Curse of the Altered Moon: Altered Moon Series: Book Two (The Altered Moon Series 2)

by AZ Kelvin

  “Okay, who was this effin’ guy?” CJ asked no one in particular. “A spy? A merc? A thief? All the above? And what the hell was he after?”

  “With all the shit he had here,” Cal pointed out, “whatever he was after must have been—”

  “The Find of the Century?” CJ finished Cal’s thought. CJ looked around and saw the crew was on Fulson Stile overload from the last few days. “What do you say? Time to go?”

  A chorus of ayes sounded through the room and the crew manned their stations and prepared to depart.

  The flight out of the planetoid was no less strenuous than the flight in. A narrow flight path and tight corners kept the bridge crew busy watching video feeds and sensor readouts. Go up, drop down, roll to port, slide to starboard, pitch up, move forward. Boss called out what was necessary and Gina got it done. The welcome sight of the star-filled sky began to peek at them from the end of the tunnel as they worked through the last couple of corners. A few more maneuvers and they were out of the planetoid and into open space. Everyone relaxed and breathed a little easier as they emerged from the mouth of the tunnel.

  “Ahhh, I feel better already. I think we’re incredibly lucky the explosion didn’t collapse any part of that tunnel,” CJ said. “GABI, what’s the status on the String Field Drive?”

  “Fully operational and awaiting your command. I have a location on Leland Stile.”

  “Let’s have it.” CJ turned to face her.

  “Imperial merchant records show Leland Stile as the owner and operator of The Cold Shoulder Bar on space station Skriti.”

  “Skriti Station?” Cal asked with a tone of disgust.

  “You know the place?” CJ asked him.

  “Oh yeah, I know of it. More like I heard tales of it when I was in the Arzian Star Guard. It sits right on the border of the Arzian Alliance and the Marlacuer Empire. The word is that it’s a hub of black-market activity and espionage between the two. Station security has standing orders to shoot first and forget the questions. Carrying weapons is ‘strongly frowned upon.’ Offenders are escorted off the station, whether a ship is waiting for them, or not.”

  “We should go in under the West Becreth cover,” Boss suggested. “We’re just simple traders looking for the son of an old friend. And, also, we should park the Moon out a ways and take Moonshadow to the station. I recommend that we go unarmed and inconspicuous. We go in and talk to the guy, and then we’re out. There won’t be any time for trouble.” The last comment brought skeptical looks Boss’ way from the bridge crew.

  “Unarmed?” CJ asked his science officer.

  “Do you want to risk getting kicked out before we even see who we came to see?” Boss made a good point. “If no one else has guns, then things are even. You can always stash a blade somewhere.”

  CJ scratched thoughtfully at his beard stubble. “Hmmm, okay, no guns. I hope we don’t regret it. GABI, good to go?”

  “Ready at your command, Captain.”

  “Very good. Plot a destination that will put us just outside of long-range scan from Skriti Station and stand by.” CJ poked the 1MC icon on the comms unit. “All hands, this is the Captain.” He smiled, as he did every time he got to say that. “Prepare for immediate jump.”

  “Jump coordinates are entered, Captain,” GABI informed him.

  “Make the jump.”

  GABI engaged the String Field Drive to manipulate physics at a quantum level. The String Field Drive operated by using anticipatory alignment to identify the quantum string pathways in the space-time matrix, which ran in between the physical dimensions of the universe and then plotted a course to the desired destination.

  Research into quantum mechanics found quantum-level energy existed everywhere in the universe, like a huge universal web, connecting everything. It existed as particles, strings, and waves of quantum energy. Cloning and adopting the energy signature of the quantum wave particle pulled the Altered Moon out of normal space and along the chosen quantum pathway to emerge back into normal space at the intended destination. The effect of the quantum slip was like a wave of invisible viscous liquid moving over the hull of the ship from bow to stern, until it vanished completely. No bright light, no power surge, no bulky contraption—the ship was just gone.

  Cuhrsha Spatial Technologies discovered the process of matching quantum signatures while researching matter-to-energy teleportation. While the teleportation program failed due to high cost and resource requirements, the String Field Drive itself was an instant success and quite the cash cow for Cuhrsha.

  The Altered Moon slipped back into normal space, a million kilometers from Skriti Station. The excursion team boarded the shuttle and departed the ship. The shuttle bay doors closed up and the ship went dark per CJ’s orders to remain hidden until contacted. CJ, Boss, and Gina got comfortable in Moonshadow to make the ten-hour flight to Skriti Station.

  *~*~*

  Chapter Eleven

  CJ, Boss, and Gina had no sooner set down at Skriti Station and left Moonshadow when they ran smack into ‘ugly.’ A group of eight mercenaries walked down the corridor and caught sight of Gina as she came out of the shuttle bay. The whole group of ruffians stopped and quickly had the three crewmates surrounded.

  “Oooweee, ain’t you a sweet peach. Hey, hey, where ya goin’?” The ugliest one of the bunch stepped in the way as Gina tried to get by.

  “Piss off!” Gina glared in his ugly face.

  “Whoa, whoa, now, where are you off to in such a hurry, pretty? Oh and look—she’s a pilot. Like grabbin’ a big joystick, do ya?”

  “Get away from her!” Boss snarled at the man from his suspensor chair.

  A second later, eight concealed weapons were drawn while Gina and CJ were grabbed from behind. One man put a gun to Boss’ head while another stuck a weapon barrel into CJ’s cheek.

  “What? Who’s this? Your Dad?” The ugly man continued to taunt the group. “You sure can’t be shaggin’ this lame-ass cripple.”

  “That’s enough!” CJ spoke out. One of the men punched him in the liver and knocked him to his knees for his effort. Another thug held a grizzly looking knife to Boss’ throat.

  “Stop it!” Gina yelled.

  “Oh? Why should I?” he asked Gina quietly with a lewd sneer. “You have something to offer up for your friends’ lives? I’m all ears. Well, not all ears.”

  Gina looked the rat bastard son-of-a-bitch dead in the ugly eye. “Suck Kang ass, shithead.”

  “Ha, ha, a scrapper! All’s the better, ’cause to the victor goes the spoils, yeah, and here I am, The Victor, Victor Borne. Borne just to do you, honey. Mmmmm, hmm, hmm. And what I want is you.”

  CJ watched Gina struggle against the two who held her and recoil from Borne as he stepped in closer. He hated the man instantly.

  Victor Borne was a heavily built dark-skinned man just over a meter and three-quarters tall with a wide frame and bulging muscles. His body was covered in tattoos along with dozens of hoops and studs of a disgusting variety that were stuck in, under, and through his skin everywhere. Two tattoos “Borne to Kill” and “Live to Rape” filled both forearms.

  The tattoos had barbed wire wrapping all the way around his arms, and everything was dripping with tattooed blood. His lecherous leer seemed like the type that would fall upon both women and men alike, yet he didn’t appear to care. Indeed, any living thing with an orifice probably had reason to fear this poster child for the death penalty.

  Massive scars covered his forehead and right eye socket that didn’t leave enough skin for the eye to close completely. The right half of the bottom of his nose was gone and chunks of both his lips were missing just below that. The tight scar tissue pulled the top and bottom lips offline forming a hole showing the blackened teeth within.

  He had a nasty habit of clicking his pierced and studded tongue against his teeth in a suggestive manner. He had two studs with hollow skulls on the outside that pierced through his cheeks close to each nostril and he loved to show how his st
udded tongue was long enough to reach them as well. He would ding the studs together then laugh about it while his tongue hung out of his mouth. He looked at Gina as he said, “Open wide, baby girl…” went the hollow skulls, “ah, ha, ha…” .

  “I will kill you!” CJ swore violently, as he struggled against his captors. He was shoved back down and now two men held guns to his head.

  “Not if you’re DEAD!” Borne pointed his own gun at CJ.

  “BORNE!” Someone down the corridor hollered out the thug’s name.

  A small group of armed guards in full assault gear moved along the corridor walls to take up positions and train their weapons on Borne and his men. Borne and his goons backed off immediately to avoid any confrontation with Skriti Station security. One guard with a red stripe across the shoulders of his uniform stepped up.

  “You know, Borne, your problem is that you just don’t think too well. Those aren’t guns in your hands, are they, Borne?” The security sergeant held his assault rifle by the grip in one hand with his finger on the trigger. He appeared to swing his rifle around randomly as he spoke, but it just happened to sweep constantly back and forth over Borne and his men, then settled in on Borne himself. “Put ’em on the deck. Now! Good boy—get moving.”

  “Just sharing the love, Sarge.” Borne sneered at him, as he and his men slowly placed their weapons on the deck. They backed away with their hands in plain view.

  “Your ugly ass is gonna be lovin’ my rifle barrel if you don’t get out of my sight.” The security sergeant grabbed his rifle with both hands and flicked off the safety.

  “We’re goin’. We’re goin’. Any chance we could, ah…,” Borne indicated the guns on the floor. The answer was clearly negative. “Right.”

  Borne and his men went through the hatch of the bay that housed their own shuttle. Borne took the time to throw a wink at Gina and the others on his way through.

  “You’re just going to let him go?” CJ asked in disbelief. “You saw what he was doing.”

  “Yeah. Don’t like it? Tell somebody who gives a shit,” the security sergeant said, as he and his squad picked up the firearms and continued their rounds.

  The three crewmates were left in a stunned silence as the security squad stopped to make sure Borne actually left the station before they moved on.

  “You two okay?” CJ asked Gina and Boss while he stared after the security patrol. “What the fu—can you believe this place?”

  “That was close.” Boss rubbed at his throat. “Should we keep going?” Boss asked in general, but looked closely at Gina to watch how she responded.

  “Yes,” she said. “Let’s just find this guy and get the hell out of here. But it sure would have been nice to have a gun right about then.” She finished snidely with a sidelong glance at Boss, who half grimaced and shrugged.

  “I agree. From now on, we at least bring a hide-away in these situations,” CJ said. “Come on, The Cold Shoulder Bar is on sub-level three.”

  The trio found the transtube and descended three levels down into the depths of the station. The sign for The Cold Shoulder Bar was in view down the corridor as they left the transtube. The sign reflected the name of the place with just “The Cold Shoulder” in plain block letters and nothing else. Their eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkness of the dimly lit establishment as they walked past the S-shaped partitions.

  The Cold Shoulder was split by a short railing that separated an area with gaming tables and the like from the dining tables and the liquor bar. The gaming area was by far the busier of the two main areas. An older man of about ninety, an age where most people would be enjoying the early years of their retirement, absently wiped down the bar and ignored them as they walked over.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for Leland Stile,” CJ said to the man who continued to ignore them. “Isn’t he the owner here?”

  “Humph, the owner,” he scoffed. “He’s busy, come back tomorrow.” The old man didn’t even look up as he answered. He just walked to the far end of the bar and disappeared through a double swinging door into a back room.

  “Hey,” CJ called after the old man.

  Three men passed by behind them and one jabbed a shoulder into CJ’s back which knocked him forward. CJ turned angrily around as the three men continued to a table nearby. Bad intent was clear as they sized up CJ’s group like predators staking out a watering hole. For that matter, every narrowed eye in the bar was trained on the three strangers.

  “The Cold Shoulder is a great name for this effin’ place,” Gina said.

  “No shit about that,” Boss said.

  “We need to go about this a different way,” CJ told them.

  “Yeah, sir, how’s that?” Gina asked.

  “Armed,” CJ spoke quietly. “This isn’t just another seedy bar on a space station. This whole place is serious ugly. We need an oh-shit plan to handle this crowd.”

  “What do we do now?” Boss asked.

  “We do what the man said. We come back tomorrow,” CJ said with mock innocence.

  The next day it was CJ, Gina, and Cal who returned to The Cold Shoulder Bar on Skriti Station, with concealed weapons of their own and backup plans in place. They noticed the same old man served drinks at the bar. Six of Borne’s thugs from yesterday sat at two tables near the back of the bar. They howled and laughed over some drinking game played with a deck of cards.

  The old man watched warily as they approached the bar. “No messing around today,” CJ said sternly. “We’re looking for Leland Stile and I’m pretty sure that’s you.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” the old man replied.

  “Stile! Where’s our food?” one of the men yelled from across the bar.

  “Well, if it was up your ass, you’d know!” Leland Stile angrily yelled back at the man, while he threw an embarrassed look toward CJ’s group.

  Leland grumbled something about being outed in a lie as he poked his head over the kitchen door. “Girl, what are you doin’ back there? Get that order out here.”

  “Right away, Leland!” a light voice called back from the kitchen.

  “What do you want with me?” Leland asked CJ.

  “My name is Evermore. My shipmates and I came across the body of a freight captain a short time ago.”

  A girl who looked barely old enough to work came through the kitchen doors. She carried a tray out to the men laden with several dishes of food and balanced on two hands and a shoulder. The nimble girl had to make some deft movements to avoid the wandering hands of the men as she worked to dole out the plates of food. CJ’s temper began to simmer while he watched as she tucked her elbows in and clenched her legs because there were too many men and not enough ways to escape their gropes. The girl danced away as things got too intense. She put on a smile and tried to laugh while she cleared away glasses and emptied ashtrays as quickly as she could.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” The man’s question brought CJ’s attention back to Leland.

  “His name was Fulson Stile.”

  The old man stopped cleaning the bar glasses and looked straight at CJ. “You lie!”

  CJ was about to tell the old man about their find when a commotion drew their attention to the back of the bar.

  The girl was trying to make her way back through the bar with the serving tray full of dirty dishes. The group of ruffians teased her and purposely stood wherever it was she wanted to go. She jerked away as one man slipped his hand down her backside.

  Cal heard a slight grinding noise and looked down toward the sound, which came from the material of CJ’s glove as it creaked and groaned under the ever-tightening pressure of his clenched fist.

  “Cap? Captain?” Cal tried to get his attention, but CJ didn’t notice. He just turned and glared at Leland in disbelief. Leland did nothing but look down in shame.

  The young girl couldn’t keep the drink tray in balance after being grabbed from behind and it flew into the face
of one of the other men. The man stood up soaked with backwashed drinks and ashtray dumpings.

  “Look what you did, you piss-ant bitch!” The angry thug emphasized the word bitch with a full backhand swing to the girl’s face hitting her so hard she stumbled backward and cracked the back of her head against a column. She crumpled to a heap on the floor amidst roaring laughter.

  “Oh, that’s it!” CJ snapped when he heard the name ‘piss-ant,’ which he disliked intensely and double snapped when he saw the thug smack the girl.

  He crossed the barroom in half a second and hopped the small railing between the two areas of the bar. “Hey! Step away from the girl!”

  “Hey! Kiss my ass!” The man sneered while he mocked CJ and then moved in to attack.

  CJ blocked the attack and swept the man’s leading foot to the side. As the man fell off balance, CJ threw two short crisp right hooks to his jaw. The ruffian crumbled like someone pulled a plug and deflated him. A second man wrapped a rope around CJ’s neck from behind as he finished off the first thug. The man used an up and over elbow strike from behind while he held the rope tight in his hands to hit CJ hard in the side of his head. One elbow strike cut CJ’s scalp; a second strike opened the tear another three centimeters, and a third strike tore the skin in a new direction and lifted a small patch off the skull.

  Fighting for breath while the man crushed his throat, CJ ran the edge of his boot heel down the man’s shin and finished with a stomp on the instep. He threw his head backward hard and fast. He was rewarded as he felt the man’s nose cartilage flatten and splinter. CJ quickly brought his opponent over his shoulders and slammed him back first onto the floor, then stomped on his throat just to make sure he wouldn’t get up for a while.

  Cal and Gina immediately followed CJ’s lead over the short railing and joined the fray. Gina engaged with a large, fat, and nasty-looking bastard. She promptly kicked the man in the frank and beans and then followed up with a jab to the man’s grill. The porker couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with her hit-and-run tactics. Left jab, move away from his grab, right hook over his attack, sidestep, kick him in the butt just for fun, duck in under his attack, left uppercut, two straight rights, left hook, and dance out of the way.