The Starhawk Chronicles Page 4

  Their differences, however, had been just as obvious. Lohren had been outgoing, quick to laugh. She had the ability to charm a roomful of the roughest, rowdiest scum the universe could put out. Kym, on the other hand, was an introvert—quiet, insightful, more at ease around drones and machinery than people. Lohren always had to be out experiencing life. Kym was content by herself, tinkering with her machines, watching life from a discreet distance. Like her sister, however, Kym was also always well in tune with Jesse’s thoughts. “The dreams again?”

  Jesse took a deep breath, and cursed himself inwardly when it sounded like a sniffle. “How’d you know?”

  She cocked her head, “Every time the Garrakis brothers are mentioned, you go crawling into your own personal black hole. I figured word of their escape would trigger something.”

  Jesse nodded. “It’s been weeks since the last one. I figured that they were done with. Then, when Nord mentioned the prison break . . .” His voice trailed off as his throat began to constrict. Staring down at his bunk, at the twisted sheets, he avoided her gaze. He could not stare into those eyes that were so much like her sisters.

  “We’re all still hurting, you know,” she countered, her voice soft and soothing. “We all loved her.”

  Jesse turned back to her, but still avoided her gaze. He gave a violent shake of the head. “Not like I did.”

  “Of course not like you, but we did all love her and we all miss her just as much,” She blinked back tears that welled up at the memory. “She was my sister, for pity’s sake. Hell, even Sneaker misses her. You know how often I’ve found him hanging around outside our cabin door waiting to be let in?” She managed a faint smile. “Poor guy still doesn’t realize that she’s not coming back.”

  “Lohren always did have a soft spot for the little guy,” Jesse chuckled. Lohren had treated the drone like a puppy.

  They both fell into a melancholy silence after that, each avoiding looking at the other. Kym wiped her eyes; took a deep breath, but it was Jesse who broke the silence. “It just seems like every time I think I can put that day behind me, something new always comes up to remind me.”

  Kym nodded, the action causing red curls to fall in front of her face. She absently brushed it away from her eyes with one hand. “I admit that hearing Rahk and Kahr escaped did nothing for anyone’s mood. How many times do we have to put these guys away?”

  Jesse looked away again, staring at the opposite bulkhead, or rather, staring through it, possibly seeing the trials that lay ahead of them. “Maybe this time things will be different. This time it’s either them or me.”

  “Them or us,” Kym corrected. “You’re not the only one involved here, you know. We’re a team, remember?”

  Jesse’s face suddenly hardened; his voice a harsh rasp. For the first time since she had entered, he met her gaze with steely eyes. “I’m taking them down Kym. Rahk and Kahr are mine. I don’t care who burns the rest of them, but I want those two.”

  Jesse’s sudden harshness took Kym aback, and for the slightest instant, she was frightened. The look in his eyes scared her, and she fought back a shudder. “You’re the boss, Boss,” she answered, trying to sound nonchalant. “We’ll do it whichever way you want.”

  “They’re going down.” Jesse replied.

  Chapter Five

  Ugly, even by the standards of his own race, Rahk Garrakis was a child’s nightmare monster come to life. Standing nearly two meters tall, he looked as though he had been assembled from spare body parts; an otherworldly Frankenstein’s monster. His left arm was heavily muscled, while the right was a gleaming chromium cybernetic replacement. His leathery skin was a cold, gray color, and the long, bony tail that extended from the base of his spine twitched from side to side with jerky, spasmodic movements. Half the flesh on his jackal’s head was blistered and scarred, a black metal patch surgically welded over the socket where his right eye had once been. The remaining red eye had a feline’s slitted pupil.

  As a child, Rahk had learned death at an early age. Born deformed, with only a stump for a right arm that ended where his elbow would have been, he had been looked down upon by his family for being a misfit. So ashamed was his father that he had suggested, on more than one occasion, taking the child up into space and jettisoning him out an airlock.

  The ridicule he received from his family had been bad enough, but growing up as a boy on the harsh ghetto streets of Kleezhakistan’s major spaceport had been torture. The gangs of feral children that ran wild among the alleyways constantly teased him and beat on him. One, in particular, a human child called Grub, had been especially vicious, on one occasion gouging out Rahk’s right eye. As though that deed were not bad enough, the boy had thrown it on the ground and stomped it into a smear on the pavement.

  Rahk had thrown himself upon the much larger Grub. With every bit of savage strength born of rage that he possessed, Rahk disemboweled the boy, noting with grim satisfaction that the boy cried for his mother, a high, piercing shriek that lasted a full fifteen minutes, before death finally took hold.

  Rahk had returned home that night, proud of his accomplishment. To prove his deed, he brought Grub’s head home with him to show his family. Both of Grub’s eyes were missing from their sockets. Rahk had savored their flavor.

  From that day on, Rahk Garrakis had become a respected and feared member of Kleezhakistan society. No one dared to so much as look the wrong way at him again. He earned new respect from his father, who now proudly brought him into the family business, which at the time had been a small narcotics smuggling ring. Together father and son, and later, Kahr, formed their small business into one of the largest crime syndicates in the galaxy.

  Now Rahk knelt in his personal quarters aboard the freighter Dark Blood, deep in meditation. Since transferring from the prison transport, Rahk had spent the majority of his time in the small cabin, stripped of his prisoner fatigues, his personal armor awaiting him in one corner. Gazing out of the cabin’s tiny viewport, he pondered the battle that he knew was coming.

  It would be an enjoyable battle. There had been many before this one, many with more glorious results, but this one was of a personal nature.

  This one would bring either a glorious end to himself, or to his most hated foe.

  Forster. The name brought to Rahk feelings of pure rage and hatred, but at the same time, a grudging respect and admiration. The boy had killed Rahk’s father, though the death had been justified since old Gohrmann had only moments before assured the death of Forster’s mate. Gohrmann had died with the satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt Forster far, far worse than if he had caused the boy any actual, bodily harm.

  Of all the enemies Rahk had fought over the years, Forster was the one he respected the most. The boy was a capable hunter, as his father before him had been. Rahk had never actually faced off against the near-legendary Thom Forster, but the tales were well known. Jesse Forster and his crew were extending that legend further. The boy had taken up the trade after the premature death of his father, and had become one of the most successful hunters of the day, with almost six hundred captures, dead and alive, in five years.

  The apex of that career should have come with Ghormann’s death and Rahk’s capture, along with the rest of the Nexus Gang, but the death of his mate had sapped Forster of his fighting spirit. He no longer accepted the truly challenging hunts, opting instead to retrieve petty criminals—smugglers and assorted other flotsam that the underworld of the galaxy only minimally tolerated.

  Rahk sincerely hoped that word of his escape would re-energize the young hunter. He wanted Forster’s death in their final battle to be an honorable one. It was no fun killing an enemy whose heart was not in the fight.

  Especially since that heart would taste so much better after a satisfying battle.

  *

  The computer chimed softly in the darkness, but received no response. It chimed again, louder this time, but still no response was forthcoming. Sounding a third time, it repl
aced the chime with the sound of a crowing rooster, followed by a rousing rendition of the William Tell Overture. This time, the desired effect was achieved.

  Kayla Karson sat bolt upright, and despite the cramped confines of her bunk, her diminutive five-foot-two form easily allowed her to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling. Groggy, blinking her eyes in the near-darkness of her cabin aboard her ship Nebula Dancer, she reached to the panel above her head and violently slapped at the computer controls, muting the sound. With somewhat less savagery, she engaged the audio pickup. In a voice that was still half a yawn, she grumbled, “I was just in the middle of a very good dream, Oats, so this had better be good.”

  “I do wish you would not call me that, Miss Kayla,” the computer replied, making no indication that it acknowledged the threat, but there was a slight hint of annoyance in its male, but effeminate voice, “My designation is Onboard Assistant, Ten Series, as I have repeatedly reminded you.”

  Kayla mimicked the words with more than enough annoyance for them both. She was beginning to regret having installed the shipboard assistant program only weeks earlier. “Sure thing,” she answered, more sarcasm than sincerity. “Soon as you stop calling me Miss Kayla and especially when you stop waking me when my dreaming gets good.”

  “I do apologize for having interrupted your rest period, Miss Kayla.” Kayla found herself wondering if this particular model had been programmed for sarcasm, or was learning it from her. “You have received an urgent message from the sub-administrator of Stenax Prison Asteroid Facility Three-Eight-Six.”

  Ferret comes through again. Kayla grinned and pushed out of her bunk, padding softly across the short distance to the wall console. “Patch him through.” She pulled on a robe, pushing strands of shoulder-length blonde hair away from her eyes.

  With a buzz that Kayla took to be the computer version of a sigh, OATS said, “Transferring!”

  “Ferret, what have you got for me?” she asked as the image of the assistant warden came slowly into view. She found the poor quality of the transmission perplexing. Ordinarily, messages from Ferret came through with considerable clarity due to the top-of-the-line communication equipment the prison employed.

  “I cannot talk long. There’s too much happening here,” Ferret’s yellow eyes glanced around, the hair atop his head twitching nervously. “The Nexus Gang has escaped. Last report puts them on Melarii Two. It’s a big one. We could stand to make quite a bit even if you only bring in the lower-priced ones. I’m downloading the specifics now.” The last few words were barely audible, garbled by static.

  “Confirming download,” OATS reported.

  Kayla scanned the data, let out a soft whistle. “I’m impressed. I’ve never seen a multiple termination order like this before. They must have really been naughty this time.”

  Ferret nodded, a glum expression crossing his features. The image went momentarily out of focus. “It was pretty bad.”

  “What teams are on it?”

  “Just one. Forster and his crew.”

  “Really?” Now she truly was impressed. “I’ve never met the famous Captain Kid before. Maybe I’ll get lucky and we’ll cross paths.”

  “Forster’s in the Obudon system; just finished up another hunt. That might give you enough of a jump on him.”

  She gave the sub-administrator an incredible, disarming smile. “You did good, Ferret. Real good. I’ll definitely cut you a bigger piece when I’m done.”

  “You just be extra careful,” Ferret’s image distorted again, giving the impression that his head was being twisted around the middle. “The Nexus is unlike any other bounty you’ve gone after before. This one will get thermal.”

  “Dear, dear Ferret. If I were the cautious type, I wouldn’t be in this line of work.” She flashed the smile again, and could see Ferret melt a little more as he grinned back sheepishly. “Thanks again. Karson out.”

  Kayla switched off the screen and yawned, running her fingers through her hair to remove the tangled strands. She set about getting dressed, her mind working overtime. She was in the Lexxon system, twenty light years closer to Melarii than Forster. That would give her a good head start. Who knew? Perhaps she could wrap this all up before the Starhawk even arrived.

  Ah, the life of an independent bounty hunter. If I can pull this off, they’ll have to let me into the Guild. They’ll have no choice.

  She finished pulling on her boots and made for the cockpit. Look out, Jesse Forster, she thought. There’s a new kid in town.

  Chapter Six

  The prison transport lay half buried beneath the desert sands of Melarii Two’s southernmost continent of Banuura. True to Guildmaster Nord’s word, Melarii authorities left the ship untouched so that the Starhawk’s crew would have first crack at uncovering any clues they may need.

  Many of those clues would prove difficult to find. A sandstorm was raging as they arrived, covering any tracks and reducing visibility to less than a few meters. Jesse, Kym, and K’Tran had to enter through a dorsal hatch on the transport’s upper hull. Whoever had piloted the ship here had crashed it into a dune while setting down, and drifting sand kicked up by the storm made the hatch on the craft’s underside inaccessible.

  Dusty yellow light spilled through the open hatch of the transport, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The wind blowing across the hatchway howled like some mythic beast, and the air inside the ship was thick with the smell of rotting meat.

  Jesse, K’Tran, and Kym pulled off their protective goggles and bandannas covering their noses and mouths, and shook their heads to free the sand from their hair. K’Tran took a deep breath, his nose crinkling upwards at the ripe stench that hung ominously in the air. “Could just be some food gone bad in the galley.” His voice was optimistic, but his eyes told a different story.

  Kym pointed out several broken light panels in the walls and ceiling as she primed the miniature flood lamp attached to the barrel of her laser rifle, shining its beam down the dim corridor they had entered. “Looks like our boys had themselves a grand old time.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find a lot worse,” Jesse replied. “Let’s get this over with. We’ll start with engineering and work our way forward.”

  K’Tran led the way aft toward the engineering compartment. Just outside, they spotted the first sign of slaughter. Green blood, dry now, was spattered along one bulkhead in a gory painting of a blossoming flower.

  They reached the door to engineering, but with no power on the ship, Kym had to cycle it open manually. As the hatchway slid open, the stench of death caused them to pull their bandannas back out to cover their faces.

  There was no need to go any further to see the carnage inside. Three crewmembers hung just inside the doorway; arms and legs torn off and scattered helter skelter around the room, their eyes missing from their sockets.

  Beside him, Jesse saw Kym swallow hard. “Guess I better get in there and see if I can restore power.”

  Jesse put a hand on her arm. “You going to be all right?”

  She replied with a weak smile. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Besides, I’ve seen worse.” As she stepped through the hatch, they heard her say quietly, “Can’t think of any one time in particular, of course.”

  Without a word, Jesse turned and walked down the corridor, K’Tran following. His colleague was reading from a data pad. “Total crew compliment was a full dozen. If that was the engineering crew, then we still have to find the six guards and three from the command crew.”

  Jesse peered in through an open hatchway, playing his light around inside. “Crew quarters,” he said absently.

  His light beam fell upon two more beings tied back-to-back. From the look of it, a single shot had killed them both. The being nearest the door had taken the shot in the head, the beam passed through his skull, and into that of the human he had been tied to. Both wore guard uniforms, now stained with blood and bits of brain tissue.

  They moved on in silence until they reached the brig. In
side was more of the same. The bodies of the remaining guards lay scattered about, some in several pieces. Blood was everywhere, most of it dry, but some still damp in spots, and they had to tread carefully to avoid slipping and falling.

  K’Tran made his way into the holding area—about the only semi-clean area in the brig—and knelt down next to a gaping hole in the floor plates. He motioned Jesse over.

  “Bet you a hundred credits that there were weapons hidden in here. Whoever planted that stuff must be throwing some major credits around.”

  Jesse nodded, only half listening. He was examining the darkened forcefield emitters surrounding the cell entrance. “No sign of any damage here,” he said. “I wonder how they got past this?”

  At that moment, his commband chirped and he tabbed it on. “Jesse,” Kym’s voice called. “I’ve just about got everything set down here. A few more connections and we should have at least partial power. The damage looks worse than it is.”

  “Good work, Kym,” Jesse replied. “We’re heading for the bridge. Meet us there when you’re finished.” She acknowledged and signed off.

  “Let’s go.” Jesse started into the corridor once more. “I want to check the ship’s log and see if there are any clues as to just how the hell they disabled that forcefield from the inside.”

  They found the bridge in good order. The only sign of trouble were the holes burned through the back of the pilot’s seat. The bodies of Captain Tiberius and his co-pilot lay in one corner, no mutilation other than the laser holes burned into their backs.

  “I knew old Cap’n Tiberius,” K’Tran was looking down at the body. “A wife, three kids, and seven grandkids. What a damn shame.”