open. Cuatro swung the axe, it blocked out the lights, Dack could see the metal blade arching over his head and come towards him.

  Using all his strength, he rolled to his right, pushing with his left arm, and twisted his body at the hip. The move got his body out of the way of the axe, but not his left arm. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before, as the blade sliced into his forearm just below the elbow. He screamed, both in pain and shock, as he pulled his arm towards him, leaving the remains of his hand and forearm behind on the mat. An arc of blood flowed from the wound, as he pulled it back towards him and cradled it in his chest.

  The klaxon rang out, though it was barely audible over the crowd's cheers at the gore.

  Dack glanced up through the tears in his eyes, he saw Tanner drop to the mat. He rolled as he land, and grabbed the first weapon he found, a dagger.

  Tanner dove forwards, a rage taking him, as he glanced over at Dack, the fire was stoked.

  The three Jackals poised to defend as Tanner ran at them, before he arrived he planted his feet and jumped. He flew forwards, like a missile, not high, but low, and with the dagger aimed forwards. He collided with Dos’ large legs and drove the dagger into the already wounded ankle. A twist of Tanners hand, and the muscles and broken bone of the ankle became visible through the torn flesh. Dos dropped to the ground once more, this time for good as his foot hung limply from the ankle, thin threads of flesh the only thing holding to together.

  Tanner used the fallen body of Dos for cover as he rolled away from the others. Back on his feet he circled the remaining Jackals. They did the same, moving to surround him, forcing him to check all his angles, as they prepared to strike. Tres had wrapped the chain around her arm and whipped the end at him. Tanner leaped backwards to avoid the swing. In doing so, he opened himself for an attack from Cuatro, who struck Tanners’ back with a roundhouse kick to the centre of his spine. Tanner flew forwards from the impact and caught a chain to the face, as Tres struck again.