Starblazer Page 2

  “Copulating? You have a way with words, my friend, I’ll give you that.”

  “So they tell me, sir.”

  “I’m coming up on the ship now. She warmed?”

  “Of course, sir. Shall I turn on some music, too? The usual successful bounty playlist?”

  “Is that even a quest—”

  A blaster shot shattered the night. The electrical buzz of the bolt came dangerously close to Ryze’s helmet.

  In a tenth of a second, Ryze was in defensive mode. He had already pinpointed where the shot came from—to his right and above—and had adjusted to this new information by taking cover behind the hover cart.

  Another bolt zapped down from the same spot. It hit the cart, burning a hole in the metal. Felia’s ruined hand flopped out, a little blood dribbling to the dirt.

  “Spex?” Ryze said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m in a little predicament here. Care to help me out?”

  “How so?”

  Another blast. This one hit the ground inches away from his boots. His armor held up against most things thrown his way, but a beamblast wasn’t exactly one of them. It would slow the bolt down, but what happened when more came? He didn’t want to find out.

  “I’m getting attacked! I thought you were looking through my viewscreen.” Ryze pulled his flayzer free for the second time that night, an action he was not anticipating.

  “You told me not to infringe on your privacy, as I recall, sir.”

  “Spex!”

  “I’m on my way, sir.”

  The comm went off as the next shot took out one of the hover cart’s engines, causing it to tilt and fall on its side. Ryze was exposed now, and the nearest cover was too far away. He would have to fight.

  Again.

  Three

  The assailant did exactly as Ryze would’ve done: he moved out from his hiding spot and toward the target.

  Ryze believed in swift deaths. Bounty hunting was a job, simple as that, and the sooner the target was captured or eliminated, the sooner he got paid.

  This deadly stranger understood that.

  But the problem for the unknown assailant was that Ryze was a better shot than most in the galaxy. When he pulled the trigger of his blasrifle, he rarely missed, and he always shot with the intent to kill.

  All Ryze needed was a glimpse, and as he looked up, he saw the shooter’s torso. It wasn’t a human. A Rovik, by the looks of it—a humanoid creature closely resembling a lizard, but as mean as a poisonous snake.

  Ryze shot his flayzer.

  The Rovik moved quick.

  The beamblast didn’t kill it but most definitely hurt. Ryze had aimed for the throat. A sudden jerk from the reptilian beast caused the beam to hit its shoulder instead. The force of the blast spun it around.

  Damn, Ryze thought. Guess I’m a little rusty.

  Not necessarily a killing blow, especially if the Rovik was wearing armor—and it most likely was—but it would buy Ryze enough time to escape. Normally he would stay and finish the job, but his dignity wasn’t the most important thing he possessed that night. That happened to be the bounty in the ruined hover cart.

  The alien let out a guttural grunt, filling the empty street, and as the creature made this noise, the air rippled with the sounds of a starship.

  Ryze looked up, and there, hovering above him, was the Starblazer. The ship was an SG-Rogue class, the type of ship mythical to most in the galaxy. Ryze had stolen it from Grays and restored it over the course of many years. To say the Starblazer was his pride and joy would be an understatement.

  “Ready when you are, sir,” Spex said through the comm.

  The Starblazer lowered until it almost touched dirt. The exhaust ports on the tail-end turned downward and scorched the ground, leaving blackened divots in their wake. The ship was no Dominion Battler, but it got the job done when it came to fighting or fleeing.

  The scars of war on the wings and the hull sparkled in the moonlight. It was oddly striking. Ryze was proud of those battle scars; the Starblazer had earned them. Where others might see an old, outdated hunk of junk, Ryze saw a work of art that had saved his ass more times than he could count.

  If she was a hunk of junk, she was a fast hunk of junk.

  The landing gear plunked down, shaking the ground beneath Ryze, and then the cargo hold opened up with a hiss, the brightness from inside radiating toward him like a beacon of safety.

  “Shall I kill the engines, or are you ever going to jump in? We aren’t exactly swimming in fuel, sir,” Spex said.

  “A little busy right now, Spex!” He pushed the cart with all the strength he had left, which wasn’t much. The downed engines made it nearly impossible, even with the help of his battle armor. As he pushed, something caught his peripheral vision. Doesn’t get easier, does it?

  The Rovik stood, this time in plain view. Either the shot it took in the shoulder knocked a few screws loose from its lizard brain, or the bastard was just plain cocky.

  Probably the latter.

  Another blast pummeled the hover cart, knocking Ryze back with the force of the hit.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, grunting, sweat dripping into his eyes. He was so close to the ship’s boarding ramp.

  “Leave it behind, sir,” Spex said over the comm. “You can’t put a price on your life.”

  “Thousands for this son of a gak! I’m not walking away from that!”

  Another shot: this one skimmed across Ryze’s arm. A warm burst of pain flared there. Could’ve been worse. If not for his armor…well, he didn’t want to think about that.

  Ryze shot back at the Rovik’s exposed head. The shot would’ve decapitated the alien had it not ducked, but it did. The damn lizards were agile. Instead, the shot hit the side of the building, taking out a wall in a rain of stone, dust, and smoke.

  The Rovik barked out words in its slithery language. If Ryze’s translator was on, he wouldn’t have heard the rest of the sentence anyway. The rockslide cut the words short.

  “Well, shit,” Ryze said incredulously. “That…worked?”

  He was in the clear.

  With a great grunt, he pushed the hover cart forward, up the ramp and into the docking bay. Thank the Gods for the help of cybernetic strength.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Ryze shouted.

  “Gladly, sir,” Spex replied. “Ypso is not one of my…favorite places.”

  Ryze chuckled. “Same.” He secured the hover cart into place so it wouldn’t slide around the bay, and then rushed along the corridor to the cockpit as the Starblazer rose into the air. From the main viewscreen, the outskirts of the city, this lawless place, shrunk.

  “Leaving the atmosphere, sir,” Spex said, and added quietly, “thank the stars.”

  “I’ll take it from here. And, Spex? You saved my hide. It’s much appreciated.”

  “I did, sir. Again.”

  “Yes, again.” Ryze studied the armor plate on his right forearm. It looked as if a small meteor had streaked across it. He touched the groove with a gloved hand and warmth radiated through. Could’ve been my face instead of my arm. He shook his head. That was close. Too close.

  The ship shook as it fought Ypso’s gravitational pull, plunging through the atmosphere and into the expansive blackness of space.

  Ryze took off his helmet and set it on the empty seat next to him, then he removed the scorched armor plate, tossing it behind his chair. He would have to get that fixed when he touched down on Capras. That would cost a few frags; he made a note to do it after he collected on the dead Thrathan in the cargo hold.

  His shaking hands found the ship’s main controls. “Prepare for a QJ, Spex.”

  “Yes, sir,” Spex answered. His voice was now patched through the ship’s speakers. “Our destination is about twenty-two light years away. We shall arrive within six Common hours.”

  Ryze hit a few switches on the console. The display showed the QJ—quick-jump—engines charging as
the screen next to it pinpointed the exact location of the distant system.

  Once the bar glowed green, Ryze said, “Ready?”

  “I’ll make sure to strap in, sir,” Spex answered, and Ryze rolled his eyes.

  “What would I do without your humor, Spex?”

  “You’d be a much grimmer person, I believe—with all due respect, that is, sir.”

  Ryze pulled the warp lever toward him, the stick fighting back as he did so, and then shoved it forward, simultaneously punching the QJ button. You had to be rough on the controls in an old ship like the Starblazer.

  Less than a second later, the white pricks of light around them fused to a bluish-purple amalgam.

  And then they were off.

  Four

  The God-King’s chambers were off limits to everyone but a select few. One of those select few was Ace Silver, the ruler’s right-hand man, childhood best friend, and his biggest supporter in the God-King’s quest for galactic domination.

  Ace walked up the palace’s steps toward the towering doors. Two cyberguards, their somewhat-human faces each disguised by void-black titanium alloy helms, stood on either side of the entrance. They held litifly guns against their chest plates, vicious weapons mostly used for hunting elanties on Rigur II. Ace had seen what the weapons did when fired upon man. It was an image he would never quite rid from his head.

  The guards stopped him and turned ever so slightly in his direction. He knew the drill; the God-King trusted no one, not since he had found his new religion. Ace put his hands up as the guard on his right side scanned his body for a weapon. The detector came from a holoport on the robot’s wrist.

  Like always, the scan came back negative.

  Ace exhaled sharply as he put his arms down. These security measures were pointless for him; he had known the God-King long before he had taken on that ridiculous moniker, when he was still known as Zaidre, a small peace officer with big aspirations. To think that Ace would harm the King was nothing short of blasphemy.

  Ace followed the red carpet that ran the length of the corridor. It led to the throne that the God-King sat upon, surrounded by three other cyberguards, each carrying ion sticks. A feeling of dread associated with a distant memory clenched Ace’s stomach. He had been on the receiving end of an ion stick before, and he still had the scars to prove it.

  The King’s back was to Ace. On the far wall were screens taking up the majority of the open space. A galactic map was what the King studied now. The majority of this map was shaded red, a blood red. Ace smirked at that. It was a fitting color, and though the map was not completely covered, it was well on its way. Each section marked star systems currently under the rule of the Celestial Dominion. In less than three Common decades, two farm boys from a forgotten planet had taken over most of the galaxy—by sheer brute force and strategic cunning.

  “Ace,” the God-King said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. There was an…incident I had to clear up before I came.”

  The King’s throne swiveled around to face him with a hiss. Each cyberguard turned with the movement, eventually focusing their glowing eyes on Ace. He tensed. He was not a fan of any type of robot, especially those which were only a few steps from sentience. Frankly, he did not trust them. Sometimes, there were ghosts in the machine that could drive their processors mad, and when that happened, a human, even one in control, was no match.

  “What kind of incident, Ace?” The God-King’s voice was soft, but beneath that tone, more than the usual venom hid. Their relationship had become a complicated one. Years ago, they were simply friends, boys who’d grown up on Eitas together, skipping rocks across the deep lakes’ surfaces, playing bontoball until the suns set and the moon took their places in the sky. Now, the friendship was barely there, hanging by a frayed thread.

  Ace studied the God-King’s expression. They were both around the same age, give or take a few revolutions, but Zaidre had aged considerably in the near-three decades he had sat on this throne—more than any human should in such a span of time. Whereas Ace looked like a middle-aged man with the first hints of silver hair and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the God-King seemed on the cusp of death. His face was skeletal. He didn’t have wrinkles; he had ravines. The little hair atop his scalp had turned a brittle, sickly gray, and beneath his ornately decorated robes his body was scarily thin.

  “It’s about the spy, my king,” Ace answered.

  “Is he not back yet?”

  “He is…but he’s demanding more…compensation, and until he receives this payment, he is refusing to divulge us the information he’s found.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Detained.”

  The God-King waved a gnarled hand. “Send him to me.”

  “Now, sir?” Ace hated using formalities—sir, ruler, my king, my liege. The words sounded fake rolling off his tongue, but he knew it was best to stay on his old friend’s good side. By the fiery glint in the God-King’s eyes—the youngest-looking feature about him—Ace could tell he was in one of his moods, and such moods usually resulted in bloodshed.

  As Ace raised his holoport to his lips, he thought: I’d hate to be that spy.

  The spy stood tall before the God-King’s throne. He was a native Varsk, a mostly humanoid creature with four arms instead of two and eyes set in thick, gray stalks that rose from his brow. From his cheeks, two horns curved downward toward his chin. Most Varsks shaved these down to nubs, but this particular Varsk did not, a sign he had been denounced as a renegade to his planet. The horns had grown so long, they almost came together like pincers.

  Ace thought: Loathsome, foul creature.

  “Stryv,” the God-King said, “I understand you are not being cooperative with my confidant here.”

  The Varsk had agreed to come to the throne room; he didn’t put up a fight, so Ace didn’t bother with binds. If the spy tried anything, he wouldn’t be gunned down by the five cyberguards, but beaten and shocked by the ion sticks. It would be a brutal death, but still more gentle than the Varsk deserved.

  Stryv smiled. His jagged teeth jutted from his lower lip, coming to rest on the upper. “I need more,” he said. “What I gots is quite juicy. You’re gonna like it, my God-King Supreme, you really are, I promise. It’s worth much more than the price I’m asking for.” He was nodding over and over. Ace thought it a wonder the spy didn’t vomit. Despite this, the spy didn’t seem the least bit nervous, but something hung heavily in the atmosphere. A tension emanating from the God-King, a storm of rage brewing as the spy spoke.

  Ace caught that same glint of fire in his old friend’s eyes.

  This would not end well for the Varsk. That, Ace would bet his life on.

  “Did we not have a deal, Stryv? The price we agreed upon is ready and waiting to be transferred to your account. No more, no less,” the God-King said.

  “I know, I know, I know! But I did all the hard work. I think I’m owed a little mores than we originally came up with.”

  “I think a hundred thousand frags for your trouble is more than enough for you, Stryv. With that much, you can do anything you desire in the galaxy. You can retire, go on a vacation, have any woman or man you want. And you will not get such a price from anyone else, that I assure you.” The God-King lowered his head and stared at the Varsk with those fiery eyes, daring him to stare back.

  The Varsk didn’t.

  Good choice, Ace thought. Very wise.

  Then the God-King did something Ace was not expecting. He smiled. How long had it been since Ace had seen his old friend smile? Many, many years, it seemed. It somehow made the God-King look the way he used to look before all of this—war, lies and deception, politics. It made him seem…younger.

  Ace’s heart swelled with memories of the past. The decades had been tough, full of trouble and triumph, but no matter what, Ace held a soft spot in his icy heart for Zaidre. No matter what.

  “Mr. Silver, let’s pay our spy,” the God-
King said.

  It was suddenly hard for Ace to speak. This was unexpected. He cleared his throat, gave a slight nod, and said, “As you wish, my king.”

  “How much do you want now?” the God-King asked the Varsk.

  Stryv’s eyes widened on their stalks. He, too, cleared his throat, obviously surprised he had gotten this far. With the Celestial Dominion’s reputation around the galaxy, it either took a fool or a very, very brave soul to bargain with them.

  “I…uh, I—” the Varsk paused, letting the silence hang in the throne room for too long. “I want two hundred thousand.”

  Ace’s lips parted, and he looked at the spy in disbelief. One hundred thousand frags was already pushing it, but two hundred thousand? That was beyond absurd. With that many frags, the spy could damn well buy an army of his own. No way the God-King would go for it. He would simply hire another spy to do his dirty work, one for a much cheaper price, and then he would dispose of this reneger exactly the way he deserved to be disposed of.

  The God-King’s voice boomed loudly, echoing around the chamber as he said, “Two hundred thousand it is! You drive a hard bargain, my Varskian friend, but your wish is my command.” The King stood from his throne and walked down the steps with a renewed vigor. He stuck out his hand for the spy, and Stryv took it in his own, his eyes still wide with surprise. The two of them shook with flesh so vastly different from one another it was like night and day. One pale and twisted by age, the other scaled and dark.

  “Thank you, my king. You are most gracious,” Stryv said with a shaky voice. “I shall divulge my secrets to you—”

  “Ah, ah, not yet, Stryv. Let’s make sure the frags are in your account,” the King said. He looked to Ace. Ace gave him another nod as he opened his holoport. A screen of numbers and letters shimmered in the air. With his free hand, Ace typed in the fragment transfer to the spy’s account. A loading bar took the keypad’s place.

  When the bar filled, a slight beep signified that the money had gone to the account.