by Chris Turner
Two ships bore down on them from south-south-east. They looked like coast guard cutters, sweeping in fast off the port bow.
Choko snarled, “We can RPG them down, Biggs.”
Biggs held back Choko’s arm. “Save the RPGs. There’ll be an air strike before long.”
“So what we gonna do?”
Biggs motioned. He brought forth the mysterious rectangular cargo from the passenger area out on the port deck and reached to peel off the tape. The wind whipped back his unruly black hair. Regers stared in perplexity. Biggs unraveled the cardboard at the end to reveal a black globe peeking out. Regers got a glimpse of a glossy surface, whose long narrow stem was inscribed with strange, squid-like squiggles. Biggs got his thugs to aim the tip of the globe in the direction of the incoming ships.
Dark blue knobs decorated the globe’s throat stem. Biggs fingered those, got one glowing and pulsing a dark sickly green.
An odd warble filled the air. Regers opened his mouth in a painful yawn, feeling a wonky sensation overcome his nerve centers. He felt lightheaded and experienced an inexplicable wooziness. His temple throbbed. Clutching at his head, he felt like retching. The thugs seemed to sag and nearly lose their grip on the globe and throat stem. The hostages in their seats groaned and some fell to their knees, retching into the barf bags.
The ships’ first blasts of fire hit perilously close to the port side, peppering the sun-dappled waves. The attack boats seemed to falter. One slowed and hove to broadside in the waves. The other veered off in an opposite direction, perpendicular to them, as if pilotless.
“Haha, nuked those mother-fucking parasites,” Choko gloated, brandishing his rifle in defiance.
Men who were on the cutters’ decks seemed not to be standing anymore, just huddles of black-camoed bodies slumped senseless. They’d all be dead on these decks too if the device hadn’t been aimed out to sea.
Flip grinned. “So, this is our wonder weapon. What is this fucking thing anyway?”
“It can’t take down a plane but can warble people’s brains,” said Biggs. “Make ’em bleed from the ears. Told you, it’s some disruptor alien tech.”
“Yeah, but you never—”
“My enterprising brother died yapping about some secret tech on a wrecked ship and an alien vessel worth a gold mine for salvage. He was out exploring somewhere in The Dim Zone. A planet called Hades.”
“So you went all the fuck way out there to get this?” Choko asked.
“I finish what he started. After all, his blood was on my hands. My fault he ventured there in the first place. On a tip I had from this smuggler guy. He found this old alien Orb in bad shape. Most of the tech was smashed aboard. But rows of creepy tanks—eerie, putrid, glass all shattered, were there with some alien specimens inside them: squids, crickets, human-size, all shriveled up.” He grimaced. “Worth shit. On the bridge though there was this alien device. This black globe on a black stem about waist high. I loaned it to some geeks doing R & D in a university basement. Geeks I knew. They told me it was some kind of mind fuck instrument. They tinkered with it, discovered its ‘other’ properties.”
“Which is saving our ass now,” said Choko.
“Got that right. Got to deliver it to Drakin and his gangsters in the next day or so or the deal’s off. His den is a hell of ways away from here.”
“Where exactly?”
“In the Karudi hills, don’t you fucking listen, Gila? Told you all this this morning.”
Gila turned away with a grunt. “We’ll never make it.”
“We’re going to fucking make it, or die in the attempt.”
“You’re fucking crazy, Biggs,” said Choko. “If Zoral and his gang hadn’t waylaid us—”
“But they did. And yeah, we might have made it. And if I find the mother fucker who tipped them off, I’m going to cut off his head and shit down his throat.”
Regers, listening to it all, grimaced in understanding. These scum would pawn the disruptor off to some local gangsters for big money. In the same hills he’d been contracted to secure the medicinal trade. Plenty of killers and opportunists out there.
Question was, what the fuck was this thing? Hades? Dim Zone? It sure did look like something not from this universe. Those weird looping symbols carved in it gave him the shivers. He wondered what powered it. Maybe it had self-perpetuating power. He shuddered at the implication. Possibly the only thing that really truly scared the shit out of him was alien tech.
On a whim, Regers tried a gambit. “Reckon they’ll pay you anything for it, Biggs?”
Biggs scoffed at the question. “You kidding? You saw what the thing can do. Took out two coast guard destroyers. Big pile of golden yols for this baby.”
“There’s a difference between seeing one demo and making practical use of it. The thing could break down any time. Where’s its power source? Maybe the juice is getting low.”
Biggs shrugged. “Maybe. But what do I care right now? I’m just selling, not a speculator. You on board with my team, Regers, or you a chicken shit just going to nitpick?”
Regers blinked and smoothed his jaw. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not if you don’t want to join those other fucks bleeding out, or shark bait. Window of opportunity is fast closing. Don’t think too long, Regers.”
“I’m in.”
“Good choice.”
Regers cupped a frightened hand over his mouth. “This alien tech has me all a-tingle. Let me go splash cold water on my face.”
A faint wisp of smile passed over Biggs’s face. “Watch the lip. Time and place for it and now ain’t the time. My patience is running about zero right now. And Choko and Flip have itchy trigger fingers.”
“Must be the bam in my blood.”
Choko thumbed his gun with a cold, empty, serial-killer look.
Flip whined, “Forget Regers. Only a matter of time before we get blown out of the water, Biggs. Even with that disruptor technology. It can’t take out a whole armada. Closer we get to Balden or Mantos, closer our doom awaits in my opinion.”
“We’re not going to Balden. We’re going straight into Byarus.”
Choko blinked. “What if they sic jets on us?”
“We got RPGs, remember? Fuckers won’t expect that kind of firepower.”
Choko’s eyes gleamed.
Sure enough a black speck grew on the horizon, followed by a dull, growing roar. Regers tensed as he looked up. Through the glass, Marise sat hunched back in shock in the passenger area, her eyes wide with terror. The first fighter jet came screaming over the hovercraft. An old V-winged B96 fleet bomber. Was this all the Pandorian forces could muster? Regers shook his weary head. Heavy shells blasted the hull, peppering the sides, deflating the port air cushion.
A spray of glass and metal showered the deck.
Regers stumbled into the passenger area, brushing glass off his back. He shielded Marise from shards and metal by jerking her away in time. Two of the nearby passengers lay face up, gored with fallout. Civilians were obviously expendable here. Panic swept through the hostages. The gunmen tried to keep control of the situation.
They failed.
Biggs hissed out a withering curse and lay low in the bar along with Choko and the others. Choko squared the RPG cannon on his shoulder. His chunky fingers set the heat lock on the jet and on Bigg’s signal, he fired the first heat-seeking missile. The jet roared overhead on another pass to blow out the left-rear hovercraft’s propeller engine. The RPG missile whistled through an opening in the shattered glass and beelined straight up at the advancing fighter.
Metal connected with metal. A sudden ball of fire erupted in the sky as the assault bomber exploded into pieces.
“Hot damn!” Biggs rasped. Fiery fragments plummeted to the ocean.
The hostages moaned in despair.
“Boo hoo. You fucking pussies.” Choko staggered around, smacking the few brave slumped passengers who’d bewailed his shot and stayed cowering in their seats. The othe
rs had fled. They needed rounding up. Some had jumped overboard.
“More jets’ll be coming!” Flip cried.
“Maybe not. They got a limited number of war machines with a war on. This is some backward colony, remember? Small fry, one hijacked ship.”
“Serves ’em right for trying to take our ride down,” snorted Choko. “Just lost themselves a 10 million yol plane.”
The hovercraft lurched as the diesel engines that powered the air cushion sputtered and backfired. The ship was still chugging through the waves at eight knots, even though one of the propeller engines was smoking and the framework a complete ruin of crumpled, molten metal. Another prop looked on the verge of collapse, after shards of metal and glass had been sucked through the vents from the air strike.
Regers teetered on his heels as the ship listed to port.
“Damn!” Biggs cursed. “Rudder fins are warped too. With the air cushion buggered, the ship wobbles.”
“We’ll have to make do,” said Regers.
“Tell the captain to keep full steam ahead,” said Biggs, “to Byarus, not Mantos. We aren’t going to Balden Boys’ country. We’ll get shot to hell. Head for the rebel state at war with Balden.”
Biggs turned to Regers with a feral look. “Go get Gila. We need him down here to get these chickenshits back in their seats.”
Regers’ lips feigned concern. “Who’s going to watch the navigator?”
“Fuck the navigator. Tell skipper boy if he screws around, he’s getting his head blown off! Fetch Gila.”
“Right.” Regers shambled off in a dog trot.
“Round up the freyas!” Biggs barked. “All of you—get back to your seats or you’re dead!”
He fired off lethal shots. Regers heard screams. He saw a man scrambling at the end of the starboard deck get shot in the leg, trip and moan, and recognized Choko’s guffaw echoing in the midst of the chaos.
Flip, Biggs and Choko worked at rounding up the fugitives and Regers slipped back to the passenger area. Futile to play hide and seek with Marise. Her getting found out and blown away was about as senseless as slitting his own throat. Amid the yells, gunfire, and desperate pleading, he found her huddled in a corner of the games room, now a shambles. He sidled over and held her tight and tried to console her.
“Stay in the passenger area,” he hissed, “keep your head down. Say nothing. No matter what happens, Marise, know it, I’ll get these guys.”
“But—”
“Sh! No words! You’re not going to like what you see here. You’re not going to like me. This is going to end badly for all of us. I won’t pretty it up.”
She nodded, bright patches of fear and impending doom reflected in her moistening eyes.
Chapter 10
After they’d gathered up the hostages, Biggs and company roved the passenger area in foul moods. Harsh words were traded, some that came to blows. Three more hostages lay dead. Food for sharks. Down to forty seven now. Regers nursed his nerves and worked to maintain his cool. He studied his foes with a practiced professional’s eye. They were unorganized, seriously undermanned, not expecting such a monkey wrench in their plans. Yet all were heavily armed, with the varied weapons they’d stashed in their backpacks. Combat knives, submachine guns, compact rifles.
Choko, round-cheeked, foul-mouthed, psychopathic, with straight black hair brushing broad shoulders. Numerous scars on nose and chin, hairy, muscled arms tattooed with snakes and crabs. A stalker, bully, and hunter. An evil creature personified.
Flip was more pliable, tall, gangly, some goofy scarecrow with piglet eyes. Not to be underestimated.
Gila, quiet, sullen, narrow-nosed, a thin, gaunt body with a short stature and compact frame. The yes-man of the group, yet odd-man-out. Would carry out orders without a moment’s hesitation.
Biggs, the most dangerous of all, had a quicksilver mind—hard to read—a man who could see through most ruses and bullshit. Regers was surprised he had pulled off this charade as long as he had. The bottom could fall out at any moment. He was under no illusion that dear old Biggs would waste him on a moment’s notice, despite his glib promises.
The boat was still running. Regers recalled his smattering of hovercraft physics. A cushion of high pressure air pumped underneath gave it buoyancy and allowed the jet fans from behind to send it skimming over any surface. If that cushion ever went batshit, the boat would turn it into a dead weight, as heavy as a stone and lose its lift. Regers was surprised this thing was still moving at the speed it was.
Flip’s blue-grey eyes darted out the shattered window to the sky then back to the hostages. He took Biggs aside. “There’s too many of them to cover. They make an all-out rush on us next time trouble hits, they could sack us.”
“He’s right,” Gila muttered. “If we’re going to have air strikes on our asses, best we thin the herd. Unless you think Regers’ gonna keep ’em back with his muscles and Medusa stare?”
“Get rid of some of the troublemakers,” growled Biggs. “Throw them overboard.” He flicked up his rifle.
Flip licked his lips.
“Well?”
“If you say so, Biggs.”
Flip made a quick-pick selection, herding about a third of the passengers to starboard deck. Regers hoped the hell Marise kept her head down. He didn’t have much to worry about as they left the choicest females alone, Marise one of them. She wrung her wrists, her face pale and sick with terror. Regers avoided any eye contact. He didn’t want to attract attention her way.
Choko assisted Flip. The two took the chosen to the deckside rail and butted them into the water, one by one. Regers caught glimpses of shark fin and tail and human arms thrashing amidst screams of pure terror. Those that broke loose got gunned down. They tossed the bloodied corpses over the railing. None had any chance of surviving those shark-infested waters on an impossible swim miles to the shore.
Regers stared in mute incomprehension. A daze fogged his brain, further numbed by the bam and the thugs’ reckless disregard for human life. Mass murder carried out by the most deranged psychopaths. No better than war criminals, murderers who gassed victims. They must all be jacked on Devirol. The little he’d taken made everything seem a little dreamy around the edges. Still, his mind kept wandering—to that little satchel of pellets in Chok’s pocket, craving more. Regers wondered how long he’d last before it was his turn to die. He must have gotten caught in a seconds’ too long daze because Choko blared at him, “What you looking at?” He aimed his gun at Regers’ chest.
Regers remained stone-faced.
“You a dumb mute? Spit it out, fuck boy.”
“Much easier to kill than preserve the human species, eh Choko?”
“What’s that? You a wise guy? Hey, boss, Regers turning into some kind of preacher.”
Biggs came sauntering up, staring at Regers. He gazed for some time, his intense grey-brown eyes taking in every detail of Regers’ physique: the cocky stance, the scarred fists, the lean tone of hardened muscle, and the cool phlegmatic gaze. He laughed. “No preacher, Choko. This man’s a merc, as I told you. As black-hearted as they come. My kind of guy. Someone we can use right now.”
Choko snorted. “Yeah, you guys can be bum buddies for all I care.”
“Hey, watch the language. It’s me you’re talking to, remember?”
Choko strode off, grumbling.
Biggs turned to Regers with a frown. “Can’t trust you with a gun, Regers. But you can still play soldier boy with the chicken stooges here on board. Play washroom-duty when they beg pretty please to relieve their bladders. He ripped off a chunk of twisted metal from the railing and threw it at Regers. Regers caught it in a calloused hand.
“Use this to keep the natives in line. Any one of these fuckers so much as blinks or steps out of line, beat the shit out of them.”
Regers fingered the metal, grimly licking his lips, not saying a word. Play along, Regers. Wait your chance.
They assembled back in the passenger area, Gi
la and Choko watching the thinned out hostage base and Regers doing washroom detail.
Marise flashed glances at Regers with loathing in her eyes. He avoided her gaze, keeping his ice-cold expression neutral. Biggs was watching. Any sign of leniency would spell the end for him. Especially with Choko breathing down his neck like a fucking ghoul.
Biggs prodded him in the ribs. “Got your lusty eye on that freya over there, don’t you, Reg-boy? Snazzy piece of ass. Can’t blame you. I’d have a hard on too.” He gave a huff of sardonic laughter. “If all works out and we’re still standing by the end of this, you can take that bitch home, use her as a pegboard.”
Regers remained deadpan. Right after I drive your face back into your brain, fucker!
As for kiss and make up with Marise, Regers doubted much that chance would ever happen given what was about to go down. This was only going to get worse. Either way, he did not like the lascivious glint in Choko’s eyes as he raked them over her body.
Some time passed and a narrow window of opportunity presented itself. Biggs at stern, worried over the damaged propellers. Gila watched the pilot cabin. Choko was absent, probably in the loo jacking off. Flip, punishing some babbling, white-faced freya who had yakked all over the guy seated next to him, was preoccupied.
The ‘package’ was untended in the locker area at the back. Regers didn’t know how it worked or exactly what it was capable of, only that it radiated pure evil, an instrument of death coveted by gangsters. A weapon they’d fight and kill over. Just a few steps, a grab and a toss and it’d be a hundred fathoms down. Fucking thing had caused too much bloodshed.
On cat feet he snuck to the back, opened the rear compartment where Biggs had stowed it. Casually, he grabbed the cardboard casing, closed the door and lugged its awkward bulk to the starboard deck, farthest away from prying eyes. The thing gave off a weird vibration, tingling his hands even through the cardboard. With effort, he slid it up over the railing, let it fall in the waves. Without a moment’s second-guessing, he returned to the passenger area and acted as nonchalant as possible, making sure to keep his gaze off Marise. Flip was still slapping his victim. Wretched Marise sat hunched in a middle seat, her face forward, moaning, dark bags pooled under her brown eyes. She looked as if she’d aged ten years. All the survivors did. It was as if all thirty three were waiting on death row without any hope of mercy—which was probably not far from the truth.
