Chapter Eight: Vacuum Seal

Chapter Eight: Vacuum Seal

            The next day, there was a knock at their door. When Dani opened it, she found a small +golden package on the threshold outside. It was square and unassuming, its gold leaf wrap notwithstanding. She took the box out and unwrapped it, seeing a small data storage unit inside.

            “Not very impressive, is it?” Ty asked. “What do you think, Ali?” The hacker shook her head. In truth, she’d seemed distracted this morning, and she didn’t speak immediately.

            “Not really,” she finally responded, after a truly agonizing pause. “But whatever’s in the package ought to be important. I mean, I don’t think Crow and Raven would send us junk.”

            Psyn nodded, thinking as she talked. “About junk, data, and missions. The forensics leads that Anders gave us should have turned up at least something. How are we on that score?”

            Ali shook her head. “Not much luck. I’ve been cross-referencing every insignificant detail, but I’m not coming up with anything. One common thread is an explosive powder. I tried running it against a calculation algorithm. Results were…inconclusive. The closest compound is a fifty-eight percent match, and that’s not enough for me to go on. I told Stefan that…” she looked around the hotel room kitchen. The ragged infiltrator wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Where is he?”

            Kane shrugged. “Still in bed, I guess.”

            Stefan was standing in a small metal room, facing someone he didn’t recognize. The man’s black hair was in a military buzz cut, and he had intelligent green eyes. While he wasn’t wearing it, a metal helmet with a teardrop-shaped visor was in his hand, and he was wearing a suit of armor. It looked like he had bandoliers on his wrists, although why he should wear such unusual attire baffled Stefan.

“You are sure of this?” He asked. “This is a serious charge to level, after all. Especially against a superior officer.”

“Positive. The incident was neither accidental nor unforeseen. They knew this would happen, and they exposed us anyway. And I have circumstantial evidence that Juthnin wasn’t an accident, either. I get the feeling Iniktos wasn’t lying after all.”

“Who?”

“The Ruthless Twosome,” Stefan heard his voice answer “Who’d you think?”

“Then what do we do?” The other man asked.

“I don’t know,” Stefan replied. “I can’t speak definitely to motives or cause. Nor do I fully understand how far this goes. We have lived a lie for too long, but I don’t know that we’re ready for the truth. And please, stay out of this. I don’t want someone else getting…Someone was shaking him. The dream ended as abruptly as it had begun, and he was instantly awake.

“What?” He asked, sitting bolt upright. He saw that Brooks was standing over him, and the hunter looked surprise at how quickly the other man had gotten up.

“Easy there,” he said. “Watkins just wants you up.” Stefan rolled out of bed and slipped into his combat outfit. He couldn’t help feeling a rush of blood to his cheeks; here he was, a black-belt in eight martial arts and a galaxy-renowned infiltrator, and here he’d slept in too late.

            “Sorry I overslept,” he said. “I had a rough night.”

            “Don’t go explaining it to me,” the other replied. “Dani is the one you ought to be talking to.”

            There wasn’t much explaining to do, it turned out. Dani just dismissed the apology with a half-shrug and gestured for him to sit down.

            “Alison’s busy getting the Ravens’ info drive decrypted, but we should able to get our mission brief shortly. In the meantime, eat.” The food was the usual fare; ion toasters had their perks, such as the ability to electrolytically butter bread, and then there was the Shultan sausage. That stuff was good, but its texture was mysterious at best. As he ate, he though about what had been happening. The dreams were coming more frequently now, and he felt more tired after each one. In addition, he seemed to wake up with frequent headaches now, and he had a hard time shaking them. Dani was talking quite jovially with Shepard, with the two of them comparing their methods of uncivil disobedience. Apparently, Dani preferred using sewer system for explosives delivery, while Alison entered computers by infiltrating their firewalls with dummy plugins in Linknet browsers, which most companies didn’t even detect. He’d finished eating and cleared away his dishes when the red-haired hacker gave a triumphant yelp, almost making him drop the plate in his hands.

            “Got it!” She said. “It’s decrypted. Boys, gather round. It looks like we’ve got a mission briefing in five.”

            The information contained in the drive was narrated by an AI possessed of a flat, toneless male voice.  This development struck every single member of the team as tedious and grating. Still, they needed to hear it, so they paid attention.

            “Greetings. As you’ve been told, your task is to oversee a shipment of Kirrexan warhounds to Irak Tolsen, and he lives on Sirius Beta, a good distance outside our own solar system. The shipment’s due in six days, so we recommend you leave as soon as may be. Your job is to provide security for the captain and crew, as groups of space pirates are known for exploitation of our organization and others making this run. Therefore, you may be called upon to fight.”

            “What kind of ship are we taking?” Dani asked. Her technical expertise meant that she took a strange and decidedly tomboyish interest in machines and ships of all varieties.

            “You’ll be travelling in an Elkhorn-class heavy freighter,” the AI replied. “Perhaps a bit more ponderous than you’re used to, but you’ll be well-protected. At least, that’s our hope.”

            “And our cargo?” Kane asked. “What are Kirrexan warhounds?”
            “Think four-eyed dogs the size of lions. Personality akin to a starved cannibal, so don’t try to pet them,” Brooks said. “Plus, their teeth are serrated and curved backward, making escaping their bite almost impossible.”

            “Very good,” the artificial intelligence remarked. “There are twelve of them, and they’ll be kept in force cages. I don’t recommend that you taunt them, as their containment units are poorly constructed, and they’ve been known to break out.”

            “That explains the need for manpower,” Brooks said caustically. “All right. Are the warhounds being loaded?” The Ai nodded.

            “They are. You might consider moving soon and getting final instructions from Crow and Raven. They’re expecting you this afternoon at 2.”

            “What time is it now?” Stefan asked.

            “12:20,” Dani said. “You slept really late.”

            “Great,” Psyn moaned. “We’ve got to get moving.”

            Pinnacle City Star-Vessel Storage Facility

            Raven was busy overseeing the transfer of the warhounds from Kirrex into the freighter, a process that maddened her. Granted, the girl might be a little obsessive-compulsive, but even so, she couldn’t comprehend why simple instructions went unexecuted in her organization. Then again., enemies of the organization also when unexecuted, so…

            “Careful,” one of the technicians said. “These shields need fresh batteries, and you don’t want it dropping on you.”

            “Then change them,” Crow growled. Although the elder co-manager of the Raven’s criminal empire wasn’t easy to get angry, it seemed this whole contract with Tolsen was getting him there.

            “That’s not so easy,” the tech answered. “These idiots don’t have any idea about restraint, and the last time we swapped out packs, the dogs got free.”

            “How did you get them back in the cages?” Raven asked.

            “It was messy,” the man answered, shoving the metal rectangle into the ship. Suddenly, it shook violently, and Raven jumped back as a guttural snarl emanated from inside. “See? Nasty, these things. I can see why Tolsen wants them, but I pity whoever he unleashes them on.”

            Crow gave an indifferent shrug. “Not our concern. Cage-fighting is many things, but illegal isn’t one of them. How many more of those things do you need to get loaded?”

            “Six,” the man answered. Several other men wheeled up another cage, this one on a hover-transporter, not on its usual magnetic treads. As they had been broken mid-transit, this seemed a plausible course of action. The dog inside was larger than many of the others, and it was making its displeasure apparent by slamming its head against the energy walls. Raven stared at the beast distastefully.

            “Where did you get this thing?” She asked. “It’s a ravenous beast.”

            “They all are,” the tech answered. “That’s the way Tolsen wants them. I hate the man, but he’s got good taste in monsters.” The two other workers got the dog and its force-field cage onto the ramp, after which they pushed it into the freighter. Suddenly, the dog impacted the cage walls again, knocking the metal container on its side. The tech’s lackeys jumped back, narrowly avoiding getting smashed against a wall.

            “What was that?” the tech shouted. “Get the dog back up. The last thing we want is a loose warhound on our ship.” Obediently, the other men hauled the prison vertical again, dropping the dog onto the cage floor. The beast hit the metal with a clang, and it was almost instantly on its feet again, snarling in pent-up rage. The workers warily laid hands on the cage again and pushed it into a magnetic holding clamp right next to the other ones.

            “Well, that’s bad,” one of them muttered. “It looks like one of the repulsor generators fractured. The impact cracked the field capacitor; can it be fixed?” He asked the tech. The other man shook his head.

            “How? The dog would need restraining, and we don’t exactly have shocker collars on hand. Tasers don’t keep these things down for long, and we don’t have that many anyway. So, like it or not, we can’t fix the cage. Although I recommend that you try not to let the thing out; it’ll tear your throat in seconds. “

            Raven stared at the rent metal, her face twisted in distasteful surprise. “So now we run the risk of a warhound running amok here?”

            “We risk that even having the cages on board,” the technician replied. “Pirates often use EMPG torpedoes to disable a vessel, and since the force field feeds off the ship’s power supply, it’ll short out to if we’re hit. Given that an attack by pirates is almost certain, I’d ask for more weapons, but I know you can’t give us any.”

            “We have,” Crow growled. “They’re just arriving now.”
            Dani stepped through the hangar door, her eyes looking around the facility. While these criminals might live on the wrong side of the law, and do it for money, she had to admit that they didn’t live like the other people of Saturn. Their ships were modified to the extreme, but they weren’t new models at all. Most of them were five years old, some more than a decade. Their pitted patchwork exteriors seemed in stark contrast to the sleek metallic shine of the ponderous yachts that orbited the world on pleasure cruises. The particular ship they’d been directed to was a freighter; not built for speed, but a solid design that Dani knew well, and one that she trusted implicitly. However, facing pirates on board was another matter. While she hadn’t drilled her companions on the weaknesses of a freighter when boarded by belligerents.

            “It looks solid,” Kane murmured. “But what’s it got under that rusty shell?”

            “A good mix of speed and durability,” Stefan answered. “These things take rocket shots and laser bolts without that much trouble. Though their engines aren’t for racing, you won’t catch one as easily as it seems.”

            “But they’re standard issue,” Dani added. “So pirates are familiar with all the tricks and customizations that are available for them. And that means we’re sitting ducks. They’ll see us coming a mile away, and they’ll torch us.”

            “We’ll get murdered for sure,” Psyn said. “If you’re lucky. If not, they’ll use your guts for finger-paint.”

            “Seen that, have you?” Brooks asked.

            “Done it,” she answered. “Carnage is a lot of fun, and if you don’t enjoy it, then you at least do it because you know what happens if you won’t.”
            “You were a pirate?”

            “Not quite,” the Gin’Luthet said. “But I did spend a lot of time fighting with the other race that lives in our solar system. You people call the man-eaters, but to us they’re Fylanisae.”

            “Devourers of light,” Stefan translated. “They were the warrior class of the Conglomerate. Their rite of passage included tattooing themselves in other people’s blood. Not exactly pleasant, but it’s not as bad as their close combat tastes.”

            “They rip throats with their bare hands. Even armed, they’re nasty. They prefer bladed weapons because they have an occultic fascination with blood,” Psyn said. “It’s a rough way to grow up, fighting an entire species. But it has its benefits. At least life doesn’t throw you many worse surprises after watching that for the first time.” They were right to the freighter now, and Dani was climbing the boarding ramp. The captain, his technician, and his crew were all waiting, having secured the last of the warhounds in the magnetically affixed cells on board the vessel. Crow and Raven were standing just beside the docking ramp looking either exasperatedly impatient or maddeningly impassive. Raven was wearing a long, violet-and-silver dress, her hair twisted into an extremely tight braided bun. Crow looked as he had the day they’d met him, given that there wasn’t much styling one could do with a red crew-cut.

            “You’re on time,” Raven said, her voice conveying slight contempt in addition to her usual impatience. “We expected you earlier.”

            “Then tell us that,” Kane snapped. “Otherwise, shut it.”

            The woman’s face twisted in raging indignation. “You arrogant little-” Crow cut her off with a dismissive gesture.

            “He’s right,” the other boss told her. “We have business to attend to. The dogs are on board, as we told you they would be. You’ll be travelling above light speed for a good bit of the trip, but that only after you’ve taken a slow route through the Starstrike Asteroid Belt. There are several pirate gangs in the area, but the most powerful is called the Jackdaw Rippers. They’re your most likely enemies. Of their troops, a vessel called Cobra’s Vengeance, has swiped several shipments of ours in the last few months. Its captain, Sether Beckstrom, is an aggressive and brutal fellow. His favored weapon is a steel cutlass with a force field projector designed to increase the damage it deals, and he wears a set of pistols that usually carry hollowpoint rounds. He is, however, the only member of the crew that we know. Beckstrom changes it up, and that means we can’t analyze them.”

            “Then we’re flying blind,” Dani muttered. “That’s just peachy. Any parting thoughts?”
            “You might want to keep a weather eye, and be ready for engagement amidships,” Crow advised. “He’s fond of boarding.”

            “Got is,” she said. “That means no grenades. An electromagnetic pulse on board a vessel can disable electrical systems, which means that you’d be screwing us if you did.”
            Raven nodded. “If you’re finished talking, we’re ready to board. Stay sharp, and get the cargo there and in one piece. Other than that, you’re fine.” Dani nodded and stepped onto the boarding ramp, with her team following suit. The captain, who was standing at the top, stepped inside the freighter and placed his hand on the ignition authorization switch. He provided a brief voice authorization, and the engines hummed to life. Dani stepped inside the cockpit behind him, her eyes widening with an almost childlike delight as she laid eyes on all the technology in front of her. The ship might look junky on the outside, but it was state-of-the-art inside. Electrical signal detectors, radio wavelength frequency interceptors, trans-light engine pulse signature readers, laser discharge detectors, and a variety of other pieces of reading tech that shouldn’t even have been issued to anyone outside the military.

            “This is amazing,” she murmured. “Did you install all this?” The captain shook his head.

            “Our techie did. Name’s Jose Roberto Martinez, but we call him JR. He’s in the back, looking at the engine. Takeoff’s been rough the last couple of times, and he wanted to make sure that nothing serious is wrong.” Dani went into the engine room, watching JR work with great interest. He was fast, easily disassembling the engine and refastening the coupling as he talked to her.

            “You keep looking at me. What are you looking for?” He took an ion driver out of the toolkit and began twisting rivets into the panels on the side of the engine.

            “A master at work,” Dani answered. “You’re pretty good. How long have you been doing this?”

            “Seven years,” he told her. “Or you could say long enough to know better. I’ve been in my share of scrapes, and I don’t like them a ton.”

            “Still,” she pressed. “At least you’re fixing things. That’s good, right?”

            JR snorted. “What? That it’s somehow helping? The one thing in life I wanted to fix was the one thing that I never could. That’s why I became a mechanic. Told myself that I’d learn how to fix whatever came my way. Didn’t quite work like I planned.”

            “You can’t fix everything,” Dani whispered, looking at the toolbox. “That’s why being a mechanic matters. You fix what you can, and if you can’t fix it, you do your best to patch things up.”

            “How’s that working for you?” He asked caustically. “You’ve got a whole slew of your own problems to deal with. Heard you burned up your family. Can you fix that?”

            Dani’s hand tightened around a hammer. “Like I said. You can’t fix everything. Whenever you can’t…”

            “…you give up?” JR snarled. “There’s great advice.”

            “I don’t give up!” Dani exploded. “Surrendering’s not in my nature.”

Cargo Hold

            Stefan was sitting against one of the empty magnetic holding cubes, sharpening one of the knives he’d taken from the ICRF arsenal. In truth, he wasn’t doing it because they needed it; the edge was lethal enough and the blade heavy enough to nearly decapitate someone in a single blow. Psyn was sitting across from him, her hand resting on one of the warhound holding cells. To his surprise, the dog inside wasn’t moving at all. Instead, it was gently nuzzling the side and whining like a pet kept away from its master. As she touched the cage, she murmured, “I wonder why…”

            “Why what?” Stefan asked.

            “Why people turn out the way they do,” she answered. “I mean look at me. I don’t have anything, and the worst part is that I don’t even know why.”

            “You said your people raised you. Was your family not part of that?” The Russian pressed.

            “No,” she replied. “They weren’t. See, I had an uncle that didn’t live on Castor, and I went to visit him for the duration of the war between my people and the Fylanisae. Neutrality doesn’t happen to be a popular word with them, and they made their displeasure with our people apparent by slaughtering us wholesale. We fought back, of course, in our own way. We struck in the night, attacking them and vanishing before they ever saw it. But we were never going to win.”

            “Why?” Stefan was confused; a guerilla war on your home planet was an almost guaranteed recipe for success. How could the Gin’Luthet could possible lose?

            “We didn’t fight the way they did,” she explained. “They attacked everyone without any differentiation between civilians and soldiers, slaughtering them indiscriminately. We chose to only take the war to the people who started it, and it looked for a while like we were going to lose. But we didn’t.”

            “Again, why?” The Russian queried.

            “I don’t know,” she said frankly. “I just don’t know. Their leader was called Ganteros, and he was a religious fanatic. He’d incited a full-on revolution in their society, and he wanted to do the same to our nation. He’d gotten his men together at a religious ceremony when one of the virus capsules he’d been experimenting with suddenly exploded. Almost all of his cultists died.”

            At her words, he suddenly felt a searing pain in the front of his head. A voice echoed in his mind, one that he’d never heard but thought he should recognize. You’ll have five minutes once Driver’s destabilized the device’s containment field. The virus contained inside’s potent enough to kill his religious fanatics, but not him. According to our intelligence, he’s been immunized.

            Stefan now heard his own voice clearly say, “Are there others? Other people without a vulnerability to LR-46?”

            Another voice answered, the one from the man in his dream last night. “Doesn’t matter. Anyone else standing when the smoke clears falls. No way around it. All of them die if we’re going to end this war.”

            “Stefan?” Psyn’s voice was concerned, and seemed enough to end the bizarre dialogue. “Are you all right? You look…upset.” He shook his head.

            “I’m fine,” he told her. “Just…not feeling myself right now, I guess. I…” His voice trailed off after that. Not that he didn’t trust her, but he felt it might be better to keep his increasingly psychotic visions to himself. “...I’m all right.”

            “You don’t look it,” she remarked. “What about you? Any thoughts as to why you are what you are?” Stefan shrugged.

            “What’s there to tell? I’m me, whatever that means. Developmental observation has never been my strong suit.”

            Starkstrike Asteroid Belt

            Sether Beckstrom was standing at the helm of the Cobra’s Vengeance, his eyes on the small, rather sluggish freighter moving through the asteroids. It appeared as though the Ravens had sent him another gift, although he was sure they hadn’t meant to. The captain probably thought he was being stealthy; but how could someone who lived outside these asteroids know anything of concealment in them? The captain smiled in self-berating fashion. It seemed unfair, really; then again, Crow and Raven were practically begging him to rob them, so how could he refuse?

            “We see them,” came a feminine voice behind him. The touch of hissing to it told him that it was Anya, his first mate. Her full name was Anyalysaria, and she was a Possadean fighter who’d joined the crew after her family had disowned her for her choice to leave her home world for adventure. She also served as first mate aboard the Vengeance, and she operated the gunnery crew whenever Klaus Yahger, the gunnery crew leader, wasn’t present. He wasn’t now, as a shrapnel wound to his chest had placed him in a med-bay for several weeks. While the man was doing better, he still wasn’t in any shape to stand up on deck and command operation of the guns. “Should we shoot?”

            Beckstrom didn’t take his eyes off the ship, watching its agonizing progress. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think you ought to breach their hull. Start with EMPL, and once they’re cold, move in with the longboats. Make sure the holes you cut are sealed, and go for the cargo. Apply force as needed, but I’d prefer that you avoid killing anyone. It’s hard to resell a ship with bloodstains in the cockpit. Makes people think it’s unsafe or something.” Anya nodded and gave to order.

            “Get aft tubes one and two ready to fire. Prep three and four as well for a possible second round.” The gunnery sergeant on deck, who was sitting at a computer scree, relayed the order.

            “Tubes one through four, prep for fire. One and two at the ready, three and four standby.”

            After two minutes, Anya heard a response over the radio in a deep, heavily brogued voice. “Tubes one and two online and ready to fire.” The sergeant nodded and adjusted the computer’s targeting algorithm, locking on to the rear of the freighter.

            “Sir, it appears to be a Raven vessel. Are we still to fire?” Sether nodded.

            “Give it your best shot, lieutenant,” he commanded. The man reached out and pressed down on the holographic button in front of him. “After that, give the order to send in the cutters. Oh, and Anya…?”

            “Yes?” She prompted.

            “I want you to be on the first one in,” he told her. She nodded and ran below decs.

            “Tubes one and two away, captain,” the gunner announced. Sether smiled as he watched the twin points of light streak toward the freighter. The sound of an EMPG torpedo firing was music to his ears; it was the sound of another cargo coming in for him to resell, and the sound of him impounding yet another ship. Yes, today is most certainly a good day for piracy, he thought.

Weapons Room

            Alison Shepard was typing on her holographic pad, trying to decide what was going on. It seemed as though the Insurrection was in turmoil; now two leaders were gone, and she was next in line for leadership should the last one fall. As such, her current employer had authorized her to initiate the Lazarus Protocol, but she knew that it would potentially have catastrophic results. Too early, and the subject would be shattered by a mental breakdown. Too late, and the work done by the protocol would become impossible due to emotional matrix compromise. She was trying desperately to justify this in her mind, but her moralizations always came back to one word: danger. The Insurrection’s movements had always been precarious; to overextend themselves meant certain doom, but not moving meant the continuation of the very cause they’d pledged to fight. Now, she had a choice: to chain a beast that had been bound by its own will, or to let it loose in the hope that it would turn and tear the desired target to bits. But what if…suddenly, she felt a jarring pact, and the lights overhead winked out. Alone in the dark, without even the light of the holopad, she suppressed a rise of fear in her chest as she tried to activate her tech-weave suit’s lighting coils. They came on, and she started moving out of the weapons room, slowly. After all, the only thing capable of taking out these electrical systems was an EMPG torpedo or missile, and that indicated that they were now under attack. Great, she thought. Just when life can’t get worse.

            Bridge

            Dani Watkins, Tyler Kane, and the captain felt the freighter shudder as something struck the hull on the port side. The captain caught the chair to keep himself from falling over, swearing a blue streak as he pulled himself upright. Kane hadn’t been so fortunate, as he’d ended up with his face on the metal floor. Dani had slammed into a metal wall, but she was otherwise unharmed. The captain leaned over the console, his eyes now scanning the dark and lifeless electrical equipment there.

            “EMPG torpedo, probably. The shot will have knocked out most of the electrical systems,” he said. “Now we’re stuck in the dark. Just what we need.”

            “Even life support?” Dani asked. The captain shook his head.

            “That seems unlikely,” he answered, “if only because they’re better insulated. I was working on refitting the engines and weapons systems to compensate for EMP damage. Unfortunately, Raven wanted this shipment delivered before I finished, so they aren’t any good if a pulse hits the ship.”

            “What’s next?” Kane asked.

            “Pirates attack in predictable fashion,” the captain said. “They strike with a weapon that cripples the engines or weapons first. They then strike at the second system if it hasn’t been destroyed, at which point they send in cutters. These vessels slice through the hole with an airtight drilling apparatus, and then the pirates enter.”

            “Where will they show up first?” Dani asked.

            “Cargo hold,” the pirate captain replied. “We need to get down there.”

            Cargo hold

            Stefan and Psyn were leaning against the walls, Stefan with his weapon drawn, and the alien using her pheromone manipulation talents to pacify the animals. It was working, but it required the majority of her cognitive functions. Suddenly, they felt a second series of impacts, and they heard a shrieking sound against the wall.

            “Cutters,” Stefan whispered.

            “What?” she asked, her voice conveying the strain that she was feeling.

            “Pirates,” he said. “Stop whatever you’re doing with those dogs and get ready to fight. Incoming Hotels.”

            “Hotels?”

            “Standard code for the letter H,” he answered. “Hostiles.” Suddenly, he felt the room’s barometric pressure drop, and a large circle of titanium fell away from the side of the ship. Six pirates stepped in through the hole, their helmet lamps glowing in the murk. Acting on impulse, he swung from his hiding place and, drawing his sidearm, laid a textbook spread of shots on the first one. The first shell penetrated the Plas-Glass visor and killed the man instantly. The man behind him stepped up, only for one of the warhounds to lunge forward and seize him by the throat. The third raised his gun and pointed it at Stefan, only for Psyn to knock him and his other three friends down with a powerful shot from her shock rifle. The shot also, regrettably, struck two of the warhounds, brutally shocking them into unconsciousness. While the dogs might have survived unharmed, the pirates were jerking about on the floor like fish out of water. The remaining hounds were distracted sniffing the bodies of their fallen companions.

            “We should go,” Psyn whispered. “Before they come to their senses.” Suddenly, she heard a whistling sound, and she turned in time to see something small and dark streaking toward her face. Almost as suddenly, she heard a sharp crack, and the object exploded in a splatter of gore. To her surprise, Stefan had managed to shoot whatever it was out of the air, and bizarrely enough, it seemed that it had been alive. In the blackness, she could see a dark figure stepping out of the hole, an otherworldly silhouette that gave off a faint aquamarine luminescence.

            “What…” she began. Stefan’s metal hand touched her shoulder.

            “Go,” he murmured. “Find the others. I’ve got this one.” The dark creature laughed and spoke for the first time. Her voice was strange, gurgling, like she was speaking with a mouthful of water. Though it made her hard to understand, she had little trouble getting her point across.

            “Yes, listen to your friend, child,” she said. “I’m surprised at you. As a telepath, I thought you’d have seen that coming.”

            Stefan raised his pistol and pulled the trigger three times, the bullets striking the alien’s armor and pinging off in bursts of sparks. “GO!” he yelled. Without a second thought, Psyn turned and ran. As her legs pumped, she sent out a telepathic signal to her friends. The pirates are on board, and they’ve brought some big guns.

            Stefan stepped forward toward the alien, dropping his sidearm and opening fire with his carbine. Unlike the standard bullets, the high-powered thermobaric shots seemed to agitate the alien, who stepped back as the bullets struck her armor with fleshy smacks. After he’d emptied an entire clip, he rushed the creature and rammed her with his left shoulder, knocking her up against the wall. Suddenly, Stefan felt a burning pain in his ribcage, followed by an impact to the left side of his head. The blow was powerful, and he staggered momentarily. Before he could react, the alien drew two large star-shaped objects and whipped them at him. He sidestepped the first and second, only for a third to clip the left side of his head. The alien stared in shock, however, as she heard the shriek as her razstar struck a metal surface. Stefan took that moment of surprise to land a pivoting elbow to her chin, followed by a series of kicks and punches. Straight heel, left hook, double roundhouse, forward hand uppercut, high lotus kick, reverse back heel, leg sweep, uppercut elbow. The dizzying series of blows sent the alien flying backward, and she struck the side wall. Looking at her opponent, she now saw an unhealthy red light emanating from the left side of his face.

            “Is that…” she began.

            “…metal?” the man asked. “It is.” The voice hit Anya then. She was six, staring at a metal man as he raised a gun to her sister’s head. She saw his finger depress the trigger, heard the gunshot, watched the spatter of blood as the limp corpse hit the sandy beach. She heard her young voice scream in anger, and a tsunami of anger welled in her chest.

            “You,” she growled. “After all this time, it’s YOU!”

            “Excuse me?” He asked. “Do…do we know each other?” Two more razstars were in her hands, and she whipped them at his head.

            “Know me? You scumbag, you DESTROYED my life!” Stefan ducked and sidestepped.

            “Me? I’ve never even laid eyes on you before. How did I…” He saw the movement an instant before the bone knife slammed into his gut. The alien’s face was inches from his, and he saw her blue-skinned face for the first time. Her teeth were pointed, and he saw gill slits on her cheeks. A small, organic-looking device was over her mouth, but it had transparent elements that let him see her teeth. Her armor seemed to be made out of chitin of some kind layered in lamellar fashion, and her arms were literally covered in the razor-tipped weapons she had been using. In a jolt of horror, he realized they were living starfish, or at least a creature that looked like one.

            “You want to know what you did?” She hissed. “You killed everyone I had. EVERYONE!” She slammed a kick into his chest, and he fell backward onto the metal floor. Looming over him, she inverted her grip on her bone knife. “Name’s Anya. Thought you might want to know who it was that killed you. Pick a god and pray, human. Though I doubt you’ll get an answer.” With that, she casually tossed the blade upward and threw it down as hard as she could.

 

 

 

                                                                                         

Author's Note

Please note spelling and grammar errors. Positive feedback is nice, but not required.