Star Runners: Dark Space

Chapter 1-1

1

“We’re starting our approach, Boss,” Tocol’s deep voice boomed over the roaring engines and the circuit boards' sizzle on the Sparkling Light’s bridge.

Waylon Neary wiped his eyes and leaned forward with a grunt, his muscles aching from the long and complicated journey to Ashia. The recently renewed traffic on the Legion-Zahl border made navigation a bit tricky and required creative choices, necessitating two more curves than usual to bypass suspicious governmental eyes, but the journey had been otherwise non-eventful. He shuddered to think the "civilized" factions of the universe might soon overrun his “cash cow” discovery of the planet's precious Lutimite vein.

“Any company?” he asked, his voice scratchy and gruff as he took a sip of the hard stuff Matta had made back on the Rock, wincing as it burned down his throat and wishing she had been able to make the journey.

“Is there ever?” Tocol snorted.

Sitting up and shaking his head, Tocol hunched his broad shoulders over the sensor. His black hair fell over his face, blocking his view.

“System scan shows we’re alone,” he said, tying his hair back without looking away from the display. “Not another transponder signal squawking anywhere around this star.”

“Very good,” Waylon said, taking another drink. “Continue toward forty-seven degrees north by one-twenty-five west and take her down.”

Tocol fed the coordinates into the computer. “You ever think about running a geological scan on the rest of the world? We thought of doing that while you were, uh, away, but never found the time.”

Waylon pursed his lips. Tocol referred to his time “away” as if it were some vacation. Being held captive by the Tyral Pirates under Dax Rodon was anything but time off. He had the scars—and the recurring nightmares—to prove it.

Although he tried hard in front of his wife and son to pretend the time in captivity didn’t bother him, he couldn’t hide the sweat-soaked sheets in the middle of the night or the heart-thumping dreams. If it hadn’t been for the Earth native Star Runner Josh Morris, he probably would have died out there.

He smiled, his thoughts focusing on his new and unlikely friend. A rookie Star Runner with brand new wings, Josh had seemed weak and soft when they first met in the asteroid mining camp. How wrong he had been. The young pilot had split off from their group during the evacuation following the sudden arrival of the Zahlian capital ship, hurrying back to Earth to warn his commanders of the impending attack. Waylon hadn’t heard from him since.

He swallowed, forcing the worst thoughts into the recesses of his mind.

“Whatta ya say, Boss?”

Waylon shook his head. “I surveyed the planet on my first visit here back in the day. Nothing else as rich as what’s under those cliffs. I’ll take what we can get for now. Truth be told I never thought I’d get more than one or two trips to Ashia before the sky would fill with scavengers.”

Tocol c****d his head. “Whatever you say. Coordinates fed in now. She’s all yours.”

Settling in behind the helm, Waylon activated the nav guides on the HUD. Green rectangles appeared, courtesy of Tocol’s coordinates. He eased forward on the throttle, bringing the Sparkling Light on a safe approach through the atmosphere.

The shields flickered and rippled, fighting against the planet. Loose items rattled. Tocol’s coffee mug tipped over and rolled off the dashboard. With a quick flick of his hand, he caught the black ceramic cup.

“Nice,” Waylon said under his breath, his attention still on the landing.

Easing back on the approach, he took some stress off the vessel's power as the downward angle lessened. The shields still dropped—normal for atmospheric entry—but weren’t falling so rapidly.

Three minutes later, the clouds broke and revealed the sea. Waylon exhaled.

“How was it last time you were here?” he asked, leaning back.

“You mean while you were away?”

“You don’t have to remind me every time.”

“I know,” Tocol said with a smile. “Just like getting under your skin.”

“Well, don’t. I’d rather not think about it.”

“Ease off. Anyways, things down there always seem odd, you know? Conflict raged last time we were here, but I made the drop and got the Lutimite as you would've done.”

Waylon frowned. “What sort of conflict?”

“Does it matter? These natives are always fighting over something. The guy didn’t elaborate.”

“Guy?” Waylon looked at him. “You didn’t meet with Shanda?”

Tocol shook his head. “No.”

“What did this guy say?”

“I don’t know. He said something about things were upside down at the moment. We fixed his engines, dropped the guns, got the rocks. That’s it. Same as always. You once told me it only matters if we can get the goods for the lowest price possible. That’s how business runs, right?”

Nodding, Waylon focused on the horizon. The familiar cliffs poked through the haze in the distance. The locals called the place the Mazomi Cliffs. When he had first come here, the Barracudas were on the verge of bankruptcy. With the Lutimite discovered here, he used the wealth to coax his business back from the edge. Nothing lasts forever, but he’d exclusively traded with the local, Grev, and later his daughter for longer than he’d ever thought possible—all for cheap old laser rifles nobody else in the known galaxy would want.

“Bringing her high over the cliffs to let them see us,” Waylon breathed, leveling out the descent.

Tocol nodded. “I remember the drill.”

The cliffs bustled with activity, a hundred eyes staring at the incoming vessel. Waylon remembered the first time he had arrived to trade with Grev’s people. With jaws dropping open and frantic eyes sweeping over the ship, the indigenous population had looked at them like gods descending from the heavens. Some had been brave enough to reach out and touch his vessel, darting backward as if the hull would strike out. Others kept back, their trembling hands on swords or fingering the string on tightly fitted bows.

It had taken some time to negotiate the first time. He knew the possible dangers of revealing yourself to dark worlds like Ashia, but the Lutimite deposits appeared too rich to ignore. Fortunately, he had been right.

Staring down at the people pointing to his ship, he saw none of the awe evident on that first visit. Excitement, possibly, but no respect. The people had grown accustomed to visitors from space. Now, the expressions on their faces looked more like the anticipation of a future trade, the possibility of a new delivery of weapons and technology currently impossible on Ashia. All they had to do was give up a bit of a mineral they considered inexhaustible. He’d seen the same story on other worlds where the natives thought their resources could never run out.

The lines in his face deepened as he banked over the settlement, a thought buzzing around his mind.

The way of life on Ashia won’t last forever.

He shook his head, flipping the switch to start the landing cycle.

“We’re coming in,” he muttered, eyes fixated on the field empty of the Ashian airships he’d seen on the previous voyage. “Head back to help Tima and Drad with the crates.”

Tocol stared back, his eyebrows arching in a hurt expression. “Don’t you need me up here?”

“Trying to get out of work?”

“Yes,” he shot back.

Waylon jerked his head toward the corridor. “Get out of here.”

Unstrapping his harness and gripping the headrest for balance as the ship banked, Tocol stomped out.

Waylon settled the Sparkling Light onto the wet grasses. The engines groaned to a stop. Leaving the bridge, he marched through the corridor to the landing ramp. The forest's cold, musty air rushed through into the ship. He closed his eyes, relishing the fresh air as his crew stepped behind him.

Reaching down, he checked the laser pistol in his holster and snapped the button to secure it. “All right boys,” he said, “let’s make some money.”

Tilting his head back, he gave his best “captain” impression for the benefit of the Ashians and marched down the ramp. His crew dropped the crates filled with single shot laser rifles on two lift carts and followed.

Shielding his eyes from the bright daylight, he surveyed the landscape. A crowd of people, their clothes tattered and ruined, huddled amongst the rocks. Some remained on the ground under well-worn animal hides serving as a shelter, looking toward him with weary eyes.

A beautiful woman approached, followed by three armed men in black. She wore flowing orange robes and a beaded headpiece like polished obsidian visible under her thin hood. Her dark skin shimmered in the sunlight.

Behind her followed an aide and two guards wearing the leather armor he’d seen in previous visits, the attire of a Mazomi Warrior.

But Shanda was not with them.

Hiding his concern, Waylon swallowed and raised his hand, trying to ignore the terrifying prospect Tocol had been right about the conflict on Ashia.

“Greetings. I am Waylon Neary.”

“You speak my language?” she asked, gasping.

“Yes,” he said, offering a full smile. “One of the universe's wonderful ironies. I speak six languages, and you happen to communicate using one of them. It's how I've been able to come to the previous agreements with the others.”

She nodded. “I see. My name is Thankara Brileigh, an emissary sent by the Guardian of Ashia.”

Waylon suppressed his surprise at the title. So the Queen was no longer in power.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he offered, cycling through the possibilities. If Shanda had not informed these people of their previous agreement, the afternoon might get interesting—not to mention his return trip if he couldn’t pay for what he brought to trade. “Forgive me, Thankara, if I'm speaking out of turn, but the situation here seems to have changed since our last visit.”

Her grin faded. “A terrible war has taken place. Another great ship from the stars arrived during the last cycle.”

Waylon braced himself. “A ship?”

She pursed her lips. “One bearing the kin of our ancestors. They were bent on revenge, determined to conquer our world and force our population into bondage. The losses were terrible, but Queen Vanaad was able to withstand the efforts of the Cartada and lead us to victory. We're beginning a new era of peace.”

“I see,” he said. “You may realize the Queen had made a deal with us for—”

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Why else would we be here? The Queen has abdicated the throne, and we’re preparing for elections. However, the Guardian has requested we continue our arrangement with you as before in the name of maintaining peace and order in the realm. The battle staffs enable our authorities to do this. We would also like to continue trade for flying engines for our airships.”

The tension in his chest eased. “That is superb news. My men are here with our latest shipment and—”

The ground thumped. Swinging around, he slid the pistol from its holster and turned. His men drew their weapons and stepped back, mouths agape.

A hulking humanoid standing a foot taller than Waylon loomed, approaching from the trees. Bulging biceps rippling, the creature paused and glared at him, each breath sounding like an enormous beast. It wore scarred sable armor, dented and cracked. Its dull emerald eyes appeared human but radiated an unworldly glow.

“Wait!” Thankara cried, hurling herself between Waylon and the brute.

Taking a step back, he held his pistol on the monster’s face, his hand trembling. “What the hell is this?”

She puffed. “His name is Corthaw, and he has come to the cliffs seeking refuge.”

“He’s with you?” Waylon didn’t dare lower his pistol and instead took another stride backward.

“Of course he’s with me,” she said, two Mazomi Guards stepping behind her. “He’s here to help unload the shipment and bring the p*****t aboard your ship.”

Still shaken by the creature’s sudden arrival, Waylon gestured to his men to lower their weapons.

“Surely this individual isn’t human,” he said, holstering his weapon but leaving his hand on his belt. “I’ve never in all my travels seen something like it.”

Thankara turned back to Corthaw and tapped his bicep as thick as a tree. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “They won’t harm you.”

Corthaw grimaced, curling his mouth over his yellow teeth as he passed Waylon and stepped to the lift cart. With one sweeping motion, the immense Corthaw lifted the transport into the air and hauled it toward the cliffs' opening.

“I’m going to need that back,” Waylon said, pointing to the lift cart now on the giant's shoulder. “Does he understand?”

“I will make sure he knows,” Thankara said, shaking her head. “This is his first time here. He only arrived with the others two nights ago.”

Waylon sighed, his eyes still fixated on the lumbering Corthaw. The other natives didn’t even give the thing a second look. Glancing back at Tocol, he saw he wasn’t alone in his shock.

“What is he?” Waylon managed to ask. “Is he some mutant?”