Jak Phoenix

by Matt D. Williams

  ***

  Jak wasn’t sure about space. He didn’t hate it, but he sure wasn’t in love with it. It was too cold, but it was also too hot. It was calm sometimes, but relaxing to the point where you might mistakenly fall asleep. Everything was far away, yet every dangerous or threatening issue seemed to be far too close. It was empty, but full of stuff that would kill you.

  The ride to Rusty’s space station was silent except for the various blips and beeps from the Tempest’s control board. Jak, lost in his thoughts, was in no mood for conversation. With imminent danger missing for the first time since the early morning, his brain had allowed the depressing thoughts of money and life to drip back into his mind.

  The loss of the artifacts in the freighter was really going to set them back. Jak had planned to make enough cash to fix the ship, buy a few things and coast into retirement. Or at least realistically be able to settle a few debts and move on to the next job. He hoped Rusty had a few leads, or maybe even a hauling job he could give to them so they could make at least a few bucks. Fixing the ship now was going to be a much more expensive production and although Rusty was a good friend, Jak doubted his willingness, and ability, to provide repairs and hospitality on the house.

  Baxter’s thoughts were more focused on the fact that they were flying a spacecraft in the vacuum of space with defective engines, no working weapons and big holes in the hull. Jak was a terrible welder. Baxter didn’t want to say it earlier, but there was no way those patches Jak put in were going to hold.

  Baxter’s paranoia lightened up when the ancient space station finally came into view through the cockpit window.

  Somewhere along the line a stray asteroid had become ensnared in a long slow orbit around the distant Elvegan star. Some engineering and destruction wizard had figured out a way to blow the top off and implant a space station in its place. It spread across the top of the asteroid in a symmetrical fashion with eight spokes drawing out from the center of the station to the edge of the rock. Each spoke ended in a domed structure where a ship could enter through an opening hatch. What the base was originally used for was unknown and inconsequential. Rusty had at some point gained ownership of the object and made it his own. No one could precisely date when Rusty had taken over management and it was quite likely he was content to let that fact remain hazy.

  “Request permission for landing,” said Jak over the ship’s radio. Jak and Baxter went through their typical landing preparation routine.

  “Jak, glad to have you, my boy,” came a jovial voice over the radio.

  Jak never ceased to be amazed at how hard the old guy worked. “Rusty, don’t you have any staff buddy? What are you doing answering calls now too?”

  Rusty’s abrupt laugh nearly blew their speakers. “You can come in on platform six.”

  Rusty’s voice alone had immediately lifted their spirits as they began the decline toward the platform near the edge of the station.

  The structure was aged and well used. Constant pummelling by radioactive gamma rays had tarnished the station into a brownish grey colour. The colour of old. It was too large to paint, although Rusty wouldn’t have painted it if he could. His focus was functionality, wasting no care on aesthetics.

  The station was the size of a miniature town and one of the busiest outposts in the galaxy of Azore’s Crown. It was perpetually bustling with a varied clientele. Pirates, pilots, mercenaries, prospectors, con-men, prostitutes, bounty hunters, and even the odd Galactic Guard man were among the assortment of characters frequenting the common man’s hang out.

  Rusty’s establishment housed everything a low class traveler could ask for. There were flophouse lodging units in one of the buildings and a series of shops lining the inner circle of the center structure. There were also a few bars splattered throughout, which had all become quite notorious in recent times for their entertainment, gambling and patron behaviour problems. For the most part, the ruckuses were in good fun, amongst the brotherly collection of misfits. There was, of course, the occasional troublemaker who would get loaded and think he could take on the galaxy. Jak had even helped Rusty apply fisticuffs a few times when the going got tough.

  Jak’s visit this time was not to take part in these space shenanigans, but to get his ship fixed so he could get back on his feet. Rusty had one of the widest selections of old ship parts and equipment, with much of it salvaged from derelict and abandoned crafts. Unlike the corporate companies who had only a couple of parts for the new starship models, Rusty had everything. You could ask him for a ‘Type E3 Plasmatic Junction Converter for a J7465 Hover Vessel,’ and chances are he would disappear into the storage room and emerge minutes later from the garbage piles with the part in hand. The price would usually fluctuate depending on your level of friendship with Rusty. Jak was banking on the fact that he and Rusty went way back.

  The repair staff at the outpost was second to none. These guys had seen it all and fixed the rest. They were, for the most part, as trustworthy as Rusty himself. Jak had put his life in their hands before and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again. Their ship needed the tender touch of a skilled technician now more than ever.

  Baxter made a few adjustments to the system as they neared the domed structure at the end of one of the spokes. Two large door panels began to move apart from each other, as the dome beckoned the ship inside. Jak slowly and cautiously veered the ship into the mouth of the open landing bay.

  Baxter’s screen flashed on and off as he activated the repulsor, which prevented the ship from crashing to the floor in the station’s environment of artificial gravity. The ship leisurely coasted down into the bay with its landing pads extended. Baxter’s screen went totally black and this time it did not come back on.

  “I’d hurry and land this thing if I were you,” warned Baxter, washing his hands of the situation.

  “Hey, slow and steady, Bax.” Despite what Jak said, he sped up slightly anyway. They were only a couple of meters from the surface as Jak felt the repulsors strengthen to keep the mass of the ship from crashing into the floor of the landing platform.

  With a distance of less than a meter from touchdown, Jak’s console shut down. So did everything else, including the repulsors. The ship made the rest of the trip in a split second with the assistance of the station’s gravity. A thousand ton ship did not travel freely — even over a distance of only a few inches — to a hard surface with silence and grace. The Tempest dropped awkwardly into the landing bay floor, lurching crookedly to the left side as some of the landing pads crumpled under the weight of the ship. After a couple of hisses and whines the ship settled and all was quiet.

  Jak slapped aside the dead throttle and turned to Baxter. “Well, we made it.”

  “Barely.”

  “We really couldn’t have picked a better place for it to crap out.”

  Baxter shook his head and said, “Judging by the noises on that smooth ‘landing,’ we’re going to be here a long time,”

  “Better here than anywhere else,” said Jak, “At least this is an excuse to keep Rusty from throwing us out.”

  “True.”

  A knocking sound came from the bay door. Jak and Baxter jumped to their feet and struggled to maintain their balance on the crooked floor of the dark hallway, on their way toward the exit. The power to the ship was dead, with only a few emergency lights eerily casting light in all the wrong places.

  Jak hit the door actuator and heard the quick hiss as the pressure levels evened out between the station’s environment and the ship’s. With a groan, the door opened and the landing ramp started to lower, charged by only the weakened power the ship had in its reserve batteries.

  It didn’t help for long as the power ran out half way through, leaving Jak and Baxter to force the door the rest of the way up. Someone from the outside grabbed on to the ramp to try to pull it the rest of the way down.

  “You guys all right in there?” called a voice from outside as the unseen assistance worked at lowe
ring the ramp.

  “Yeah we’re good,” answered Jak, “How does the ship look out there?”

  The dock worker outside didn’t want to respond. “Uh, that depends.” Jak heard the second guy laugh at the question over the other’s answer.

  Jak moved out onto the ramp and jumped a few times to add his weight in the unceremonious attempt at opening the door of the lifeless ship. With Jak’s stamping and the two workers reefing, the ramp finally lowered, allowing Jak to make his way out into the semi-fresh air of Rusty’s space station.

  “Kent, good to see you.” Jak eagerly shook the hand of the older of the two dock workers.

  “You too, man,” said Kent. “Hey, Baxter.”

  “Kent,” said Baxter, with a nod from the ramp.

  “This is Kingsley,” said Kent, motioning toward the younger man who had helped him lower the ramp. “Jak Phoenix here is the best low quality pirate in the galaxy.”

  Jak reached in for a handshake with Kingsley.

  “So this is the prick who was laughing at my ship.” Jak smiled while he crushed the young man’s hand.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize kid, it makes you look weak.”

  Jak turned to look at the ship from the outside and nearly passed out when he saw the condition. Many parts of the ship were blackened from the damage inflicted by Murdock. Nearly all the landing pads were compressed and bent into warped shapes, with the leftmost pad crushed up into the ship. The supports would likely be unable to retract into the ship if they didn’t break loose at take-off. That is, if the ship could take off, with the absence of any power.

  “Any chance you could take a look at it and see what she needs?” asked Jak. “And I don’t want to hear that I need a new one.”

  “Sure thing. Rusty wanted me to let you know that he’s waiting for you in the Roadhouse.”

  “All right ... well we’ll chat soon. Let’s go, Bax.”

  Jak and Baxter headed to the doorway of the large circular landing bay. The rough metallic walls showed the signs of their age, with scratches and splatters of grease adding to their character. Jak noticed a few burn marks on the wall and for the first time considered himself lucky that at least his ship wasn’t on fire.

  The eight-inch-thick steelon door squealed as it slid aside for them with reluctance. The motors strained to move aside the heavy door, necessary to protect the station from the occasional explosion or other inconvenience. They entered the arched tunnel, leading into the heart of the station. The tunnel walls were bleak and undecorated, leaving nothing to see as one walked the fair length of the arm, reaching out from the center of the station, to the edge of the asteroid. Another safety feature when dealing with explosive materials — park the ships far away from the people.

  “So what do you think Rusty’s been up to?” said Baxter. His voice echoed through the sterile tube.

  “Probably been tangling with the Galactic Guard lately I’d bet,” said Jak. “He said they were starting to nose around a bit the last time we were here. I’d have to assume it’s been getting worse. He doesn’t react well with authority.”

  “Sounds like someone I know,’ said Baxter.

  They reached the end of the spire and entered into the station through another thick door. The noise of bustle and the smell of food and drinks and smoke hit them immediately as they exited the tube. Merging in with the flow of people, they headed around the ring, which made up the central hallway surrounding the middle section of the station. They passed through the crowds of various species. Humans, Kells, Trellians, and countless other life forms filled out the hallways, visiting the shops and bars, making underhanded dealings and above all, having an enjoyable night.

  Their progress was slowed many times as folks recognized Jak and felt the need to stop him and engage in bouts of back slapping and friendly insults. Baxter just gritted his teeth each time and stayed quiet; never one to cause a disturbance. While everyone recognized Jak and wanted a piece of him, Baxter was nearly trampled several times, going unnoticed to the point where he was seemingly invisible.

  They finally reached the Roadhouse and entered the crowded bar. It was hot and sweaty and full of an air of good humour — combined with drunkenness. Jak looked around and spotted Rusty behind the bar. Manager, bartender, communications, part sales, mechanic — Rusty would bounce amongst the station doing odd jobs and participating in every possible aspect of the daily goings-on.

  Jak approached the bar with Baxter in tow. Rusty was cleaning a glass with a rag while having an animated conversation with a patron. When his eye eventually caught Jak’s he shouted his name and bounded over to him. Even over the dark wooden bar he was able to reach over and smother Jak with a friendly hug.

  “Jak, my boy,” he shouted as the manly embrace turned in to a handshake, nearly crumbling Jak’s hand in his huge palm. “How’ve you been?”

  “Not bad.” Jak had to speak up to be heard over the voices and music in the bar.

  “Hey there, Baxter.”

  “Rusty,” said Baxter with a nod.

  Rusty’s expression changed as he focused in on Jak and Baxter’s dirty tattered clothing.

  “You look like hell.”

  “Well I was fighting a dirt monster earlier, so—”

  “You two need drinks,” shouted Rusty again.

  Rusty was a huge man. Not necessarily fat, just large all around. He looked much older than Jak, but no one really knew his age. He was loud, animated and excitable.

  Rusty shouted a few things to the second bar man, who came back with two glasses filled with a two toned liquid. The top half was blue and the bottom half was green. He must have been in an extra good mood today. Usually he stuck to the basics.

  “Here you go, boys,” said Rusty. “Two Criterians. Brand new drink.” He handed one to Jak and one to Baxter.

  Jak took a sip off the top of his glass. It was sweet, but extremely strong. “So how have you been?”

  “Great as always,” replied Rusty. “Been really busy around here.”

  “This is the busiest I’ve seen this place, that’s for sure.”

  “Aye,” said Rusty. “Of course there’ve been a few problems poppin’ up here and there.”

  Jak was immediately defensive on behalf of his friend. “Like what?”

  Rusty backtracked and brushed the comment off. “We can talk about that later, my boy,” The smile returned to his face. “You guys both look like buried corpses. Have a few drinks, on me, then go and get some rest.”

  “Our ship has no power, so we were wondering if—”

  “Ah!” interrupted Rusty as Jak jogged his memory. He reached into a pocket in his apron, withdrew two key cards and tossed them down onto the bar. “You’re stayin’ here, and it’s on me. Now go and kick back and have some fun. We’ll talk in the morning after you two are settled in.”

  Jak grabbed the two keys and tossed one behind to Baxter.

  “Have I mentioned before how much I like coming here?” Jak was also now grinning and willing to put off his troubles for another night.

  Rusty slapped the bar. “Many times, my boy.” He turned and moved down the bar, grabbed a few glasses and started another loud conversation with a recognized customer.

  Jak turned to face Baxter, who was all but sleepwalking by now.

  “You can take off if you want,” said Jak, “I’m gonna hang out here. Just for a little bit.”

  As soon as Jak finished talking, he was swept away with another group of acquaintances who went through the required round of greeting procedures.

  Baxter looked at his key card and dumped back his drink. He sat his glass down and headed out of the bar for a well deserved sleep.

  After making a few passes back and forth across the bar, Jak realized he knew far more people than he should. After three or four of the blue and green things and another ten strong beers, everyone was his friend. The flirting with the girls began when he’d talked to just about ev
ery male in the bar.

  Jak realized he had reached the point where the drinks started tasting bitter and his judgment was non-existent. It was time to turn in for the night.

  His stumbling start toward the door was interrupted by the tall blue haired cutie talking to a group of girls, who he thought had seemed rather impressed by him earlier. He still planned on going to bed, but why sleep alone?

  In the dark bar, he couldn’t even be absolutely sure she was really that good looking. In reality, the haze in the bar, coupled with the haze in his head, prevented him from confirming that she was anything but a female, (hopefully), with long hair.

  He stumbled over to the girl. In Jak’s mind it was going to be so smooth.

  “Hey, baby, why don’t you come upstairs and stay the night?” he slurred. “It’ll be on me.” He didn’t really even know what he said but he hoped it was good.

  “Get lost, you filthy idiot,” was the response, followed by a harsh slap to Jak’s face.

  The attention of some of the bar-goers was diverted over to the altercation. Rusty quickly calmed the situation, taking Jak under his arm and guiding him out the door into the hallway. He led Jak to a nearby elevator and motioned for a few station workers to assist.

  “Can you see that Jak gets to his room alright?” asked Rusty.

  One of the workers guided him onto the elevator.

  “Which floor, Jak?” asked his guide.

  Jak mumbled something incoherent. His eyes were nearly closed and his head was down. The guide grabbed the room key out of Jak’s hand and input the correct floor into the elevator controls. As the door swished closed, Rusty smiled wide.

  “Attaboy, Jak.”