The Starhawk Chronicles: Rest and Wreck-reation Page 3

  Deep in his gut, Jesse had the feeling that his friend was right.

  Chapter Four

  Raychel closed her eyes and leaned back against the trunk of a massive akira tree. The sun had risen above the horizon quite some time ago and she knew she should press on, but she was also near exhaustion. It would be better for her to stop willingly and rest rather than collapse helplessly and fall prey to one of the predators lurking within the darkened recesses of the forest.

  As tired as she was, Raychel knew she would not sleep. The events of the past few hours still swam through her mind, making any thought of true rest impossible.

  Kebbe’s words came back to her. She did not know exactly what had happened to her father after she had begun to ascend the airshaft. Perhaps he had gotten away somehow before the explosive charge had gone off. Maybe even now he was somewhere outside the mines, having been able to slip away amidst all the confusion.

  Deep down, however, she knew she was fooling herself.

  Too tired even to cry, she leaned back against the tree, closed her eyes, and took a deep, cleansing breath. She found the sounds of the forest in early morning soothing, and felt her body relaxing for the first time in a long time.

  That was when she heard the first sounds of foliage crunching underneath something very large. As her eyes snapped open, she heard it again, louder this time. Getting closer.

  Every other sound in the forest had gone silent. No birds were singing. No small animals scurrying through the bushes. She thought back to earlier that morning when they had come across the warning sign outside the preserve. Extremely dangerous animals, it had said. I don’t think that anything making that much noise could be a passive herbivore.

  She quieted her breathing as much as possible, listening to the sounds of the creature’s approach. Her heart began pounding in her chest with such ferocity that she feared death from a heart attack before even encountering the animal.

  Then, as abruptly as the footsteps had begun, they stopped.

  The sudden absence of noise frightened Raychel more than the commotion had. She knew the beast had to still be somewhere in the vicinity. The other sounds of the forest had failed to return.

  Steeling herself, she sat up, and began to lean around the base of the tree, and found herself staring into the eyes of a creature out of Hell.

  She recognized it from an old biology text from her earlier schooling. Standing four meters tall on legs as thick as tree trunks, the Sadorian clawshrike regarded her with the baleful gaze of its night black eyes. Its front forelimbs ended in meter-long claws like curved swords. Dried blood crusted the rim of its mouth and dagger teeth. From this close Raychel could smell its rancid breath.

  For the moment, she found herself frozen to the spot, thinking that perhaps if she stayed absolutely still, the creature would ignore her, despite having come face to face with her.

  The clawshrike responded with alarming speed, one of its claw arms raising up and cleaving through the tree. Raychel fell away just as the claw struck where she had been sitting. One second longer to respond and her head would have been taken cleanly off at the neck.

  The beast shrieked and slashed at her with its other claw as it tried to free the one that had embedded itself in the tree trunk, but Raychel had already stumbled backwards out of range. She turned and ran as the clawshrike screamed again.

  Raychel could hear the snapping and splintering of wood as the creature freed itself and gave pursuit. Adrenaline pumping, she plunged further and further into the woods. The clawshrike’s heavy footfalls shook the ground with every lumbering step.

  Raychel pressed on, more frightened than she had ever been in her young life. Even all the horrors she had seen in the mines could not compare to the prospect of ending her life as this beast’s meal. The Sadorian clawshrike ate its victims while they were still alive.

  Her whole body screaming at her with fatigue, Raychel still ran on, fear giving her the strength and speed she needed to keep ahead of the creature. Eventually, its cries and footsteps sounded further and further off. Raychel began to think she had made it away.

  She burst out of the woods into an open glen, and crashed head long into the barrel chest of a tall, bearded man carrying a hunting rifle. The wind was knocked out of her from the impact and the two of them fell in a tumble to the ground. As she lay on the ground, struggling for breath, she heard raucous laughter all around them.

  She looked up and saw several others in hunting gear standing in a semi-circle around them. One of them was helping the man she had run into to his feet. Another man was bent over her, looking her up and down. “They never told us we could find these kinds of trophies on this preserve,” he said, eliciting more laughter.

  The only woman in the group, a tall blonde that stood a good head taller than her, helped Raychel to her feet. The bearded man came walking over, cradling his rifle across one arm. She could see from the logo on his jacket that he was a safari guide. “What in the seven moons of Fornacia are you doing here, girl?”

  Raychel did not reply. Her attention was at the far side of the clearing opposite them. A pair of anti-grav trucks with the Boke Industries logo emblazoned on the sides sat waiting along a service road.

  The bearded man grabbed her by the scruff of her jumpsuit and dragged her away from the main group, back to the tree line from where she had emerged. “You’re one of those that escaped from the mine last night, aren’t you?” he growled under his breath at her. “Where are the rest of you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raychel answered, knowing her ruse was pathetic. The jumpsuit she wore was issued only to those imprisoned in the mines. She couldn’t have been more obvious if her fugitive status was stenciled across her forehead. “Let me go, please.”

  “Not a chance, sweetie,” her captor answered. He favored her with a nasty, yellow-toothed smile. “Catching you is going to earn me a nice fat bonus from Mr. Boke.”

  “C’mon, Sweeny. What’s the holdup?” one of the hunters called.

  “Be with you in just a moment,” he called back. “Just taking care of some company business.”

  The last word was barely out of his mouth when a familiar shriek sounded from behind them. Sweeny’s chest exploded in a gout of blood as the clawshrike emerged from the foliage and impaled him from behind with one of its speared claws. Sweeny was screaming as the beast lifted him off his feet.

  Raychel heard several of the other hunters curse and begin firing as the shrike already began feasting on Sweeny’s body. The laser bolts that struck its thick hide only served to further anger the already enraged beast. It thundered forward, ignoring her and heading for the safari group, swinging its other deadly claw. Raychel saw the woman cut cleanly in half.

  The initial shock wore off quickly and she knew what she had to do next. Running at full tilt, she sprinted across the clearing, ignoring the carnage around her, and made for the nearest float truck.

  Scrambling over the side, she saw that the ignition was in standby, rather than shutdown. A quick push of a button was all it took to shift the vehicle back into full power mode and she threw the throttles forward. The truck canted to one side as she twisted the steering column hard over, turning the vehicle back the way it had come. As she engaged the main drive, she saw only one hunter still standing, covered in blood and viscera, running to catch up with her.

  For a moment, mercy overrode her sense of survival and she began to slow the vehicle. Those hunters were innocent, unknowing bystanders, and did not deserve to be left behind to be slaughtered. She stood in the drivers’ seat and reached out to help the man in. He was only a meter away from taking her hand when the clawshrike impaled him from behind as it had with Sweeny. The hunter looked dumbly down at the claw protruding from his chest for a moment, before the beast swept him up and dragged him off into the forest.

  Raychel sank back down into her seat and watched as the animal melted back into the woods. The entire clearing
was covered in blood and torn flesh. Already, carrion birds were descending on the scene to fight over scraps.

  Raychel engaged the drive once more and steered the truck down the road, out of the game preserve.

  Chapter Five

  Six hours after first arriving in orbit of Utopia, the Starhawk was finally given clearance to touch-down on a landing platform on the extreme far side of Valhalla City. Their flight path took them across the night-side of the planet, and across the southern ocean.

  There were no continents to speak of on Utopia. The planet was eighty-percent covered by vast, deep blue-green oceans dotted with thousands of islands ranging from sandbars only a few meters across to volcanic archipelagos several hundred kilometers in diameter. It was on one of these largest islands straddling the planets’ equator that Valhalla City and the main thrust of Utopia’s tourism was situated.

  They reached their destination as the sun was rising behind the distant mountains encircling the metropolis. Even this early in the day, Valhalla City was abuzz with activity. A pilot-skiff met them as they entered Valahalla airspace, guiding them on a circular route around the city that kept them safely out of the flow of other aircraft, and also gave them maximum exposure to all the attractions that awaited them, before leading them to their designated hangar.

  Before anyone was out of their seat, two vehicles glided to a stop just outside the entrance to their hangar. A dozen beings of varying species clambered out and began walking around the ship.

  “Who the hell are these bozos?” Jesse demanded, watching them through the viewport. He could see that those beings still within view were making notes on hand-held datapads.

  “Judging by the insignia on their uniforms it would appear that they are agents of the Utopian customs service,” Bokschh offered.

  Jesse looked over his shoulder at Podo. “I thought you transmitted our customs information?”

  Podo nodded. “Back when we were in orbit. Almost two hours ago.”

  Jesse sighed. “Why am I already getting a bad feeling about this vacation?” He turned from the viewport and led them from the bridge. As they descended the boarding ramp, one of the officers stepped up to them. Younger than Jesse by quite a few years, with a rodent-like face under a mass of tightly curled red hair, Jesse figured him to just recently be out of University. His dark eyes looked over the group before settling on Jesse. The name on his uniform read Godfrey. “You are master of this vessel?” he asked.

  Jesse nodded, handing him his identification chit. Godfrey plugged it into his datapad and called up the information, giving it a cursory glance. He seemed more interested in the pad handed to him by one of the other agents. He looked at it for a full minute before looking back at Jesse and the others with suspicion. “This says that your ship currently has several military-grade weapons systems that are not common for a craft of this type.”

  “Those modifications are legal and fully sanctioned through our employer,” Jesse answered.

  Godfrey still looked suspicious. “Law enforcement?”

  “Of a sort. Bounty hunters, licensed with the Corinthal Hunters Guild. You can check our records through them.”

  “Bounty hunters,” Godfrey echoed the words as though they had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Well I suppose even your kind has to take a break now and then, too.”

  With the rest of his kind standing behind him, Jesse could not see their reactions, but he could almost feel their tempers flaring. He, too, would have liked nothing more than to shove this pompous little snit’s head into an exhaust port, but he also realized that certain acts of diplomacy were necessary at times like this. Forcing calm into his voice, he replied, “Past couple of months have been a little rough. We’ve earned some time to hoot and holler. Figured your pretty little world was just the place to do it.”

  Godfrey snorted, without looking up from the datapad. “It’s not my world,” he said dryly.

  The agent’s reply caught Jesse by surprise. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he resents being here.

  Godfrey pointed with his datapad over Jesse’s shoulder. “I’m going to need the registration numbers and manufacturers of your drones there.” Jesse looked back at Bokschh, standing at the rear of the group with Sneaker, the squat, saucer-shaped drone hovering just over his shoulder. Jesse rambled off the required information.

  Godfrey entered the data on his pad. “The SKR unit is designated as a guard drone. All weapons are non-lethal, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the EXC unit? What is its primary function?”

  Bokschh stepped forward and spoke. “I am designated a supply and procurement drone, originally with the 59th fighter wing, based aboard the Ticonderoga during the Harkonian conflict. Confederation command will have all of my military files available should you need to review them.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Godfrey answered. Despite his negative response, he was giving the drone an appraising look that struck Jesse as funny. He seemed more interested than he let on. After another moment, he looked back at his pad, then turned back to Jesse. “You do realize that there’s a standard seventy-five credit tariff for bringing personal drones into Valhalla City. That’s seventy-five creds per drone, per day.”

  Jesse heard K’Tran’s gasp of disgust. “We’re on the ground five damn minutes and it’s already costing us a fortune.”

  Jesse held up a hand to silence his friend. “I’ve never heard of a drone tariff before,” he argued.

  Godfrey shrugged. “First time for everything, I guess.” Jesse was about to retort when the agent cut him off. “Of course, if they were to stay with the ship and not leave the landing pad perimeter, I’ll waive the fee.”

  Jesse shook his head. “They’re part of my crew. If we go into—”

  Bokschh spoke up before Jesse could finish his sentence. “Captain, I must admit that while touring Valhalla City would be a fascinating diversion, neither Sneaker, nor myself, require the opportunity for such. I would be perfectly content to remain with the ship and perform some needed maintenance checks.” Anticipating his fellow automaton’s response, Bokschh looked pointedly at Sneaker and added, “And so would you.”

  Sneaker’s photoreceptors went dim, the equivalent of a glare, but the drone remained quiet.

  “Well, I guess that settles it then,” Jesse said with a shrug, turning back to Godfrey. “If there’s nothing else, we’d like to get on with our vacation.”

  Godfrey was still gazing at Bokschh with that queer look that Jesse couldn’t quite place. If he did indeed doubt the validity of Bokschh’s past, a quick check would easily set that right. Still, the agent was making Jesse uneasy. He caught the look Jesse was giving him and asked, “So, where will you be staying?”

  “The Imperial,” Jesse replied.

  Godfrey’s expression changed ever so slightly. Jesse thought he saw a trace of a smirk, but it was gone too soon. Godfrey’s tone was noncommittal when he replied, “Nice place.”

  His business concluded, he signaled the other agents and they filed back into their vehicles, while K’Tran hailed a pair of cabs. They made their goodbyes to the two drones, who turned and started back up the boarding ramp.

  Jesse couldn’t help noticing that Godfrey was watching them go as his vehicle pulled away.

  * * *

  Raychel brought her vehicle to a halt just as Valhalla City came into view over the horizon. Climbing from her seat, she crawled through the cab to the storage section in the rear. There was a metal utility trunk just behind the passenger seat. Inside she found a pair of spare uniforms for the safari employees and quickly slipped out of her miner’s rags and into the smaller uniform. She had to roll up the legs and arms several times for it to fit properly.

  She pulled a portable wash station from the bottom of the trunk and spent the next several minutes cleaning the grime from her face and hands, and ran the rest of the cleaning solution through her hair. She was still far fr
om being clean, but so long as she stayed far enough away from anyone who might smell her, she at least looked presentable enough until she could do a more thorough job.

  Next she needed a weapon. She knew that if she was going to be anywhere near successful in killing Boke, it certainly was not going to be with her bare hands. There was a weapons rack here, but all it held was a lone hunting carbine. Far too big to carry around the city inconspicuously.

  After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, Raychel clambered back into the front seat. She popped open the dashboard storage compartment. Inside was a compact med-pak, a field guide listing the different species in each of the animal preserves, and a man’s wallet.

  The wallet belonged to the safari leader, Sweeny. His ID card listed his apartment address. The employee housing sections of Valhalla were closed off to visitors, but she was pretty sure she could find her way around. Luckily, his residence only required a key card for entrance and not a retinal scan.

  Raychel knew what she would do now. She would get into Valhalla and find Sweeny’s apartment. Once there —provided, of course, that he did not have a roommate or wife— she would get more properly cleaned up, grab something to eat, and work out her game plan from there.

  She started the vehicle and resumed her journey along the road to Valhalla City.

  Chapter Six

  The guest rooms at the Imperial could certainly be considered cozy, although that assessment may have been granting it too much credit.

  Jesse watched as K’Tran and Morogo surveyed their lodgings from the corridor outside with slack jaws. “I don’t even want to know what passes for a toilet in there.” he heard K’Tran say.

  The room consisted of little more than a two-drawer dresser, nightstand with lamp and one single-person bed. Making matters worse was that it was for a species other than humanoid. It was circular, filled about halfway with a viscous green fluid, a sponge-like pad at the bottom, and a circular pipe overhead that released a faint mist every few seconds.