Starship Desolation (5 page)

“
W
hat is it
, boy?” Walker asked. He finally turned around to see the sharp prongs of the claws strike at him. He dove to the dirt and tumbled away. The pincers narrowly missed and stabbed into the crusty ground. They recoiled for another strike.

Just great
, Walker thought. A big bug.

His eyes grew wide as the creature fully emerged from the sand. The monster was massive. Its giant pincers hovered 10 feet in the air. The thing was a cross between a scorpion and a crab. Some type of arthropod. The pincers stemmed from its forked tail. It had a hard shell on its back and six powerful legs that terminated in sharp talons. Its mouth was full of serrated fangs. Its eyes were extended and could track prey independently. It was one ugly bug. And it was in between Walker and his rifle.

The pincers grasped at Walker. He dodged and weaved. His hand gripped the hilt of his tactical sword and pulled it from its scabbard. The blade rung as he pulled it free. He twirled it around like a rotor blade. Another pincer stabbed at him.

Walker slashed the stainless steel anodized blade, severing the end of the pincer.

The claw flopped to the ground, and continued to clasp at nothing—an involuntary movement that persisted for several moments.

Green blood spewed from the flailing tail. The creature screeched in pain. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard. It immediately struck back with another attack from its remaining pincer. The claw clasped onto Walker shoulder, piercing his armor. The sharp prongs stabbed into his skin. Pain rocketed through his body. His arm went numb as the creature’s venom entered his veins. The tactical sword dropped from his hand as his grip grew weak.

The dog was barking like crazy.

Walker crumpled to his knees, the venom taking hold. He grabbed the sword with his left hand and spun it around. With his last bit of strength, he hacked the pincer off. It was still gripping into his shoulder.

Walker’s vision was starting to blur. He was only going to have one chance. In a matter of moments, he would likely pass out from the venom. He charged the menacing creature and jammed the blade into its hideous skull. It shrieked and flailed about. Then collapsed. Walker pulled the blade out and stepped back from the carcass. He dropped the blade then ripped the claw out of his shoulder.

His knees went weak and he collapsed to the ground. The temperature was almost unbearable. The ground was searing. If he passed out like this in the noonday sun, he might not survive until the evening.

The dog was barking at him. It latched onto his collar and tried to pull him with his teeth. But the tiny animal didn’t have the strength to pull Walker across the ground.

The dog barked at him some more, then ran into the underground burrow of the arthropod. A few moments later he ran back out and barked at Walker again. His small jaws clasped Walker’s collar, and the dog pulled with all its might. It was like a Chihuahua trying to tow a Mack truck. The dog let go and took a few steps toward the burrow. He looked back at Walker, trying to lead him on.

Walker mustered his last bit of strength and crawled across the gritty sand. His vision was fading. He climbed down into the arthropod’s hole. It was significantly cooler in the underground trench. He could see why the creature had spent most of its day buried in the burrow. Once he was well inside and protected from the harsh sun, Walker passed out.

When he awoke, he was dizzy and nauseous. He dry heaved for a few minutes before his stomach settled down. His body ached like he had the flu, and his head felt like he had downed a bottle of tequila the night before. At least he had survived the poison.

The dog was waiting patiently by his side. He had stayed there the entire time, protecting Walker as he slept. He let out a little bark of joy when Walker moved. He rushed up and licked Walker’s cheek.

“All right, all right.” Walker couldn’t help but grin a little at the dog’s enthusiasm. He pet the dog’s head and scratched his chin. Then the little guy flopped onto his back and exposed his belly, almost demanding he be scratched.

Walker scratched the dog’s tummy and sighed. “I guess I have to give you a name, don’t I?”

The dog barked in affirmation.

“Well, you’re loyal.”

Ruff.

“You’re tenacious.”

Ruff.

“You’re fearless.”

Ruff. Ruff.

“You kind of sound like a Marine. I’m going to call you Gunnery Sergeant Bailey. How does that sound?”

Ruff.

“Bailey it is.”

Bailey licked Walker’s face again.

“Okay, okay. Settle down, Bailey.” Walker grinned. “This was a good idea you had coming down here. Sure saved my ass.”

Walker peeled off his armor and took the first aid kit from his pack. He cleaned and disinfected his puncture wounds. His clavicle was unharmed, but the stingers had punctured his infraspinatus and subscapularis muscles. His arm was still a little numb from the venom, but when that wore off, he’d be in a world of hurt. He found a regenerative gel compound within the first aid kit and applied it liberally to the area. The compound would speed healing. Then he applied a long acting pain relieving gel that blocked nerve impulses.

His odds of survival dramatically decreased with a gimp arm. He needed to get back in tip top shape as soon as possible. He’d seen how efficient Saarkturian medical technology was, so he was optimistic he’d return to full performance in days rather than weeks.

The blistering heat of midday had passed. If he was going to make it to the mountain range by nightfall, now was the time to start out. But feeling woozy with poison still in his system, and a wounded arm, Walker questioned his ability to make the journey. He had enough rations to last a few days. Best to camp in the burrow for the night and set out in the morning. He just hoped some other creature didn’t try to make this burrow its home during the night.

“
T
he boy is not
ready to be King,” Nuule protested.

“He will rise to meet the challenge,” Rylon said. “Queen L’Naar was only 17 when she began her reign.”

The two men spoke in hushed tones in the west colonnade outside of the senate building.

“He knows nothing of leadership. He has no military training. He lacks the experience to inspire men to fight and die.”

“He will learn.”

“He should do so under the guidance of a steward.”

“And who should the Steward of Saarkturia be? You?” Rylon said, smugly.

“I have the allegiance of the generals. I am a veteran of many wars. I am the Chief Magistrate of the Senate, the highest elected official. It is my right, by law, to assume stewardship of the Empire in the event that an heir to the throne cannot, or will not, serve.”

“Valinok is ready and willing to serve.”

“The law is very clear. He is forbidden to serve until he reaches the age of majority.”

“Do you really want to be the one to deny Valinok his rightful place on the throne?” Rylon was clearly threatening Senator Nuule.

“No. That is not my intention,” he stammered. “I merely want to safeguard the throne. So much power at such a young age could be disastrous.”

“I’m sure Valinok’s maturity will surprise you.”

“I am not the only one with these concerns.”

“Then perhaps you should give me the names of these people with concerns, so that I may assuage their fears.” Rylon was making another threat.

Nuule’s eyes narrowed at him. If Rylon was going to threaten him, Nuule was going to threaten him back. It was a risky move. “Without the support of the military it will be impossible to lead.”

“I have spoken with the generals. I have their support. I suggest you reconsider your position.”

Nuule wasn’t sure if Rylon was lying. He knew he was a snake, and not to be trusted. Generals Surlos, Evadeen, and Larook had pledged their support to Nuule in private. Had they switched their allegiance?

The Decluvian Ambassador is arriving shortly.

“They are coming here?” His eyes were wide, and his voice was panicked.

“I am negotiating a treaty.”

Nuule’s face tightened. “All treaty negotiations must meet the approval of the Senate.”

“You can continue to challenge my authority, if you wish. But I am acting at the bequest of our next King.” A smug smirk curled up on Rylon’s lips. “We can argue about the specifics of Saarkturian law, but Valinok’s ascension to the throne is inevitable. It would be unwise to interfere. Good day, Senator.”

Rylon left Nuule fuming in the colonnade. The magistrate’s eyes burned into Rylon like laser beams as he walked away. He knew he was in danger. Rylon would eliminate all who opposed him.

Queen L’Naar had kept Rylon on a short leash during her reign. He was her political attack dog. But unrestrained, there was no limit to the mayhem he could cause. He didn’t seem to have a soul or a conscience. His lust for power was his only guide. If Nuule was going to stop him, it wasn’t going to be through political means. He was going to have to get his hands dirty. It was either kill Rylon, or be killed.

G
iles squared off against Slade
. He gripped the baton in his right hand, slapping the tip into his left palm. Crack. Crack. Crack. He had a scowl on his face, and his eyes were menacing. He moved closer.

Slade prepared for a fight. Giles was a big guy. He was going to be a lot tougher to bring down than the short, stocky inmate. She’d let him take the first swing, she thought. She’d let his momentum work against him. Once he committed to a swing, his full body weight would be behind it. She could dodge, then make her attack. Take out a knee. Kick him in the groin. Smash his trachea. Gouge his eyes out. That was her plan.

But she didn’t need it.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Giles said.

Slade’s face twisted up, quizzical.

“That little stunt you pulled is gonna set us free.” Giles grinned. “Those guards would never have come in here if you hadn’t beat the snot out of that punk.”

Giles turned to the gang of inmates that were beating the guards. “That’s enough. We need them alive, you morons!”

The ship’s bridge was sealed off from the detention center. There were security cameras embedded everywhere on board. The inmates hoisted the guards onto their feet and dragged them in front of a camera.

With a pistol to O’Connor’s head, Giles made his demands. “I know you can hear me. I just wanted to let you know, there’s been a little change of plans. We’re going to make a detour. You’re going to take us to Beta Hydras, or these guards are going to die.” Giles smiled.

But his smile didn’t last long. The compartment filled with a noxious gas. The inmates quickly began coughing and gasping for air. The gas vented in from several ports. Soon the air was thick with haze.

Slade felt her chest grow tight. She wheezed for breath and felt lightheaded. Then everything went black.

A swift kick to the ribs woke Slade from her slumber. She was no longer aboard the
Gibraltar
. She was in the prisoner processing station of Alpha Ceti 7. How long and she been unconscious?

“On your feet, scumbag!” yelled a guard as he towered over her.

Slade’s head was throbbing from the gas. Her mouth was dry and pasty. Her lungs burned from the harsh chemical. The kick in the ribs wasn’t helping anything either.

She crawled to her feet and fell inline with the other inmates. But it wasn’t fast enough. As soon as she stood up, the guard planted a fist in her belly. She doubled over in pain.

“When I say move, you move.” This guy made O’Connor seem friendly. “You got me?” His nameplate read:
J. Pemberton
.

“Yes, sir,” Slade choked out.

Pemberton had short brown hair, buzzed high and tight, a thick nose from multiple fractures, and one artificial eye. But just one look in his good eye, and Slade knew everything she needed to know about this man. He was a killer. And he took this job because he got off on control.

Pemberton looked Slade up and down. Then he walked the line of prisoners. The processing room was a sparse, with grimy walls. The greenish fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bathing the room in a sickly pallor.

“Welcome to Alpha Ceti 7. Your worst fucking nightmare. Each and every one of you are here because you are a dirt bag that society has no use for. You are beyond rehabilitation, as your behavior on the trip over here has demonstrated. It is unfortunate that we no longer have the death penalty. That would make my life a lot easier. I am Captain Pemberton, and you will refer to me as sir, or my title. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the inmates muttered.

“I didn’t hear you!”

“Yes, sir,” they shouted.

“Some of you are former military. Some of you are civilians. I suspect the former military will fall in line a little quicker around here. If you obey my commands, I’m sure your stay here will be more pleasant. If you don’t, accidents can happen, and we have plenty of body bags.”

It reminded Slade of her first day in basic training.

Pemberton introduced a man with an off white suit and round wire-rimmed glasses. He was a stark contrast to the grimy shit-hole of a prison. “This is Warden Carson. He is God to you scumbags. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Carson smiled. “Now don’t let Captain Pemberton scare you. I’m not so bad, if you obey my rules. But, if you plan on being a troublemaker. You should be very afraid. Because Captain Pemberton is wrong. I am not God. I am the devil himself.”

Slade could see in Carson’s eyes a man with a cold heart.

Carson walked the line and took note of the prisoners. His eyes lingered on Slade longer than the rest. His eyes soaked in her shapely form like a desert during rain.

“For those of you involved in the riot aboard the
Gibraltar
, you will be pleased to know that Lieutenant O’Connor has suffered massive brain damage. He’ll likely never utter a coherent word again.” Carson looked over the motley crew again. “Well, I’ll leave you good people in Captain Pemberton’s capable hands.”

Carson left the processing station.

“Alright, dirtbags. Time to get disinfected. Strip down.”

Slade cringed. Was she really going to have to get naked in front of this bunch? She was the only woman in the bunch. Apparently there was no segregation between male and female prisoners.

The rest of the degenerates peeled out of their jumpsuits. It was not a pretty sight. Some were fit and trim. Some were not. Some looked like they hadn’t seen the sun in years. And some looked like they hadn’t taken a shower since the first Verge War.

“What’s the matter, princess? You too good for this? Are you shy? Are you embarrassed?” Pemberton asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then take your fucking clothes off!”