Star Runners: Dark Space

Chapter 10

10

"Bait," Josh muttered under his breath as he locked the shiny helmet into place, the smell of new plastic and recycled air filling his suit. "Great idea coming out here, Josh. Just wonderful."

The speaker in his helmet crackled, and Foster asked, "Repeat your last, Razor?"

He cleared his throat and secured his safety harness over his shoulders, allowing his hand to linger on the pistol secured in the quickdraw holster Foster had provided for this mission.

"Just remarking what a fantastic plan this is, Shadow."

"Glad you like it," he stated in his consistent deadpan manner.

Josh was seriously starting to wonder if the guy had a personality or just reveled in glowering at everything.

"Cargo bay opening in thirty seconds," Foster said, "so make sure your suit is prepped and ready. We need to go over the plan again?"

"I didn't like going over it the first time,” Josh said, checking the simple readouts on the dashboard to see Foster had charged his system power levels to the max, which probably was nothing compared to a Trident.

“Fine.”

Taking a deep breath, Josh continued through the engine start-up sequence.

After Matta had tried and failed to track Waylon’s signal using the onboard systems, Foster's ingenious plan required Josh to exit the shrouded Shadow and approach Ashia. He figured Rodon wanted revenge and was searching for Barracuda ships across the Quadrant. The fighter would squawk Barracuda transponders in the open as if searching for a comrade, making Josh the “live” bait Foster was so excited about using. Then, Josh would elude capture while Foster remained shrouded in the Shadow to fire more powerful distance trackers on the enemy's vessel so they could ascertain where the Barracudas had been taken. Foster was betting this would be the same location as his golden paycheck, Rodon.

Sounded simple until Josh considered he'd be eluding capture or worse in a peewee fighter with nothing more than low-powered laser cannons to put up a fight. He shuddered to think of those Piscean creatures hunting him with their bright yellow eyes.

“Ten seconds."

"Roger," Josh said, gripping the stick and settling into the seat, his fingers on his free hand tapping his knee. He moved to his pocket and felt the panic device Stetson had given him, hoping he wouldn’t need it.

Excitement and nerves battled around his belly, his mind racing. Closing his eyes, he realized this was the first time he'd been in the cockpit in nearly two years with the possibility of engaging in combat.

"Bay doors opening now," Foster said, his voice clear in Josh's earpiece. "I need you in orbit for at least thirty seconds after we make contact. After that, make hard for the Ashia deck, and we'll regroup. Got it?"

Josh nodded, watching as the Shadow's cargo bay doors parted to reveal a bright field of stars, and whispered, "Roger."

"Radio silence from here on out. Good luck."

The doors locked into place, and Josh peered into the void. Two planetary bodies were in visual range; one the tan and brown sphere of Ashia. Another dark green world, much smaller and farther from their position, floated to his left as he eased the fighter off the deck and into space. The systems whined, filling the cockpit with the familiar whistling drone of a control board, life support, and engines.

The local starlight washed over his fighter as he passed beyond the darkness cast by the yacht. Twisting his head around, he watched the shrouded vessel's cargo bay close. A second later, the ship was once again invisible.

He moved toward Ashia, the sensors detecting nothing out of the ordinary. As he passed within twenty thousand MUs to orbit, he wondered if the entire operation had been a waste of time. If his arrival produced nothing, would Foster kill them both? Would they have outlived their usefulness to his contract?

Stop thinking. Stay frosty.

Glancing at the Ashian moon to his right, he turned his attention to the beautiful world filling his view. A vast continent partially masked in a swirling blanket of clouds drifted beneath him. In distinct contrast to the tan color of the desert, the northern lands glowed a bright green alongside a crystal blue ocean.

As he settled into high orbit, he glanced down at the fighter’s control board transmitting Waylon’s frequency. With any luck, something was tracking his position right now.

Gazing down at Ashia, he remembered what Matta had said about why Waylon was doing business here. Seeing the beauty of this world up close made him hope the rest of the galaxy wouldn't discover the treasures of Lutimite below. He leaned against the canopy, watching the planet pass beneath.

The sensor display glowed red, yanking Josh's attention back to flying. He ran a sweep. The ping in his earpiece said everything he needed to know: Unidentified objects—no—object.

Wait. What’s going on?

Frowning, he watched as the sensor blurred from one contact to six and back again.

Verifying their location, he stared at the Ashian moon now situated on his left. Space shimmered. Leaning forward as if it would help, he squinted.

It looked like five ships headed toward his position, coming fast in an inverted 'V' formation. A larger shuttle-type craft lingered at the rear of the formation.

I hope you're watching this, Foster.

"Unidentified vessel," he transmitted, "this is—"

The lead bogey burst with green light, sending a bubble of liquid toward him just like back on Sanctum. Banking, he avoided the blast, looking behind him to see an emerald cloud wavering behind him.

Piscean fire.

He rolled away from the incoming attackers.

After fleeing parallel to the planet for the thirty seconds Foster needed to fire his tracker, Josh pushed the stick down into a planetary approach. More Piscean gel bursts flashed around him, missing by uncomfortable margins.

Ashia’s atmosphere battled against his shields as he steepened the approach angle to a point his trainers on Tarton's Junction would’ve disapproved, but he wasn't a Legion Star Runner today.

More green blasts surrounded him, exploding like spores. Josh bounced, struggling to hold his head straight as burning firelight engulfed the canopy. If it weren't for his shields, the atmosphere would fry his fighter like a bug splattering on a windshield.

An alert bell beeped. His shields, once at ninety-six percent, plummeted to sixty. A force rammed his engines, tipping the nose toward the planet. Orange and yellow fire enveloped him, alert signals wailing in his ear. The control board flickered and darkened before coming back online.

A direct hit.

Yanking back on the stick, he righted his descent to prevent the fighter from disintegrating. G-forces pressed him, his helmet rattling. Sweat burned into his eyes. Blinking the droplets away, he stared over at the wing and clenched his jaw.

Despite the fire surrounding the ship, he could see a sparkling green gel attaching to the shields just above his starboard wing.

"ALERT!" a robotic voice shrieked in his ear. "ALERT! ALERT!"

Shields dropped to forty-two percent, then eighteen.

And then he broke through the atmosphere, an endless blanket of white clouds stretching into the distance.

He rolled, spiraling toward the surface like a missile. Fire dissipated around the ship as his shields drained and then vanished.

Jerking his head to the left, he watched the green haze attached to his wing disappear as the shields vanished and fizzled out.

He was vulnerable.

Enemy fire ceased, and he wondered if he'd lost them.

A green gel burst above him.

Slamming the stick forward, he launched into a stomach-churning dive. The cockpit rattled as he split through the clouds. Risking a glance at the sensors, he saw five Pisceans on his tail and closing.

He bit his lip, realizing they were too fast.

Only one thing for him to do ...

Switching his readout to altitude, he eased back on the dive as the density of clouds lessened, revealing a vast green layer of forestland below him. Bracing himself, he brought his fighter parallel to the ground under one-thousand feet.

Gel bursts hit the forest in front of him and to the sides, exploding in radiant bursts of emerald liquid before disappearing. Josh kept his eyes forward. At this speed, the slightest change in topography could end him.

A towering rock formation appeared. He banked left, rolling over the ocean and away from land, avoiding enemy fire.

But his maneuvers weren't enough.

A direct hit blasted into his engines, the control board darkening. Josh pulled into an impossible climb. The engines sputtered and stopped, the forward momentum halting and pressing his shoulders into the safety harness. The fighter paused for an instant, its nose facing the sky, before gravity took hold, pulling him toward the ocean.

Tapping the flight stick once, he said, "Sorry, Matta."

Josh keyed for eject and closed his eyes.

The thrust from the ejector slammed into him. His visions darkened as the rockets blasted him away from the dying fighter. The wind howled as he spun. The parachute's thump forced his eyes to open as he righted himself, the sunlight blinding him as it reflected off the ocean's surface.

Josh exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath during the ejection. Off in the distance, he saw a faint white line of smoke heading downward toward the ocean's surface and rings of water. His five pursuers hovered over the water like vultures.

As his heels clicked together in the open space, Josh watched as the alien ships resumed their formation and increased their altitude, disappearing into the clouds.

He had been defeated without even putting up much of a fight. Maybe he was rusty. The alien craft had overtaken Matta's fighter like it was nothing, outmatching the tiny ship in both speed and weaponry, unlike anything he'd ever seen. He wondered if a Trident could stand toe-to-toe with such a craft, one firing a weapon able to eat away at a ship's shields so quickly.

Hopefully, Foster had attached his tracker to one of the vessels. Right now, he was about to land in an alien ocean on an alien world far from home. Exhaling, he leaned back and surveyed his surroundings seeing nothing but water as he drifted over the ocean.

His feet plunged into the icy sea, the ejector seat inflating as it came into contact with the ocean. Submerged for a moment, he bobbed between the waves, water lapping against the side of the fully inflated raft.

Staring into the rapidly darkening sky, he twisted off the helmet and breathed in the salty air. Touching the homing device embedded into the flight suit, he smiled.

"Okay," he said, wiping his mouth and looking up, "come and get me."

Night fell across the ocean, leaving a lingering blue hue on the surface until stars reflected off the water, casting vibrant sprinkles like stardust on the horizon. A brisk wind made him feel even colder. Josh bunched up, bringing his knees to his chest to try and stay warm.

What was taking so long?

If Foster and Matta had been forced to leave the system entirely, he could be out here for a long time. If the Pisceans had managed to detect or even destroy the Shadow, he’d be stuck on this planet forever.

He thought back to his approach and the beauty of Ashia. Now, the world seemed threatening and ominous. He wanted to leave.

Closing his eyes, he tried to think of a warmer, better place the same way he’d managed to get through his captivity in the Tyral Pirate labor camp. But all his mind focused on was the Piscean warriors, their piercing yellow eyes, and energy blast absorbing armor. They couldn’t be human, could they?

He asked himself a thousand questions in the past few hours. Exhausted, he leaned back and stared at the bright star-filled sky. Somewhere out there was Earth, and Kadyn was going about her life wondering if he'd return.

He pulled out Stetson’s device and stared at it in the darkness. Even if they mounted a rescue operation, it would take days for them to reach Ashia. He didn’t have a choice.

He pressed the button, watched it burn between red and yellow as it transmitted his location.

A roar bellowed in the distance, the sound traveling across the water’s surface.

Josh froze, rocking on the raft, his heart pounding in his throat. What the hell was that?

Another shriek, followed by a splash, split the air. It was closer that time.

He dropped the device as if it had been responsible for summoning a creature from the depths.

Unsnapping the holster, he yanked the pistol and held it toward the direction of the noise. He'd never heard anything like it—especially from the sea. The weapon rattled in his trembling hand, a mix of fear and cold rushing through him as he twirled his free hand into the raft's rope.

Silence.

He held his breath, rising to his knees as he pointed the pistol into the darkness. If—

A thrust catapulted him into the air in a spray of water and gale force wind. He accelerated upward like a toy in a dog's mouth, his arms and legs flailing. He caught a vague glimpse of the raft next to him, tumbling in the darkness with his hand still gripping the rope. A gigantic creature erupted from the water as if shot from a geyser, its snake body long as a city bus visible as it unfolded like a spring. Wings outstretched with powerful gusts, lifting the beast into the sky.

Josh tumbled down, crashing into the water. Pulling himself back on the raft, he rolled onto his back and stared at the sky. He could see the outline of the creature, but his mind wouldn't accept it.

A dragon?

The behemoth reptile bellowed, its hot breath smacking Josh in the face. Yelling, he raised the pistol and fired three times. Sparks blasted off the beast's scales. He couldn't tell if the bolts did anything other than infuriate the gargantuan predator.

As it reared its head back and roared again, Josh's jaw dropped at the sight, wondering if this is how it would all end. Clenching his jaw, he raised the pistol and fired.

The sky beamed down a halo of light, and he heard the blast of jet engines. Josh looked past the creature into the bright lights, knew it had to be the Shadow. Crimson pulse lasers showered the dragon's back, and it spun away. Flapping twice, it tucked its wings and plunged into the water. The movement sent a spray over his raft, and he tightened his grip on the rope, staring into the dark sea and gasping.

And then the pain in his forehead hit him, a searing flash of agony.

Bringing his hand to his forehead, he winced. Blood covered his fingertips, a result of being hurled into the air, and his body ached. But he was alive. Despite facing down aliens and a dragon, he was still breathing.

Collapsing on the raft, he stared up at the Shadow hovering over his position. Darkness surrounded the edge of his vision. Water sprayed down.

Thrust hit his face.

The raft rocked on the ocean's surface.

Josh didn't know if he'd passed out for a minute or two, but a three-pronged mechanical arm was lifting him and his raft onto the deck of the cargo bay.

"Are you okay?” Matta screamed, running toward him and falling to her knees next to the raft. "Let me help you."

Groggy as if drugged, Josh somehow made his way off the raft and collapsed. He leaned on his hands as the ship rumbled beneath him, the engines blasting at full power indicating they were leaving the planet's atmosphere.

Matta tossed a thick blanket over his legs.

“Sorry about your fighter,” he said, coughing.

“Don’t you worry about that—you got to be freezing, Joshy," she said, her brow furrowed as she touched the scratch on his forehead. "Gotta see to that. Anything broke?"

He closed his eyes and managed to shake his head. "I don't think so, but I'm not all here. Never fought a dragon before."

She laughed. "Me, neither. Foster said he didn't think we'd be able to find you in the dark since we lost my fighter’s signal. We only had a general idea of where you where.”

Still breathing heavily, he looked at her and asked, "How did you find me then?"

"Your dragon," she said, poking him in the shoulder. "Guess things happen for a reason, huh?"

"Yeah. Remind me not to come back to Ashia, okay?"

"You bet."

He caught his breath before asking, "Did he get the tracker secure?"

She smiled. "Tracking them right now. We gotta get out of the system. More of those things in orbit looking for us. They’re definitely hunting us.”

“We’ve got them.”

Rampa pressed the intercom. “Where?”

Admiral Galen Klein paused. “Performing some kind of salvage in orbit of the Frontier world known as Ashia.”

He froze, replaying Klein’s words in his head. “Are you sure, Admiral?”

“Absolutely.” Another pause. “Long-range scans show the vessel’s been engaged there for two hours. Your orders?”

Rampa hesitated. After weeks of searching for the mysterious attackers who murdered Tulin’s primary agent, they had tracked them to Ashia. But he couldn’t sail into the Frontier in a Zahlian spacecraft without violating the Calpria Treaty.

“Ready my sloop for immediate departure. Alert my squad we’re leaving within the hour. Rampa out.”

He killed the transmission and set up an accelerated distant communique to the ship orbiting Ashia, one he knew the primary occupant wouldn’t refuse. As he typed the message, he marveled at his ingenuity.

To the ship currently in orbit of the world known as Ashia, I know who you are. Remain in place and await my arrival.

- Sector Regent Knox Tulin

Crossing his arms over his chest, he sent the transmission and hurried to his spacecraft.

The unmarked sloop entered the Ashia system beyond the local moon, dropping out of Lutimite Space far out of weapon’s range. Rampa keyed for communication with the odd collection of vessels still orbiting Ashia and hoped its occupants were still willing to talk.

It wasn’t a long wait.

“You’re not Tulin,” a deep voice cut through the wavering transmission.

Rampa offered a thin smile. “How observant.”

Dax Rodon shook his head, the image flickering. “Then we have nothing further to talk about.”

“I needed your attention,” he said, moving closer to the camera. “I think I have it. Or aren’t you the least bit interested in knowing how I knew of your connection with the late Regent Tulin?”

Rodon hesitated, the lines in his weathered face deepening. With streaks of silver in his hair, he looked much older than Rampa would have guessed.

“So he is dead then?”

Rampa nodded, knowing he had Rodon’s full attention. “Yes, Tulin is gone. But he and I have the same interests.”

“I no longer work with the Empire.” He winced. “I was betrayed.”

“We’re all betrayed at one point or another,” Rampa said in a soothing tone, “but I’m not here to discuss the past. I want to discuss the future.”

Rodon’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot discuss the future until all those responsible for my downfall have paid the price in blood. Those who worked for Tulin deserved to die.”

“So it seems. Agent Ballad suffered for his link with Tulin. You seemed to make sure of that.”

He paused. “You think your knowledge can scare me?”

“It should.” He smiled. “I have the intelligence of the entire Empire at my disposal. I’m here to offer it to you.”

Rodon’s defenses seemed to drop, his shoulders slumping. “What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious you’re seeking vengeance.” Rampa thought of the video feed of the powerful soldiers walking with Rodon when Agent Ballad was killed. “And you have earned quite the allegiance with powerful friends.”

He snorted. “They’re Pisceans.”

“What is a Piscean?”

“They hail from Dark Space.”

Rampa’s mind raced. No ship in the Zahl Empire could reach Dark Space. The Shoborians had tried to traverse the distance and failed. He made a mental note to do more research into the possibilities.

“How did you make such an acquaintance?”

Rodon smiled. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?”

Rampa decided to table discussion of a Dark Space faction for another time. He needed to tread carefully.

Rodon continued, “They’ve agreed to help furnish my vengeance in return for the intelligence of my galaxy.”

“Why?”

“They seek expansion into the Legion backwater worlds. Once I have captured and killed those who wronged me, I will gladly help them.”

Rampa considered his next statement. “I could offer our intelligence to help you find who you seek if the Pisceans promise to begin their invasion on my order. Would that be of interest to you?”

Rather than show interest, Rodon’s face revealed no expression at all. “All I care about is the restoration of my honor. I believe the Pisceans would agree to coordinate their invasion timetable with you—once I’ve hunted down my targets.”

Rampa took a deep breath, realizing the final piece of his puzzle was within his grasp. “Who else are you searching for?”

“I now have the leader of the Barracudas and his top agents,” Rodon said, tilting his head back. “I seek one of his pilots and a rogue Star Runner. Both just slipped through my fingers.”

Rampa grinned. “We’ll find them.”