Tawny stood there a moment and collected her thoughts, and her breath. As she came to grips with her new reality, she opened her mouth to speak and what fell from her lips appeared to shock the men before her. “No, I’m not willing to be part of your crew,” she said. “I’m not a follower, but a leader. I’m commandeering this ship and if you want to serve as part of my crew, then make your position known now.” Her words burned as they escaped her throat, but she soon realized the heat was from passion, nothing more. Coming so close to death opened her mind to a truth she hadn’t known about herself.
She had to make her own destiny.
Smythe looked to Jonah and the other man nodded. “We accept,” he said. “What are your orders?”
Tawny turned to see Thenden laying on the deck, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only indication he was alive. “Bring him to the med bay and get rid of Drake’s body. I don’t want blood splattered on my ship. Once Thenden is back on his feet, we head out for Medua.”
“Aye, sir,” Smythe replied, a smirk on his face as he and Jonah slipped into the airlock and grabbed Thenden, pulling his arms over their shoulders to haul him out.
“We’ll have this taken care of right away, Captain,” Jonah said as they passed.
Left alone with her thoughts, she turned a circle on what was now her ship. The Saharan Dream was a stupid moniker, and she would undoubtably rename the ship. How things changed as swiftly as they did, she had no idea, but she was thankful to whatever power had shifted the balance in her favor.
Looking at Drake’s lifeless body, she nudged it with her boot. “I guess you won’t have the legacy you sought after all, asshole,” she said, turning to walk to the med bay to take care of Thenden.
The next step was getting her father back, but if things were as bad as she thought, she would need a healthy crew. Would the four of them be enough?
“There’s only one way to find out,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m coming to get you, Dad. I promise.”
Author Drew Avera
Drew Avera has been a lot of things in life; a band geek, a comic book nerd, a pseudo rock star, an amateur artist, a Navy veteran, husband, and father. But beyond being a family man, his favorite is his role as the bestselling author of the space opera series, The Alorian Wars.
Getting his start with National Novel Writing Month 2012, the writing bug consumed him. Since publishing in 2013, Drew has written more than twenty books. His most notable works include The Dead Planet Series and The Alorian Wars. But there is plenty more on the way as he delves into new universes, always trying to find what ticks in his characters to bring them to life. Check out the worlds he's created by visiting his website. www.drewavera.com.
Skin Suits
By Justin Bell
Centuries after Earth's destruction, a descendent of the ancient planet makes one last attempt to rediscover his heritage, but when an insidious alien army stands in his way, his quest to find out who he was may just end the man he is.
Local airspace near the Darkened Zone at Ultega-4.
Now.
“Oh, come on you stupid piece of useless junk!” Jed leaned forward into the console, clamping his fingers around the jumping throttle controls, which twisted in his grip, threatening to wrench free.
“I thought you loved this ship, Jedidiah Kramer?” The narrow, peach fuzz head of Lork Davisk turned towards the pilot, his black eyes narrowing, perplexed.
“It’s Jed, dammit. Just call me Jed!” the pilot yelled back, the muscles of his forearms clenching as he drew back, pulling the yolks with as much strength as he could. “I’d love it a lot more if it weren’t held together with chewing gum and chicken wire!”
“More of your Earth colloquialisms,” Lork replied, looking back out the curved front canopy of the transport ship. “How precious.”
“Hopefully these skinjobs think I’m precious, too!” Jed levered his whole body left, sending the transport into a deep dive, or what would have been a dive had there been some kind of planetary reference point, instead of the vast inkwell of deep space. As the narrow ship careened, three other smaller fighters streaked by, leaving spent plasma blurred in their wake.
“You want the skins to find you precious?” Lork asked as he adjusted the weapons controls embedded in the dashboard above his lap.
“Hey if it keeps them from flaying the flesh from my black butt to wear as a hat, I’m all for it!”
Lork shook his head. “I do not understand these terms. Your flesh is not black.” He pulled back and looked at the pilot. “It looks as if it made from… how do you say it? Rich mahogany?”
Jed rammed his palms forward, shoving the controls flush with slanted console as four streaks of pale blue light scorched space where they had been a moment before.
“Less talking about my butt color and more manual control of those auto cannons please! That ridiculous A.I. can’t hit anything above cadet level.”
Lork turned his narrow body towards the secondary weapons console and activated the manual override, slipping his fleshy palms into the circular cavities. He wrapped his eight narrow fingers around the embedded weapons control shafts, and pulled back, unlocking the system with a loud clack.
“Three of ‘em out there!” Jed adjusted the sticks again, leveling the ship, punching a secondary throttle, and sending the vehicle surging forward through space.
Glaring at the terminal on the dash by his legs, Lork twisted his arms, then moved swiftly right, wrenching trigger mechanisms buried in both control sticks, walking yellow plasma orbs across space, shattering the hull of one of the pursuing fighters. The remains of the ship tumbled forward, trailing debris. Lork adjusted a second time and let the quad cannons fly again, a direct hit this time, all four streams of energy punching into a second fighter headlong, obliterating it in a silent green flash of fuel.
“Two down already! Man, you are good for something, huh, fur face?”
“Strange words for the one saving your life, human!” Lork replied, angling the quad cannons again and unleashing another torrent of blinding weapons fire. The third cruiser banked hard left and accelerated, slipping away from the attack, and two sudden bright flashes of light burst to Jed’s left, a sudden illumination of dark space that caught him unaware. He glanced through the small, triangular window on the port side of the smuggling ship and saw two large ship entering local space from faster than light travel. They were wide in the stern, large, and blocky, flatted stub ships crammed with thrusters. The entire body sloped gradually together into a narrow, pointed bow, so the overall shape of the craft were almost triangular. Long-barrelled cannons protruded from scattered orb-shaped turrets all along the starboard side of both spacecraft, all of them twisting and orienting themselves so the guns were pointed right at them.
“Well, this is unfortunate,” Lork said, just as the guns began to fire.
***
Jexane - Planet of the Federation.
Four solar cycles ago.
Jedidiah Kramer had lost track of how many planets he’d traveled to in his years of life, but no matter which ones they were and who controlled them, the bars were always the same. Generally large, open air establishments with high ceilings so that beings of all races and planetary heritage could enjoy their mind-altering beverages of choice in relative comfort. The one on Jexane was a bit larger than most Jed noticed as he looked around, appearing as though it were dug out of one of the massive mountains that made up the majority of Jexane’s landscape. The Federation had captured and colonized a massive chunk of floating rock, much of the housing and establishments carved out of thick blocks of jagged rock.
Jed didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.
He sat at the bar, his fingers wrapped around a slender glass filled with gray, opaque liquid and he put it to his lips, taking a languished pull, the drink coating his mouth, throat and stomach with hot comfort. The minute his lips touched the drink his head buzzed with the familiar hum of chemical
ly induced pleasure.
Setting the glass back down, he pulled a hand through his tightly curled dark hair, revealing a black earpiece in his left ear as he did. His thumb dabbed it as he moved, so subtle that most would never even notice. A tinny chirp blipped.
“See anything yet?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Federation places make me squirrely.” He stopped for a moment, eyes roaming the length of the stone bar. “Uhhh, no offense.”
“Why would I take offense, Jedidiah?” the voice asked in his ear.
“Well, you know… I said squirrel and you’re… well…” he sighed deeply. “Never mind.”
“As you wish.”
“Anyway, sooner we get outta here the better. Me and the Federation don’t get along too well.”
“Did you not used to serve in the Federation Navy?”
“The less we say about that the better.”
Lork followed Jed’s lead and let the subject drop, not speaking another word. Jed continued walking his eyes down the carved stone of the bar, looking at each drink as he did. Long, pale fingers coiled around most of them, with others wrapped in fur-covered digits. One even had a pair of suction-cupped tentacles pressed to the smooth, transparent surface.
Running the length of the rear wall, the bar angled left and moved back towards that wall, with a few more seats on the far side. Jed scanned that way, looking past all the different skin colors and facial structures.
Then he saw him. Just a face, really. A head. A pale-skinned man looking straight towards him, normal Earth features, a stringy mop of dark hair coursing down each side of his narrow head. But it was what was on top of the head that drew Jed’s attention. A simple, blue cap.
Not just any cap. A baseball cap.
“Hold the phone, Lork,” Jed said softly.
“I don’t know what you mean. Are those Earth words again?”
Jed closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just be quiet. I think I found our man.”
He removed the glass from the bar as he stood from the stool, draining the rest of his drink in one swooping slug. Dropping the empty container on the stone surface he stepped around the creature nearest to him, a tall, gray-skinned being with four arms, two of them attached to hands holding drinks, and walked across the polished floor. His eyes met with the man’s, deep set inside of doughy flesh, peering out from underneath the flattened brim of the blue cap. Jed had never seen a baseball cap in real life before, he’d only read about them in some of those ancient Earth manuscripts, but he recognized it for what it was.
A sign.
This was the guy. He was supposed to meet this guy. It had to be. As he approached, the man in the hat, stood, nodding stiffly to him, then turned and walked away from his chair, making his way towards the rear corner of the large cavernous room. He pushed through a narrow door set into the stone wall, and let it slap shut behind him, Jed catching up just as it closed.
He halted there, glancing around the wide, rounded room, eyes jumping from one face to the next, scanning his immediate area to make sure nobody was watching too closely. As he looked, he backed up, pushing the door open and spilling out into the darkness. Glancing around, Jed saw himself in a narrow alleyway running on the south side of the bar, a tunnel carved through stone encircling the large tavern to act as a loading zone for supplies. It was dimly lit, with sparse bulbs screwed into the uneven ceiling in staggered intervals. He shrugged within his thigh-length duster a leather coat which ruffled at his legs, feeling the dull weight of the pistol at his left hip. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure about this.
“Jedidiah Kramer?” a voice asked from the darkness and Jed turned to see the man in the baseball cap approaching, the pale light of the ceiling bulbs casting shadows over his face and at his feet.
“Maybe,” Jed replied.
“I’m Officer Francis Beliveau of the Federation of Planets and I’m placing you under arrest for desertion.”
***
Jexane - Planet of the Federation.
Four solar cycles ago.
“Desertion is such a harsh word,” Jed said as he took a cautious step backwards, showing his palms.
“What else would you call it?” Beliveau asked, his hand moving to the holster at his hip. With his other hand he peeled the blue cap off of his head and crushed it in a tight grip and tossed it into the darkened edge of the alley.
“Hey, come on,” Jed said. “The Federation got rid of me.”
“You were on a week’s suspension!” Beliveau shouted. “You never came back.”
“Everyone yelling at me like that, do ya blame me?”
Beliveau sighed and turned towards the other two men, decked out in the tactical gear of the Federation Military Police. They stepped forward, lifting twin phase rifles, clasping both handles in gloved hands.
“Oh so what are you going to do?” Jed asked. “Shoot me down and bring me back to Mars as a charred corpse? Punch a few burn marks in me before propping me up as an example? Isn’t that what the Federation does these days?”
“Hands behind your back, Kramer.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Lork, kick these guys’ asses for me.”
Beliveau turned around, looking down the dimly lit alley, but saw no one. Jedidiah made his move. Spinning on the heel of one black boot, he snapped out his other leg, smacking it into the rifle held by one of the MP’s. The duster he wore swirled around him in a graceful flowing arc, drawing the attention of the second MP who twisted and fired, burning four dark holes through the cloth of the trench coat. Jed ducked as he spun, letting two more phase shots scream above his head and scatter against the wall behind him, leaving stray smudges of scorched rock. His hand snapped up and around, his blaster clutched in an expertly practiced two-handed grip. He punched the trigger, lacing one green streak of light into the rifle of the second MP, knocking the weapon free of the man’s grasp.
That’s when Lork came bursting in, the door slamming inward in an echoing clatter of metal on rock, the seven foot fur-covered creature moving like a lithe, twisting reptile. One large, four-fingered fist shot out and smashed into the second MP’s chest, picking him up and throwing him backwards, slamming his spine against the curved rock wall behind him. He slumped left as Jed leaped forward, driving the heel of his boot high into the chest of the first MP, throwing his momentum back and carrying his legs out from under him. The back of his helmeted head whacked against the stone ground, and Officer Beliveau threw himself forward, pushing past Jed at a dead run, swallowed by the deepening darkness of the passage.
“Well, that was unpleasant,” Lork said softly, standing and dusting off his uniform pants. In the dim light, his nocturnal eyes gleamed with a strange green hue.
“You can see him, right?”
“The man running? Of course I can, as with my entire race, my night vision is exceptional.”
“Then what are we waiting for, let’s get him!”
Lork drew back, hesitating, standing at his full two-and-a-half meter height. He was lanky as well as tall, his narrow, fur-covered body looking sleek and athletic in spite of his sheer size.
“I don’t think I approve.”
“How long have we known each other, Lork? Six months? Maybe eight?“
“I am unfamiliar with this unit of measurement, Jedidiah, as a United federation, we typically-- “
Jed rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah whatever. We've known each other a while now. How often have I let you down?”
“In the time we've met I calculate 27 times when the end result did not appropriately match the desired outcome—"
“For the love of— okay, then. Do you trust me?”
Lork remained silent.
“This bond we've built? It warms the cold cackles of my heart, you walking rodent.” Jed lifted his pistol and twisted the range dial, cranking it up to maximum. “Whatever. Just follow me, will you? And don't shoot me in the back."
“As you say, Jedidiah.” Lork slung the dual handled slender shaft of his pha
sed rifle from his shoulder, and lifted it with two hands, taking a slow step forward. “But please know I would not do this if I did not owe you this life debt.”
“Good thing you do, then, huh?”
“I am not so sure.”
In spite of his doubts, Lork ducked his head, dropping down into a strange two arm and two legged gait, galloping after Jedidiah, heading deeper into the alley.
***
Local airspace near the Darkened Zone at Ultega-4.
Now.
“Are those what I think they are?” Jed asked, leaning forward to get a better view of the large, arrow-shaped battle cruisers slowing into local space ahead of him.
“Thraxus class battle cruisers. I was not aware the Lestat was in ownership of such dangerous war machines.”
“We weren’t aware of their existence five cycles ago,” Jed reminded him.
“Fair point. So what would you have us do?”
Outside the ship, in the dark of space surrounding them, the two large war ships fell into formation, flanking the smaller interceptor, coming around starboard to face their ship head-on.
“The Delorean is fast. I don’t know if she’s fast enough,” Jed whispered.
“We had plenty of room for additional reactor cores and thrust modules. I very clearly recall reminding you of that back on Jexane. I believe I reminded you more than once.”
Jed flashed a narrow glare over towards his fur-covered first mate and weapons expert. “Remind me next time I save your furry ass to leave you locked up in that cage, okay?”
Lork tilted his head, glaring at him. “Has my life debt been insufficient in expressing my thanks for saving my life?”
“Your life debt has been a serious pain in my ass.”
“Mine as well.”
On the console ahead of them lights flared to red and warning chimes ramped up into a shrill, humming buzz.
“They’re diverting power from shields to firing systems!” Jed barked. “Prepare for evasive maneuvers!”
“We are adrift in empty space flanked by three ships. The Thraxus class can fill a half quadrant with phased fire in a matter of milliseconds. Precisely where are we evading to?”
The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology) Page 29
