Starship Desolation

by Tripp Ellis

  The blistering heat of midday had passed. If he was going to make it to the mountain range by nightfall, now was the time to start out. But feeling woozy with poison still in his system, and a wounded arm, Walker questioned his ability to make the journey. He had enough rations to last a few days. Best to camp in the burrow for the night and set out in the morning. He just hoped some other creature didn’t try to make this burrow its home during the night.

  12

  THE VERGE

  “The boy is not ready to be King,” Nuule protested.

  “He will rise to meet the challenge,” Rylon said. “Queen L’Naar was only 17 when she began her reign.”

  The two men spoke in hushed tones in the west colonnade outside of the senate building.

  “He knows nothing of leadership. He has no military training. He lacks the experience to inspire men to fight and die.”

  “He will learn.”

  “He should do so under the guidance of a steward.”

  “And who should the Steward of Saarkturia be? You?” Rylon said, smugly.

  “I have the allegiance of the generals. I am a veteran of many wars. I am the Chief Magistrate of the Senate, the highest elected official. It is my right, by law, to assume stewardship of the Empire in the event that an heir to the throne cannot, or will not, serve.”

  “Valinok is ready and willing to serve.”

  “The law is very clear. He is forbidden to serve until he reaches the age of majority.”

  “Do you really want to be the one to deny Valinok his rightful place on the throne?” Rylon was clearly threatening Senator Nuule.

  “No. That is not my intention,” he stammered. “I merely want to safeguard the throne. So much power at such a young age could be disastrous.”

  “I’m sure Valinok’s maturity will surprise you.”

  “I am not the only one with these concerns.”

  “Then perhaps you should give me the names of these people with concerns, so that I may assuage their fears.” Rylon was making another threat.

  Nuule’s eyes narrowed at him. If Rylon was going to threaten him, Nuule was going to threaten him back. It was a risky move. “Without the support of the military it will be impossible to lead.”

  “I have spoken with the generals. I have their support. I suggest you reconsider your position.”

  Nuule wasn’t sure if Rylon was lying. He knew he was a snake, and not to be trusted. Generals Surlos, Evadeen, and Larook had pledged their support to Nuule in private. Had they switched their allegiance?

  The Decluvian Ambassador is arriving shortly.

  “They are coming here?” His eyes were wide, and his voice was panicked.

  “I am negotiating a treaty.”

  Nuule’s face tightened. “All treaty negotiations must meet the approval of the Senate.”

  “You can continue to challenge my authority, if you wish. But I am acting at the bequest of our next King.” A smug smirk curled up on Rylon’s lips. “We can argue about the specifics of Saarkturian law, but Valinok’s ascension to the throne is inevitable. It would be unwise to interfere. Good day, Senator.”

  Rylon left Nuule fuming in the colonnade. The magistrate’s eyes burned into Rylon like laser beams as he walked away. He knew he was in danger. Rylon would eliminate all who opposed him.

  Queen L’Naar had kept Rylon on a short leash during her reign. He was her political attack dog. But unrestrained, there was no limit to the mayhem he could cause. He didn’t seem to have a soul or a conscience. His lust for power was his only guide. If Nuule was going to stop him, it wasn’t going to be through political means. He was going to have to get his hands dirty. It was either kill Rylon, or be killed.

  13

  SLADE

  Giles squared off against Slade. He gripped the baton in his right hand, slapping the tip into his left palm. Crack. Crack. Crack. He had a scowl on his face, and his eyes were menacing. He moved closer.

  Slade prepared for a fight. Giles was a big guy. He was going to be a lot tougher to bring down than the short, stocky inmate. She’d let him take the first swing, she thought. She’d let his momentum work against him. Once he committed to a swing, his full body weight would be behind it. She could dodge, then make her attack. Take out a knee. Kick him in the groin. Smash his trachea. Gouge his eyes out. That was her plan.

  But she didn’t need it.

  “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Giles said.

  Slade’s face twisted up, quizzical.

  “That little stunt you pulled is gonna set us free.” Giles grinned. “Those guards would never have come in here if you hadn’t beat the snot out of that punk.”

  Giles turned to the gang of inmates that were beating the guards. “That’s enough. We need them alive, you morons!”

  The ship’s bridge was sealed off from the detention center. There were security cameras embedded everywhere on board. The inmates hoisted the guards onto their feet and dragged them in front of a camera.

  With a pistol to O’Connor’s head, Giles made his demands. “I know you can hear me. I just wanted to let you know, there’s been a little change of plans. We’re going to make a detour. You’re going to take us to Beta Hydras, or these guards are going to die.” Giles smiled.

  But his smile didn’t last long. The compartment filled with a noxious gas. The inmates quickly began coughing and gasping for air. The gas vented in from several ports. Soon the air was thick with haze.

  Slade felt her chest grow tight. She wheezed for breath and felt lightheaded. Then everything went black.

  A swift kick to the ribs woke Slade from her slumber. She was no longer aboard the Gibraltar. She was in the prisoner processing station of Alpha Ceti 7. How long and she been unconscious?

  “On your feet, scumbag!” yelled a guard as he towered over her.

  Slade’s head was throbbing from the gas. Her mouth was dry and pasty. Her lungs burned from the harsh chemical. The kick in the ribs wasn’t helping anything either.

  She crawled to her feet and fell inline with the other inmates. But it wasn’t fast enough. As soon as she stood up, the guard planted a fist in her belly. She doubled over in pain.

  “When I say move, you move.” This guy made O’Connor seem friendly. “You got me?” His nameplate read: J. Pemberton.

  “Yes, sir,” Slade choked out.

  Pemberton had short brown hair, buzzed high and tight, a thick nose from multiple fractures, and one artificial eye. But just one look in his good eye, and Slade knew everything she needed to know about this man. He was a killer. And he took this job because he got off on control.

  Pemberton looked Slade up and down. Then he walked the line of prisoners. The processing room was a sparse, with grimy walls. The greenish fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bathing the room in a sickly pallor.

  “Welcome to Alpha Ceti 7. Your worst fucking nightmare. Each and every one of you are here because you are a dirt bag that society has no use for. You are beyond rehabilitation, as your behavior on the trip over here has demonstrated. It is unfortunate that we no longer have the death penalty. That would make my life a lot easier. I am Captain Pemberton, and you will refer to me as sir, or my title. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the inmates muttered.

  “I didn’t hear you!”

  “Yes, sir,” they shouted.

  “Some of you are former military. Some of you are civilians. I suspect the former military will fall in line a little quicker around here. If you obey my commands, I’m sure your stay here will be more pleasant. If you don’t, accidents can happen, and we have plenty of body bags.”

  It reminded Slade of her first day in basic training.

  Pemberton introduced a man with an off white suit and round wire-rimmed glasses. He was a stark contrast to the grimy shit-hole of a prison. “This is Warden Carson. He is God to you scumbags. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carson smiled. “Now don’t let Captain Pemb
erton scare you. I’m not so bad, if you obey my rules. But, if you plan on being a troublemaker. You should be very afraid. Because Captain Pemberton is wrong. I am not God. I am the devil himself.”

  Slade could see in Carson’s eyes a man with a cold heart.

  Carson walked the line and took note of the prisoners. His eyes lingered on Slade longer than the rest. His eyes soaked in her shapely form like a desert during rain.

  “For those of you involved in the riot aboard the Gibraltar, you will be pleased to know that Lieutenant O’Connor has suffered massive brain damage. He’ll likely never utter a coherent word again.” Carson looked over the motley crew again. “Well, I’ll leave you good people in Captain Pemberton’s capable hands.”

  Carson left the processing station.

  “Alright, dirtbags. Time to get disinfected. Strip down.”

  Slade cringed. Was she really going to have to get naked in front of this bunch? She was the only woman in the bunch. Apparently there was no segregation between male and female prisoners.

  The rest of the degenerates peeled out of their jumpsuits. It was not a pretty sight. Some were fit and trim. Some were not. Some looked like they hadn’t seen the sun in years. And some looked like they hadn’t taken a shower since the first Verge War.

  “What’s the matter, princess? You too good for this? Are you shy? Are you embarrassed?” Pemberton asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then take your fucking clothes off!”

  14

  WALKER

  When it came to medical technology, the Saarkturians knew what they were doing. By the morning, Walker’s wounds were almost healed. He wasn’t going to be bench pressing 300 pounds any time soon, but he had a good range of motion and only mild soreness. The regenerative gel had done its job.

  “What do you say, Bailey? You ready for a walk?”

  Bailey barked.

  Walker gathered his gear and crawled out of the hole into the freezing pre-dawn desert. The underground burrow had acted as insulation from the elements. It kept cool during the day and retained warmth during the night. Walker wanted to crawl back inside for a moment. It was much more appealing than stepping out into the harsh environment.

  The mountains were roughly twenty miles away. Not a leisurely stroll, but doable.

  Bailey didn’t want to leave the burrow. And who could blame him? The little guy was shivering.

  “C’mon. Don’t be a wuss.”

  Bailey whimpered.

  “I get it. I want to stay in there where it’s warm and sleep all day too. But you’re in the UPDF now. And UPDF Marines don’t get cold.”

  Bailey looked up at him with big sad blue eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” The two stared at each other for a moment. “Okay, fine. Stay here. But I’m moving on.” Walker took a few steps. “Don’t come crying to me when you get lonely.”

  Bailey whimpered but stayed at the mouth of the burrow.

  Walker stopped and looked back at him. “C’mon boy.”

  But Bailey wasn’t having any of this cold nonsense.

  Walker sighed. “New recruits,” he muttered as he marched back to Bailey. He slung his pack from his shoulders and set it on the ground. He pulled out a small blanket. He wrapped Bailey up and put him in the pack with his head protruding out. Then he sealed the pack around him to keep him warm. He hoisted the pack onto his back. Bailey rode piggy back, surveying the terrain over Walker’s shoulder. He was like a king, and Walker was his personal chauffeur.

  “Happy now?”

  Bailey barked.

  “I think you’re faking it just to get a free ride.”

  Walker marched toward the mountains. He stayed on solid ground, making sure to avoid dunes, or mounds of sand, or anything else that might indicate a creature burrowed underneath.

  Once the sun was peeking over the horizon, Bailey was ready to climb out of the pack. It was that time of morning that felt pleasant and tropical. Walker let him out and Bailey followed along on foot. Bailey had no problem keeping up with Walker as he jogged.

  By the time they reached the mountainous region, Walker was exhausted. He felt like he had sweated out enough liquid to fill a swimming pool. He guzzled down some of his water, and let Bailey drink his fill. But at this rate, their water supply was going to go fast. Dehydration was going to become a serious concern.

  Walker’s exposed skin was already red and peeling from sun exposure. The UV light emanating from the sun was intense. The thinner atmosphere wasn’t shielding out as much of it. It didn’t seem to bother Bailey at all. His skin was built for this climate.

  The two snaked their way into a canyon. Its sheer cliffs would provide shade from the sun in the mornings and afternoons. But noon was fast approaching. And there was another problem. Walker got the distinct impression that something was following them. Another predator, out there, stalking them.

  A falling rock. A blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. A gut feeling. That’s all he had to go on. But it was enough. He had learned long ago to trust that little voice that whispered in the back of his mind. Every time he had ignored that feeling, he had wished he’d listened.

  Walker marched through the canyon and found an overhang that provided cover. The massive rock jutted out at an almost perpendicular angle. Walker and Bailey climbed into the protective alcove and took shelter. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it might get them through the hottest part of the day. Hopefully the rocks would radiate enough warmth to get them through the night.

  Noon was tough. The reflection of the sun on the bright sand was blinding. It was enough to burn your retina, if you stared at it long enough. Every breath of air was like fire. Nothing moved on the surface of this planet at midday. Not even bugs.

  As the afternoon began to cool, Walker set out to find some wood for a fire. The only vegetation on this rotten planet were the twisted thorn-filled trees. He used his tactical sword to hack the branches. The blade had serrations near the hilt. It wasn’t as good as a saw, but with some effort, it worked. He cut down a few trees and carried the wood back to the campsite, making several trips. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were upon him.

  After the sun dipped down below the horizon, Walker made a fire. He and Bailey huddled around it and ate some rations. It almost felt like camping. All they needed were some marshmallows. But this was one trip to the wilderness that wasn’t going to end.

  Walker planned on getting an early start in the morning to look for a more suitable, long-term shelter. He wrapped Bailey up in a blanket, and the two settled in for some shut-eye. Walker used his pack as a makeshift pillow. The amber flames flickered and popped and threw off a nice amount of heat. The alcove in the rocks seem to hold in the warmth rather well. All in all, it wasn’t a bad place to camp for the evening.

  By the middle of the night, the fire had died down. Only a few glowing coals and ash remained. And the temperature had dropped considerably. But that wasn’t the worst of their problems.

  There was a howling in the distance. The discordant sound drew closer.

  In the darkness, Walker could hear heavy footsteps and deep rumbling breaths. He peeled his eyelids open and stared out into the night. Staring back at him were three pairs of fierce eyes, reflecting the glow of the smoldering embers of the fire. The eyes stood maybe three feet above the ground. They weren’t human. Throaty snarls filled the air. The eyes drew closer. These were the eyes of a predator. No doubt about it.

  15

  THE VERGE

  “This agreement is unacceptable to us.” The Decluvian Ambassador crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. His face was stern. Ugly. But stern.

  The Decluvian’s had evolved from an amphibian species. They had brightly colored skin with black spots. The ambassador’s predominant color was orange, but some were blue, others were yellow, some were green, and some displayed multiple colors.

  Large, protruding eyes gave them almost 360 degree visio
n. They had long, slender fingers—three on each hand, and an opposable thumb. There was slight webbing in between the digits. The tips of their fingers could adhere to almost anything. They preferred hot and humid climates with lots of water. And water was something the Decluvians were running out of.

  They were an aposematic species—their skin was toxic. And they could also secrete the toxin through sweat when threatened. Touching a Decluvian could be a deadly proposition. The poison easily permeated through Saarkturian and human skin. Almost instantaneous paralysis and loss of autonomic function would result.

  They didn’t really have tentacles—that was the stuff of urban legend and contemptuous jokes. But there were plenty of other species out in the cosmos that did have tentacles.

  The two men sat at a table in a conference room within the palace. The Ambassador had two personal guards with him. Rylon attended the meeting without guards—though they weren’t far away.

  “We’ve conceded the Thelovian sector,” Rylon said. “I’ve offered the Kophosis realm, which has more water than you could use in a hundred lifetimes. Plus the promise of lasting peace between our great civilizations.”

  “Saarkturia must become a Decluvian colony and swear allegiance to Emperor Tyvelon,” said Ambassador Borgnavi.

  Rylan gritted his teeth and smiled. Borgnavi was full of himself. There was no way a Saarkturian would ever bow down to a Decluvian. And, apparently, they felt the same way.

  “What I’m offering is a peaceful coexistence, and a shared throne. With a Decluvian Queen on a Saarkturian throne, you are guaranteed a voice and a legacy in the monarchy.”

  Borgnavi kept his stern look.

  “Allegiance to the Emperor.”

  Rylon sighed. “I have made a good faith gesture with Thelovian. Keep it. The sector is yours. When you wish to resume these negotiations, in good faith, let me know.” He smiled and stood up from the table.