Space Pirate Charlie: The Dragon Mage Book 2

by Scott Baron

  With a focused blast from his slaap, Bawb bent the door back farther on its ruined track until enough of an opening presented itself for him to force his way in. The lights were still functioning on a standby spell that stayed active even when the ship was demolished.

  In the flickering glow, what he saw took his breath away. Something entirely unexpected.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Dozens of dead Ootaki were strapped to their seats, shining gold collars pale in comparison to their brilliant hair. And the hair, the length was extraordinary. It must have taken decades to grow, the power within increasing every single day as the Council––a group of the most powerful magic users in the galaxy––poured additional power into the Ootaki over the years.

  It seemed obvious, and horrible. They must have been taken as infants, kept as slaves their entire lives, raised for this one terrible purpose. They had never been shorn, and as such, held an even greater amount of power than would have been expected. These poor, peaceful beings were to have their hair harvested, the power behind a most terrible weapon.

  But they were dead. And with their demise, all power in their uncut locks was lost forever, instantly dissipated into the ether. There had been a fortune great enough to buy a small planet aboard that one ship, and with one well-placed attack, the pirate rebels had robbed the Council of not only a vast amount of wealth, but of the power source for their weapon as well.

  Bawb quickly scanned the chamber. Most of the Ootaki had died from concussive impact, but others seemed to have lost their lives from the shower of shrapnel sent flying when the ship broke apart and crashed.

  Something was off. Not all of the berths were filled. Some of the Ootaki had not been aboard the ship. A great amount of power was still present somewhere on the battlefield. Enough to wipe out thousands, if his guess was correct. He had to warn the others.

  His enchanted blade flew into his hand at the sound of metal scraping behind him. Bawb dove on instinct, rebounding from a crumpled wall, lunging blade-first toward his adversary.

  Only the reflexes of one of the greatest assassins alive kept his knife from sinking home in the chest of the Ootaki who had miraculously survived, her bloodshot, concussed eyes trying desperately to focus as she attempted to free herself from the debris fallen atop her.

  She was the lone survivor. A freak bit of luck had collapsed a portion of hull around her in just the right way to deflect the bulk of the barrage. She was still obviously knocked senseless by the explosions, but she was alive. Bawb assessed the young woman.

  Mid-twenties, by his guess, with arm-thick braids of golden hair wrapped in loops around her body. He wondered if its magical power, combined with such a density of golden locks, had protected her as well, forming a sort of magical shell around her body. It was possible, but unlikely. The others hadn’t survived, after all. No, she was just lucky.

  He moved the large piece of metal from atop her, then began working at the enchanted straps holding her in her seat. The young woman’s senses started to return, and at the sight of the battle-dirty Wampeh, she started to scream, thrashing violently in her restraints as panic set in.

  Bawb quickly silenced her with a firm hand over her mouth. The look of pure terror in her eyes triggered something in him. An unusual sensation for a man of his profession. But odd as it was, he felt empathy for her.

  Perhaps it had been all that time spent with Charlie and his friends. Their do-good ways were starting to rub off on him, perhaps. Whatever the reason, Bawb the assassin did something unexpected. He released his grip.

  “Do not scream. I am not going to hurt you,” he said as soothingly as he could, locking his gaze with hers with as kind a look as he could manage. “I am not with the Council. I am going to set you free.”

  He removed his hand entirely and waited.

  For a moment it appeared the panicked woman would begin shrieking again, and that would bring the Council guards in no time, but to his pleasant surprise, she seemed to calm down as she stared into his eyes. A little twist of something in his chest almost made Bawb wince, but he maintained his stoic expression.

  “I am Bawb,” he said, slowly moving his blade so as not to alarm her. “I am going to cut you free now. What is your name?” he asked as he began slicing her restraints.

  “Hunze,” she replied in a weak voice.

  “Did you say Hunze?”

  The young woman nodded.

  “Okay, Hunze, here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to get you out of here and back to my friends, but before we do, I need to do something about that collar.”

  He dug in his pouch, producing a fine handkerchief of golden thread. Hunze’s eyes went wide as she realized what it was made of.

  “I assure you, none of your kin were harmed in the acquisition of this,” he said soothingly as he wrapped the collar tightly. “There. That should block it, at least for a short while. Now come with me.”

  She sat motionless, paralyzed with fear.

  “Hunze, I want you to listen to me,” he said, gently taking her hands in his. “I swear to you on my honor, no harm will befall you so long as I am by your side. But if we do not move quickly, I fear this will be for naught.”

  Slowly, she rose to her feet, and Bawb could see the full extent of the hair wrapped around her body. The braids were simply massive, and at her age, the amount of power the great lengths held was enormous. She caught him examining her hair and flinched.

  “No, you do not have to fear me. I have no interest in your locks. I will not take them from you, nor will I allow any of my brethren to touch a single hair on your head.”

  It was odd, but for some reason the assassin known as the Geist knew what he was saying was true. He would defend this unknown innocent to his last breath.

  “They really must be rubbing off on me,” he muttered as he took her hand and led her from the chamber.

  There were Council forces approaching, he realized, and if they saw her, it would be over before it began. Bawb searched the wreckage for anything that might be of use, something to protect her with. Then he saw it.

  “Yes. That will do perfectly.”

  He ushered the Ootaki woman into the charred cargo conveyance. It was a simple thing, essentially a minorly Drook-powered crate that floated where the operator wished. For their purposes, it was perfect. Perfect, and left his hands free for dirtier work.

  Bawb silently dispatched a half dozen men as he led the floating box from the ship, donning the long, protective coat of one of the fallen troops along the way.

  “They need reinforcements in the cargo hold,” he called to the men jogging toward the ship. “You’d better hurry!”

  The attack had been from above, and they were surrounded by the most powerful forces for a dozen systems, so none of the troops even thought to question the man walking away from the wreckage. A few minutes later, Bawb secured the crate in the abandoned transport he had arrived in. The Drooks would be of no use to him, but he had all the Drook power he needed in his armlet.

  Carefully, he directed the power to the ship and took off. Unlike his entry to the most secure areas, his departure did not require pass-phrases. And it was a good thing. While the ship was certainly airworthy, he didn’t think it could withstand a heated pursuit.

  Clear of the fleet, he flew low and slow, taking a wide loop around his friends to approach from the far side, where the automated defenses would not shoot him down. He just hoped the skree message he had sent had reached the Rixana. He had no desire of being shot out of the sky.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  “I do not see why your friend finds this so distasteful,” Marban said, hefting the small carbine with the appreciative hands of a man who had seen much combat. “I mean, yes, it is a foreign weapon, powered by a strange tech-magic I do not quite understand––though the concept of combustion you have described makes basic sense. Regardless, it is elegant in its inelegance.”

  Charlie handed him his pistol.
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  “Here, try this. It’s a hand-held variant. Smaller, less power, but more portable and, of course, concealable.”

  Marban handed him the long gun and took the pistol in his hand. After only an initial discussion on the subject, his trigger discipline was already exemplary.

  “So I just point and squeeze, like the other?”

  “Yes. But don’t lock your elbow when you do. The kick can be uncomfortable until you get used to it.”

  “And I line up these glowing dots on what I wish to harm, yes?”

  “You’re a natural, Marban.”

  “Why, thank you, little brother,” the pirate said with a jovial grin.

  When the Geist had disappeared from camp, taking the downed Council craft with him, he had left behind the strange weapons from Charlie’s world. But it wasn’t because he disliked them. Far from it, actually.

  He hadn’t achieved his reputation and stayed alive so long by shying away from new methods of killing. However, given the speed with which he would be moving, and the fluidity of the situation, he deemed it unwise to rely on any weapon––however effective––that he was not entirely familiar with.

  His enchanted blades, slaaps, and konuses, however, were as much a part of him as his body and could be wielded without conscious thought. Those, along with his very customized shimmer, were all he wore as he raced to one of the most dangerous targets of his career, the firearms left behind where he was certain Charlie would see them.

  The result was an additional tool now in Marban’s hands as they prepared for the next wave of violence, however it may present itself. There were only a few guns, but Jamal Quick, the long-dead security and emergency response team leader from his crashed ship, had packed a fair amount of ammunition.

  It seemed odd to Charlie at the time. They were making a simple test flight, not preparing for battle, but Jamal had his routines, it seemed, and one of them was a certain degree of basic preparation, regardless of the situation’s needs.

  And the current needs made Charlie quite grateful for Jamal’s seeming overpacking.

  Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it, he thought with a smile as he watched Marban take a few more practice shots to familiarize himself with the weapons.

  “You feeling comfortable with those?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes. Once you get the hang of them, it’s actually rather refreshing not having to cast a spell. Something relaxing about doling out destruction with your hands while your mind can focus on other things. I see the appeal.”

  “Good. Because it looks like you’re going to get a chance to use them for real,” he said, staring off into the distance at the rapidly approaching low cloud of sand.

  Marban pulled out his skree and contacted the Rixana, quickly confirming Charlie’s assessment.

  “They say there is a sizable ground force approaching. It seems they landed just outside the targeting capability of long-range spells and were deposited by transports. The larger ships are hanging back, while the ground-skimming ones are making an assault approach.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not. The way they’ve configured themselves puts the Rixana at a disadvantage if she attempts to engage them before they reach our location. The larger ships’ positioning would expose her flanks while she attacked.”

  “Meaning we have to handle the ground forces ourselves. Shit. This lets their ground skimmers leverage their position and speed capabilities as a checking piece against us. The Rixana is out of the fight.”

  “Yes. At least until they gird their loins and attack like men,” Marban said with disgust. “Though in that regard, we are fortunate the Council is so unaccustomed to actual resistance. They are not used to a target who fights back, and fiercely at that.”

  “A degree of cowardice from the mighty Council, eh?”

  “Yes, but also consider that Visla Maktan almost certainly wants to recapture your Zomoki. He’d direct them to use only smaller forces until she is under his control once more. Obviously, his men have not seen what befell her, thanks to your rather ingenious camouflage.”

  A commotion arose among the men as they noticed a lone transport rapidly approaching from their rear flank. Somehow one had slipped by the defenses, it seemed. That, or it had actually taken the long way around the wasteland, traveling solo to avoid drawing the attention a larger force would.

  “Target that ship!” Charlie called out, calculating the lone craft would arrive well before the main attack group.

  The pirate defenders quickly shifted a portion of their ranks into position and began casting spells. Their aim was true, but the craft’s pilot was skilled, and nimbly dodged the attacks.

  “Belay that! Hold your fire!” Marban bellowed.

  “What are you doing?” Leila shouted.

  “It’s one of ours.”

  “It’s a Council ship,” she replied.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” he said, waving his skree. “Message from the Rixana. That transport is carrying one of ours. Your assassin friend, in fact.”

  “Bob?” Charlie said with a bit of confusion. “What the hell is he doing?”

  “They reported spotting some rather frantic activity at the rear positions after their last aerial attack. I think something big may have gone down, and we’ll be able to ask him in person in a minute.”

  Blasts rocked the far side of the wrecked ship, sending everyone diving for cover.

  “Shit, they’ve got some projectile casters,” Marban noted. “Clever. We’ll have to divert defensive spells to counter the barrage, and that will give their ground forces a window to get within striking range.”

  The rebels cast fast and furious, deflecting the balls of crackling energy lobbed their way.

  “What are they?” Charlie asked. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “Could be a number of things. Maybe even Ootaki hair woven into the material. Whatever it is, there’s enough charge in them to cause some pretty significant damage if they hit.”

  Their little band of defenders continued to cast, trying to pick off individuals at a distance between defensive spells. They were holding their own for the moment, but Charlie could clearly see it was a losing battle.

  The stolen transport pulled to a stop behind them, and Charlie briefly nodded his greeting to the Wampeh as he disembarked. He would have asked him about the container he was hauling with him, but he had more pressing matters at hand, stopping the attack first and foremost. He raced back to a firing position along the hull of his ship.

  Bawb quickly pulled the floating cargo box to the silent plasma cutter. He didn’t know exactly how to gauge the amount of power the tech-magic device contained, and he didn’t have time to learn. He would make his attempt, and would either succeed or fail.

  “Come,” he said as he opened the container. “I must remove that collar from your neck.”

  Hunze looked at the battle raging around her, terror in her eyes.

  “I will protect you,” Bawb reassured her. “But we must hurry.”

  She had lived a life of relative comfort, always pampered––as much as a slave would be––while being raised for her valuable hair. And now she was in such a foreign and hostile environment, her mind could barely comprehend the violence she was seeing. But the pale man had something in his eyes. There was power and death there, in abundance, but there was also something else. Something that made her trust him.

  Shaky legs slid down to the ground.

  “Good. Come,” Bawb said, taking her hand and leading her to the cutter.

  He quickly wedged the protective bits in place as they had done for Charlie and Leila, then he pulled back the protective wrapping and, without a moment’s hesitation, activated the strange device and began cutting. The plasma burned hot, and the collar around her neck began to part, but the tech-magic device sputtered irregularly.

  “Work, you cursed thing,” he growled.

  The b
and was nearly cut through, it was so close. He simply could not allow it to fail now. Ignoring the heat, he grabbed the hot ends of the collar and pulled fiercely as the cutter sputtered its last then fell silent. The sound of his sizzling flesh was horrible to Hunze’s ears, but the pale, powerful man merely ignored what must have been excruciating pain.

  He pulled with all his might, some of the magic taken from Emmik Yanna Sok flowing through him as he battled the last dregs of damaged magic holding the collar in place. Then, finally, the band snapped free. If not for the battle raging around them, the others might have noted the magical release, but given the circumstances, it went unnoticed.

  Hunze looked at the band now lying on the red soil with disbelief, then timidly raised her fingers to her neck. For the first time she could remember, the familiar weight was gone.

  Bawb assessed her and smiled.

  “You are free,” he said, satisfied. “Now you must hide. There is a battle to fight.”

  He reached into a pocket and retrieved a slaap, gingerly sliding it over his terribly burnt fingers.

  “Wait,” the Ootaki said, taking his hands in hers.

  The assassin paused, unsure, as she reached up to her head and plucked a single hair from her head, then pressed his hands together, wrapping them with the long, golden strand. A strange sensation flooded the Wampeh’s limbs, almost as if a swarm of insects was racing across his forearms and hands. Then, as quickly as it started, the feeling ceased.

  The hair, he noted, had lost its golden glow, turning to dust as he separated his palms. Shock filled him, which for a deadly assassin was really saying something. But there it was. His hands were whole. Healed. What would have surely been a debilitating injury for the rest of his days was gone, and with only a single strand of hair.

  “Freely given,” he muttered under his breath in awe, realizing why so much power had been contained in a lone hair. “But why?”