Star Runners: Revelation Protocol

Chapter 8

8

“Zaka tawa!”

The voice rumbled down the cavern, bouncing off the walls like a thunderclap.

The group of prisoners rose from the cave floor, grumbling to anyone who would listen. The new guard, a bulging mass of humanity with a scarred left eye and bushy black beard like a fungus, had been riding the prisoners for the past day. Josh had recognized the voice and the damaged eye as the pirate who had incapacitated him on the day he had been captured.

Josh wondered where Rodon found these specimens of lowly humans. Did he have a cesspool to choose from? How did the Tyral pirates fill their ranks?

The other prisoners called the man “Cyclops,” but wouldn’t dare say it loud enough for the overseer to hear. After seeing Cyclops beat a man to death for falling down in the rock pits, it wasn’t worth it.

After handing out tiny, rusted translators to the ragtag group, Cyclops led the men down the same corridor they had been walking every day for at least the past month. However, they did not stop in the Lutimite pits this time. The day before, they’d worked once again in the rocks until their muscles ached and their mouths went dry. During their grueling shift, six pirate fighters flew over their heads and left the hangar. They returned hours later, their hulls battered and bruised with laser burns. A Legion merchant ship limped into the hangar near their pit. Two gaping holes in the hull signified the ship had been boarded and captured. Rather than take prisoners, however, it seemed the pirates had vented the passengers and crew directly into space.

They must have enough of a workforce.

Pirates off-loaded supply crates from the merchant ship. Josh overheard their discussions about stockpiling supplies, but heard no details. Why would the pirates be hoarding reserves? Captain Braddock always said the pirates stole enough for the short term, but rarely took surplus in fear of other gangs stealing it. This resulted in the repeated raids. If they were amassing supplies and other goods, what had changed?

One thing they were not taking in was slaves. Guess they had all the labor they needed, he thought. Now, they were going to make them work even harder in the Lutimite pits until there was nothing left. Delmar had said he worried they were nearly finished with the work in the asteroid. If there wasn’t work to do, Rodon might decide it was their turn to take a walk in space.

Instead, Cyclops led them to a transport in the main hangar. Dozens of crates as large as a car neatly lined the deck. Josh glanced at the containers, saw a stenciled script burned into the sides. He couldn’t read the language, but the crates looked far too official to be something the Tyral Pirates created.

“It’s time to eat, you worthless sacks,” Cyclops grumbled. “Get on board.”

The landing ramp lowered.

“Hey!”

Josh turned to see Rodon strolling toward the group.

“Wait here,” Cyclops said to the prisoners.

Rodon leaned in close to his subordinate, but Josh could hear some of the words.

“Our benefactor…more should be arriving today,” Rodon whispered.

“Yes, sir,” Cyclops said. “I will be back by then.”

Josh frowned. Benefactor? Who would be supporting a pirate gang leader? He thought back to the latest news regarding Rodon and his pirates, their mysterious successes and their uncanny ability to have more technology and weapons of war than the Legion ever planned to combat in Quadrant Eight. Yes, he thought, a benefactor would make sense and explain the great deal of troubles now facing the Legion in this area of their territory. In fact, it might be the missing puzzle piece.

Of course, this led him back to the original question: Who would support the Tyral Pirates?

Rodon focused on the prisoners. “Been a pleasure having you here, gentlemen. Enjoy the rest of your days, however long that will last.” He laughed and walked back to his control room at the hangar’s edge.

As they filed into the transport ship with seats lining both walls and facing one another, Josh sat down, wondering what Cyclops meant by saying it was time to eat. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Waylon nestled his large frame into the seat across from Josh. He nodded when their eyes met. He returned the gesture, glad such a monstrous man no longer wanted to kill him. They had not spoken since their exchange, but Josh knew Waylon spent his time planning the means of their escape. For the first time since arriving on the asteroid base, it seemed the Tyral Pirates needed their slave workforce elsewhere.

Or they planned to jettison the entire group into space.

Either way, Josh’s spirits lifted the moment the transport’s engines rumbled to life. He didn’t care where they ended up as long as it was away from that rock.

“Glad we’re leaving,” he said under his breath.

Delmar glanced at him. “Tired of being on that asteroid?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I suppose, but I don’t know what awaits us.”

“True.” He allowed the sound of the engines to relax him. “Why do the men call our new guard Cyclops?”

“The myth of the one-eyed monster.”

“You have that myth, too?”

“I think everyone does. It’s very old.”

“I know, but I thought it was based on Earth mythology. You know, from Greece.”

Delmar bit on his dirty fingernails. “Not all stories originate on Earth.”

“I guess not.”

“My people believe there was once a planet of giants who had only one eye, so it’s not that unusual for me.”

Josh looked at him. “Your people? And who are your people?”

Delmar gazed up at the ceiling, a pleasant expression forming on his relaxed face. “I am Shoborian.”

“What does that mean?”

He smiled. “Oh, Josh, you should see my planet. My people have explored more of the galaxy than any other faction. We believe in peace and exploration, documenting everything so we can expand our knowledge of the universe. Somewhere along the line, my people must have found evidence of a one-eyed giant.”

Josh snorted. “We were told in flight school there was no such thing as aliens.”

“Of course they would say such things.”

“Why?”

Wrinkles deepened on Delmar’s cheeks. “To keep you focused.”

As the transport rocked, Josh fought back a wave of nausea. “Are they going to kill us?” he asked softly.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“How did you get caught?” Josh asked.

Delmar appeared to consider the question. “I was traveling on the edge of Legion space, conducting long-range scans of the space beyond the Fringe when they got me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” He closed his eyes. “Get some rest, son. We don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”

As Delmar tried to sleep, Josh thought of flight school and the history of the galaxy. Never did any of the instructors speak of aliens or even a faction known as the Shoborians, but perhaps Delmar was correct in his belief the Legion wanted their Star Runners focused? Or perhaps Delmar had a few screws loose himself?

Josh fell asleep as he contemplated.

The flight felt like it took a few hours. Josh wasn’t sure because his nap turned into a deep sleep once the transport left the asteroid field. The ship passed through no curves on the way, so wherever their destination, it was close enough for normal propulsion. After a rough trip when the ship must have passed through the atmosphere, the transport settled down. The interior lights flickered on and, for just a moment, it seemed just like any other flight Josh had taken in his life.

“Get moving you stinking lyker pellets!” Cyclops yelled. “Now!”

The transport door opened with a groan and slowly lowered, illuminating the vessel’s interior with the brightest light Josh had seen in months. He squinted, reveling in the warmth touching his face. Air rushed into the transport, real air. It surrounded him, filled his lungs and rustled his matted hair. He hadn’t thought about it before, but he hadn’t inhaled true, atmospheric air since he left Earth.

Tingles rippled across his skin. He shuddered.

“Come on, son,” Delmar said. “It’s time to move.”

The prisoners marched side-by-side into the open air. Brown grasslands stretched into infinity like a carpet. Low mountains covered in morning blue mist rolled on the horizon. Josh wanted to sprint across the fields, disappear into the hills, and jump into a frigid stream. He could build a cabin by a pond and live there forever. Forget about the Tyral Pirates, Rodon, the Legion, his parents—all of it.

Let it slip away.

Cyclops slapped the lead prisoner, directing him to a rickety, brown barn surrounded by a wooden fence. Goats, chickens, and cows dotted the area beside one side of the transport. On the other, rows of crops lined the land.

“Beautiful,” Delmar said.

“Move it!” Cyclops shouted. “Fall into lines inside the fence! It’s time you all started working for your food.”

If Cyclops referred to the active snot soup they’d been eating, Josh didn’t want to waste time creating it. The thought of it wiggling down his throat still made his stomach turn.

As they marched forward, Waylon moved in close. “This isn’t good,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “This is the greatest thing I’ve seen since we were taken—and we don’t have to wear those steel cages over our heads anymore.”

Waylon looked around. “You see any other ships? The idea was to steal a ship and escape. I don’t think we’ll go far on a cow.”

“Give it time,” he said, almost to convince himself. “We’ll have our opening.”

The hoe plunged deep into the soil. The movement made a squishy sound. Two dozen other prisoners did the same, again and again. The sun’s orange light baked everything on the land, which stretched as flat as a hardwood floor to distant mountains.

The transport remained where it had landed earlier, a few hundred yards from the collection of barns and the fenced area for livestock. Cyclops had moved the prisoners to the fields shortly after they arrived and forced them into hard labor. The sun invigorated Josh and the other prisoners, and they all moved faster and more energetically than before, hopping from one area to the next. He didn’t seem to be alone in enjoying a breath of fresh air.

Thunder echoed, the sound bouncing off the land.

“Back to work!” Cyclops screamed for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Anyone looking to the sky will spend some time with the lash!”

Josh kept his eyes on the soil. He turned the dirt as another boom cut through the air. Waylon worked next to him, grumbling.

“Something’s coming through atmo.”

Delmar cleared his throat in acknowledgement. “Sounds like a smaller craft, fighters maybe.”

“Fighters?” Josh asked. “Hang on.”

He pulled on the hoe twice as if the soil wouldn’t release the tool. Crouching to his knees, he scooped the dirt around. Waylon and Delmar stepped closer to him, shielding him from view. Josh shot a glance to the heavens, using his hand to block the sunlight.

When he stood, the other men glared at him.

“Well?” Waylon barked, his voice rattling like he had something stuck in his throat.

Josh kept his gaze toward the ground. “Four fighters descending, looks like a mismatch of craft. Tridents and some others I don’t recognize. Standard for the Tyral Pirates.”

“Four?” Waylon looked at Delmar. “What do you think?”

Delmar remained silent as he worked. “This could work. We’ll have to see how long they stay.”

Four fighters coming to this backwater planet. Either it was Rodon coming by for an inspection of one piece of his little empire, or it was a Tyral raiding party coming for a respite from all the pillaging.

Minutes later, the fighters formed into a semi-circle two hundred feet above the farming compound. The craft lowered in unison, sending a tornado of dust and pebbles around the area.

When they landed, Josh watched the best he could while pretending to continue working the soil.

Four pilots exited the craft. Other workers emerged from the structures to greet them. One pilot stood out from the rest, his clothing bright red even from this distance. The brightly colored pilot pointed as if giving orders, and the workers ran in the ordered direction.

Josh rubbed sweat from his eyes. Using his hands to cover his mouth, he said, “Might be Rodon.”

“Here?” Waylon asked. “Are you sure?”

“Not at this distance, but it could be him.”

“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Delmar said. He locked eyes with Waylon, then Josh. “They brought spacecraft. That’s all that matters.”

Josh’s muscles burned and ached. His shoulders throbbed whenever he lifted his arms above his head. His lower back flashed with a stabbing pain as if bones rubbed together beneath the skin. The others had ceased all conversation long after the sun reached its zenith, and they toiled in silence in the intense heat. The hot temperatures pulsated in waves like they worked in a furnace. The energy provided by being in the actual outside air dissipated by late afternoon when the sun dipped low on the flat horizon. The blue sky, flawless like a turquoise stone, faded to black in a gorgeous transition. Stars flickered into view like sparkling flecks of ice on a black highway.

His mind had wandered during the grueling work. He thought of Austin. His thoughts drifted to another place, another time, when he’d played football, hit on girls, and logged in to play Star Runners every night with his best friend. He thought of Kadyn, the one love who would never be, and the afternoons he’d stolen a glance at her while the three of them drank coffee. Austin accused him once of staring at Marilyn Monroe, but Josh had really been looking at Kadyn. When he nearly got caught staring, he always turned to Marilyn. He’d stressed out about life then, worrying about games and girls, classes and scholarships.

“Stop!” Cyclops boomed, his good eye wide. “Drop your tools and fall into line where you stand. We’re heading back to the barn. Once there, you will sleep. We didn’t finish our goals today, you lousy sacks of dung. No dinner for you. Perhaps this will teach you to work instead of spending the day lazing in the sun. Let’s move it!”

Josh’s stomach turned with the mention of dinner, but the pains throughout the rest of his body took over. He tossed the rusted tool into the field, knowing he would return at first light, and shuffled his feet into line. Waylon bumped shoulders with him, his large frame gasping for breath.

The two lines of prisoners marched forward. Cyclops and his minions barked orders from both sides. One guard smacked two men near the front of the line. Josh flinched at the sound of skin smashing into skin. War was brutal, he knew that much. But fighting in spacecraft at least shielded you from the horrors of death and suffering. In fact, he struggled to remind himself shooting down a fighter also ended a life. Destroying a bandit in a dogfight meant more than a kill marking on the side of a Trident.

But what did it matter? He might never fly a Trident again…

“You two,” Cyclops pointed at Josh and Waylon. “Step out of line and come over here.”

His breath froze like ice water in his lungs. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!”

Josh stepped out of the line with Waylon next to him. Cyclops raised his hand and waited for the rest of the prisoners to trudge by. What did he want? Did he somehow know they planned an escape? Had he seen something to doubt that they were just beaten prisoners?

“I saw you two lovebirds talking earlier today,” Cyclops said in a remarkably calm tone, his good eye separately taking in both of them. “Don’t even bother denying it.”

He spit on Josh’s leg, a brown slushy liquid sliding down his skin like a slimy snake. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hide his disdain for the man.

He shifted his weight. “It didn’t affect our work, sir.”

“So, you admit you were talking? What was the big topic for today? You braiding each other’s hair later? Hmm?” He slapped Waylon across the face and turned to Josh. “Or will this one hold you when the sun goes down and it gets cold?”

Josh opened his mouth to speak, but Cyclops hit him hard enough to see stars.

“You just lost your dinner privileges tomorrow as well,” he grumbled. “Tonight, I want both of you refueling those ships and waxing the hulls until I can see my face. I want it done before daylight. If the boss complains about his fighter, I will be the least of your worries. Got it?”

Josh nodded. So Dax Rodon was here, he thought. “Yes, sir.”

He glanced at Delmar, who nodded.

Guards led Waylon and Josh to the fighters. The hulls appeared to be stitched together with chewing gum and dirt. He counted three colors of metal wielded together in the first vessel. As he walked closer, he noticed the fighter’s long narrow nose and the wing bristling with an assortment of weapons like the pilot couldn’t choose his favorite. Actually, this was probably the truth. Pirates were not known for their failure to shoot back, and with wings holding this amount of weaponry, Josh believed it.

“You are to wash and clean these fighters till they shine!” Cyclops shouted. “When you’re done, you’ll refuel ’em and, if there is still time before daylight, you can catch some sleep before you go back to the fields. Your choice. Get to work.”

Waylon and Josh began with a modified Trident. Using a ladder, they washed the entire ship. The pirates grilled an animal of some kind a dozen yards away. Josh shivered at the sizzling aroma of cooking meat. It smelled of barbecues and afternoon baseball games in the lush grass of a summer backyard under a sky blue enough to make you squint. Mom and Dad used to marvel at those afternoons. Austin would come over when they were young, and they would play until the sun set behind the trees. Even then, they would continue whatever game they played in the dark unless they were called into the house. Mom might order a pizza or let them rent a movie, and they would spend the night seeing who could stay up the latest.

He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand. If he ever wanted the chance to have any life again, he had to survive this first.

The guards finished eating and sat around a fire under the starry sky. Some dozed where they finished eating while others talked quietly, the weapons never far from their reach.

The black sky lightened in the distance. How short were the nights on this planet? Better yet, how long had they been working on this project?

“I don’t know what’s going on, but something has changed,” a guard grumbled, breaking through the quiet. “Rodon’s up to something.”

“’Bout time if you ask me,” another responded. “We’ve been raiding freighters for so long, we need to hit something big to get our share. I’m getting tired of doing this without any scratch to show for it.”

Josh tried to keep up his work and listen at the same time. The two guards talking must have been the only still awake, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

“Scratch is coming, for sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Word has it we’ve been hoarding our goods for a surprise raid on a Legion planet.”

“Legion? That’s suicide.”

“No, not this one. Heard the other guys saying this one’s dark. Should be a cakewalk if we have the supplies. Have you seen all the stuff coming across the border for us? Never seen so much merchandise coming into camp. It’s like a holiday. More supposedly on the way, too.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Soon.”

Josh’s eyes widened. He finished cleaning his second fighter and looked over at Waylon who was fueling the second vessel. Had he heard the guards as well? If he understood, the Tyral Pirates planned to attack a Legion dark world soon. He glanced back to the guards by the fire and noticed their gaze focused on the smoldering embers.

Josh swallowed and strolled toward Waylon. Waylon leaned against the fighter, his eyes closed tight.

“Waylon, did you hear that?” Josh asked.

“Every word,” he said, his eyes still shut. “I have a plan.”

“What is it?” he asked, kneeling down as if he worked on the fuel pumper.

“We need to act beaten, defeated.”

He snorted. “That won’t be hard.

Waylon didn’t smile. “When they think they have their perfect, obedient slave force, we take these fighters and escape.”

He nodded. “We need to do it fast. I should warn my people.”

“Not my business. Besides, there’s no sense talking about that, yet,” he said, disconnecting the fuel line as he topped off the ship. “Gotta get out of here first.”