Beyond The Brink Page 4

  Wu’s words were drowned out by an explosive noise inside the metal sphere.

  The lights powered on again, only they were much brighter, and as a result, Taza could see almost all of the main engineering chamber. The crystal began to glow, and Wu looked at him with a smile.

  “Looks like it worked. For a second there, I thought we’d had it.”

  “You really know how to inspire confidence.”

  “Let’s get to the bridge,” Wu said, heading back for the blast doors. “We’ll need to prepare before taking off.”

  ***

  Taza and Wu waited on the bridge for a few hours before the reactor had time to charge the ship’s primary and secondary power cells since there was no telling what awaited them in the depths of space.

  Like the rest of the ship, the bridge was like no other bridge he had ever seen. Everything was bright, and all the terminals had spheres like the one Taza had seen Wu use earlier.

  The ship’s controls seemed to react to a combination of thought, touch, and motion.

  “I think we’re ready to leave,” Wu finally said. “Make sure you strap in; the force dampeners are still charging so it could get a little bumpy.”

  Taza obeyed and secure his harness.

  The ship hummed as Wu took control and lifted her through the sand and into the air. A display came to life showing the ruined city as they lifted into the sky.

  Taza was amazed at the area that had been sitting on top of the Omnion ship; her outline, like a giant bird, cut out of the ruins below.

  Wu fired her thrusters, and before long they were above the planet.

  “We’ll fetch the Brink maintenance shuttle. That way we’ll have a way to get you home without raising too much suspicion.”

  “It’s almost like you knew we’d be needing it all along.”

  “I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind.”

  Taza laughed. If one thing had become clear, it was that he had underestimated Wu from the outset. The Omani seemed to have thought of everything from the beginning, but any questions in that direction were either deflected or ignored, and Taza knew better than to keep asking.

  They collected the shuttle, as Wu said they would, and stored her in the hangar bay.

  A light flashed in the corner of the bridge’s display.

  “What’s that?” Taza said, pointing at the light.

  “Ah, don’t worry. It’s an Aphni warship. It won’t be able to keep up with us.”

  And with that, the Omnion ship sped toward the stars, the wasted gray rock and Aphni ship becoming a memory.

  DEPARTURE

  Taza was about to climb into the back of the Brink maintenance shuttle they had retrieved from the planet’s orbit when Wu walked into the hangar bay to bid him farewell.

  “Sorry for the delay,” Wu said awkwardly, “the AI still isn’t operating at one hundred percent, so I have to regularly check on systems.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay to fly this thing on your own?”

  “It’ll be fine. The computer should be fully functional again in a few hours.”

  “Well, thank you for getting me off the planet.” Taza offered Wu his hand.

  Wu clasped his elbow. “And thank you for not taking me in.”

  “I could hardly force you to turn your own ship around and head back to the Brink.”

  “True, but the thought does count.” Wu’s eyes went wide. “I almost forgot, I have something for you.”

  The Omnion produced a small bundle of black cloth from inside his cloak.

  “What is it?”

  Wu unwrapped the cloth and displayed its contents.

  “A ceremonial dagger created by one of our most renowned smiths and an artifact.” He wrapped them in the cloth again.

  Taza accepted them. “I wish I had something I could give you in return.”

  “All I need is your promise that you will take good care of the artifact for me.”

  Taza felt the items under the smooth fabric. “It sounds important. What is it?”

  “It is important.” Wu looked at the cloth bundle in Taza’s hands. “I can’t tell you what it is right now. But what I can tell you is you’ll need it one day. So make sure you keep it safe.”

  “I’ll take good care of it, don’t worry.”

  A warning light flashed on Wu’s exo-tool.

  “Damn bridge needs me again. Have a safe trip back to Sentinel Station. The beacon has already been activated, and I’ve set a course for the primary shipping lanes once you exit para-space.”

  “You’ve got it all covered.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Wu walked back to the hangar door and stopped. “Farewell, Taza.”

  “So long, Wu.”

  The Omnion turned, the doors snapped shut behind him, and he was gone.

  Taza climbed into the maintenance shuttle and got comfortable. He had a long journey ahead of him, and he’d need the time to work out what he was going to tell the Galactic Council when he turned up empty-handed.

  He activated the ship’s controls and took her outside the hangar, watching her progress on the small display.

  Wu’s ship shrank as the maintenance pod reached for the jump gate until it was just another twinkling star.

  Taza decided he might even miss the Omnion, but it had been a long few days, and he was looking forward to going home.

  THE CONFEDERATION SHIP

  It was Garrett’s first real assignment. He made the mistake of bitching in front of the Lieutenant about being sick of running diagnostics and drills and not getting any experience in the field. That was something he quickly came to regret.

  They were on a routine transport run to Sentinel Station when the Confederation Starship Infernos detected a human distress beacon.

  After approaching the tiny maintenance vessel, scans showed that it was registered as missing from the Shanti penal colony station, better known as the Brink.

  The Inferno read a single faint life-sign and detected no apparent threats. Yet the crew were still on edge. It didn’t make sense that a small ship from the boundaries of Shanti space should be so close to primary Sentinal Station shipping lanes. For one thing, it couldn’t have traveled so far alone on account of its small fuel cells. And the fact that it came from the most famous penitentiary in the galaxy only made it more suspicious.

  Garrett didn’t like it one bit but had asked for a real job, and they gave him one, though he didn’t for a second imagine it would be opening an unknown craft with an unknown occupant. He had visions of some yet undiscovered alien life-form crawling from inside and sucking off his face. What if it impregnated him with larvae that would slowly eat him from the inside or explode from his chest cavity. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

  Everyone stood at a distance as Garrett approached the shuttle. He noted how no one offered to accompany him.

  That the pod was of Shanti origin was clear up close. It had perfectly rounded seams with sleek lines and no portholes. He walked to the single door at the stern and hacked it using his exo-tool.

  What if the scanners didn’t pick up a bomb? Or what if there some sort of exotic alien disease inside? The bastard Lieutenant baited me into this one.

  The exo-tool unlocked the doors and they hissed. They were frozen shut, however, and only opened a fraction. Garrett clutched the crowbar tightly in his hands, preparing to pry the stubborn panels apart and to beat whatever was inside too if the need arose. He hoped it didn’t.

  He looked at the cracked opening for a moment, imagining what horrors awaited.

  The crew heckled and taunted him from afar.

  Easy to do from where they’re standing.

  He drew a deep breath and pushed the end of the crowbar in between the rear doors. His suit’s actuators whined and the crack slowly widened.

  Suddenly a light flashed from within, and the doors snapped open, throwing Garrett onto the hangar floor.

  He scrambled onto his knees, clutchin
g the crowbar, ready to defend himself.

  A silhouette moved in the light, and someone – or something – stepped off the vessel and walked toward him, steps ringing ominously off the metal surface.

  Garrett’s jaw fell open as an SIA Arcagent uniform stared down at him, hand extended. He tentatively accepted the help and was pulled to his feet.

  Being closer to eye-level, Garrett could see the person inside was human, and he allowed himself to breathe again.

  “Detective Arkona of the SIA.” The agent slapped Garret on the shoulder and started to stretch his limbs.

  “Thanks for getting me out. Been stuck in there for weeks.”

  “Welcome aboard the Starship Inferno,” Garrett stuttered.

  “Where are we heading?”

  “Sentinel Station,” he muttered.

  “Excellent.” The Arcagent rubbed his hands together. “Now, where can I get myself a decent whiskey?”

  The real journey continues with Clio Evans, Jason Grimshaw, and Taza Arkona in the novel: The North Star - Galactic Sentinel Book One

  THE END

  THE NORTH STAR PREVIEW

  SPACE RAT

  On any other day, she would have taken the abuse in her stride. Having grown up on Morigan, Ensign Clio Evans was no stranger to ridicule. Hell, as a Confederation Fleet pilot, it came with the territory. But while eating lunch aboard the starship Bakura, en route to Colony 115, she snapped.

  Riley and his cronies dined at their usual table, across the floor from Clio’s lonely spot. They looked over their shoulders and laughed. Twice they even muttered her name, believing her unable to hear from less than twenty feet away.

  Having lost her appetite, she forked a white protein cube indifferently, and it sprang off her plate.

  The cadets in the far corners joined the mockery, one boisterous girl even having enough nerve to point.

  Clio was about to take her leave when Riley made a loud announcement.

  “Someone better tell the chef, there’s a rat in the mess hall again. Maybe he’ll send it back to that shit-hole planet it came from.”

  That was when her fork snapped, splintered points scattering onto the table and empty seats.

  Childish insults didn’t bother her at the best of times, especially when uttered by lumbering fools like Riley. She preferred to fly under the radar, which she knew was part of the problem. Had she taken care of him early on, he would have known better.

  However, her restraint was thin on account of receiving news of her biological mother’s death.

  Having been raised by the Morigan state, Clio barely knew the woman. She wouldn’t even have known about her passing had an old acquaintance not messaged her. Clio wished he hadn’t, for despite only meeting the woman several times, she spent the rest of the morning untangling conflicting emotions, an exercise she found more taxing than a bankrupt monarch on a spending spree.

  Riley was right about one thing. Morigan was a shit-hole back-water colony. But it was Clio’s shit-hole, and no one was allowed to bad-mouth it but her.

  She braced herself, rose from her chair and walked to Riley’s table.

  Silence descended as she swept across the mess hall. Before she could reach out to tap his shoulder he rose up, his head climbing a foot higher than hers.

  “Please tell me the sniveling rat-bitch isn’t standing behind me,” he mocked before turning to face her — or look down on her as the case was.

  He was of robust stock, with broad shoulders and roped muscles; somewhat handsome, if a little rough around the edges. He wore an insufferable smirk that made one cheek dimple. His unintelligent eyes peered down from under a heavy brow.

  “If you’ve got something to say, ass-hole, say it to my face.” She poked Riley hard in the chest, and he knocked into the table behind.

  He shoved her shoulders with both hands, forcing her back several steps.

  “Don’t come anywhere near me, bitch. I’m allergic to rodents.”

  “I wish I could see things from your point of view, Riley.” She smiled nonchalantly. “But I can’t get my head that far up my ass.”

  The mess hall erupted with laughter, and Riley’s cheeks flared red. Embarrassment quickly turned to rage, and he stepped forward, fist drawn.

  “I’ll teach you to watch your mouth, smart ass.”

  He threw a punch at her face, but she sidestepped it with ease.

  A silver medallion swung on a chain about his neck. It bore the O’Donovan family crest. Riley often boasted about them being one of the most affluent families on Mars.

  “Your family tree must be a cactus to have such a large prick on it.”

  A mix of giggles and swearing rolled through the gathering crowd.

  Riley ground his teeth and swung a right hook.

  Clio blocked it with her left and slammed her free palm into his chin. Riley’s head snapped back, and momentum sent him falling. His legs got tangled in a chair, and he landed in a comical position, his limbs sprawling at ridiculous angles.

  A cheer erupted, followed by another roar of bloodthirsty mirth.

  The palm-strike would have knocked out a weaker man, but not Riley.

  He extricated himself from the furniture and tossed a chair at her. It went wide and almost took out another officer whose objections went ignored.

  Riley charged like a raging bull and unleashed a wild series of punches.

  From Clio’s perspective, he may as well have been swinging his arms through molasses, and she dodged each jab with barely so much as a thought.

  “Stand still, you slippery bitch.”

  Riley kept punching, and she kept evading, until he began to slow, his forehead gleaming with sweat.

  Realizing it wasn’t working, he changed tack and kicked out with his right foot.

  Clio caught it with both hands, twisted her body, and kneed him hard in the lateral femoral nerve.

  He crumbled against a table clutching the crippled leg in agony. It was bound to leave a violent bruise and have him limping for days.

  “What’ve you done to my leg?” He spat, and a thick blob struck her on the lips.

  Clio wiped the saliva off with the back of her sleeve. Being spit upon was something of a tradition when growing up on Morigan, and unfortunately for Riley, it brought back one unpleasant memory in particular.

  Clio couldn’t recall how she got there, but she was suddenly straddling his chest and smashing his nose with her fist. His face cracked under the force. Her second blow knocked his head into the ground. She hit him again and again, and the room became a blur until someone dragged her off his unconscious body.

  It occurred to her that she may have killed him. Worry flickered in the back of her head, barely tangible, like an elusive shadow behind flames of anger. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d killed someone in a blind rage.

  Through the legs and arms milling around Riley, she caught a glimpse of his chest rising and falling and sighed with relief.

  Those who pulled her across the cold floor scattered as she got to her feet. Her legs wobbled, the adrenaline having dissipated.

  “Let this be a lesson to you dumb shits!” The person speaking did not feel like the Clio Evans she knew. “Never pick a fight with a starship pilot. Or did you forget that we have neuro-optical implants?”

  She sneered at the cadets, and they recoiled under her gaze, averting their eyes as if they were innocent bystanders in the whole affair.

  Fucking kids!

  She stormed out of the room in the direction of the gym. An innate urge to punch something still burned inside of her. Pretending the punching bag was Riley would have to do.

  The altercation would no doubt cause trouble with her superiors, but it would also be the last time anyone on the Bakura called her a rat.

  The thought of being compared to the mammal made her cackle involuntarily and earned her a troubled look from a passer-by.

  Why a rat?

  Perhaps it was because she was sligh
t in stature. Or maybe it was just what people like O’Donovan thought of people from planets like Morigan.

  Either way, it was ironic that of all the insulting animals available, they choose to call her a rat. It was a good thing they didn’t know how close to the truth they were, or Clio would have more than a fist-fight on her hands.

  NO ENEMIES

  The Bakura groaned as her deceleration engines fired. Clio Evans knew how the starship felt. She had been summoned before Commander Grimshaw regarding the fight in the mess hall. He read the report behind his desk, as Clio awaited the inevitable reprimand.

  Their breathing, the Bakura’s deep hum, and the grim tick of the old clock on the wall were the only sounds.

  Clio fought a shiver, and her breath escaped in warm puffs. The Commander gave no sign that the cold bothered him in the slightest. Some said he kept his office chilled to make those unfortunate enough to visit him uncomfortable. Others claimed it had something to do with an old injury. Clio figured it was nothing more than a show of power, but she’d been in the room enough times to know what to expect, even to grow accustomed to it.

  The walls bare – save for a scattering of awards and decorations behind the Commander – felt like old friends. She even remembered the titles of each accolade and how they were spread out to appear more significant than what they were.

  Sparse metallic furniture amplified the frigid atmosphere. There wasn’t much more to the Commander’s office other than the clock.

  That ticking contraption always tempted her eyes. It hung above the Commander’s trophies like it was master over them, just as time was master over everything. It was a testament to Earth’s ancestors and their craftsmanship, a masterpiece from the days before humanity touched the stars.

  When summoned to his office, the clock reminded Clio that it was just a matter of time before she could leave the Bakura and the Confederation forever.

  She kept her primary focus on the Commander’s eyes as he scanned the incident report. Her peripheral focus allowed her to simultaneously analyse other things in the room. It was among the many benefits of her neuro-optical implant. To focus on and process multiple images at once was vital for a Confederation pilot.