That something was the Gritloth ship blowing into the promised million pieces, courtesy of a missile no one ever saw coming. Bek’ah watched as the one large radar signature became dozens of tiny signatures, each winking out of existence one by one as the scanners detected no survivors. Within a matter of minutes, the apparently unarmed smuggler had turned a Griloth warship into scrap, destroyed a slave trader and his entire business enterprise, and left a dozen slaver fighters adrift far from home or any friendly environment. Now they were rushing toward the nearest gate out of the Gleekum system faster than any ship had the right to travel.
“Wow,” Bek’ah said, leaning against a bulkhead. “You did it. You actually did it.”
“Yep,” Captain Tinbrak said, that cocky grin stretching from ear to ear this time.
“Now what, Captain?” Timsif asked. “This detour all but guarantees we’ve lost our pickup, and besides, we don’t have any room in the hold, anyway. What are we going to do with all those beings? I know you’re not going to sell them.”
“Not a chance,” the captain replied. “I’ve heard stories about a new system out there. A place where a bunch of ragtag misfits from systems all over known space are working together to live better. Some of our passengers will have homes they can go back to, but talking to most of them, they were people who wouldn’t be missed. That’s what made them appealing to Vishandu in the first place. So I figure we’d check it out. And if we’re lucky, the folks that run the place will give us a little backup when Vishandu’s financial backers come looking for whoever blew him up.”
“Sounds good to me,” Harmbo said. He looked over his shoulder at Bek’ah. “What about you, Stowaway?”
“Sounds perfect,” she said. “Just as long as we find some way to get this damn chip out of my knee before we get there.”
“Doc’s got a table in the med bay all prepped for you,” Tinbrak said. He turned to the Pikith pilot. “Timsif, set us a course for the Salvage System.”
* * * * *
John G. Hartness Bio
John G. Hartness is a teller of tales, a righter of wrong, defender of ladies’ virtues, and some people call him Maurice, for he speaks of the pompatus of love. He is also the best-selling author of the EPIC-Award-winning series The Black Knight Chronicles from Bell Bridge Books, a comedic urban fantasy series that answers the eternal question, “Why aren’t there more fat vampires?” In 2016, Raising Hell, the first book in his dark fantasy Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter series, was awarded the Manly Wade Wellman award by the NC Speculative Fiction Foundation.
A graduate of Winthrop University, John lives in Charlotte with his wife Suzy and a very demanding cat. In other lives, he has been an actor, lighting designer, theatre consultant, salesman, electronics technician, and arts administrator. In 2016, John teamed up with a pair of other publishing industry ne’er-do-wells and founded Falstaff Books, a publishing conglomerate dedicated to pushing the boundaries of literature and entertainment.
In his copious free time John enjoys long walks on the beach, rescuing kittens from trees and recording new episodes of the podcast Authors & Dragons, where he plays a Pathfinder game with five other fantasy authors. An avid Magic: the Gathering player, John is strong in his nerd-fu and has sometimes been referred to as “the Kevin Smith of Charlotte, NC.” And not just for his girth.
Website - http://johnhartness.com
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/johnghartness
Twitter - @johnhartness
# # # # #
What’s Our Ship’s Name? by KC Johnston
“You’re going to need to run, Son!” Pop exclaimed, pointing to the tree line. He looked back at my mother. “Barb, it’s happening.”
“Wha…what? Why would I run? Where to?” I asked. Pop was never frazzled.
Taking my face in one of his massive hands—squeezing harder than he probably intended—he directed my sight toward his comp screen and the incoming ships blazing through the atmosphere.
“Son, do you see those two ships?” I could read the fear in his gaze. “Those are Wakutoka transport vessels. Inside each ship will be no less than five nightmarish creatures.”
This was the first time I could recall seeing terror in my father’s eyes. He worked security on mining haulers. He had dealt with pirates. He wasn’t scared of anything…was he?
“Will someone, for once, please tell me what’s going on? Why am I the only one running? Why would anyone be here for you? How do you even know they are? And what’s a Wakutaco?”
“Sweetie,” Mom cut in, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you; we couldn’t…we can’t…I mean, you were so young, and…well…we never thought.”
“Barb, no,” Pop interrupted. “We don’t have time for this.”
“He needs to know. He’s almost eighteen, and we don’t have time to discuss it, John.” Mom said it in such a finite tone, the system president would have backed off.
“Your father is right,” she continued. “We don’t have time for everything. We didn’t move to this moon when you were a baby because he got transferred by the mining company. Your father and I used to work for the Xavier system navy. For seventeen years, we’ve had weekly check-ins with a handler. Yesterday, she missed our check-in call, and today, these ships show on your father’s sat feeds.”
“Wait? Like witness protection? Or spies? What the hell is going on?” I asked, even more confused.
“Language young man!” She glared. “Not quite. Sweetheart, there really is no time. We…we…a little help, John?”
“For goodness sakes, Barb,” Pop conceded. “Kav, Son, we kept these things from you to protect you. I’ve trained you for damn near 18 years of your life the way I have in case this day came, knowing deep down, one day, it could and probably would. We just don’t have time, so here it is. The Wakutoka blame us for their gate closure. Around half their naval force was out of the system when it closed, and those left have been hunting us for the last seventeen years or so.”
“Wait. You got their gate closed?” I asked, backing up a step, “How? What did you do?”
I took another step back, focused on the only reasons a gate can be closed and the atrocities that must have been committed by the only family I had ever known.
“It’s not like that,” he said looking at his comp. “We don’t have time for everything—they’ll be within visual soon. You have to go. There isn’t a place to hide they won’t find us. We can’t stop them from taking us, but we can stop them from taking you.”
“What do you mean it’s not like that?” I asked, stopping my retreat.
Pop sighed, staring at his comp, then he looked up at me and my mother. “Your mother and I were on a joint task force on loan to the Wakutoka government, helping to maintain the reactors on one of their ships. Wakutoka is the nearest gate to Xavier, and our relations with them weren’t great. It was a diplomatic mission, and your mother was chosen because she was one of the best damn physicists and, possibly, the smartest individual in the entire Xavier system. I was just a grunt on security detail and wasn’t going to let her go without me.”
“We don’t know how it happened,” Pop said, running his hand through his hair. “We’ve discussed it many times in the years since, trying to piece it together. Shortly after we left, the reactors in the ship we worked on went off—some sort of chain reaction caused them to detonate in nuclear explosions. The Bith came and investigated us, the Xavier system military, and of course, the Wakutoka, themselves. The Bith investigation concluded that a low-ranking admiral in charge of that particular section of their fleet had set the chain reactions off manually. I don’t know—maybe it was an accident? Maybe he was trying to frame Xavier and get our gate closed instead? We’ll never know. The Bith ruled it an intentional act by an officer in the Wakutoka Navy and, therefore, on behalf of their system government. That hasn’t set well with the half of their Navy that is still beyond their closed gate.”
He sighed, looking into my wet eyes. �
�We both love you.” He looked at his comp again, then added, “Take your pack and hit the tree line. Go to Zorn’s. You have to be gone before they have visual. I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Son.” He finished in a stony, finite tone, drawing me into a swift, strong hug.
My mom drew my face to hers, staring into my eyes for a moment, then pulled me further into her embrace. “I love you,” she said with a gasp. “I need you to be strong…Now go.”
“I love you, too,” I responded, tears flowing. I grabbed my pack and started to turn—my body listening to Mom and Pop’s instructions—but my heart pleaded with me not to do so. “I…I can’t leave you guys.”
“Forty-five seconds!” my father yelled. He smashed his comp with a rock and tossed it into a nearby ivory bush. “Run! No time!”
Setting my jaw, although the tears still fell, I ran. My feet, at least, followed the instructions my mind couldn’t comprehend. I didn’t ask the one question burning through my mind. I already knew they wouldn’t be back.
* * *
“Zorn! Z-Zorn!” I yelled, collapsing outside his family’s tree dwelling. I was too exhausted and distraught from the three-mile sprint to say anything else. It was midafternoon, so his parents would both be gone.
“Damn, Kav, what happened to you?” he asked as he came up from between the roots of the massive, light blue pearlescent tree. “You look like your gruff just died or something.”
Seeing the broken features of my face, he bounded over to examine me. “Seriously, Kav, what happened?”
“My parents. Something came to take my parents. The Wakataco or something. Pop is not a miner, and Mom isn’t a seamstress,” I rambled. I still couldn’t process the information entirely. “Well, they are, but they weren’t. Not before, at least.” I paused long enough to take a long draw of water, and Zorn cut in.
“Whoa, dude, you have to slow down. You remember your Pop and my dad work together for the mine? Your mom made my sister’s dress for her wedding. Of course they—”
“They are now!” I interrupted. “But they weren’t before. Pop was a marine and mom a physicist, or chemist, or something science, and they destroyed some ships, or these xenos think they did, so they’ve been hunting them since I was a baby, and now they killed some super-secret spy handler and are here for them, and we have to figure out a way to stop them!”
“What are you even talking about, dude? You aren’t making any sense. Your dad can’t be some spy?!”
How can you sit here and do nothing, I thought to myself, exhaustion giving way to determination. “There’s no time—it took me a while to get here, and they may already have taken them. Are you going to help me or not, Zor?”
“I’ll be honest, Kav, I’m not certain you didn’t lick some fungus, but you know I got your back.” He placed a small, paw-like hand on my shoulder.
Zorn is a Zordack, the native species on Zordan, the fourth moon of Xavier, and the only one with an atmosphere. To make things even more confusing, all male Zordackians have names starting with Z and females have names ending with Z, at least as it translates to Earth Common, so keeping names straight is not an easy task. I’ve been teaching Zorn Earth Common for many years, but they can’t pronounce many of our words, so we usually just use our inner ear translators. Zorn built the ones he and I use himself. All Zordackians have a mind for engineering and computers, but Zorn was at the top of his class and a part-time apprentice under his father Zonth, working three days a week in the mining lab’s R&D wing.
“We need to go back to where I left them…to the plains near Zondee Mountain where we hike. Did you get the batteries upgraded in the hoverboards?” I asked, snapping my fingers.
“Yeah man, weeks ago, but I haven’t tested them yet, so—”
“No better time than now!” I cut in, running toward the tree next to his home dwelling.
His—well his dad’s—shop was located under and inside an adjacent tree. I entered the code Zorn wasn’t supposed to give me and shot down the stairs, keeping my head tilted to keep from hitting the roof. I moved so fast, the automated light sensors barely kept up. I saw the boards placed atop one another on a large rack on Zorn’s side of the shop and pulled them down. I turned as Zorn entered, and I noticed Mr. Z’s work station. Sitting on top was a helmet and an armored suit with ‘DSH Bazzano’ marked on the chest panel.
“Is that Pop’s security gear?” I asked.
“Uh…uh…yeah, I think. He has a few from your dad’s detail. I think Father said they had some issues with sealing and with the HUD in the helmet on a few of them. He gave them a once-over and cleared them yesterday. Your dad was supposed to come by with his crew tomorrow and do a run through.” I could tell he had no idea what I was thinking.
“Find a Zordack suit that fits and get it on. I think I can fit in Pop’s.”
Pop’s suit was different from the others. He was Deputy Security Head, or DSH, for the local Z-Mining Ltd station, and most of the people who worked for him, and therefore most of the suits on and around the work bench, were made for Zordackians. Zordackians, both male and female, average between two and three feet tall and weigh thirty-five to fifty pounds. I’ve heard Pop describe them as looking like Earth’s gray foxes, mixed with skunks. I had to look them up on the net as I had never seen any, but I had to agree with him. Well, aside from having four arms and no tail. Zordackians dock the tales of their young as part of their custom and, I think, the local religion. Zorn, in particular, looked like a wise, old gray fox with two black stripes bordering a center white stripe which ran from his nose, over his head, and down his back.
“I dunno, man, you’re acting like we’re going to battle here,” Zorn said nervously.
“We are,” I said. “I think. I don’t know, but whatever these things are...they aren’t here for a friendly conversation. My parents acted like I’d never see them again. We’ve already been here too long; we need to go!”
“Look, dude, you know I’m here for you and always will be. You’re my best friend, even if you look like an overgrown gorfnell with mange! But we don’t even know what we’re going up against. We have to take two minutes and, at least, come up with a plan!” He paused and then asked, “What did you say these things were called again?”
“Wakatoco. Something like that. Pop referred to them as nightmares,” I said trying to remember.
“WHAT? Your dad? The giant? Called them nightmares?” he asked, shocked. “Computer! Pull up everything you can on a Wakataco. Edit: Broad search for near miss xeno names.”
A nasally, pompous, and hollow-sounding voice came from unseen speakers.
“No direct matches. Two near miss matches. Would you like to hear the two near miss matches?”
“Yes!” we shouted simultaneously.
“Result 1: Wakutoka, Result 2: Wo…”
“Computer, Result 1!” I shouted before the computer could finish reading the second.
“Result 1: Wakutoka. The Wakutoka are a canoid race indigenous to the closed gate Wakutoka System. Here is an image. Would you like to know more?” the computer asked, placing an image of one of the scariest creations either of us had ever seen on the display.
The creature looked like a werewolf from one of the old fictional Earth vids, except I knew this one didn’t turn back into a naked man. Standing at least seven feet tall, the Wakutoka had deep purple, almost black, fur, with its back arched in a howling pose. Even with all the fur and limited clothing around the waist area, you could see rippled sinewy muscle.
Zorn gulped audibly and turned toward me. “Dude, you can’t be serious. How many of those things did you say were coming?”
“Pop said two ships with five Wakutoka soldiers each. So that’s ten,” I said, so dejected that fear had not set in.
“We definitely need a plan. Can we call the navy? What about Z-Mining security?” Zorn asked, excitedly.
“You didn’t believe me, and I’m your best friend! Do you really think they will? We don’t have
time; we have to think of something now, Zor!” I said, my voice rising in desperation. “Computer, can you tell me more about the Wakutoka? Do they wear armor? Have personal weapons? Transport ships?”
What the computer had to tell us was not comforting, but it allowed us to, at least, come up with a few not certain death ideas. I was willing to die for my Mom and Pop, but I wasn’t willing to ask Zorn to.
“Zor, if it gets too sketchy, just retreat okay? You don’t even have to go, man; we may not come back,” I said while attempting to figure out how to get into Pop’s gear.
“Dude, without me, you’ll certainly die alone. At least, with me, we may not die a horrible death,” he said, feigning a macho posture as he assembled his gear. “But, just in case, I sent my parents a message and forwarded them some vid. They’ll get it when they get home.”
Pop and I shared the same height, but he was much bulkier. The suit fit vertically, but the chest sloshed about as I walked around the small shop, getting a feel for its movement. Meanwhile, Zorn found a suit perfectly matched to his frame, down to the specific elongation of his snout.
“Dude, you look like a kid wearing his dad’s clothes!” He snickered. “Hit the auto-sizing option in the settings on your HUD. It should be able to snug it up a bit, though I’m not sure it’ll be perfect; your Dad has to have eighty pounds on you.”
I did as instructed, and internal straps cinched enough for me to be able to move more freely and not feel as off balance. I handed Zorn the smaller of the two hoverboards he had boosted the power on, nodded, and darted up the stairs and out into the afternoon sun, Zorn at my heels.
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