Date point: 1y 3m 1w 5d BV
“Nolan! We gotta go!” called Second Lieutenant Rivera.
“Movin!” replied the other junior officer.
Catching up to his friend, after finishing a conversation with his instructor, he asked, with a broad smile, “How are we celebrating?”
“You’ll see, man. I got it all planned out. No girls tonight, gringo. We can do that any weekend, now that we’re pilots!” said Rivera, flashing a grin.
Walking away from the tarmac and their other graduating classmates, both men took off their covers as they entered the school house and moved towards the locker rooms.
As the two men walked inside, and began to remove their dress uniforms and change into civilian clothing, Lieutenant Nolan said, “Come on guy, give me a hint.”
Lacing up his shoes, Rivera looked up at his friend and said, “Nolan, have some patience and a little faith that I’ve got it all taken care of, and that it’ll be worthy of the occasion.”
Sighing deeply, Nolan stood, fully dressed now, and replied, “I trust you Miguel, I just want to know how to dress for the occasion.”
Pondering for a moment, Rivera said, “Bring a jacket.”
Date point: 4y 11m 1w 1d AV
“Fuck, this thing is heavy.” groaned Jason, as they dragged the plasma cannon to the last corner before the control room.
“We just need to get it a little farther, and then find somewhere to plug it in. In the barracks, they’d removed a panel from the wall, so we just gotta find another panel over here.” grunted Ted.
Having brought Frank back to the vacuum exposed room, figuring no Chehnasho would try to get at him in there, and making sure he was secured and as alert as he was going to get, they began the arduous journey of pulling the cannon and its detached power cable to the guarded hallway. It was difficult; it must have weighed nearly two hundred pounds.
Stopping a few feet from the corner into the hallway, they set about looking for a removable panel.
Jason examined the walls, and after a few seconds found what he was looking for. One wall panel had small latches at the left and right borders of it.
Popping them open, Jason looked at the insides of the alien power grid. There were plugs and wires going every which way.
“Ted, you know which place I plug it into?”
Ted brought him the end of the power cable and said, “Not a clue. Just try to find a hook-up that matches.”
Studying the end of the proffered cable, Jason managed to find a port that looked like it would fit, after pushing a rat’s nest of wires out of the way.
Plugging the cable in and twisting it into place, the large cannon began to hum ominously.
Looking nervously at each other about what they were about to do, they moved towards it, and, on the bottom of it, found the trigger that the first Chehnasho had used to fire it at them.
“Why the hell do they even need this thing?” asked Ted. “It’s way too large to be carried by any of them. But, the projectile we saw it shoot would be useless on a ship; it was too slow.”
“I think it’s a ground vehicle mounted weapon; only thing that makes practical sense. Not sure why it’s on the ship though; maybe they captured it from a military transport?”
“Whatever, not important. Let’s just get ready to shoot this damn thing. We still have to move it into position without ending up like Frank.” said Ted.
Making sure that the Chehnasho were still there, by peeking around the corner quickly, he saw that either most or all of them were still in the hallway, though they’d let their guard down and were talking amongst each other.
“Alright Ted. You hold up the panels to cover us, and I’ll drag it into place and fire it.”
“Got it.”
As they began to move into place, shields held up in front of them, Jason became red in the face as he dragged the heavy steel cannon.
A shout in an alien language was heard, then frantic activity began.
“What’s going on, Ted!?” puffed Jason.
“They’re reforming their lines, but they look panicked! Move it to the left a bit and fire!”
Grunting as he shifted the gun slightly, Jason activated the cannon, which gave a mighty lurch as it spat boiling plasma down the hallway.
The horror of what he’d done hit him as he heard the screams begin, then bubble away agonizingly to nothing.
Ted watched the carnage and whispered, “Holy shit, Jason. This is fucked up.”
Looking around the edge of the panels that Ted was still holding up, Jason saw the carnage he’d wrought.
At least twenty of the Chehnasho had been hit by the blast, and their bodies had been set alight and begun to melt and pop under the intense flames, including the one who looked like he’d been giving the orders.
The twenty remaining Chehnasho were trembling but, to their credit, did not break ranks and continued firing on the humans.
Jason was hesitating to send another ball of plasma at the pirates.
“Jason, we have to get through that door. We don’t have a choice. We have to do this.” Ted said quietly.
“No, this isn’t a battle; this is murder. Can they understand us? Never mind, just, do you have your translator? We might be able to get them to surrender.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it here. I thought I might need it for the prisoners.”
Grabbing the offered translator, Jason leaned out from behind the panel, but had to move back quickly to avoid pulse fire.
“Cease fire! Cease fire, or you all die!” he shouted.
Slowly, eventually trickling down to only a few, the shooting stopped.
The Chehnasho had seemed to realize that they couldn’t win.
“I’m going to give you a chance to surrender! Lay down your weapons immediately, or you will all be killed! Do you understand!?”
Commander Junthara was dead, vaporized by the plasma, and half of the corridor was still of fire. The remaining Chehnasho looked around for the most senior individual left alive. Settling on a squad leader, one of them asked, “What should we do? Can we trust them?”
Hiding behind cover still, Itradus thought about the possibility of the offer to allow surrender being genuine. Thirty men sucked into space and twenty men burned alive. So many men had been killed, and they were just going to stop? It must be a lie; a ploy to draw them out of cover and kill them all with one shot, he thought.
They were Deathworlders. Every one of them was a killer in their own right, just by being alive. They were willing to stoop to terrible means to kill their enemies, and lighting half of them on fire was proof of that.
“They’re trying to trick us. They want to take us all out after we drop our guards! We can’t trust anything the humans say!”
Moving to raise his weapon again, he prepared to continue fighting.
“All of you, kill the humans if you want to live!” he roared, as he began to fire on the two men again.
But, he was alone.
None of the other pirates had raised their pulse rifles again, and the heavy plate mounted cannons lay unmanned.
“Sir, please stop… We’re going to do as the humans say. Stop, before you get us all killed.” said a sailor, quietly.
“NO! The humans have to die!” screamed Itradus, incensed that his men couldn’t see that they were about to be killed.
“No sir… You do.” whispered the same sailor.
And he shot his squad leader in the back of the head.
Silence filled the hallway as the Chehnasho slumped to the floor, and the shooter moved forward.
“We accept the terms of surrender.” he said, flatly, as he and all the other slavers dropped their weapons.
“That’s the last of them, Jason. They’re all in the slave pens.”
“Good job, Ted. Any slaves?”
Ted entered the room, not wearing his helmet, and closed the door to the flight deck and said, “Plenty. I had to threaten all of them in order to let the slavers live. I sealed the door to make sure they were safe. I checked to make sure there were no other Chehnasho hiding anywhere as well. Have you found anything?”
Using the HUD in his helmet, so that he could read the gibberish alien writing, Jason had been trying to figure out how to link this ship’s computer with the Reclamation’s.
It wasn’t going great.
“This is…kinda the kid’s area of expertise. I just fly this shit.” “Well, we’ve got some time. I sent some of those prisoners the Chehnasho grabbed to suit up and help Frank inside to the medical bay. The sensors in those bays say he got hit in the head pretty good, but his helmet took most of the damage, also his stomach got hit pretty badly and he couldn’t breathe right for a bit, but that’s pretty much it. He’ll have one hell of a patchwork of bruises and a killer headache, but we’ve got stuff on the ship to deal with that.”
“Got it!” cried Jason.
“Got what?” replied Ted, looking surprised at the outburst.
“The ships are linked and I’m sending all the data on this ship. Our computer will translate it for us, so we can read it without these stupid helmets.”
“Alright. How long until we make it back to that space port?” asked Ted.
After taking the ship controls away from a couple of terrified Chehnasho pilots, Jason had turned the cruiser around and set a path back to the violent world. The Chehnashos had been only minutes away from being able to call for help.
“Says maybe ten minutes. I imagine they’ll be much happier to see us now that we have freed prisoners, and a whole cage full of slavers. What do you think they’ll do with them?” questioned Jason.
Sitting down in one of the pilot chairs, Ted replied, “No idea. Arrest them I suspect. But, even if they decided to dish out some street justice, it’s not really our place to stop them. You said it earlier. They deserve what they get.”
Grunting, Jason turned back to the controls, his thoughts troubled.
“Whatever you say, Ted.”
Date point: 1y 3m 1w 5d BV
“Hey, gringo! Glad you could make it!” called Rivera, down to Lieutenant Nolan, who had just come within earshot.
Laughing, Nolan walked the last fifty feet up to the hangar sitting next to the Lockheed C-5 Galaxy that his friend was standing on top of, looking up at the open sky.
Standing on top of the plane, sixty-five feet off the ground, Rivera held up a beer in his hand, to entice his friend to join him.
“It’s almost midnight, get up here! The show’s gonna start soon!”
“How the hell did you get up there?” yelled Nolan.
Pointing to the other side of the plane, he yelled, “There’s a stairway along the outside of the hangar! I dropped a ramp over the railing to the wing tip! Get up here!”
Hardly believing that he was about to do something so stupid and illegal, Nolan ran up the mentioned stairs until he was level with the wingtip, where he found a thick plank of wood maybe ten feet long connecting the railing to the plane, secured with ratchet straps.
Never one to back down from a thrill, Noland hopped onto the board and quickly crossed the distance, avoiding looking at the ground.
“You’re fuckin insane, man. We could get in so much shit for this.” he laughed, as he came up to his friend.
“Worth it. You’ll see.”
Rivera pointed to two lawn chairs and a six pack of beer sitting near the nose of the plane.
“Jesus, you really went all out didn’t you?” said Nolan, sarcastically rolling his eyes.
They began walking to the chairs, being careful to not slip on the rounded surface of the roof of the massive plane.
“Don’t talk trash till it’s started, gringo.”
Sitting down, Nolan grabbed a beer and twisted the top off.
“Alright, what are we waiting for?” he asked.
“Chill; it’ll happen. For now, just enjoy the view.” Rivera said, pointing at the sky.
Lapsing into silence as they looked at the clear view of the starlight, Nolan started to become bored.
A minute or so passed before Rivera spoke, this time in a much more serious and introspective tone.
“You ever just wanna leave?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” Nolan replied, unsure of the odd question.
“Leave. Like, leave the Earth. Maybe join NASA or something?”
Letting out a bark of laughter, he said, “Rivera, you just became a pilot, and you’re already trying to go even higher? You must have the bug bad.”
Opening another beer, the latino replied, “No, it’s not like that. It’s just…I’m still running from the bullets I guess.”
“What? You’ve lost me entirely.”
Looking at his friend, Rivera said, “You remember me telling you I’m from El Paso right? Right next to Juarez?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
He took a sip of his beer before saying, “Things were bad in my neighborhood, man. My dad died from cancer real early in life, so it was just me and my mom. No money, so we lived in a real shit-hole. Shootings every day, and the cops wouldn’t even show unless someone was dead. There were only two options in my area; join a gang and most likely get shot, or keep your head down and try to stay alive, and still probably get shot.”
Speaking up, Nolan said, “You didn’t get shot though.”
Laughing, Rivera replied, “That’s because I chose door number three. I joined the military on my eighteenth birthday. Gave mom every cent I made, and after basic moved her in with me and made her my dependent. Got my college done at night and went to work during the day. Then I finally made it to Officer Candidate School, where I met you.”
“Dude, I know all of this part already. What’s your point?” asked Jason, still thoroughly confused.
“The point, gringo, is that even though I escaped El Paso, I’ve still got a higher than average chance of getting shot at in the Air Force.” he said, laughing slightly.
“But,” he continued, “there’s no guns up in space. No one to shoot me up there.” he finished, smiling as though he’d discovered the secret to everlasting life.
Nolan began to laugh, not at Rivera’s words, but at the dismay he was about to cause his friend.
“Dude, I seriously hate to break it to you, but, there are guns in space.”
“What? Bullshit!” replied Rivera.
Laughing hard now, Nolan said, “Real shit, man! The Russian’s sent their cosmonauts up with a triple barrel shotgun! It’s called the TP-82, and one of the barrels was actually a rifle cartridge barrel, and you can turn the stock of it into a damn machete!”
Rolling his eyes and taking another sip of his beer, Rivera said, “No way. You’re full of shit. Why the fuck would they need a shotgun like that in space? Boarding parties?!” He laughed at the thought.
Drinking from his beer as well, Nolan continued, “No really, man. They legit had a space shotgun. You know how NASA had their people land in the ocean? Well in Russia they had them land in fucking Siberia! You know how many fucking bears and other monster animals are in Siberia? They needed the guns to protect the damn landing pod from animals!”
Laughing at the idea, but brushing off his friends words, Rivera said, “Fine, I won’t be a cosmonaut then. NASA is still a solid option tho-”
Rivera’s words were cut off as he began to look at the sky.
Following his friend’s gaze, Nolan looked at the stars.
A meteor shower had started, right above them, painting dozens of streaks of light across the night sky.
They didn’t speak to each other for a while as they watched the falling space debris catch fire in the atmosphere.
Watching the light show, Nolan forgot where he was and just gazed at the sky, sharing a beer with his best friend.
Not looking away from the sky, Nolan said, “Miguel, I’ll make you a deal. If you get into space, I’ll come along for the ride.”
Laughing, Rivera extended his beer out to Nolan and said, “Drink on it.”
After they knocked their beers together and each took a sip to seal the promise, Rivera said, “I’ll make it up there.”
Date point: 4y 11m 1w 1d AV
Frank felt like shit.
Lying on his bed, after being helped there by Ted, he stared at the featureless ceiling.
Jason had come in earlier to explain what had been going on. About how they’d taken prisoners, released the already captured slaves and had docked in that little space port again.
He’d also mentioned that they’d got what they came for, and downloaded all of the slave ship’s computer data, and that the computer was now searching for their actual base’s location.
Feeling the bruises on his stomach as he moved, and his head still swimming slightly, he sat up on his bed, aided by the low gravity of his room.
The med bay computer had said that there was no concussion, though it felt like little jackhammers were pounding away in his head.
Forcing himself to remember to take care of himself, he took his blood sugar, and sorted out his blood sugar with his medication, as he’d not checked himself in nearly twenty-four hours.
He then rummaged in his dresser drawers for a minute and pulled out a small plastic bottle of Tylenol, before remembering that he wasn’t allowed to have any, due to the head injury.
Grumbling mutinously, Frank opened his door, and walked into the hallway.
Immediately upon entering the hallway, the different gravity began to make his headache even worse.
“Computer; change hallway gravity to 0.3G’s.”
Sweet relief washed over him as the plates in the floor adjusted power.
Walking slowly towards the flight deck, Frank shuffled past the many closets and bedrooms on the ship, until he came to the desired door, and walked inside.
“Hey! Didn’t think you were up to being in here, Frank.”
“Computer; change flight deck gravity to 0.3G’s.”
As the gravity changed yet again, Frank looked at Jason and grunted, “It’ll take more than some toy guns to keep me down. Though, the gravity stays down for a while, alright?”
Chuckling at his crew member, and secretly thoroughly relieved to see Frank on his feet so soon, Jason said, “We’re about to leave the dock, back to the Dying Light space station. Time to see if Drixian is good to his word. It’ll take about a day to get there.”
Sitting heavily in the second pilot seat, Frank asked, “So soon? We just got here.”
“No reason to wait. Ted grabbed anything on the ship that took his fancy; all the freed slaves were taken onto the station; and the slavers were taken into custody. That Rickstick guy wasn’t too happy to see that ship coming at his station, but I calmed him down and told what was up. He got real pleased when I said I had prisoners.” said Jason, appearing troubled at the last sentence.
“And the location of the base?”
Turning to one of the many screens, Jason pointed at a set of coordinates.
“That’s where they’re hiding. It’s a moon, orbiting some gas giant about four days from here, in the same direction as the Dying Light. Apparently they drag ships there and turn them into buildings, and they’ve got a mine where they send their slaves. We’re gonna raid it.” said Jason, a bit of fire coming to his eyes.
“Sounds like a plan.” replied Frank, turning to his own screens.
He watched as computer algorithms searched through the stolen data, searching for anything that they might be looking for.
Seeing a notification on one of the screens, he tapped it to expand the window. He had to squint through his headache to focus his eyes on the small writing.
“…Captain… You’re gonna want to look at this.”
“Hmmm?” said Jason.
“Jason, I think I found our ships.”
Date point: 4y 11m 1w 2d AV
“Thank you for coming. All of you.”
Five Vzk’tks, three Locayls, two Robalins, a Chehnasho and one Gaoian he didn’t know, that spoke for the other handful of Gaoians, stood in front of Tricko and his companions.
A Locayl spoke first, saying, “Explain to us why we haven’t thrown you to the guards yet. They’re making things even more unbearable than usual; even without Ryxus walking around.”
“I’ll explain everything in a moment. First, I want you all to know that I’ve asked all of you here because you are all more or less leaders among your small groups. It’s you that I have to convince that this can work.”
A Vzk’tk interrupted him, saying, “And what would ‘this’ be?”
Pausing, expecting a poor response, Trick said, “We’re going to fight back.”
A ripple of nervousness went around the small cavern they were meeting in.
“Are you trying to get us all killed?! Rebellion?! We’ll be slaughtered!” cried the Vzk’tk.
“Please, listen! We have a plan!”
“And what about the human? Is he a part of this plan? Because, no one has seen him since before the fight with Ryxus.” interrupted another Locayl.
“YES!” hissed Tricko.
Shock passed around the room, as they all stopped muttering to each other and began to listen.
“The human showed me how we can make weapons for ourselves! I have one of the spike cannons that we use for explosive placement, here.” he said, talking quickly and walking over to the heavy equipment, which was lying on the ground.
Opening the same hatch the human had showed him before, he pointed at the small black receiver he’d been shown.
“This is the thing keeping us enslaved and unable to fight back! It’s the reason that the equipment turns off if something bad starts happening and they start killing people!”
The same Locayl who’d interrupted before, who seemed like he was warming to the idea of killing some Chehnasho, said, “Explain, slowly, little Gaoian.”
“All you have to do is go to every piece of equipment that we want to use to fight, and tear the little black disk out, but leave everything else. If you do that, even if they try to turn it off, they won’t be able to. If enough of us rush the gates, we can overwhelm them!”
Silence filled the tunnel.
Each of the representatives looked at each other, waiting to see who would speak first.
Again, the Locayl seemed to take charge and moved forward toward Tricko.
“Ryxus is dead. The human killed him, and I’ve seen the body. If the human stands with you, I’ll fight with you as well. We used to be pirates and slavers, but Ryxus became a monster. I don’t want to become like him. Let’s climb out of this hell.”
“What’s your name Locayl?” asked Tricko.
“I’m Guntraga. And you?” said the Locayl.
“Tricko, and this is Ryst and Chanuck.” he said, pointing at his companions.
The others all looked at Guntraga and Tricko, as the Locayl looked down at the Gaoian.
Ryst stepped forward and barked at the other representatives, “Well? Will you fight for your freedom? Or will you be content to die here in this mine, fighting for scraps of food; looking forward to the day when it’s your turn to be thrown into the incinerator?!”
Again, looking at each other, the other two Locayls walked forward and said, “We will fight.”
And then the fear broke.
One by one, each representative walked forward, until only the first interrupting Vzk’tk remained.
Staring at his fellows, he sighed and pleaded, “Really? Must we fight? Rescue might still come!”
Gruntraga looked at him and rumbled, “You have been left to die here. Either pull yourself from the muck and survive, or perish here.”
Sagging in on himself, the Vzk’tk replied, “Very well, me and my people will fight.”
Staring with disbelief at the following he had created, Tricko was lost for words.
Taking over, as he saw his clan brother was struggling, Ryst said, “Now, let us show you where to find the signal receivers are on all of the other equipment.”
Guntraga rumbled deeply, “I can’t wait to kill a few guards.”