DEADLY REFUGE (The Alorian Wars Book 2) Read online

  Chapter 6: Crase

  Sitting in the transport alone made Crase nervous. There was something about silence that made his skin crawl. He knew it harkened back to some distant memory suppressed by a childhood of abuse or something, but all of those memories were locked away, many of them removed by would-be-doctors in the badlands as some kind of fucked up experiment. Perhaps the silence and loneliness reminds me of a coffin, he thought. Maybe I have outlived death for too long, and this is the only way it can haunt me. His imagination conjured up many dark thoughts when he was alone like this, none of them welcomed, and hardly any of them worthwhile to any degree. It was just a part of his existence that he had no meaningful way to put into words other than to say it was what it was and nothing more. It seemed like such a trite way of looking at his world, but too many decades taught him not to think about it too much. The thoughts were poisonous if you let them in, and Crase had enough poison in his life already.

  He had watched daybreak take place half an hour prior and yet he still had not heard from Neular. Is that Lechun injured, or killed? He wondered. Crase shook the thought from his mind, needing the quiet to concentrate on maintaining some semblance of sanity as he tried to contact Neular on his com-unit for the fifth time in as many minutes. Enraged, he closed the com-unit and slapped it onto the console. The connection was still just as dead as it had been minutes before, and it was driving him crazy.

  “Damned solar flares,” he cursed, angrily grabbing the com-unit from where it settled on the console and shoving it back into his pocket. He usually wasn’t this jittery, but waking from another dream where he nearly died by being double-crossed had him on edge. This one was like the rest, just with different faces and different places. The outcome was always the same, though. Even after a few hours to settle down he could feel the anxiety choking at him, gnawing on his nerves rabidly. This isn’t like me, he thought, checking the time again. It hadn’t changed. He hated dreams; they tormented him more than anything else in the galaxy. That said a lot, considering how many years he spent in his current line of work, doing the things those dreams only scratched at the surface of.

  Craning his neck to look from the tiny windows of the transport, he saw the winds kicking up another brutal dust storm. The pinging of grit and rocks pelting against the transport was a reminder of what a terrible time of year it was on Farax, not that there was a such thing as a good season, but all things were relative. Crase knew if they waited much longer, they might not make it off the rocky hell for another few hours, a day, worst-case-scenario, but he tried not to think that way. Simply put, being stuck on Farax was money burned sitting idle, something he wasn’t accustomed to accepting. His next payday was floating out in the dark, prey and not even realizing it.

  His com-unit alerted him of an incoming call.

  Finally a break, he thought, pulling the com-unit from his pocket. He answered more anxiously than he intended. “Hello!”

  It was Neular on the other end of the call, speaking with a voice modulator that made him sound robotic. “They brought an army, Crase. I am hiding in the hills, looking at the soldiers surrounding the Lament, now.” It was hard to tell, but it sounded to Crase as if Neular was out of breath.

  “Have they breached our ship yet?” Crase asked, his words biting the air as his anger flared.

  “They are preparing to do so now.”

  “Dammit,” Crase said. Nothing seems to be going my way today, he thought. He loved that ship, but he was a fool to grow attached to it. Not only was he losing money from the shipment, but losing the Lament was a setback he didn’t realize until now he wasn’t prepared for. “Are you free from the blast zone?”

  “I believe so. I want to be close enough to pick off any survivors, though,” Neular said.

  That was one of the reasons Crase admired Neular so much. He was as committed to the cause as Crase was. Everything was a team effort.

  “Very well. I’m initiating blast sequence now. This will show Belwa not to cross me, that sonofabitch.”

  Crase held the remote device in his hands, anger causing them to shake. He lifted the guard over the detonation switch and looked at the small device that would wreak so much destruction. He wanted to say a silent prayer for Neular’s safety, but not believing in any gods made the sentiment feel trite. Instead, he depressed the switch and felt the rumble of the ground shaking as the massive explosion took place on the other side of town. There was no need to look at the pluming smoke cloud building up from the blast. He’d seen the same thing many times before when other ships were detonated. The loss of the Lament was a great source of pain for him. Ironic, he thought, resting his head back in the seat as he waited for Neular to finish off any of the survivors. Crase would give him an hour, then he would evacuate this shithole of a planet and carry his revenge to the person who deserved it most: Belwa.

  Time passed slowly, and Crase began to worry. He was on edge when Neular finally entered the transport, his face bloody from a cut and his clothing torn and covered with blood.

  “Neular, are you all right?”

  The gray man took a seat and hissed. It was at that moment Crase saw the shrapnel in Neular’s thigh. He knelt down and inspected the wound, a piece of metal bigger than his hand was driven deep into Neular’s leg. Blood oozed around the edges of the cut, and he knew if he pulled it out that the blood would pour from the cut and Neular might bleed out. He needed the medical bay on the Lament, but it was too late for that.

  “Strap in. I’m taking off and we’ll find somewhere more hospitable to take care of your wound,” Crase said, having a hard time believing his own words.

  Neular merely nodded and reached for the restraints.

  Crase climbed into the pilot’s chair and initiated the drive sequence. He swore under his breath, fighting back the anger growing inside at just how bad things had turned. Maybe I’m not paying as much attention to what’s going on as I thought.

  His fingers fumbled with the switches, but eventually the transport was ready to climb out of Farax’s grimy atmosphere and float steadily in the dark. At least off world, Crase could mend Neular’s wound without worrying about being captured. He knew time was running out for them after the Lament exploded in a fiery display. Once the locals found the bodies, the hunt would be on for who was responsible. Ships like the Lament didn’t just blow up.

  All in all, Crase knew he was screwed, and even if he got out of this, he knew there would be hell to pay.

  The transport climbed in altitude until gravity no longer pulled it towards Farax’s surface. Now free, he engaged the autopilot and moved to the back with Neular. He found his assistant passed out, his arms strung down across the armrests limply. Crase felt for a pulse and was relieved to find one, as faint as it was. He retrieved the sad excuse for a medical kit and brought it back to Neular. Crase cleaned around the wound, careful not to cut himself against the sharp steel.

  Once cleaned, Crase gripped the metal with a pair of pliers and pulled it steadily from the torn flesh of Neular’s leg. As he suspected, the wound gushed blood, enough so that Crase wondered if the coagulant would be able to stop it sufficiently.

  He didn’t have time to waste. Crase sprayed the emergency coagulant into the wound and watched as it hardened into a rough patch in Neular’s leg. It would stop the bleeding, but there was no way Neular would be able to use the leg without a doctor stitching the wound closed.

  Crase felt for Neular’s pulse again and it felt stronger. That’s a good sign, he thought as he rose to his feet and made his way back to the pilot’s chair. The only good thing about the area surrounding Farax was all the keys in this part of the sector. He had options for finding another area in the galaxy to seek medical treatment for Neular.

  He toggled through the different feeds on his monitor, looking for something that could help him find treatment for his lieutenant without having to spend days in the dark. What he found was a familiar line of code for a ship entering Faraxian space
. It took him a moment to translate the code to reveal why it was so familiar. He recognized it because he coded it. It was the transponder code for the Replicade. The only ship he ever truly lost.

  Chapter Seven: Anki

  The view of Farax from the Replicade’s monitors made the planet look like a dull gray ball backlit by a cloud-covered star. The noxious gases surrounding the planetary body gave the illusion of the planet’s being gaseous, but beneath the blanket of translucent atmosphere was a world just as alive as Luthia—more so, now. The dense clouds surrounding the rocky terrain obscured most of the details of the landscape below, at least the portions partially visible behind the canopy of gases orbiting the world. It was Anki’s understanding that there was no shortage of rocky plains for landing the Replicade. According to Brendle’s account, most of the water on Farax was subsurface, leaving only small lakes open to the evaporating effects of their star. Precipitation wasn’t cause for concern, but the dust storms were another story. The one like they were about to land in the middle of now.

  “This is Captain Paro of the Replicade requesting permission to land on Farax, Sector 112. Statement of purpose is for resupply and to contract repairs for my ship,” she said, wondering if it sounded to the controller on Farax as scripted as she knew it was. She looked into the monitor, into the dim-lit face of the Faraxian controller who looked neither Greshian nor any other race she had encountered.

  “Replicade, be aware of inclement weather patterns in Sector 112. Recommend using any available automatic landing sequences your ship is equipped with. Farax welcomes you.” The monitor went dark, but there was still the hum of static that wasn’t there before the connection was made. They were monitoring the Replicade’s comms.

  To Anki, the controller seemed polite, but having never landed on another world before, she had no real idea of how else a controller would sound. She was careful to switch off the comm before speaking to Brendle. “Was that all right?” she looked back at the blank communications monitor, hoping above all that the controller was not able to keep the connection alive despite her effort to close it.

  Brendle stayed in his corner of the bridge. She knew he was hoping to avoid detection from the bridge scanners often used by controllers to determine if a ship was landing under duress. All they needed was to be discovered smuggling a Greshian onto Farax and they would lose permission to land, or perhaps be welcomed by a mob of those who would bring him harm. “If you’re asking if they bought it, I think it’s a fair assumption they did. We’ll know for sure when we touch down,” he replied.

  What he didn’t say was that the potential for a boarding party to be sent after them was close to forty-seven percent. He didn’t have to say it, though. Deis had mentioned it the night before, and his warning still echoed in Anki’s mind.

  “I guess so,” she said nervously. She engaged the autopilot for landing sequence as she felt the rumble of the Replicade entering the Faraxian upper atmosphere. The air was thin, but extremely flammable in the dense upper atmosphere. The gases didn’t mix well on Farax, so the difference between the upper and lower atmospheres was similar to how water and oil refused to mix, the heavier gases supporting life the closer it was to the ground, the poisonous gases choking any life that dared to venture too high. The flashpoint was severe at their current altitude, based on the lapping flames engulfing their ship on the Replicade’s monitors. Anki was nervous about how well her patch welding would hold under the extensive heat beating against the hull of the Replicade. She was confident her work would hold vacuum at bay, but heated metal usually warped over time, and losing life support at this altitude might mean a loss of life, considering the noxious gases of the upper atmosphere of Farax. Why did we have to pick this world?

  Brendle rose from his seat and looked at the monitor closest to her, the one depicting what kind of conditions they were entering. She angled it towards him to give him a better view. “It looks like the storm below has gusts exceeding sixty knots. Even with the autopilot engaged, the landing will be rough. I’ll let Deis and Malikea know to strap in,” he told her as he turned to leave the bridge.

  Her heart sank.

  “Can’t you just use the ship’s comm?” Anki was nervous and didn’t want to be left alone. What if I mess up and crash? She didn’t need a babysitter, but a second set of eyes and someone more confident at the helm would put her mind at ease.

  Brendle shook his head. “It’s likely the controllers are patched into our comms. So long as we maintain radio silence, they won’t know how many of us are onboard, or who we might be. I’m sure the controller recognized you as Luthian, but you showed no signs of distress or ill intent. It’s safer this way. Besides, Pilot will guide the ship safely down. All you have to do is trust him.” Brendle winked and Anki knew he was trying to make a joke, but she wasn’t much in the mood to being receptive to it.

  “Fine,” she said. “Get strapped in yourself after you let them know. There’s no telling just how bad this is going to go.” Anki was serious, despite the smile Brendle shot her at what he probably perceived -as her responding with humor. Sometimes I’m not sure he really gets me, Anki thought.

  “You’ll do fine,” Brendle said, his voice echoing lightly from the passageway leading out of the bridge.

  Anki was alone now, full command authority of the Replicade left in her unsure hands. “Pilot, are you there?”

  “Of course, Anki. I am always present.”

  Of course he is, she thought. That actually did bring a smile to her face.

  “I’m just curious; will we really be safe landing in this storm?”

  “My calculations are the storm will be dying down by time we are prepared to land. Faraxian storm systems are harsh, yet short-lived. The Replicade is lightweight and prone to manipulation by high winds, but all vectoring nozzles are fully functional, and I do not calculate any cause for concern. I will control the descent and landing if you wish.”

  That made Anki feel slightly better. “Please do.”

  “Affirmative, Captain.”

  “Captain?”

  “That was how you identified yourself to the controller. Was it not?”

  Anki shrugged, wondering if Pilot would have noticed. “It is, but I am only acting captain during this port,” she replied. There is no way in hell I’m ever doing this again. “Just in case we are being monitored, continue to address me as such.”

  “As you wish, Captain; deploying airfoil for stabilization and speed reduction. Please strap into your seat. I calculate a high probability of turbulence.”

  Anki did as Pilot requested; tightening the restraints snuggly around her body. She wasn’t keen on being on Farax for longer than necessary, but Brendle and Deis seemed to think it was the only world where they could afford repairs while going undetected. Anki wasn’t so sure, though. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her something was going to go wrong. She hated that feeling, but the last time she felt it, she had been right.

  “We will experience gyrations as we enter the inner atmosphere. By my calculations, we will have landing gear on the deck within half an hour.”

  “Thank you, Pilot,” she said as the Replicade dove into the thicker inner atmosphere, sending vibrations through the hull, rattling across the spine of the ship, and up through her seat. She closed her mouth as her teeth chattered together. This was a bad idea.

  A muted alert on the monitor preceded the aural caution of the AI by a fraction of a second. “We are being pinged,” Pilot said, breaking Anki’s concentration as she fought to disassociate herself from the fear creeping into her chest.

  “Who is it?”

  “The craft appears to be an unnamed transport.”

  “What should we do? Is it armed?”

  “The craft shouldn’t have a weapons system.”

  “Then how are the pinging us?” Anki asked, straining through fear to pry her eyes open and see the unknown craft on the monitor. It was a
small vessel, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t damage the Replicade if it fired on them.

  “It would appear the craft is more than it seems. It is not a war vessel by design, but it is a common misuse of these kinds of vessels by pirates in this sector.”

  Great, Anki thought. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. She had heard mention of piracy in other sectors, though it never existed in Luthia’s sector; or if it did, no one ever talked about it.

  “Can you evade them?”

  “We have a sixty-percent probability of evasion, though it is only a matter of time before our destination is discovered on such a small world.”

  Anki cursed under her breath. “Just do what you have to do to land safely and get us out of the red zone,” she snapped. If the transport couldn’t ping them, then they couldn’t fire with any real chance of hitting them. She didn’t want to be an easy target, if that was what their unsuspecting guests assumed they were. Where the hell is Brendle? This is his kind of thing to deal with. Anki reached for the comm, but held fast. He had told her the controllers monitor shipboard comms. If she called him to the bridge, then he would be discovered and they would have twice the problems. He did say he was confident in her abilities to pilot the ship, though she doubted he meant it under such circumstances. To hell with it, she thought, it’s my ship now. She gripped the armrest of her seat and inhaled sharply. “If you need any ideas, just know, it’s you and me for now, Pilot.”

  “I am confident in our collective abilities, Captain.”