Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2

by P. Joseph Cherubino

  “Because we need unfriendly people to help us,” Drexler replied.

  “I do not understand,” Boljak replied. Drexler was glad Boljak did not pursue the conversation further.

  Harvard led them deeper into the cavern, where the improvised buildings grew thicker and larger. Market activity increased here, with trading arguments reaching Drexler’s ears in several different languages, ranging from Forest Child to Mandarin to Tradespeak. When Harvard pushed past a group of humans in front of an unmarked doorway, Drexler’s gratitude to be off the streets faded quickly.

  The saloon was an open floor in the shape of a rectangle defined by corroded metal walls with a low and equally corroded ceiling. Drexler recognized the space as the inside of a plasma storage tank turned on its side. A low bar ran across the twenty-meter length of the room, behind which various aliens served food and intoxicants to raucous customers, many of whom were armed. Harvard hustled them through the smoke-filled space, but not before several of the saloon denizens took notice.

  They found an empty table somewhere near the center of the chaotic mass and sat. A tired looking Simian female came by their table with an information device and asked them their pleasure.

  “What we want is not on the menu,” Harvard replied.

  The Simian took a defensive step back and said, “I do not mate with non-Simians, but I can take you to a Simian who does. It is expensive.”

  Drexler could not restrain his snicker. “Great move,” he said. He almost used Harvard’s real name, then recovered.

  “I want to speak to Chan Lee or Troolstraa,” Harvard replied.

  The Simian froze for a moment, then recovered. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, then scurried away in obvious distress.

  “What are you doing?” Drexler hissed. He recognized both names from his tobacco smuggling operation. They were not people one generally asked for directly.

  Several people at the other tables turned towards them at the mention of the two criminal leaders. A Nolok crustacean playing a card game at the next table with two meat-eating Reptilians pointed one eye stalk at them, and the flagellin lining its broad abdomen ceased their wavelike motions. The Reptilians set down their cards and puffed away at cigars. Unlike the rest, the Reptilians did not stare directly. That was a bad sign.

  Boljak, no stranger to threatening situations, stood perfectly still. Drexler noticed the coarse, hairlike bristles of his body sections were shorter. They retracted under stress, and some fell out. Several of the bristles lay in a crescent shape around the base of Boljak’s chair.

  Drexler regretted not bringing a weapon. He thought about it just before they left, but other concerns drove the question away. Now he wondered why.

  “Who wants to see the Dragon Person,” A human voice asked over Drexler’s right shoulder. He did not hear the approach of the asker.

  When he turned, he faced a small Chinese woman with a large patch over her left eye that covered most of her cheek. Long, silky black hair covered the metal patch that was fastened to her scarred face with what appeared to be rivets. Drexler bet the patch let her see more with it than her one remaining human eye. He recognized the prosthetic Three Pillars body hack. It was of a design favored by Triad members who lost body parts.

  Before Harvard could answer, Drexler said, “Who’s asking?” He did not have to stand to meet her eyes. Her height permitted him to raise his head slightly to meet her gaze.

  She folded sinewy arms across her chest and gave a lopsided, curse of a grin made gruesome by her scarred face. “So bold,” she replied. “Would you be so bold had you not some desperate need, Captain Fleetfoot?”

  Drexler gave a start and surprised Harvard by laughing in response. He clapped his hands in mock applause and replied, “Very good. A fine demonstration of advantage, but not a great leap of deduction. With fifty-million refugees out there in space, who is not desperate these days? You know who I am, now tell me who you are, so I can figure out if I’m dealing with the right person.”

  The tables surrounding theirs cleared away. The group now sat on a saloon island defined by a sea of staring, milling beings all waiting for the next set of events.

  The small woman cocked her head. The expression on her face was hard to read through the scars and the implant and what Drexler assumed to be the fact that she was very good at her job.

  “You may call me Xing,” the woman said.

  The murmuring crowd grew restless and a linear ripple spread through it as someone approached. Another Chinese woman stepped out from the crowd like a stalking cat through tall grass. She might have been Xing’s twin. She was taller and had the same slender build.

  “My sister, Tian Tian,” Xing said. Her smirk hardened into something truly frightening at the introduction. Drexler knew that Tian Tian meant “sweetie.” Nobody earned a name like that in a place like this without being the opposite.

  “You do not belong here,” Tian Tian said. “As these are trying times, and my community is not without compassion, we will invite you to leave now.”

  The crowd stilled, waiting for the words to become an invitation or a challenge. When Drexler answered, the crowd caught fire with a rash of betting on the outcome.

  “We will leave after our business is done,” the Captain said.

  Harvard rounded slowly on Drexler. Their eyes met, and Harvard subvocalized in Ancient English, “This is going sideways. They already knew who you are.”

  “And we also know who you are, President Yalu,” Tian Tian said.

  “They cracked our encryption,” Daemon Vasiliev chimed in over Drexler’s comm implants.

  “Good,” Drexler said aloud. When he stood and extended his hand to Tian Tian, several members of the crowd stepped forward with rail rifles and electron pistols. Boljak was on his feet in an instant, so fast that Drexler could not even flinch. Harvard sat in his chair looking deflated. “It seems we all know each other, then. You know who I am, so you know why I’m here. I have work for you all. Good work that will earn for you more than you have ever dreamed.”

  “Nolok do not dream like Simians,” the Crustacean said in filtered tradespeak. “We have no need. We like credits. I think you have not the credits to hire Nolok.”

  “Fine with me, there shrimp cocktail, considering I am not a simian,” Drexler fired back, then turned to Tian Tian, who could not hide her mirth at the obscure reference to Ancient Earth food.

  “Again, so very bold. I cannot help but be impressed. But now I think this is all you have.”

  “You continue to impress me, Tian Tian,” Drexler replied. “You are correct. I have very little else left. I’ve been chased over fifty light years by a Reptilian battle fleet. I’m wanted by the Trade Union for crimes that, for once, I did not commit. Strange twist there. Just like you all, I’m a humble Trader, just trying to make a living.”

  The unmistakable gurgling hiss of Reptilian laughter emerged from the crowd. Drexler turned toward the sound to see a Reptilian about the size of Xing step forward.

  “Hello, Troolstraa,” Harvard said with a quavering voice that betrayed his fear.

  Two, much larger Reptiles of the four-armed variety flanked the diminutive Alpha Lizard. Drexler recognized the danger instantly. For such a small Reptilian to command, this Troolstraa must be formidable. Drexler realized that, although he heard the name, he never heard a description of the Dragon of the New Detroit underworld. Troolstraa rarely did business in person.

  “Hello, my former friend, Harvard,” Troolstraa replied. Drexler did not like where this was headed. “I am surprised you asked for Chan Lee, considering he was killed at the hands of your security forces. He was my most loyal partner, a far more reliable business associate than you.”

  “I can explain…” Harvard stammered.

  “Your actions are explanatory enough. After we delivered you the election, you betrayed us.”

  “It’s not like that,” Harvard declared.

  “Tell me, Mr. Presiden
t,” Troolstraa said, “What happens to your mind if this cloned body dies?”

  “And what would happen,” Tian Tian asked, “If the High-Mind discovers you operate outside the core collective with an illegal clone?”

  Harvard said nothing. He collapsed back down on the chair and hung his head. Drexler could not believe what he was seeing. The Harvard he knew would never allow himself to be outmaneuvered in this way. It seemed impossible. Drexler had known Harvard since their VR school days together. There was no mind-game Harvard could not win. Drexler despaired until he caught a glimpse of the cloned face. Even through another body separated by technology, Harvard could not hide his tell. The look of defeat so evident to everyone else revealed itself as a ruse to Drexler. The eyes told him. Harvard’s eyes smiled to Drexler, while they feigned defeat to everyone else. Harvard wanted this. He wanted Troolstraa and his cronies to believe they had the advantage. The only question was why.

  “Well, shit,” Drexler said. The Old Earth profanity played well with the crowd. Another round of betting want around the room. “Let’s all have a drink then. Can’t hurt anything, right? I mean, you’re probably going to kill us all, anyway. Might as well let us go out in style.”

  Boljak remained silent and took his chair as Drexler returned to the table. Xing and Tian Tian pulled out a chair for Troolstraa, who sat slowly, feet dangling above the floor like a small human child. His two bodyguards loomed over him, their eyes flicking back and forth independently of one another from the crowd to the table and back again. Watching the circuit of vigilance made Drexler idly wonder what dangers they sought in the crowd. Perhaps they were just performing their due diligence. It was more likely that Troolstraa had watchful rivals. The Captain tried to spot them. Anything for an advantage. He was not in the best bargaining position unless Harvard truly had a superior game. At least, that is what Drexler hoped.

  Drexler bought some time ordering drinks. He chose cold beer, and Harvard followed suit. Boljak sat still, saying nothing. The Arachnid began to worry Drexler. He had no idea what was running through the spider’s mind. The Captain didn’t think Boljak was terrified into silence, but his uncharacteristic stillness bothered him.

  To the Captain’s surprise, one of the bodyguard’s spoke. “Does this insect of yours not speak, captain, or is it some kind of a pet?”

  Desperate to head off the conflict, Drexler turned to Troolstraa and said, “Do you normally allow your bodyguards to speak out of turn?”

  “My colleagues serve in their capacity as guards and associates by virtue choice. They are free to address your pets any way they wish.”

  The Lizards hissed their laughter that carried across the margin of empty tables to the crowd beyond. More wagers circulated.

  “We also have reptilian creatures on my planet,” Boljak replied. “They are very small and tend to live on the leavings of other warm-blooded animals. They make excellent meals for the simians of my world, who don’t know any better. You remind me of those reptiles.”

  The bodyguard shot to his foot claws, and before Drexler could intervene, the table was thrown aside, with Drexler pinned beneath it. The large Reptilian lunged at Boljak, who was already in motion. The Arachnid stood almost casually and reached out to grapple with all four of the bodyguard's arms. Boljak lifted the remainder of his limbs and curled into a ball. The sudden shift in weight added more forward momentum Reptilian’s lunge, and he toppled forward with Boljak hanging on. As the Reptile tipped forward, Boljak’s back hit the floor, and he pushed off with all his limbs, sending the Reptilian sailing up at an arc that made his foot claws scrape the low ceiling. Flakes of corroded metal rained down on the table as Drexler tried to free himself from the surprisingly heavy furniture.

  Boljak rolled backward to his feet, then jumped high to fasten himself to the ceiling by a thread. He held himself above the crowd, spinning slowly to look for further signs of attack. The bodyguard busied himself with escaping the tangle of bodies produced by his impact with the crowd. The big reptile pushed his way forward, stepping on other downed bodies as if they were an uneven ground.

  “Not only does it speak,” the bodyguard boomed, “But it fights even better than it throws insults! Come down from there!” The bodyguard bellowed. “Maybe you are someone we can deal with after all. What do you think, Alpha Troolstraa?”

  Boljak lowered himself from the ceiling with clattering mandibles. He strode over to the big Reptile and clapped two of his upper hands around the Lizard’s shoulders.

  “You are much stronger than the reptiles on my planet,” Boljak said. “Much faster, too.”

  “Do not insult me with your cheap flattery!” the Reptile hissed and slapped the hands away, pointing a hooked claw finger inches Boljak’s eight eyes. “Tell me what you insects eat and I might find it for you here.”

  “I prefer liquified reptile flesh,” Boljak replied, “Do they serve that here?”

  The bodyguard hissed laughter and slapped Boljak on his back segment hard, producing a sound like a finger flicking a ripe melon. He said, “You may try to obtain some of that here. I would welcome your efforts, as it would be interesting to find out what is inside that hard shell of yours.”

  Drexler did not hear Boljak’s reply, but it brought waves of hissing laugher from every Reptilian in earshot. The two walked off into the crowd like old friends, and Drexler extracted himself from beneath the table with the help of Xing’s surprisingly strong hands.

  “I feel my colleague may have the right idea,” Troolstraa said, as Tian Tian and the remaining bodyguard set the table back in place. “If that Insect is an indicator of the crew you employ, perhaps we can work together after all.”

  “I only work with the best crew for the task at hand. That is why I am here,” Drexler replied. “Are you familiar with the Ancient Earth word ‘piracy?’” Drexler asked. "It's an ancient custom of my people to grant posession of enemy ships in time of war. It's a very lucrative business."

  12

  The leader of the newly formed Resistance Armada sat once again at his antique desk with his feet propped up. Drexler played through the events of the last several days. The plots he wove and the deals he made grew increasingly complex and thick around the middle. He took this time for careful review without accounting for the last time he slept.

  To compel other captains to join the Armada, he set the hook by having Reggie destroy one of his shuttles. That proved their ships had lethal potential. He reeled them in with a major pyrotechnics display from The Protector. Watching the Insectoids blow things out of the sky gave the other Captains great confidence and took care of a secondary, but pressing problem.

  New Detroit struggled to deal with the humanitarian crisis of fifty-million refugees crammed into less than eight-thousand ships orbiting the City Ship in desperate need. An item near the top of their long list of problems was the fact that many of the ships were hopelessly damaged. Hundreds of ships arrived by the grace of miraculous acts of desperate engineering. These ships saved the lives of thousands, but once in orbit around New Detroit, all they did was pose navigation and radiation hazards. Drexler thought it best to use them as target practice.

  Once the ships were evacuated, Drexler and a group consisting of some of the braver Captains volunteered to tow the ships to a safe distance. Once there, some ships were programmed to fly random high-velocity paths, while others just sat there waiting to be destroyed.

  The first assembly of the Armada entailed ships lining up to watch fireworks. When Drexler was sure everyone had the best seat possible, he raised the curtain.

  The show began with a swarm of Arachnid troop ships fitted with the best directed energy weapons New Detroit had to offer. They locked on to the auto-piloted target ships and made short work of them. The improvised fighter craft destroyed their targets at such a close range that sensors couldn’t see them through the coronas of imploding fusion reactors. That demonstrated close combat support.

  After the first light
show flickered out, the Arachnid fighters streaked back to The Protector and docked on the wide, black brim of her outer disc. The show saved the best for last. The Protector flew to within two-hundred-thousand kilometers and simply destroyed the largest ships with her main proton guns.

  That was the clincher. Any captains who had their doubts about using converted freighters to fight purpose-built Reptilian warships abandoned them on seeing the lethal capability of The Protector. Fourseven’s ship was their ace in the hole. She was the big gun.

  Drexler aimed to conceal the fact that the Armada was outnumbered by at least ten to one across the trades as a whole. Where he planned to lead them, the odds might be slightly better. He figured nearly everyone realized how insane the plan was on some level. He rationalized his deception by telling himself that most of the Captains were willfully ignorant of the numbers they were up against. If they wanted to know how bad it was, they could easily find out. New Detroit made the intelligence reports public. To be sure, they would know soon enough. If his gambit worked, much of the Reptilian fleet would head to the central trades, anyway.

  After that, the problem became gaining control of enough ships to build a decent force. Many of the private companies came over to the Armada without too much convincing. It was the official homeworld government ship captains and crews that proved most difficult.

  Harvard came up with the solution for the world-government owned ships. It was Reggie who pointed out certain loopholes in the Trade Union charter regarding ownership and control of space-faring vessels. When ships are abandoned in space, either voluntarily or through emergency, those ships become the property of no one. Drexler convinced or coerced more than a hundred captains that the ships owned by their homeworlds had no value with the trade union essentially inoperable. Harvard sweetened the deal for all involved by offering everyone lucrative jobs and citizenship on New Detroit.

  Then came the matter of volunteers. Filling out the crews of the abandoned and salvaged ships was not a problem. Thousands of eager members of the New Detroit underworld staffed those ships. But the private freight companies lost large portions of their crews when their captains decided to move from the freight business into the field of guerrilla warfare in space. Adding groups of criminals to the ranks of professional astronauts among those ships did not play too well in many cases.