“Feckin’ anything would be better than that!” Darragh shot back. “But as it’s not like we’ve got a choice, do you have any idea where we can find one of these places?”
Askit shook his head. “It may seem odd, but I never thought to look into it. Maybe you could just find a cluster of heavily adorned buildings with severe architecture?”
“I think I might have seen some of those,” Keffa revealed. “From a distance, anyway, and through the haze.”
“Then you have a plan,” Askit told them. “Go raid one of them and bring me back a batch, and I’ll see about getting us off this planet-sized ruin in favour of somewhere with functional toilets.”
“Yeah,” said Darragh, shaking his head, “that won’t work for me this time. There’s no way we’re getting messy and having you tell us we brought back a load of junk.”
“He’s right,” agreed Keffa, “this time you’re coming with us.”
++++
++++
THE DASTASJI, AGWAR
Jrasic
“Biologically he is easily the most dangerous specimen we have ever discovered,” Kakral summarised to the group.
“We can all see that,” replied Lazh, indicating the Senior Medician’s new prosthetic arm. “Your report on that incident leaves more questions than answers.”
Kakral grimaced, flexing the prosthetic with disdain. “There is nothing left out of the report. The human has a growing resilience to the sedatives we have in stock.”
“And this resilience allowed him to wake up for long enough to fashion an electrified dagger from components in the medical bay,” Lazh asked, outlining the explanation in the report. “Surely this possibility should have been considered ahead of time? Scava, are you not responsible for security concerns?”
Scava grunted. “I am a red-chip, Lazh. If you need something shot, I can arrange that. If you need a room swept for anything that might be fashioned into a surprisingly high-tech weapon, then you will need to look elsewhere.”
“Enough!” Jrasic said firmly, holding up a hand; this whole matter was supposed to be simple. They were to drug Adrian Saunders and scan him for all signs of a dead man’s switch, which would give the blue-chips a chance to take that out of play. Instead they had immediately discovered the most potent reservoir of bio-hazards in the known galaxy, and had been forced to maintain strict quarantine protocols against mystery infections. He’d been watching the blue-green globe of Strak’kel turn slowly on the viewscreen—an image he normally found relaxing—but now he switched it to display a live-feed of their guest. “I did not ask you all in here to bicker.”
“We should simply kill him and be done with it,” Lazh supplied. “There was no evidence of anything that might set off an unknown super-weapon.”
“I agree that it is very likely that this was all a bluff,” Scava reluctantly agreed. “That does not change the fact that we have detained an extremely dangerous individual with a known capacity for creating unparalleled chaos. We have no idea whether anyone is waiting for a signal, or if there is a weapons system with a timer that needs to be reset… a dead man’s switch is not the only method of activating a weapon.”
“No,” Jrasic concurred, “it does not. Nor does it change the fact that he carries incredibly deadly diseases and yet shows no sign of being affected. I have read your thoughts, Medician, but perhaps you would like to share them?”
Senior Medician Kakral bowed. “Yes, Shiplord. The subject appears to have two implants. One of them is neurological, and appears to have been disabled by force. The other is linked to the lymphatic systems and serves to force unregistered microbes into a dormant state. The diseases cannot overwhelm the subject, and nor can they infect anyone else, which turns them into the perfect plague carrier. Simply disable the implant, and let the sickness spread.”
“Horrifying,” muttered Lazh.
Jrasic kept his silence; he had some inkling about what Command was up to, and there were some unsettling similarities. Perhaps it was even possible that such projects were related to the soft-bodied biped in the medical bay.
“There is also extensive damage and regrowth across all organs, including the brain,” Kakral continued, presenting a cross-section of organs with the relevant locations outlined. “As you may know, this damage is what we normally see in soldiers exposed to nerve-jam technology; that means this creature somehow survived.”
“Your theory, Medician?” Jrasic asked.
“Samples returned by the Expeditionaries show an escalating presence of a bacteria that produces the chemical we believe responsible for the constant growth,” Kakral replied, prefacing his response. “This bacteria is in everything, and according to the reports of Artiz it will eventually lead to the destruction of the entire ecosphere. I believe the human is the source of this epidemic.”
Scava shared a look with Lazh. “Are you sure? Given the growth down there, he should be enormous by now.”
“I have tested,” Kakral replied sharply. “His body merely regenerates at a greatly accelerated rate.”
“Pity it does not work that way on us,” Lazh muttered bitterly; two of the first Expeditionaries on the surface had been infected by the bacteria, and this had resulted in uncontrolled tumour growth with mercy soon to follow. Everybody knew about it, and any lapses in wearing environmental gear had disappeared overnight.
“The subsequent question is where he came from,” Jrasic said, interrupting the wandering discussion. “There is scarring on his neural tissue consistent with our Imprinting technology, which lends some credence to his story about the Zhadersil. The Medician has also confirmed the genetic markers bear distinct similarities to the rodents of Strak’kel.”
“Enough to make him V’Straki by the standards of our computers,” Kakral clarified. “I checked, and it only specifies that the creature must be intelligent and be born of Strak’kel. I do not know if this is simply an amazing coincidence, or if it was how he was designed, but it is reality.”
“Wonderful,” Scava replied flatly. “Is there anything else we should be aware of?”
“Yes,” Kakral replied unhappily. “When I diagnosed the Imprint, it confirmed it as that of a Shiplord. Unfortunately the only tools I had for that procedure were of our own making.”
“Why is that a problem?” Lazh asked.
Jrasic answered. “Because now the Dastasji recognises him as ‘Shiplord Oh Fuck Adrian Saunders’, and he technically outranks me. I need not tell you that this is not ideal.”
“I can see why he only goes by half the name,” Scava said with a hollow laugh. “What are we going to do?”
“In the short term our plan has not changed,” Jrasic told him. “We are still targeting the Artificial Intelligence, and we are still aiming to escape this ‘death world’ before things get too nasty. Our guest may favour the natives over us, but in spite of several unfortunate incidents it seems as though he really has been targeting the enemy forces.”
“He will make a dangerous ally,” Lazh warned.
Jrasic nodded; it was true that killing Adrian Saunders was the less dangerous path in the immediate sense—provided the super-weapon really was a bluff—but the creature was intelligent and had sought agreement over continuing the useless bloodshed. That suggested he could be reasoned with, provide them with information, and ultimately see them clear of whatever prevented faster-than-light travel within the system. “Better to point him towards our enemies.”
“And if he tries to take command?” Scava asked.
“Then there will be bloodshed,” Jrasic replied simply.
“Good,” said Scava, while Lazh only gave a single approving nod. “Who amongst us would throw their lot in with an unknown creature like Adrian Saunders?”
“Then it seems we have a plan for the near-term,” Jrasic replied, and produced a bottle of Kuhl-Ad. “Shall we?”
They bowed and took a cup each, all of them drinking to the success of their mission. It was an ancient rite, adapted from the days of the False God, but like all such things it still served society in the modern day.
“There is no question that you are the strongest warrior in this room, Lazh,” Jrasic told his subordinate, laying on some praise before laying down the dangerous path. “You are best placed to keep an eye on our guest, so that he does not find his way into any disagreeable places.”
“Keep him away from things with pointy ends,” Kakral counselled with a grimace. “I will bring him into consciousness, with a localised anaesthetic to keep him mostly immobile, so that he does not try anything.”
“You will also need to ensure that implant continues working, Medician,” Jrasic ordered him.
Kakral bowed earnestly. “Naturally, Shiplord. I already have the schematics… the technology involved is nothing short of incredible. I was considering whether we might implant all our crew members… it would save a great deal of effort with the environmental gear.”
Jrasic nodded; it was definitely a good idea, and would save on resources in the long-run. There was always the chance that environmental gear could be compromised, as well as other risks that were native to this planet. “Will it also protect against the neural parasite our forces have started finding?”
“I believe it would negate the parasite’s ability to suppress an immune response,” Kakral replied. “The body should do the rest.”
“Good,” said Jrasic, nodding again. “Then I believe we all have work to do.”
++++
++++
Adrian Saunders
The sluggish feeling in every muscle told Adrian that he was still under the effects of V’Straki drugs, which was far from surprising. He’d had a brief reprieve from it when he’d woken up unexpectedly, with enough time to pull apart the nearby terminal and fashion a makeshift knife, albeit with a fully charged ultra-capacitor attached. Senior Medician Kakral had been very surprised to discover this, especially when his lower arm had nearly exploded, but Vottric had been nearby to deliver an extremely judicious response. Adrian had always imagined that getting shot with Zheron would be extremely painful, and he was not disappointed.
He realised he was lucky to be waking up at all. There’d been no sign of a weapon, and no active sign of hostility until he was already captured, and the V’Straki could have done anything while he was subdued. Instead they’d kept him alive—albeit with plenty of evidence that there’d been numerous tests—and now he found himself face to face with a V’Straki in a more striking uniform than those he’d met on the ground. This, Adrian realised, was no mere grunt.
“You are awake,” the sharply dressed V’Straki stated. “Note that you are under the effects of a strong anaesthetic, and that any attempt to overcome me would prove a futile effort at the best of times.”
“Yeah, good morning to you as well,” Adrian replied, unimpressed; he was more focused on the deeply unpleasant sensation of cotton-mouth—a call-back to some of the less legal endeavours of his misspent youth.
This did not please the V’Straki. “You will know me as Lazh, Second Officer to Shiplord Jrasic. In his infinite wisdom, he has assigned me to help your transition aboard.”
Adrian ran a critical eye over the V’Straki officer, and judged him to be the biggest, strongest V’Straki he’d yet seen, though that was probably why he’d been picked for the job.
There was an air of menace about him—a promise of savage violence—but there was certainly no sense of cunning behind the eyes; that was not to assume he was nothing more than an accomplished bruiser, of course, but even Xayn had never been particularly sly by human standards. Drugged as Adrian currently was, it seemed he’d have to double-down on his existing bullshit; the key thing he needed to remember was that with the V’Straki memory imprint he was every bit the Shiplord that Jrasic claimed to be.
“I would expect that much!” Adrian replied sharply, shifting his body enough to show he was not completely incapacitated by the drugs. “I did not expect to be treated as a prisoner.”
“You have killed our soldiers,” Lazh returned. “How else should you be treated? The Shiplord is being generous.”
“So I can see,” Adrian observed dryly. “What are your orders, Second Officer Lazh?”
“I am to act as your guide, protector, and guard,” Lazh explained. “My first order of duty is to provide you with a replacement uniform as you appear to have lost yours.”
There was definitely an undercurrent of suspicion in that sentence, but it also confirmed that the V’Straki had not yet decided whether or not Adrian was simply making everything up. “It did not survive contact with the enemy.”
Lazh nodded with obvious scepticism. “Following that, I am to take you on the standard tour of the Dastasji. Shiplord Jrasic believes we can work together against the enemy.”
“Sounds like an offer I cannot refuse,” Adrian replied. “We can put all those incidents behind us and focus on the real threat. My crew and I have better things to do than fight the Dastasji.”
“Your crew?” Lazh asked, seizing on the comment as quickly as Adrian had hoped. “There are more of you?”
“One of me is definitely enough,” Adrian replied. “They are all that remains of the original crew.”
None of that was strictly untrue, but it certainly courted misunderstanding; not knowing whether the V’Straki were scanning his brain, Adrian figured it was safer to steer clear of complete fabrications, and there were plenty of ways to play with the truth.
“They are V’Straki?” Lazh queried.
Adrian shook his head. “Believe it or not, I have only ever worked with a single V’Straki, and he is long gone.”
“Things must have changed considerably,” Lazh decided, “if the Empire no longer fights alone.”
“A new war means new friends as well as new enemies,” Adrian said vaguely. “My crew are standing by to hear which your ship turns out to be.”
Lazh hissed. “We are loyal to the Empire!”
“As you have already said, things have changed considerably,” Adrian replied, repeating the words back to the Second Officer. He had no doubt that whatever he said was going back to the Shiplord, and he needed to sow some pretty serious concerns if he wanted to keep breathing; every moment spent thinking up imaginary problems was time they didn’t spend thinking about what Adrian might be playing at.
There was no further questioning from Lazh, only a greatly troubled expression that didn’t lift as he rose from his chair. “I shall be in the adjoining room… your uniform is in the corner, you will find it in your size.”
He withdrew without further comment, leaving Adrian the opportunity to consider his next move; hopefully he’d given them a lot to think about, and himself a little breathing room, but he was going to need a better plan than ‘bullshit’ before victory was on the cards.
He glanced over to the corner where the uniform was laid, neatly, with a pair of sleek black boots. While he wasn’t enthusiastic about the prospect of donning an alien uniform, it’d been a very long time since he’d worn anything like a proper outfit, and he had to admit it looked pretty sharp. This initial observation proved correct when, after the sluggishness subsided, Adrian was finally able to put it on.
The fabric was, he thought, a lot like cotton, and was dyed a deep blue-grey that flashed with subtle iridescent undercurrents. The design was simple, but eye-catching, and was oddly reminiscent of an 80s sci-fi design. Smoothing out the creases, Adrian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so clean and clothed. “Well, Saunders,” he said to himself, “they say that clothes make the man… let’s see how this goes.”
At least if they killed him, he wouldn’t die naked.
There was a shift in Adrian’s thoughts as he approached the door, and for the first time he was able to recognise it for what it was: more than just his training with the Australian Defense Forces, the V’Straki memory imprint was weighing in and trying to tell him how to do this.
Figuring that could prove useful, Adrian decided to put his own spin on it, and stepped through the doorway with a straight back and the hard, uncompromising gaze of a veteran who’d seen more shit than anyone could possibly imagine. “You will be glad to know it fits perfectly, Second Officer.”
Lacking words, the Second Officer and two Medicians stared at him, and failed dismally to form an appropriate response. Drawing inspiration from his old commanding officers, Adrian informed them of exactly how disappointing they all were, albeit with the most disgusting and soul-crushing chain of commentary the V’Straki had ever heard. Allegory wasn’t common for them, but Adrian figured the context would get his point across. Frankly it was amazing that, instead of anger, they reacted with sheepish salutes.
It didn’t seem right—there was more to this than just a thorough dressing-down; maybe he wasn’t the only one here who’d been brainwashed with a false set of memories. “Better,” Adrian appraised, hardly skipping a beat. “Go about your work. Second Officer Lazh, you have an assignment to carry out.”
“Yes, Shi—” Lazh began, stumbling over the word. “Yes, that is correct. I will show you our main facilities.”
“And the quarantine?” Adrian asked, suddenly remembering why he was led here in the first place.
Lazh was quick to hide his surprise, but not quick enough. “You know about that?”
Adrian narrowed his eyes, and Lazh got the picture.
“We have adapted the technology of your implant,” he explained. “The crew are no longer at risk, so the quarantine has been lifted.”
“Good work, Medician,” Adrian said, not looking at Kakral. They’d obviously scanned him thoroughly if they’d found the Frontline implant, but this was one time when it might actually be for the best; Adrian couldn’t have managed much if he was still confined to the medical bay, and now there was no chance that anyone would be spreading their own personal version of the plague to anybody else. “Now let us continue with the tour.”
Lazh complied, although he looked troubled as he did so; this was, Adrian guessed, some minor form of rebellion against whatever drove him into subservience. If it really was a memory implant, it followed that it’d become ubiquitous throughout the V’Straki military and society at large, and that kind of thing was super fucked up even by weird galactic standards.
Clearly Lazh didn’t care for the effects, because he followed the command with as much haste as he could manage, shuffling Adrian through the core sections as quickly as seemed reasonable before ending the tour back where they had started. It had been quick, but Adrian had still spied out a few key differences between this and his former ship, and the vigorous movement had helped work the remaining lethargy from his muscles.
“I hope that met with your standards,” Lazh said, with no trace of sincerity. “Would you like to rest?”
“I am fine,” Adrian told him honestly. It’d been a fast march, but nothing he wasn’t used to.
Lazh looked at him critically, then with worry; whatever he’d been hoping for had not eventuated. It was only due to Adrian’s familiarity with Xayn’s exercise routine that he had any idea why this might be: built for short, explosive bursts of speed and strength, they had not evolved to manage a sustained effort. Claws and teeth notwithstanding, they’d never have the stamina to chase down a sufficiently motivated human if they missed that first shot; Adrian thought there had to be an allegory in there somewhere about his current situation. “So you do not wish to rest for a while? You must still feel the effects of the drugs?”
“I am fine,” Adrian reiterated, less patiently, “but if you really want to help, you can take me back to the mess hall. I do not remember the last time I was this fucking hungry.”
++++
++++
Jrasic
The human was roaming around the Dastasji, and there was very little that Jrasic could do about it, but Lazh was well placed to keep the interloper contained while others followed up on whatever information their guest dropped. He had already revealed a surprisingly robust stamina—which was not completely unexpected, given Kakral’s thorough tests—and the fact that he was not completely alone on the planet; clearly the creature was less intelligent than they had given him credit for.
“What do you think?” he asked Scava when they’d finished listening to the most recent recordings. “It is hard to see how he could have become the Shiplord of the Zhadersil.”
“I think we have been duped,” his First Officer replied testily. “As dangerous as this creature might be, I do not see it building a doomsday weapon. It is more likely that the crew have something in reserve in case their gamble here fails.”
“That does not help us,” Jrasic noted. “Especially if it is even half as powerful as what we saw in orbit. Perhaps we can convince him to make contact with his crew, so that we might pin-point them.”
“Better yet, perhaps he might collect them for us,” Scava suggested, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Then the problem would be safely contained until we no longer need them.”
“Dangerous to destroy bridges like that,” Jrasic warned, considering the human’s reference to things changing. “He is not necessarily the enemy, and we have no idea how things might stand.”
Scava was quiet as Jrasic poured them both a chilled glass of Kuhl-Ad, and they silently considered the many possibilities that had been implied. No matter how you looked at it, things sounded grim.
“I do not know what to suggest about that,” Scava admitted when his contemplation came to an end. “There is too little known to form a plan. Do you think he could be lying?”
“Senior Medician Kakral has yet to confirm one way or the other,” Jrasic told him. “It is possible that the normal vocal stresses simply do not apply to this species.”
“Yes,” Scava mused, looking at the Medician’s report, “although he describes the brain complexity as ‘very complicated’ in a way I do not entirely appreciate. Why does he not simply admit he has no idea what he is looking at?”
“Pride, Scava,” Jrasic told him. “All men have it, and our Senior Medician is no exception. Nor are we.”
“Our pride is earned,” Scava protested.
“It is also a risk,” Jrasic argued. “What do you feel while watching these recordings?”
“Disdain for the most part,” Scava answered with an upturned lip. “For the human and for Lazh, to be so easily led around…”
Jrasic shook his head; he knew there was more to that story than met the eye. “The Imprint encourages adherence to chain of command. Normally that is a good thing.”
“Normally, yes,” Scava said, looking uncomfortable. “This is an unforeseen development. Are you suggesting that the crew may side with Adrian Saunders, just because they think he is the ranking Shiplord?”
Jrasic sipped his Kuhl-Ad while he turned the idea over in his mind. “No,” he finally decided, “I do not believe they would go that far. I do believe they would respond to simple commands that do not compromise the integrity of this ship, and that they might be distracted at key moments. Lazh had just introduced him to half the crew, and the rumours have already spread.”
“That may be a problem,” Scava cautioned. “We still have little idea as to his broader agenda.”
“Which is why I must, regrettably, invoke my right to the Shiplord’s Challenge,” Jrasic told him, not relishing the idea in the slightest. The Shiplord’s Challenge was a relic of ancient days, when disputes between peers required less destructive methods of resolution. The Challenge placed the Shiplord and his two ranking officers against those of the other side, and was so frequently a brutal affair that the Empire had strongly discouraged its practice.
“I see,” said Scava, studying the image of the human again. “I think we shall be fine… why would he accept? The best path for him is to decline and relinquish the right to command, otherwise he would have to fight us alone or bring his crew to the ship.”
“Indeed,” Jrasic said simply, taking another sip; no matter what the human chose, Jrasic was certain to win something. Even if he did opt for the fight, he’d be placed against some of the most accomplished soldiers in the Empire who were entirely in their element. Yes, he thought, curling a lip in anticipation, it was going to be a bad day to be Shiplord Oh Fuck Adrian Saunders.
Lazh interrupted his quiet imaginings. “Shiplord, I have a moment to make my report.”
Jrasic shared a glance with Scava. “Go ahead, Second Officer. Where is the human right now?”
“He advised me that he needed to ‘take a dump something chronic’, which I subsequently divined to be an idiom for needing to relieve oneself,” Lazh replied. “He is currently doing so.”
Scava’s disgusted expression conveyed thoughts similar to Jrasic’s own. “And what have you to report this time?”
“He wants to talk to you, Shiplord,” Lazh replied, “and I… was not certain whether that would be acceptable to you just now.”
That was not what Lazh was going to say, Jrasic knew; he could hear the confusion in his Second Officer’s voice. “Snap out of it Second Officer,” he said sharply, “your Imprint is troubling you. That creature is not your superior.”
“It would be nice if he seemed to know that,” Lazh sulked.
Jrasic growled. “Pull yourself together, Lazh! It does not matter what he thinks or knows when we intend a Shiplord’s Challenge. Bring him here as soon as he is… done, and I will formally issue my challenge.”
This seemed to brighten Lazh’s mood, as he’d always been one to enjoy the simplicity of violence. That was what made him such a good Second Officer, but it was also what prevented him from rising any further in the Imperial ranks. “Yes, Shiplord. Immediately.”
The connection broke off.
“Get my gun,” Jrasic said quietly, “and wait in hiding in the closet. If he foolishly thinks to attack me by surprise, he will find himself more surprised than I.”
Scava did so, quickly finishing his drink before stepping into the darkness of the closet with the Zheron pistol fully charged. They didn’t need to wait long before Lazh arrived with the human interloper close at hand.
“Shiplord Jrasic,” Lazh said, making introductions, “this is Adrian Saunders.”
This was the first time Jrasic had seen the strange creature in person, but he could already smell the musky scent of a mammal. There were only two known mammalian sophonts in the galaxy, and neither of them were particularly impressive, but it was immediately clear that this one was nothing like them. He was not huge, but there seemed a greater weight to him than Jrasic had expected, and the piercing eyes seemed to cut right through everything they saw.
“Greetings,” Jrasic said, quickly revising his estimations, “Shiplord Oh Fuck Adrian Saunders, and welcome to the Dastasji.”
His guest frowned.
“Ah, yes. Please allow me to apologise for the earlier misunderstandings,” Jrasic continued, “it was not my intention to make an enemy of you, we were simply following protocols.”
“We all have jobs to do,” replied Adrian Saunders, crossing his arms. “Sometimes they take us in strange directions.”
“Quite,” Jrasic agreed, and took that to mean the matter was in the past. “Can I interest you in a glass of Kuhl-Ad?”
“Oh yeah!” his visitor drawled out, smiling. “Unless I miss my guess, this is the stuff that Zharga turned down when he stole the first starship?
Jrasic paused with his hand on the bottle, shocked that this strange creature would know such a piece of V’Straki history. There was no way he’d just happen to mention this, without realising the weight of what he was revealing; this was a message, and it told Jrasic that Adrian knew a lot more about the V’Straki, their history, and their customs than he’d let on. “Yes…” he confirmed, speaking slowly, “albeit with more ethanol and fewer mind-altering drugs. Not everything from those days was cut away—some of it was simply modified.”
“Sounds good,” Adrian replied, and accepted a cup. “Tastes a lot like Fruity Lexia.”
Jrasic wasn’t familiar with the term. “Is that a good thing?”
The response provided no further enlightenment. “Depends if you like your drinks in foil bags.”
“I cannot say I have ever tried any drink that arrived in a bag,” Jrasic replied. “However, there are other matters we must speak of. You claimed to have a crew on the surface.”
“How can you possibly know that?” he asked.
There was no surprise there; Jrasic could tell it was not a real question, but Lazh was less observant—the fool smiled triumphantly from behind their guest.
“I have my sources,” Jrasic told him, though there was little point in being less than candid. “They were in the other pods we observed making planet-fall?”
“No,” said Adrian, “they were in mine. The situation was very complicated even before you arrived.”
As they were quickly learning, Jrasic thought, and grimaced into his cup. At least this meant that there could only be a handful of them down there, though that did not necessarily mean anything if he knew nothing about them. “You have done well to survive down there without support.”
“I have a talent for it,” Adrian replied bluntly, and took another sip of his Kuhl-Ad. “Maybe you are wondering why I asked to see you?”
“I have an idea,” Jrasic replied with a hiss. “It will not be as easy as you think!”
Adrian shrugged, uncaring. “Things have not been particularly easy so far, either.”
“This is something that cannot wait,” Jrasic continued, setting his glass down. “Your presence here creates questions over whom is in command. That is not allowable, and it must be resolved.”
Adrian’s face hardened, and his gaze fixed on Jrasic. “How?”
“The Shiplord’s Challenge,” Jrasic told him. “Do you know it?”
“Not by that name,” Adrian replied flatly.
Jrasic nodded. “Personal combat between two Shiplords and their two senior officers. The winner takes command of the ship.”
“So it is just a fight for control of the ship?” Adrian checked.
Jrasic nodded. “Exactly, though I must warn you that serious injuries are an unfortunately common outcome.”
Adrian considered this with a deepening frown. “And I note that I am a bit short on senior officers.”
Good, Jrasic thought, he is looking at this sensibly after all. “If you do not wish to fight three-to-one, you could collect your crew from the surface. Unless I have misread the situation, and you never had any intention of taking command.”
Jrasic watched the human’s face carefully as he considered his options, looking for anything that might give away his thoughts. Adrian ran an appraising eye over Jrasic, then gave the far more muscular Lazh the same treatment. His expression said it all; he was smart enough to know when he was—
“Alright,” said the human.
That did not sound like the response Jrasic had been expecting. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” said Adrian, nodding slowly. “Alright. So, I will go fetch my crew, we will have this fight of yours, and then we can figure out things from there. Sound good?”
It did not sound good. “Sounds good.”
++++
++++
THE SHELTER, AGWAR
DATE POINT: 5Y 2M 2W 2D AV
Laphor
“Sorry,” Laphor said, once Adrian had finished explaining the situation, “I don’t completely understand. The Shiplord challenged you for control of his own ship, and you accepted?”
“I’m not really sure what he’s playing at,” Adrian replied, “but maybe he doesn’t know either. The only thing I know for certain is that I saw an opportunity, and I fucking went for it.”
“And this opportunity involves fighting three V’Straki in personal combat?” Laphor clarified. “By yourself?”
Adrian nodded. “Unless you really want to get involved?”
That was the kind of adventurous idea that would lead them into an early grave. “We regretfully decline. We’re mercenaries for the money, not for suicidal danger.”
That was really the only benefit to being a mercenary—that and the travel—and Laphor had made a long career out of picking her battles. Three V’Straki against Adrian Saunders would have an identical result to three V’Straki against Adrian Saunders and friends; realistically, he’d be better off without them.
“I figured that’d be the case,” Adrian replied, apparently unbothered. “Even if I lose, you’re better off on that ship. They’ll need you to teach them about the galaxy.”
“They’ll imprison us,” Laphor paraphrased. “I wonder whether that would be better than being stuck down here.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t want to stay in this shit-hole? It’s only a matter of time before something breaks in and eats everyone.”
“You have a shitty plan,” Mando replied, “and we’ll probably end up dead, but yeah… we’ll go. Just expect some complaints.
Adrian grimaced, and gave a single nod. “I can live with that.”
So could Laphor, at least until the aforesaid death, but if she had to pick her battles then she’d choose the one that took her away from this doomed jungle planet. “I think we’ve got our consensus, everybody grab what’s left and we’ll get going.”
Mando led the others away with minimal gallows humour, and Laphor turned to Adrian for a private discussion. “Do you really think you can win?”
“Not sure,” he admitted, rubbing his chin. “But I’ve sparred with Xayn before and I know how a V’Straki moves. They can’t say the same of me, so maybe I’ve got the element of surprise. Though I don’t really know if there are any rules.”
“We need to start making better plans,” Laphor grumbled. “Relying on the element of surprise is a really bad habit to get into.”
Adrian nodded his agreement. “Let me know if you figure something out, but we’ve got at least one ace up our sleeve,” he said with a smile, and tapped the device concealed in his pocket.
Laphor frowned; she didn’t like having to rely on someone who didn’t even have a body. “I hope you’ve got more aces than that. Have you figured out what you’ll do if you manage to win?”
“Grab the Agwarens, kill the A.I., get the fuck out of dodge,” Adrian replied, counting each point off on his fingers. “At least one of those will be simple.”
“And the V’Straki?” Laphor prompted. “They probably won’t let you do whatever you want with their ship. I know I wouldn’t.”
Adrian’s reply was sarcasm. “No shit?”
“They’re carnivorous deathworlders, Adrian!” she returned. “I do not want to wake up one day and find myself a meal.”
Adrian frowned. “I really don’t think they’d go that far, but I take your point. I might have promised Xayn to save his race, but that whole ship is just one huge sausage-fest.”
Sometimes context cues were not enough, and Laphor was forced to ask what Adrian actually meant by the random-sounding shit he said. Usually this was a bad idea, and today was no exception; the human seemed to delight in sparing no detail.
“And here I was thinking I’d get through the day without learning anything,” she said dryly.
“I’m just glad I could save you from ignorance,” he replied with a smile, then nodded towards the gathering crew. “Looks like we’re ready to go.”
It certainly looked that way from the small stack of cargo the crew had brought out. They had arrived on the planet with practically nothing, and had been forced to work for every bit of comfort they’d cobbled together—this mound of junk was everything they had that could be moved. “So it does,” she agreed. “I think it’s time to give our vacuum-suits one last trip.”
The grotty old vacuum-suits had clearly seen better days, namely before they’d spent a straight [month] wearing them directly after landing. These days they’d be garbage for space, but they were still good enough to get them from the Shelter to the Lander without contracting anything serious from the environment. Adrian, of course, didn’t need any of this equipment, and was happy to wander around in his shiny new outfit.
The Lander was equally shiny, even if it was mostly guns and angles, though at least there was no mystery around the field of destruction that surrounded it. The amount of firepower must have been astonishing, easily eclipsing anything the Dominion produced in the same size; it could even have given the Amber Radiance a run for its money.
“Very pretty,” Mando remarked. “Did you get it from a nice male?”
“Did you?” returned Adrian.
Mando grunted while the rest of the crew jeered in raucous amusement; it was a nice break from the constant tension.
“I think that’s everything aboard,” Adrian said, looking at the last of their possessions being dragged into the room. “Everyone take a seat, and we’ll be there in no time.”
“Does this thing have a Faster-Than-Light drive by any chance?” Laphor asked, looking around at the inside of the ship.
Adrian shook his head. “No. And no food, water, or dunny. This isn’t a ship you’d want to try escaping in.”
With a hiss the powerful hydraulics began to move, clamping the ramp shut with incredible force and creating a passive airlock that needed no additional technology to avoid leakage. Laphor wondered if maybe it was a fault running through all Deathworlders, as though they all expected the worst to unfold at any moment. Adrian even had a name for it, referring to it as a set of bizarre natural laws which could not be denied. Given what had happened aboard her own ship, however, Laphor could hardly argue this point; she buckled into her seat and made sure her crew did the same.