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MANHUNT OVERWATCH

STARSHIP BANDITS

BOOK EIGHT

ROSS BUZZELL

BOOKS IN THE STARSHIP BANDITS UNIVERSE

1. Starship Bandits

2. The Last Scoundrel

3. Deadman’s Run

4. War Tide

5. Void Signal

6. Dark Matter Gambit

7. Eon’s Edge

8. Manhunt Overwatch

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PREVIOUSLY ON STARSHIP BANDITS

During an attempt at getting some much-needed R&R, the Junkyard crew was jumped by a gang cloned from a physically imposing specimen. Doing what they do best, Dax and his team beat back their attackers in nothing more than their swimsuits.

Proving their skill was more than just tall tales, they were recruited by the leader of the Ryshy to help unify the second and third largest factions against the oppressive Valtakuntera. With no previous delegations surviving the trip, Dax, Kane and Mark drummed up an insane plan to ferret out a possible mole in the Ryshy’s upper echelons.

To ensure the job got done, the Valtakuntera sent Tylira and her Death Squad to deal with the delegates. She was more than a little surprised when her forces met the tenacious resistance of humanity.

Through merciless fighting, Dax found himself swirling in the vacuum of space after a tussle with Tylira. They both lost their helmets before he spat inhaled radiation into her face.

With trickery and a bit of luck, Tylira escaped, only to lash out at the Dal’no people themselves. Through a burning forest, and hacking the local terraformers, Dax and his crew managed to barely fight off the invasion, at great personal cost—the complete abandonment of Dal’no’nuuur, and the fall of Kane.

1

TACHYON

Dax removed the helmet ring from his suit of armor. He walked over to Mark, and with a twist, he took the head protection from their youngest crew member.

“What are you doing?” Jun asked.

She turned in her seat while they drifted toward Tachyon’s open hangar.

“This is Kane’s helmet,” Dax said, holding up the ring. “If anyone deserves to wear it, it’s him.”

“Did you run it by him first?” Jun asked.

Dax shot the android an annoyed look before pointing at the viewport.

“Shouldn’t you be watching where we’re flying?” Dax asked.

“My sensors can pick up our orientation. I can see without looking,” she countered. “But you never answered my question. Did you run it by him first?”

“No,” Dax replied.

“Shouldn’t you?” Jun asked.

“They’re the exact same helmet in the exact same shape. I’m not compromising his safety by doing this, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“If they’re the same, then why change them at all?”

Dax clipped Kane’s helmet into Mark’s suit. He closed the pod and turned toward the android before leaning against it. With pursed lips and a tilted head, he looked at her for a few seconds.

“Did Mark not download you with the concept of nostalgia?” Dax asked.

She fell silent and sheepishly looked away. Dax grimaced.

“You’re a robot,” he said softly.

“Android, but no, Mark hasn’t programmed me with anything that isn’t linguistically relevant. My personality is based off my creators’ and what they instilled in me.”

“There were, like, four races there that day. You’re telling me none of them get nostalgic?” Dax asked.

“There were eight, and no, from what I can tell, humanity seems to be the only known race that seems to have that flaw.”

“Don’t you mean trait?” Dax asked.

“No, I meant flaw. To pine for the past and cling onto what’s gone can easily be used against you for someone who knows how to pull the right strings.”

“It can also be a very powerful driving force to hunt a particular ashy-skinned, white-haired and scar-faced Valtukta to the ends of the galaxy and put an end to her once and for all,” Dax argued. “And besides, it doesn’t drive us to do things. If it did, we would’ve stayed on Earth when we went there last.”

“That is a valid point.”

Jun turned around. She grabbed the controls and started maneuvering them into the hangar. Dax put Mark’s old helmet on his suit before going to Sandrina’s room. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she shouted.

Dax opened the door. Sandrina pulled her green hair back and tied it in a ponytail. Her clothes were utilitarian in nature, with a Bastet pistol, twin to his own, on her hip in one of Kane’s old leather holsters.

“What’s up?” she asked.

She grabbed a single-strap backpack and slung it across her body like a bandolier.

“You look like you’re about to raid some tombs,” Dax said.

“My name’s not Lara, so it’s pretty obvious I’m not doing that,” she countered.

“Then what are you doing?”

“You said we’re putting everything on the back burner until we find Tylira. I imagine that’ll mean heavy injuries, so I’m going to go find the highest quality, blackest market stuff I can and bring it back here while you guys do your little negotiating.”

“And the pistol?” Dax asked.

Sandrina pulled Kane’s K-Bar knife, which was the length of her forearm, out of a holster on her lower back.

“It’s in case I lose this,” she replied, re-sheathing it.

“You’re not planning on going vigilante on us, are you?” Dax asked.

“Name’s not Bruce or Barbara,” Sandrina countered.

She grabbed a few more bags and clipped them to her.

“The black markets are in the lower levels, below where the Broken Shield hole up. Would you rather me go unarmed?”

Dax took a deep breath and pursed his lips. With a sigh, he motioned toward the door.

“If you’d like, I can get you Dalia’s Fat Mac.”

“If I need to blow a hole in the side of a ship, I’ll take you up on that,” she chuckled.

She tightened the belt around her waist, cinching the old ammo pouches at her sides even tighter. Dax noticed her smile slip for a second as she looked around the room. With a sigh, she snapped her fingers.

“Right, I had something for you.”

She knelt next to the bed. Dax took a half step in as Sandrina shoved her arm shoulder-deep under the frame and felt around, her face contorting with effort. A Velcro scratch sounded before she stood back up, a small black puck in hand.

Dax looked at it and froze. His breath caught in his throat while the world around him seemed to grind to a halt. On the puck, in white chalk and in Kane’s handwriting, was his name.

“He said if anything ever happened to him, that he left something for the crew under our bed. This one’s for you.”

Dax stared at it for a few seconds. His mind raced at a thousand miles an hour before locking in on a memory from when they’d recently been assigned to one another. Kane twirled his mustache, chuckled and said he made a habit of writing goodbye letters to his loved ones before every dangerous mission.

“Not because he planned to die,” Dax echoed the soldier’s sentiment in a whisper. “But because if I did, I didn’t want to leave anything unsaid.”

“That’s what he told me,” she said.

“Have you watched it?” Dax asked.

“I haven’t even watched my own,” she said softly, her smile fading. “Not sure I have the strength to.”

Dax took the puck. He inspected it closely, smirking at the almost Dal’no brutality with which his name was etched into the device.

“Because then it’d be like having to admit he’s really gone,” Dax said in a low tone.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you for this. If the time comes, I’ll be there when you decide to open yours.”

“Thank you,” she said with a forced smile. “Now get out of here. I need to finish getting ready.”

Dax nodded, backing out of the room, and shut the door behind him. Making his way to his room, he opened it to see Dalia sitting on the edge of their nest, puck in hand with Kane’s image flickering in front of her.

“Anyway, take care of him. I couldn’t think of a better match,” Kane said softly. “You’re a great woman, Dalia.”

The hologram vanished. Dalia sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye before looking up.

“I wasn’t expecting that today,” she said softly.

“Sandrina gave one to you too?” Dax asked.

“The entire crew got one,” Dalia replied. “She give you yours yet?”

Dax pulled it out of his pocket and held it up for her to see. Leaning over, he pulled open a drawer on their wall and put it inside before shutting it once again.

“Yeah, not sure I’m quite ready to listen to it, though,” Dax said.

“You’re not the only one,” Dalia replied, standing up.

“What’d he say on yours?”

Dalia shrugged. She got up and walked to the door.

“Just what I needed to hear,” she replied, peering out. “How’s the approach looking?”

The ship shuddered as they passed through the Tachyon hangar barrier. The landing engines roared, sending a rumble through the Junkyard shortly before a solid thud indicated they’d set down.

“Good, I’m expecting,” Dax said, holding eye contact with Dalia.

“That I can tell,” Dalia chuckled.

Dax grabbed his leather jacket. Sliding his arms through, he walked into the corridor and knocked on Mark’s door.

“I’ll meet you in the cargo bay. I’m almost done in here,” Mark said.

His voice had a slight growl to it.

“Copy that,” Dax replied.

Walking to Sandrina’s door, she shouted before he could knock.

“I know my way around well enough to find you once I’m done.”

Dax stepped away. He started on his way to the ladder. Dalia stayed close behind while Henuva joined them.

“You’re actually going to leave the ship this time?” Dax asked.

“I thought it was dangerous for your kind to be seen…well, anywhere,” Dalia added.

“It may be, but right now, people need to know not every Valtukta is on the empire’s side,” Henuva replied. “Figured now’s the best time to do it.”

Dax climbed onto the ladder. As he started his descent, part of him thought it was a bad idea. He decided to remain quiet, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of the crew.

Reaching the ground, he turned to see a scorched PITA. The only parts of him that looked normal were his ears and tail. The cyber dog bit their salvage handle and pulled it toward the ramp.

“Are you going to make me stay with the ship?” PITA asked.

“Depends,” Dax said, wandering to one of Kane’s weapon crates. “Are you going to insult every person we run into?”

“I was thinking about behaving myself,” PITA replied.

“Which means what, every third person?” Dalia asked.

“I was thinking half,” the corgi replied.

“Then you’d better stay with Jun,” Henuva added. “They’re going to have to be reconciling a Valtukta; they don’t need a slew of personally offensive comments to make things worse.”

“You guys are no fun,” PITA huffed.

Dax reached in, selecting the largest pistol he could find. Grabbing a holster, he put it on his hip before walking to the back of the cargo bay.

“Our mission is a little more than fun,” Dax explained.

“Life without fun isn’t life worth living, though.”

“I fail to see how thousands of angry cyborgs actively trying to kill us is ‘fun’,” Dalia said, grabbing the Fat Mac and a freshly reloaded bandolier.

“That’s just because you have a boring definition of the word,” PITA said in a snooty tone.

Dax tapped the ramp-open button, eliciting s high-pitched groan as the door descended. He rested his hand on the grip of Kane’s pistol, took a deep breath and squeezed it.

With a thud, the door hit the hangar floor. Dax made his way down the ramp. Waiting for him were Bleeze and Master Decombres. They greeted the crew with beaming smiles.

Henuva and Dalia emerged, followed a few seconds later by Sandrina and Mark with his staff. Bleeze’s smile faded while inspecting the crew.

“Good job getting the Ryshy involved with the galactic senate,” Bleeze said before looking at Henuva. “I’m assuming half-pint is the Valtukta crew member you told us about.”

“It seems you’re missing one of your crewmates,” Decombres added. “Where’s Kane?”

Silence fell on the group. Dax looked back at them before taking a deep breath. An invisible weight pressed on him like a boulder as he let out a sigh.

“The Valtakuntera and its Death Squad attacked Dal’no’nuuur. A lot of Dal’no and Bastet died fighting them off,” Dax said softly.

He trailed off, swallowing hard while their allies looked them over for a few brief moments.

“It’s always hard to lose a great warrior, even harder when they’re a friend,” Decombres said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Bleeze clenched his jaw. Dax noticed his robotic hand clenching at his side.

“Did you at least get the one responsible?” the Strudian asked through gritted teeth.

“That’s why we’re here,” Dax replied. “She escaped, and we were hoping to get some help tracking her down.”

“You know the rule of Tachyon. If you want a favor, you’ll need to be willing to do something for us first,” Decombres mused.

“I’ve got a few jobs that’ll be mutually beneficial,” Bleeze added.

“No,” Mark snarled, pushing to the front of the group. “You help us, or we hack your systems, get what we need and fry the rest.”

“Excuse me?” Decombres scoffed.

“What he meant to say is, things are a little delicate with our crew at the moment and, Bleeze, if you want payment, how does revenge for your arm sound?” Dax asked.

Bleeze’s eyes widened. His artificial arm raised in front of his face.

“Tylira?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sandrina said.

“Screw it, Decombres, I’ll cover their fees or favors, or whatever you want. They get the woman who did this to me and killed Kane, it’s good enough to be my payment,” Bleeze said, waving for them to follow. “Let’s check my sources and see if I can point you in any good directions.”

2

DEAL

A field of servers stretched as far as Dax could see. Each breath he took coated his mouth in a strange, metallic taste while burning his nostrils. When he exhaled, a cloud of condensation left his mouth, dimly illuminated by the only lights on the farm. They stretched in straight grids highlighting the paths that could be taken.

Robots hung from the ceiling. They’d drop out of the veil of darkness overhead, reach down with spindly arms and periodically check random servers. Once their work was done, they’d disappear back into the shadows.

The soft humming of each databank lent an almost beelike quality of sound to the maddeningly large room. The only noise that cut through it was Bleeze’s heavy footfalls.

Dax stood at Mark’s side, a hand on his shoulder while they watched Bleeze work. The young man’s muscles tightened and relaxed like a blood vessel during a heartbeat.

“Are you sure you want to take on this debt?” Decombres asked.

Bleeze ran through a field of servers. He’d plug a robotic finger into one, wait a few seconds, then run to the next and do the same.

“It may be more than you’re willing to pay.”

Bleeze popped up from his work and stared at Decombres. Dax watched the crepuscular leader of Tachyon closely.

“You met Kane and saw what he was capable of,” Bleeze shouted from half a football field away. “Not to mention he saved my life multiple times and made me a lot—and I mean a LOT—of money.”

Bleeze ducked back down, moved to a different server and plugged his finger in before standing back upright.

“On top of all of that, he was a good man. And do you know what they say about a good man?”

Mark stiffened at the comment. Dax gave him a gentle squeeze as a way to tell him to take a breath and calm down. It only slightly worked.

“What?” Decombres asked.

“They say that when a good man is in his hour of need, those he’s done right by will stand tall to do what’s right by him,” Bleeze explained.

“What would’ve been right was being there to stop Tylira’s blade from cutting his throat and severing his spine,” Mark snarled.

Decombres and Bleeze paused. They both looked at him. Shadows starkly highlighted the caretaker’s sharp, indifferent features while Bleeze’s facial hair blocked most of the light, making him look more like a chin and beard attached to a body.

“If I I’d known, I would’ve brought the full might of the guild down on Dal’no’nuuur to make sure that pointy-eared xuaka didn’t see another sunrise,” Bleeze said.

“It’s a good thing Henuva decided to stay in my office,” Decombres mused, looking back at the Strudian. “Otherwise, he might find that kind of language offensive.”

“He’s been on a ship with these guys for years. I think any delicate sensibilities he may have had are long gone,” Bleeze explained.

“And if you think we’re bad, you should see our dog,” Dax added. “That guy’s got something to say about everyone.”

Decombres’s brow arched in curiosity. His head tilted to the side while he folded his hands in front of him.

“And what would he say about me?”

“That your life coach called, you didn’t make the team,” Mark said without skipping a beat. “Someone grabbed your cranky pants and pulled them all the way up to your armpits. If there was a line between right and wrong, you probably snorted it years ago. Have you hugged an idiot today? Me neither, come here.”

Mark extended his arms and took a step forward. Dax clenched his fingers on Mark’s shoulder, holding him in place.

“I think you proved your point,” Dax whispered.

He eyed Decombres closely, watching for his hands to move toward a hidden weapon, or the indifference on his face to turn to anger. Dax’s right arm tightened, ready to move to the pistol at his side. A wave of relief washed over him when a smirk cracked the caretaker’s stony features.

“You thought of those quick,” he mused. “I’m impressed. If I provided you with a robotic animal of my own, could you program it to have such quick wit?”

“Wit isn’t something you can program; you’re either born with it or you’re not,” Mark countered.

“Surely there are other ways of developing a quick mind like that.”

“Trauma,” Dax chimed in. “Go through enough, it mutates into a horribly dark sense of humor, so you react before your brain can catch up.”

“I’ve been through plenty of trauma; I couldn’t even come up with half of that.”

“It’s because you have a distinct lack of imagination,” Mark quipped.

Bleeze snorted from holding in laughter. Dax gently pulled Mark back to his side. The smirk on Decombres’ face widened.

“You know, if you didn’t already have a mission, I would hire you as my right hand. I could use someone with your mind on this station.”

He turned back toward Bleeze, who was twenty yards to the right, who threw up his three flesh hands with their thumbs pointed up.

“I got it,” he shouted.

“Got what, exactly?” Decombres asked.

“The location of an old contact. He used to work undercover for me in a Valtakuntera outpost. If anyone knows how to find Tylira, it’ll be him,” Bleeze explained.

“Not good enough,” Mark hissed. “I want her location, not someone who might have an idea of another goose chase that might point us in her direction.”

“Mark,” Dax said in a soft yet stern tone. “He’s doing us a favor. He’s on our side. Don’t alienate him because you’re hurting.”

Mark shot him a cold glance. The muscles in his jaw worked while he shook his head and took a deep breath.

“Fine,” he whispered before looking back at Bleeze. “Thank you for finding it for us. Although I still don’t get why we couldn’t just have pulled it up on a computer out there.”

“It’s because this is my personal stash of servers,” Decombres replied. “None of this information can be accessed anywhere on Tachyon outside of this room.”

“That seems like an awful lot of knowledge to hoard,” Dax chimed in.

“If knowledge is power, then a god am I,” Decombres mused.

“Lighten up there, Jim,” Mark huffed. “Manipulating people isn’t the same as speaking them into existence.”

Dax took a half step back and looked at Mark in disbelief.

“I didn’t peg you for the religious type,” he said softly.

“Kane gave me a book to read a few years ago. I just started it; it’s pretty interesting,” Mark replied.

The thuds of Bleeze’s boots rang through the walkway as he returned to the group. He leaned forward, resting two arms on his knees while the other two interlaced fingers at the top of his head. He wheezed, eyes squinted, and face contorted to support the snarl of his lips.

“You good?” Dax asked.

“I will be,” he panted. “Just give me a minute.”

“All the years of drinking and feasting catching up to you?” Decombres asked.

“Not the drinking and feasting,” Bleeze huffed. “Just the years. I’m getting old.”

“Getting?” Dax teased. “You’ve had salt and pepper in that beard of yours since long before we’ve known you, and we’ve been in your employ for a while.”

Bleeze let out a sarcastic laugh while shooting a look at Dax.

“Can we get out of here and see what he found that might be useful?” Mark asked.

“Indeed,” Decombres said.

He motioned to the door before making his way toward it. They walked for almost five minutes with Bleeze trailing behind, catching his breath. Reaching the light-lined exit, Decombres pressed his palm against the wall. It slid up letting light flood into the room.

Dax removed his hand from Mark’s shoulder as they both squinted. They stepped into a private, much smaller hangar with three luxury ships parked along its outer edge.

Dax looked at the yachts, thinking about how they were the Lamborghinis to the Junkyard’s old, beat-up trail Jeep. He turned as Bleeze stepped out of the server room, allowing the door to shut behind them.

Bleeze caught his breath before pulling his robotic middle finger off, extending it to Dax, who took the surprisingly heavy digit. He inspected it; the tip sported a standard plug-in for every system he’d seen in their adventures.

“You know, giving someone the middle finger in my culture is considered an insult?” Dax asked.

Mark reached over and took the digit. He inspected it and shook his head.

“Seriously? All this technology and there’s still a right way and wrong way to plug these things in?” Mark asked. “May as well have just brought a pack of USBs with us when we left Earth.”

“Is it really that difficult?” Decombres asked.

“Yes, because no matter how I hold it, the first attempt is going to be wrong,” Mark explained. “Which means that the second attempt has an eighty percent chance of being wrong, and I’d have to flip it back.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bleeze cut in.

“It’s USB math,” Dax explained. “It’d be faster to calculate the happenings in the heart of a black hole than get that answer right.”

A series of muffled shouts echoed down the hallway accompanied by high-pitched giggles. Decombres turned toward the corridor that led to his office.

“What are they doing?” he muttered.

Without skipping a beat, he rushed toward his place of work. Mark pulled away and followed with impatient purpose. Bleeze stepped next to Dax and sighed.

“I love that kid, and want revenge for Kane, but do you have any idea how much Decombres is going to charge me for this?” Bleeze asked.

“Hopefully no more than the salvage we picked up from the battle of Dal’no’nuuur is worth,” Dax replied. “Sandrina dropped it in your office before going off to restock medicine.”

A wry smile spread across Bleeze’s face. He put a finger to the tip of his nose and winked at Dax.

“That’s why you’re my favorite crew,” he mused before looking at his robotic hand. “Is it really an insult?”

“Yeah, but it originates from a battlefield taunt. It started with a country called Britain in a place called Agincourt in 1451. When they’d capture enemy archers, the British would cut off their bow fingers so they could no longer shoot. It was a battlefield taunt,” Dax explained. “Originally, it started with two fingers up, then it evolved into just the one. Except for the British; they kept it two.”

“Why?”

“Probably for the same reason they drive on the wrong side of the road.” Dax chuckled. “I for sure don’t know.”

Decombres let out a shout accompanied by a cackle from Mark. Bleeze and Dax turned toward the office. They took off in a swift jog. Quickly closing the distance, they slowed while entering the office.

Jadis and Dalia stood to one side, sheepishly looking at the ground. The guards stood, unmoved, on the far side of the room. Henuva, on the other hand, was pinned a few feet off the ground. Jadis’ magnetic toy was disassembled into its four subsequent parts and pinned against the Valtukta’s clothes.

“Are you going to help?” Henuva asked.

“I wish I had a camera,” Mark mused.

Bleeze lifted his pinky finger. A flash emanated from one of the lower joints.

“You mean like that?” Bleeze asked.

“You got pinned by a little girl?” Dax asked.

“No, I got pinned by a Dal’no; the little girl just attached the magnets. Now will someone please get me down?”

3

UNHOOKED

“If we heat them up, they’ll lose their magnetism and he’ll drop free,” Mark pointed out.

“No, they won’t,” Dax countered.

His knuckles were white, and his arms trembled as he pulled on one of the cubes with all his might, but it didn’t budge.

“These aren’t just magnetic, they’re quantum entangled. We don’t know what force is being used to hold him up here,” Dax replied.

“I can tell you right now, it’s not magnetic,” Decombres mused, sitting behind his desk.

“We’re going to have to cut the clothes,” Dalia pointed out.

Jadis giggled at the suggestion. Henuva’s eyes widened.

“What? No, this is my favorite outfit. I don’t want holes in it!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Mark muttered.

He pulled out a knife and walked toward Henuva. Dax placed a hand on his chest, giving the young man a stern look.

“Just give me a few seconds, will you?” Dax asked. “If this were you, you wouldn’t want your favorite set of clothes cut up.”

Mark pursed his lips. He spun the knife in his hand and sighed while looking at Henuva.

“One minute,” he relented.

Dax turned toward Jadis. He offered her a wide smile before kneeling in front of her. He nodded at the wall-mounted Valtukta.

“I like what you did with your cubes up there.”

Jadis’s eyes lingered on Henuva before meeting Dax’s. Her brow furrowed while her fingers toyed at the edges of her short, down swept, growing horns.

“He’s a very prideful man,” she said softly.

“Hey,” Henuva countered.

Dax held up a finger, silencing the Valtukta while holding eye contact with the young girl.

“He is, but unlike most, his pride and borderline arrogance is earned,” Dax said.

“I can hear you,” Henuva complained.

Dalia stepped forward and put a hand over his mouth, making Jadis giggle.

“How is something like that earned?” she asked.

“He’s probably one of the best geneticists in the galaxy. He’s the absolute pinnacle of his field and was able to do things that scientifically shouldn’t be possible. It’s rather impressive, and without his tampering, I wouldn’t be here, and neither would Mark,” Dax explained.

“When I’m arrogant, Daddy says no one will like me if I continue.”

Dax looked over at Decombres. He raised his brow while the left corner of his mouth pulled to the side.

“Really?” Dax asked.

“I’d rather her not turn out like me,” he said with a shrug.

“Misplaced arrogance will be the reason people don’t like you,” Dax countered, turning back toward Jadis. “Do you know what they call it when it’s not misplaced?”

Jadis’ eyes widened in wonder. Her child-like smile pulled at the edges of her mouth while her head shook from side to side.

“Confidence. And so long as you know when to be humble, you can never have too much confidence,” Dax explained. “How about you forgive my overly confident friend over there, let him down and I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

“Okay,” she relented. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

She pulled a small tablet from her pocket. Pressing on the screen, she held up her free hand. The quantum cubes flew into her palm, forming back into a single unit. Henuva dropped to the ground, Dalia removed her hand and Mark reluctantly sheathed his knife.

“Thank you,” Dax said, giving her a friendly smile. “I really appreciate that.”

Jadis offered him a sheepish grin before turning and running down the corridor toward her father’s private hangar.

“Most people would’ve screamed at her to stop,” Decombres said.

“That’s the mistake most people make with children. Even those who have their own. They aren’t any different from the adults of their species. Still developing, yes, but treat them like a person, not something lesser, and I’ve found it’s more likely to get results than just screaming at them.”

“That usually works, though,” Henuva chimed in.

“Yes… that worked oh, so, well for you,” Dalia chimed in, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“It can, but they obey not out of mutual respect. They do it out of fear, or a desire to get you to shut up. Neither of which is conducive to a healthy relationship later down the road.”

“Really?” Henuva scoffed.

“Did your parents scream at you to stop things?” Dax asked.

“Yes,” Henuva replied.

“And how’s your relationship with them?” Dalia chimed in.

“Haven’t talked in almost two hundred…” Henuva trailed off for a few seconds before looking at Mark. “You’re telling me your mother never raised her voice at you?”

“She did.” Mark nodded.

“See, your theory is wrong,” Henuva scoffed.

“But I can count on one hand how many times she did,” Mark continued. “And in hindsight, I deserved much worse than I got. She made sure to talk me through her reasoning on things so that when I got older and she told me to do something, I knew it was for a purpose and not ‘because I said so.’ My mom and I couldn’t be closer.”

Henuva’s shoulders dropped, deflating at the counter.

“Just like sometimes kids need their butts spanked,” Dax continued. “But it shouldn’t be the go-to punishment, only under very specific circumstances.”

Decombres leaned back in his seat and smiled before looking at Bleeze.

“The wisdom of a father,” he mused.

“That, and a guy who’s seen more of the galaxy than both of us,” Bleeze added. “Now, why don’t you send me what I owe you. I’ll run to my office and initiate a transfer and get a new finger.”

“It’s already been sent,” Decombres replied.

Bleeze stroked his long facial hair with two hands while walking toward the elevator.

“Good, you guys, get into some trouble and try to have fun doing it,” Bleeze said, motioning to the crew. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. If I hear anything, I’ll toss it your way.”

“Thank you,” Dax said with a wave.

He watched as their handler stepped into the elevator. Its doors shut and carried him straight up. Dax touched his translator, trying to connect to Ruthnar’s radio. It buzzed at the base of his skull but never connected. He paced around the large, bare, oval room. Nothing.

“Can you get a message to the Broken Shield for us?” Dax asked, turning toward the caretaker.

Decombres’ head tilted to one side. His brow furrowed at the comment.

“Did Ruthnar not tell you?” he asked.

“Tell us what?” Dalia chimed in.

“The Ryshy were inducted into the galactic senate, effectively doubling their strength. They needed elite soldiers to act in their interests and have hired and relocated the Broken Shield to what’s being termed Alcazar space.”

Dax swallowed hard before looking from Dalia, to Henuva, then Mark.

“Weren’t they the peacekeepers here?” Henuva asked.

“Yeah. What’s that doing for the equilibrium of the lower levels?” Mark asked.

“It’s not been good,” Decombres explained. “It hasn’t hindered production, of course, but the Toxic Queens have decided to try and fill the void.”

Hearing that name caused Dax to close his eyes and cross his arms. He let out a low groan at the comment before shaking his head. Flashbacks of their less-than-ideal encounter flashed through his mind.

“That’s not good,” he groaned. “In fact, that’s very, very bad.”

“They may be unpredictable, but that’s life in Tachyon; it’s the price you pay for true freedom,” Decombres countered.

“Yeah, except Sandrina is in those lower levels as we speak to resupply from the black market,” Dax explained.

“If that’s the case, then yes, that is less than ideal.”

“Less than ideal is an axe that’s twice as expensive as you’d like and you can’t haggle down the price,” Dalia countered. “This is just bad.”

“Sandrina, she’s the Bastet, correct?” Decombres asked.

He sat up, running his fingers across his desk. Holographic images of security cameras flickered to life across his field of view.

“If she’s in trouble, wouldn’t she have just called?” Henuva asked.

“It depends on how deep into the station she is,” Mark explained. “Our translators don’t have a great range, and with enough rock between us, it lessens it. It’s not like we’re in our suits.”

Dalia’s finger went to her translator and tapped it twice.

“Jun, bring Mark and Dax’s suits to the elevator,” she ordered. “Have PITA grab my hammer, Mark’s staff and Dax’s Bastet pistol… If you can bring everything else but prioritize those first… no, Sandrina’s probably in over her head… we’ll be fine, just stay with the ship.”

Dalia pushed past Dax and marched toward the elevator that brought them to the office.

“That’s our cue,” Henuva said.

He brushed past Mark and Dax.

“I’ve got your frequency. I’ll let you know when I find anything,” Decombres reassured.

Dax nodded. He jogged over to the elevator with Mark close behind. The doors opened, causing everyone to pile in at once.

“Thank you,” Dax shouted just before the doors shut.

“Why don’t we get our armor?” Henuva asked, looking at the Dal’no.

“Because our suits don’t have the magnets in our gloves that can deflect plasma fire,” Dalia countered. “And Jun can only carry two at a time.”

“What about my weapon?” the Valtukta complained.

Dax unstrapped Kane’s holster with the massive pistol.

“Dalia’s hammer absorbs plasma shots, mine cuts through armor like a hot knife through butter and Mark’s staff is practically a multi-tool,” Dax said, offering the belt to Henuva. “Besides, you’ve got an arm that shoots plasma.”

“And toe missiles too,” Mark added. “Can’t forget the toe missiles.”

“Right, yes, those too,” Dax explained.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened. Jun stood in front with both suits while PITA was equipped with their weapons. Dax was the first out. He grabbed his suit while rushing toward the elevator next to them and summoned it.

“We can’t get to the lower levels with this one?” Henuva asked.

“Nope,” Mark countered, grabbing his armor.

Dalia quickly grabbed the weapons.

“For security, the only two places this elevator stops are Decombres’ office and his private medical center.”

“I guess Bleeze must’ve turned part of it into his own office,” Dalia added.

“I’ll try and get back with your suits,” Jun said.

She turned and sprinted back toward the Junkyard.

“And I’ll go with you to chomp some feet,” PITA added.

“You stay here. They’d likely try and scrap you down there,” Mark countered.

PITA’s ears, head and nub of a tail drooped and he let out a disappointed whine. The elevator door dinged and opened. Dax and Mark were the first to pile in, followed by Dalia, her arms full. Henuva stepped in last while putting on the belt Dax offered him.

“You’re the only one with a free hand. Press the bottom button,” Mark shouted.

Henuva jumped slightly. He hit the lower level with a knuckle. Dax dropped his armor while the doors shut, and they started to descend. Grabbing each piece, he stepped into it and clipped the gear on as quickly as he could. In less than a minute, his helmet closed over his head and started running diagnostics. Dax turned to look at Mark, who had already grabbed his staff from Dalia. He stared at the professor for a few seconds before taking the Bastet pistol and offering it to Dax.

“I thought I was fast,” Dax huffed.

“Please don’t make an innuendo,” Henuva whimpered.

“Clearly, you weren’t taking Kane’s speed tests seriously,” Mark countered.

Dax took the weapon. His helmet gave it a green notification that it was ready for use.

“Not as seriously as you,” Dax replied. “I’ll take point. Mark, you’ve got the rear. Henuva, you’re behind me.”

“You don’t want your Battle Bonded behind you?” he retorted.

“No, I want her behind you so that when one of these cyborgs tries to take that gun, or your arm off you, she can put a stop to it.”

Henuva looked around the elevator with a furrowed brow.

“Is it really that bad down here?” he asked.

“It’s so much worse,” Dalia replied, giving her hammer a quick spin.

4

TOXIC QUEENS

“I believe I’ve found your friend,” Decombres said. “It appears she’s pinned down three levels below your current location.”

Dax and Mark pushed their way to the front of the elevator. Mark pressed the button.

“How’s she doing?” Dax asked.

“Pinned down by the Toxic Queen syndicate.”

“Not those girls again,” Mark grumbled.

“Send some guards down to help,” Dax demanded. “We’ll owe you a favor or pay you out; it doesn’t matter.”

“My guards don’t leave my side,” Decombres countered.

Dax bit his cheek, forcing himself silent while frustration bubbled within him.

“Don’t worry, though. She’s alone.”

They passed one deck, making their way to two.

“If you’re not going to provide physical support, then, at the very least, give us logistical,” Mark snarled.

“What’s going on?” Dalia asked in a whisper.

“Looks like it’s just going to be us four,” Dax replied.

Dalia let out a rumbling growl. Henuva’s expression turned to confusion as he looked around the crew.

“Why the aggression?”

“Because the Toxic Queens got their name for a reason. Everything is poison. Do not let them get close to you,” Dax explained.

“The phrase ‘terminate with extreme prejudice’ comes to mind,” Mark added.

Dax’s HUD beeped with a notification of an inbound overlay from Decombres. Accepting it, he looked at his vambrace. It displayed a holographic map of the room below. They passed through the second deck and started down the third.

Their position was marked by a blue dot, hundreds of yards from the ground. Dozens of red dots filled the room below; a few were twenty to thirty feet off the ground. They closed in on the corner to the left of elevators where a green and yellow dot were together.

“Mark, as soon as these doors open, take two steps out, turn right and there will be a group with the high ground. Take them out first,” Dax ordered. “Dalia, you’re going to leapfrog me. There’s a cluster of four, straight ahead; take them out. I’ll take care of the snipers.”

“What about me?” Henuva asked.

“You cover Dalia, aim for the throats,” Dax readied his pistol. “And whatever you do, don’t let her get hit.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Henuva replied.

Dax lowered his vambrace, drawing his knife. The translator at the base of his skull vibrated, connecting with Sandrina.

“Dax, can you hear me? We are surrounded, we need help!” she screamed.

“We’re in the elevator, five seconds,” Dax replied.

“They just set up a trip wire a yard in front of those doors, don’t rush out,” Sandrina replied.

“Copy that,” Dax said.

“We heard,” Henuva said.

The elevator started to slow. Dax took a deep breath, priming his adrenaline.

“Good thing I’m jumping anyway,” Dalia mused.

“And I’m only two steps out,” Mark added.

“I’ll take care of the bomb after I take care of the snipers,” Dax said softly.

The elevator slowed to a stop. Dax took another deep breath. Time started to stretch around him.

“OGRE up,” he added.

His helmet turned to their trademark skull. With a ding, the doors opened. Mark was the first through, staff in one hand, magnetic repulse activated in the other.

Dax rushed out. Women in tattered clothes and armor highlighted with glowing green paint and streaks in their hair screamed while firing on a single position. His HUD immediately generated firing solutions for every one within view.

Taking two and a half steps, he stopped right before the wire. A sniper hung on the rusted wall across the massive room with a rifle in hand. She took aim at Sandrina’s position.

Dax raised his pistol and fired. Just as the bolt left his gun barrel, Dalia lunged over him, hammer already mid-swing. A green beam of light ripped across Dax’s peripheral view. Henuva hopped over the wire and slid behind a crate for cover. He took aim with Kane’s pistol and fired. The deafening explosion contorted his face in pain.

Dax turned to the right. Twenty feet up was another sniper. He fired at her, directing his attention at the last two. One hung on to two of the hundreds of dangling chains. Her legs were interlocked with a sniper who hung upside down, her rifle trained on Sandrina’s position.

One shot killed the gang member holding their support. Landing on her head killed the other. Dax’s attention turned to the wire at his feet. One side was looped through a rusty hole, the other attached to a small ring on a dinner plate-sized charge.

“Scan the explosive,” Dax barked.

He rushed toward it. Before reaching the trap, his suit showed a breakdown of the firing mechanism. It was a spring-loaded hovering pin with blasting caps above and below its tip. Too much pressure or slack would set it off.

“Any indication of a motion trigger?” Dax asked.

A negative flashed on his HUD.

“What about a delay?”

‘Unknown: Several Seconds.’

“Well, ain’t that just Jim freaking Dandy,” Dax snarled.

The clatter of Dalia’s hammer making contact against armor rang out, followed shortly by a bone-chilling crunch and squelch. Dax shuddered while holstering his gun and knife.

With one hand, he put tension on the wire; with the other, he grabbed the explosive and yanked it off the wall.

“Dalia, get to cover,” Dax shouted.

He turned into the warehouse. Pointing himself as far away from his team as possible, he threw the bomb as hard as he could. As he curled back his fingers, the charge was repulsed, flipping through the air across the void.

Dalia grabbed a Toxic Queen, lifted her off the ground and put the aggressor between her and the mine. It detonated, sending shrapnel in every direction.

Dax and Mark’s armor sparked as a few pieces hit them. Dalia’s meat shield protected her while Henuva’s cover kept him safe. A quarter of the aggressors fell to their own trap. Those who were left ducked behind crates and rusted metal.

“Move,” Dax roared.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dax saw Buzzro Shrod break cover first. Excitement crackled within him at sight of the mercenary. A contingent of the Toxic Queens tried to break from cover. Dalia flung the corpse of their teammate at them, sending them back into hiding.

“Get to the elevatah!” Dax shouted in his best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice.

“Wait, one of them got my satchel!” Sandrina called out.

She broke from cover, opening fire at any cover that she thought her attackers might be behind.

“I’ll get it” Shrod called out. “Just get to the elevator!”

Henuva popped up. He aimed the pistol a few steps in front of Buzzro. Before Dax could stop him, he fired. The bullet narrowly missed the mercenary, putting a hole in his jacket before finding its place in the forehead of a Toxic Queen rising to break cover as well.

Sandrina dropped to a hip as a green ball of plasma zipped by where her head had been. She slid into the elevator and took cover. Dax drew his pistol to return fire, only for Buzzro to shoot without looking and strike his target in the chest. She fell to the rust-stained floor.

“Dalia, Henuva, fall back,” Mark shouted. “We’ll cover you.”

Both unarmored team members followed Sandrina’s lead. Mark moved behind Dax, offering suppressing fire to keep the Toxic Queens in cover. Buzzro bent down. In a sheet of metal’s rusted out pinhole, Dax’s HUD detected movement and generated a firing solution.

He raised his pistol. Once the line turned from red to green, he squeezed the trigger. A body hit the ground with a gun clattering into view. Buzzro dipped down.

“I got it!” he shouted.

Popping back up, he hurdled a crate, bag in one hand, pistol in the other. His eyes widened before his feet even hit the floor.

“Get the door!” he commanded.

Dax turned to see the elevator doors starting to shut. Dalia and Henuva were helping Sandrina onto her feet. His heart skipped a beat.

“Door!” he shouted.

Dalia turned. She grabbed her hammer and thrust it at the closing pieces of steel. They touched before she made contact. The thud of her hammer against the inside of the elevator echoed through the warehouse.

“We didn’t activate the lift,” Sandrina said through the translator.

“Mark, get it back,” Dax ordered.

Mark rushed to the control panel, knelt and touched his staff to it. Dax and Buzzro Shrod backed into a defensive position in front of him. The bounty hunter removed his jacket and clipped Sandrina’s pack onto him. He quickly threw his coat back on as half a dozen Toxic Queens started peering out from their cover. Dax fired, keeping them down.

“I’m getting kicked out,” Mark shouted. “I’m not getting an option to bring it back down.”

“Can’t you override it?” Buzzro asked.

“You don’t get it, the option for it to come back down has been removed,” Mark replied. “I can reprogram one in, but it’ll take a few minutes.”

“Decombres?” Dax called out.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on with the lift?”

“I summoned it back.”

“You what?” Mark screeched.

“I’m sorry, but there’s something coming I couldn’t risk allowing into the elevator,” Decombres explained.

“You couldn’t leave it open for two more seconds?” Dax growled.

“Unfortunately, no. I didn’t realize the Toxic Queens got this far up in the station. I can’t risk them coming any higher. All lifts that lead to the hangar have been permanently disabled.”

“If you really think that, then you don’t know how good I am with a machine,” Mark countered.

A low whoosh ran up the elevator shaft behind them. Dax glanced over to see expanding foam seeping out from the cracks in the door before hardening. Mark let out an angry roar before smashing his staff on the foam. It didn’t leave a mark.

“I’m going to kill you when we get out of here!” Mark screamed.

“Threats aren’t warranted,” Decombres replied in an emotionless tone.

Another woman poked her head out. Buzzro fired, narrowly missing.

“This time it is. And if you look at the camera, three of our team members are on that elevator. They’ll be coming for you,” Dax added.

“Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m sending you a route to get back to the hangar. It’ll just require some fighting on your end.”

Dax’s vambrace beeped. He glanced at it. A highlighted route appeared, stretching through the warehouse and off the edge of his map. At the edge, two larger red dots moved toward them.

“Crap,” Buzzro grumbled. “How are the filters on those suits?”

The bounty hunter pointed in the direction they were supposed to go. A sickly green fog wafted into the air, filling the warehouse halfway up.

“Pretty solid,” Dax replied.

“Dax can transfer any inhaled toxin into a harmful spit, so he’s good,” Mark replied. “What about you?”

“I’ve faced off against these broads before. If their toxins could kill my species, I wouldn’t be here right now,” Buzzro explained.

High-pitched cackles rose from cover. The women slinked toward the mist, letting only glimpses of them be seen. Dax’s heart raced; his finger tapped on the side of his pistol while his eyes darted around the room for any other sign of movement.

“What are we about to face?” Dax asked.

A low, rumbling groan rose from behind the piles of crates. A second sounded before one of the larger stacks rocked to one side and collapsed with a series of ear-splitting thuds.

“Things that aren’t supposed to be on a ship or station of any kind,” Buzzro replied with a shrug. “Fortunately for us, I’ve got a delivery down here that may just be of use for this exact situation.”

“One delivery in all of this?” Dax asked. “How are we going to find it?”

Buzzro fumbled in one of his pockets. He pulled out a fob and pressed it. A soft beep sounded toward the source of the smoke.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Mark huffed.

5

THE SERPENT

Another beep rang out after Buzzro pressed his fob. Dax dove behind a pile of crates while a missile ripped over his position, blowing up in the distance with a muted bang. As he hit the ground, he rolled, broke cover and returned fire in the direction of the rocket launcher.

The green, poisonous smog was so thick, his HUD couldn’t get a viable firing position. Dax cycled through his helmet’s visual settings; infrared couldn’t cut through whatever the weapon was. Thermal revealed orange completely surrounding him.

“I can’t get a look at them,” Dax snarled.

“That’s because on their home world the atmosphere is hot and toxic,” Buzzro replied, a plasma round splashing against his cover. “Their predators hunt using thermal vision. Over time, the only ones who survived were the ones whose body temperature matched their atmosphere. You’re not going to see them with your little trick helmet.”

He pressed the button again. Another beep rang out.

“I swear, if this is a Toyota Camry, I’ma be pissed,” Mark grumbled over the radio.

“How much more time do you have invisible?” Dax asked.

“With some Boronian updates, it bought me a few more minutes,” Mark replied. “I’ll get the packaaaaagggggholy crap.”

Buzzro popped his head from cover. Dax peered over his crate to see three shots cut through the smoke from a single location. The bounty hunter ducked, dodging the attack while Dax fired.

The familiar glow of a Bastet round punching through armor accompanied by a pained groan and a clatter let Dax know his shot was true. He ducked back down as another rocket ripped toward him, narrowly missing his head. The explosion sent debris clattering harmlessly off his armor while a few boxes were thrown across the warehouse.

“Do they know they don’t need a direct hit to kill with a rocket?” Dax asked.

“Yes, but they like the splat,” Buzzro replied. “Mark, what are you crapping?”

“At this point? My freaking pants, but there’s good news. I found the package…”

Dax listened to Mark’s silence. He closed his eyes and let out a defeated sigh.

“And the bad news?”

“It’s right in the center of what appears to be a heavily armored serpentine creature I’m just going to call a cobra because I don’t know what else it could be,” Mark replied.

“Explains the thermal blending,” Dax muttered.

He looked at his pistol. There were only a few shots left in his magazine. Ejecting the cartridge, he slid it into the waistband of his armor. His fingers glided over the other two fully loaded magazines before grabbing the one marked Kr. Loading it, his weapon hummed, ready to continue fighting.

“Well, that’s good news and bad news, then,” Buzzro said.

“Do you mind telling me how?” Mark asked.

“Word around Tachyon is that thing is their guardian. It never strays far from their leader. If their leader’s in the fight, that means this must be the last of them.”

“We kill them, no more poisonous gang on Tachyon? I imagine that’d be in Decombres’ interest,” Dax said, loud enough for the caretaker to know who it was aimed at.

“Was that the good news or the bad news?” Mark asked.

“You’re looking at the bad news,” Buzzro replied. “That thing can see through this miasma. Fortunately, it hasn’t seen you yet.”

“How do we know?” Dax asked.

“He’d already be lunch,” Buzzro replied. “Unfortunately, that armor is thick enough not even your dinky Bastet pea shooter’ll get through it.”

“Then how do we take it down?” Mark asked.

Buzzro pulled a cylindrical device from his pocket. He fidgeted with it for a second before pressing a button, causing a light to start blinking. He flashed a smile at Dax that sent every alarm bell in his mind ringing at the same time.

“You just leave that one to us.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Dax asked.

“Hey, it was your team who stumbled into my bounty hunt, not the other way around.”

Without breaking cover, Buzzro flung the device over his head and into the thickening cloud. The flash of a missile tore toward the bounty hunter. Dax fired at the source while the projectile screamed harmlessly past them.

Dax’s round was invisible. The burn glow, wheeze, and clatter of armor and weapon let him know he’d struck his target. As he took cover once more, several more plasma rounds crashed into the crates he was crouched behind. One struck his shoulder, sending a heat warning flashing on his HUD.

“Mark, get behind something,” Dax ordered.

“That’s not a bomb,” Buzzro scoffed. “At least not in the way you’d think of one. He’ll be fine.”

The bounty hunter held up a finger. With a hiss followed by a pop, a gust of wispy smoke repelled the poison for a few seconds. Condensation formed on the outside of Dax’s helmet while Buzzro’s breath became visible.

A chorus of screeches rose from the poisonous fog accompanied by a stomach-churning hiss. Dax looked up to see a large shadow rise above them while whipping around from one direction to another.

“Temperature destabilizer,” Buzzro mused. “Not super effective against most, but those who come from warmer climates absolutely hate it.”

“And what do you plan on doing with Kaa, here?” Mark asked.

“Kaa was a python,” Dax countered.

The beast whipped around. A stubby nose swiped into view accompanied by eyes on the sides of its head. Another hiss rose from a mouth filled with shark-like teeth.

Heavy clattering of metal on metal filled the room with each violent movement. Dax clenched his teeth and swallowed hard before letting out a series of nervous chuckles.

“I trust you have a way to get past the armor?” Dax asked.

“I could shoot it in the face and eyes,” Mark replied.

“Nope, you stay invisible,” Buzzro countered. “That package was meant to deal with this particular group of nasties. You warm it up and activate it; we’ll buy you time.”

He pressed the fob again. Another beep rang out through the warehouse. The creature whipped around to look at the sound’s source. Buzzro broke cover and started to shoot at the shadow. His rounds splashed harmlessly off the thick metal.

“Here’s hoping I’m not a snack,” Dax grumbled.

“You’re not,” Mark chimed in. “You’re a whole meal.”

Stifling a laugh, Dax broke cover and fired at the shadow as well. He felt the weapon discharge and saw the scorching of armor glow, but his bolts remained unseen in their travel.

The hits drew the gang, and their pet’s attention. Dax started sprinting away while shots rained down around him. The serpentine creature struck at him, knocking crates over, nearly toppling the professor.

Heart slamming against sternum, vision fluctuating and a pit the size of the Mariana Trench in his gut pushed Dax’s legs to carry him faster than they ever had before.

He glanced over his shoulder to see a maw filled with rows of teeth open and move toward him. Circles appeared on his heads-up display. He fired over his shoulder, striking the mouth in each marked target, causing the beast to recoil.

“A little help?” Dax squealed.

“You’re doing fine,” Buzzro countered.

The beast struck at Dax once again. His HUD marked its mouth with several firing solutions. He took two more shots, hitting it in the mouth, repelling it for a second time while he leapt from one pile of crates to another.

“It’s fun in an arcade, not so much in real life,” Dax barked.

With another look back, Buzzro leapt onto the creature. Gas poured out of backward-facing vents on the armor. He fired into them, causing the steady stream to billow.

“Don’t worry, I’ll hit sore spots,” the bounty hunter shouted.

The monster twitched while continuing its charge at Dax. With a last-minute dive to the side, its surging jaws snapped shut right behind him.

“Get some distance,” he snarled to himself.

Before he hit the ground, he used the magnetic repulse in his boots. It launched him away from the creature. Tucking his chin and rolling his shoulder, Dax hit the ground. His momentum carried his feet over his head.

Rolling, he shoved off the ground, used his still-repulsing boots to spring him over a low wall of crates and deactivated them. Landing on his feet, he stumbled. His legs moved on their own, barely keeping themselves under him.

“Great form, a little rough on the landing,” Dax said, glancing at the rising serpentine beast, ready to strike. “He might have to settle for the bronze.”

A plasma round hit Dax’s helmet, engulfing his field of view in the shot. He threw himself toward the attack while a few others rained in his direction. The snake struck. One of the higher bolts impacted its eye just before it collided with the warehouse wall with a room-rending crack.

“I’m not used to playing defense here,” Dax shouted.

He raised his pistol and fired into the smoke. Nothing indicated a hit. He scrambled to his feet while Buzzro continued attacking the serpent’s vents.

“Any broken beams I can get it to strike into?” he added.

“I think I found Buzzro’s box,” Mark called out. “Hit the button again.”

Buzzro pressed the button. A beep rang out over the chaos.

“Got it,” Mark said. “Ohhh-ho-ho, this thing is definitely not a Toyota. How do I activate it?”

“Just press and hold the big button in the middle for five seconds. It’ll do the rest,” Buzzro replied. “And you might want to run.”

The snake whipped around, Buzzro remaining firmly planted on its back. A gong rang through the gassed-out warehouse. Toxic Queens opened fire in the direction of the sound.

“Cloaking wore off,” Mark squealed. “Running!”

Dax raised his pistol.

“Save your ammo,” Buzzro ordered. “And get behind something.”

He pulled a tab on his jacket. An insulated white layer of fluff expanded completely around him. Dax rushed behind a pile of crates as a flash of blue light pierced the miasma.

A wave of frigid cold punched through the storage facility. The crates Dax pressed himself against rattled violently against him. His HUD read a dangerous sudden drop in temperature.

Dax looked up to see the serpent writhe. It gasped, fighting for air. Standing straight up, steam danced off his armor from the rapid change. It collapsed in front of him, shaking the ground.

The miasma crystalized into a green, snow-like state and gently drifted down. Dax put his hand out. One of the delicate ice pieces landed on his palm before melting, carrying the caustic gas away in the water.

“Mark, you still alive?”

“Nope,” Mark groaned. “Did the Grinch decide to make it snow?”

“Cold fusion bomb,” Buzzro replied.

His voice was muffled through his insulation. With the tug of another cord, it fell free. Dax watched him shake it off, fidget with something on his wrist and take a step forward.

“Tachyon is the only place in the galaxy you can actually have one shipped to you and not get put on about a thousand watch lists,” he said.

The bounty hunter jumped off the twenty-foot-thick snake, landed like it was nothing and approached Dax.

“Thanks for being a decoy,” he mused.

Dax looked at the creature, motioning at it.

“Is that thing going to wake up?”

“If it was healthy, maybe. But it was infected with a bacteria that causes pustules to grow all over its body. The armor helps squeeze the gas built up out of them and then vents it to make its atmospheric toxification process more efficient.”

“I don’t think toxification is a word,” Mark called out.

“It is now,” Buzzro mused. “The temperature shift put it into shock, which caused it to expire. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, it also should haveput the Toxic Queens into near hibernation. I don’t have a long time to get them trussed up.”

6

END OF AN ERA

Dax followed Buzzro around the pile of crates. He froze in place. A thick sheet of ice covered everything in front of him. One of the Toxic Queens stood next to it. Her serpentine face was twisted in terror. She was unmoving, her weapon partially extended toward where the bomb was.

Three inches of crystal-clear ice covered her body. Dax’s HUD registered no vital signs. With the smoke gone, gently falling to the floor as snow, his equipment scanned the frosted area. Two sets of vitals were detected. One under a pile of fallen and frozen crates, the other at the blast radius’ outer edge.

“Mark, where are you at?” Dax asked.

“Under here,” he replied.

A series of thuds sounded from under the dome of fallen boxes.

“You good?”

“Yeah, just freezing my royal Rastafian ne-ne’s off,” Mark replied. “My staff’s out of juice too. I can’t quite get out.”

“Firstly, you’re not Jamaican, you can’t say that,” Dax said, pointing his pistol at the ice. “B: your suit is meant for absolute zero. A bomb like this shouldn’t do anything to you.”

He opened fire. A green round, the same color as the poison, punched a hole along the dome’s edge.

“And tertiary, you need to have something more than just your staff as a weapon.”

The base of Mark’s armament punched through the hole Dax made. After a few more solid hits, he poked his upper body through. Dax retracted his helmet. A refreshing chill washed over him while he approached the youngest of their crew.

“Need a hand?” Dax asked.

He holstered his pistol and extended one to Mark. The pilot took it and they pulled on one another, freeing him from the dome.

“Don’t knock the staff. I was able to do a wide sweep with it, formed it with my gauntlet into a dome, and it’s what shielded me from getting frozen solid,” Mark said before retracting his own helmet and shuddering. “How are both of you not freezing?”

The dome closed back around Mark’s head.

“It’s not that bad,” Dax mused.

“I actually find it quite refreshing,” Buzzro added.

He fiddled with his watch once more and started ascending the frozen pile of crates. Dax watched his boots move at angles that should’ve sent the bounty hunter sliding back to the ground. He activated the magnets in his suit and started to climb after him.

“Did you add magnets to your shoes?” Dax asked.

“My father always said, when you find something useful, incorporate it,” he replied with a shrug. “Figured I’d be walking over ice for this bounty, so I took a page out of your book. I admit, I may keep them as part of my loadout.”

He reached the top of the pile. Dax emerged closely behind him. Mark took a few steps up the icy ramp. His feet slid out from under him. He fell onto his helmet’s faceplate and slid back down.

“You good?” Dax asked, looking down at him.

“Yeah, the invisibility and magnetic repulse drained my suit. It’s personal power now,” he replied. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure a way to get up.”

Dax hesitated. He glanced at Buzzro, approaching the frazzled lime-green hair of the Toxic Queens’ leader.

She gasped for air, her body and cybernetics seized up, causing her body to be plagued with tremors.

“Are you being sarcastic?” Dax asked, keeping an eye on the armed bounty hunter and his prey.

“Yes, I’m being sarcastic. Throw me down something, will you?” Mark belted.

“Okay, give me a second,” Dax called back.

He turned and looked over to Buzzro, who pointed his pistol at the leader.

“As a member in good standing of the bounty hunters guild, I claim you, your crew and your pet for the sizable prices on your head,” Buzzro explained.

A wry smirk twitched across the lizard woman’s face. She extended her arms, her wrists together. Ice fell from them.

“T-t-take m-me i-i-in,” she stammered through involuntary breaths. “I-I-I’m worth m-more a-alive.”

“You’re worth enough dead,” Buzzro replied.

A coldness settled over Buzzro’s prickly features, one that sent a chill down Dax’s spine. He rushed the bounty hunter. Being faster than the professor, Buzzro’s gun went off.

Dax plowed into Buzzro, knocking him to the ground. Both men tumbled to a stop with Dax on top. One knee pinned the wrist that held the gun, the other pinned Buzzro’s opposing shoulder to the ground. He drew back a fist before noticing no resistance.

“I’m not going to fight you Dax,” Buzzro said in an even-keeled tone.

Dax looked over. Sparks flew from the cybernetic implants where the leader’s head used to be.

“You murdered her,” Dax snarled.

“She had a bounty, dead or alive,” Buzzro argued.

“You could’ve taken her alive,” Dax shouted.

Anger and frustration bubbled within him, his familiar inner voice whispering to punch, while the part he’d spent years cultivating stayed his hand.

“She was directly responsible for the death of hundreds that they know of. She’d been captured before,” Buzzro explained. “She always escaped, always regrew her crew and came back bloodier than ever.”

Buzzro’s hand loosened. The gun fell to the floor. His free arm rose in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Because I’ve beaten you before,” Dax growled.

“Those were extenuating circumstances. And I’ve gotten better since we met last,” Buzzro replied. “But I’m not going to fight you because you’re a good man. And bounties are more than just a paycheck for me now.”

“She was still beaten.”

“And too dangerous to be left alive.”

Buzzro looked to the side. Dax followed his gaze to see Mark, fingers dug into the ice, on his stomach, looking at them.

“And something tells me you know a thing or two about leaving a dangerous person alive.”

His snide comment sent Dax’s fist flying. Ice flew around them while cracking and spewing some into Buzzro’s face, less than an inch from impact.

“Are you serious?” Dax growled. “Throwing something like that at us, knowing what our crew has been through?”

In his split second of distraction, the bounty hunter slid his shoulder out from under Dax’s knee. With a twist of his body and contorting his other pinned arm, he wrapped his legs around Dax’s torso.

In a move similar to what Kane had taught them about an armbar transition, Buzzro tried to get leverage off the ground to flip Dax onto his back. Locking his armor, the professor let their ally try and get the upper hand, Dax remained motionless.

“Buzzro, what are you doing?” Mark asked.

Dax locked eyes with the bounty hunter. Every ounce of strength went into fighting a look of disdain from overtaking his expression.

“He’s not a bounty hunter. He has no right to attack me about how I treat my quarry,” Buzzro countered.

“Given we were your quarry once, try and look at it from our perspective,” Mark argued, pulling himself to his feet. “It’s hard not seeing ourselves as her, given we were literally in her shoes with you not very long ago.”

“Listen to him,” Dax said, low enough for Mark not to hear. “That boy is teetering on a knife’s edge. I’m trying to guide him to the right side. An action like this could push him to the wrong.”

“Why should I care?” Buzzro asked.

His body continued to contort to get leverage on the OGRE armor to no avail.

“Because if he goes the wrong way, the Valtakuntera will be the least of this galaxy’s worries,” Dax whispered. “And if that’s not enough, with the position you’re physically in right now, if I unlock my armor, I can stab you in the junk faster than you can flip me over. Your move.”

Buzzro looked over Dax’s physical position. He clenched his teeth and snarled before letting Dax go. Unlocking his armor, he stood back up before extending a hand.

“I really hate your kind, you know that?” Buzzro asked.

His words bit with an underlying dislike. He unclipped Sandrina’s bag before sliding it out from under his jacket and dropping its strap into Dax’s hand. He caught it before it slid free and clipped the loop shut once more.

“The feeling’s not mutual,” Dax replied.

He looked over at Mark before nodding for him to follow.

“The crew’s been worried long enough. Let’s let them know we’re okay,” Dax said.

Mark looked at the bounty’s body, her hands frozen in surrender, then at Buzzro. Dax’s heart skipped a beat at the micro change of expression on his face.

“You’re right. Where does your map say to go?”

Dax lifted his left arm and inspected the hologram map. Pointing at the highlighted route, he pushed past Buzzro.

“This way.”

Mark used his staff as a stabilizing stick to walk toward Dax. Both men reached the edge of Buzzro’s cold fusion device. They made their way down the mound of crates they’d climbed and into the maze of deliveries.

“I bet people with Prime are going to be ticked their two-day delivery is going to be late,” Mark said while looking around.

“That, and locked in a block of ice,” Dax replied.

“No, they won’t send it in a block of ice. They’ll say that it’s bouncing around all over Tachyon before confessing that they ‘don’t know where it is’ until it dries out, to keep from getting hit by insurance.”

Dax followed the path next to a wall. He placed his hand on it and leaned against it. The rusted metal broke apart against his hand.

“Do you really think this place has insurance?” he mused.

“I retract my previous statement.” Mark chuckled.

Dax pulled his hand out of the wall. They made their way to the warehouse doors and elevators just outside. Taking them one deck up, Dax followed Decombres’ map to a different set of lifts.

Both men trudged through Tachyon for nearly twenty minutes in silence. They activated the OGRE skull display on their helmets when approaching groups of people. Since they were so heavily armored, most averted their gaze. Those who showed a little too much interest changed their minds when Dax’s hand moved to his pistol.

Reaching the final elevator, they both climbed in and started their ascent toward their hangar. Dax retracted his helmet, only to be greeted by the stench of the rotting space station’s lower levels. He unzipped Sandrina’s bag and started to rifle through it.

“Anything interesting?” Mark asked.

His hands glided over strange vials and sprays. He knew enough to tell they were actual medical supplies. As he reached the bottom of the bag, Dax’s chest tightened. His mouth went dry and a lump formed in his throat.

He swallowed hard, screaming at himself internally to keep a neutral face. Two reinforced see-through canisters sat at the bottom of the backpack. They swirled with an eerily familiar green gas. Dax withdrew his hand, letting the legitimate supplies cover up the poison.

“Just the usual black market medical supplies,” he said with a forced smile. “How are you doing, by the way? That seemed like it was a little rough on your end.”

“My end?” Mark scoffed. “You were the one who was playing shoot the snake in the mouth. If anything, I should be asking how you are.”

“Call me Gloria Fowles,” Dax said with a shrug. “Because I will survive.”

“You do know she’s known as Gloria Gaynor, right?” Mark asked. “No one’s going to get the reference if you say her public persona wrong.”

“You’re the only human here; there’s no one else to get the reference,” Dax replied while rolling his eyes.

The elevator doors opened with a ding. Decombres stood next to the Junkyard, one of his Tardig guards on the ground while Dalia shouted in his face. Sandrina stood behind PITA and Henuva, whose hand glowed, ready for a fight. Dax cleared his throat. The shouting stopped. Everyone looked at them. He cracked an awkward smile and waved.

“We’re good,” he said.

Dalia hurdled the unconscious Tardig and rushed toward them. Dax’s heart skipped a beat. His helmet closed around his head and Mark took a step to the side of the elevator.

“I hope the emergency brakes have been inspected recently,” Mark muttered.

“I can almost guarantee you they haven’t,” Dax replied with a sigh. “This is going to hurt.”

Dalia lunged at him. She threw her arms around him, their momentum carrying them to the back of the elevator with a crash, denting the wall.

7

CAUGHT

Warm water cascaded down Dax as he stood in the shower. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep break while staring at the wall. His mind raced a thousand miles per hour at the contents of the bag, the fight with Buzzro and the axe that hung over his head that was Tylira.

Dalia’s arms wrapped around him, bringing him back to the room. She gave him a kiss on the cheek before resting her chin on his shoulder. Dax looked down, gently placing his hand on her own.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Just processing,” Dax replied. “Buzzro murdered the last Toxic Queen in front of us.”

“She was a bit of a loose cannon,” Dalia replied. “Any chance she was still a threat?”

“She was partially frozen in place, in shock and surrendering,” Dax countered. “He shot her in the head anyway. In front of Mark.”

Dalia took a deep breath.

“Oh dear,” she whispered. “How’d he take it?”

“A part of him seemed to enjoy it,” Dax muttered.

He grabbed the bridge of his nose and let out a soft groan.

“He had Kane, he has you, both as father figures,” Dalia said softly. “You’re both good men. Your lessons would’ve stuck in the end. I’m sure he’ll make the right decision.”

“Same here,” Dax replied.

He gave Dalia’s hands a gentle squeeze. She released him. He turned to look up at his Battle Bonded with a warm smile. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked with hers.

“I would be lost without you,” he said softly.

“And I you, my love,” she replied.

He gave her a kiss before peering past the sliding door. The personal shower timer showed they still had five minutes.

“I’d love to spend some extra time in here with you, but I need to talk with Sandrina before we get underway.”

“Did you confiscate the vials?”

“No, I took them out of the bag, but I intend to give her a chance to explain before I do something that rash.”

“Okay, but I expect you to make the five minutes up to me later.”

“How does twenty sound?” he asked with a wry grin.

“Even better.”

Dax stepped out of the shower. He quickly dried himself off before getting dressed. He gave his beard and hair one last rubdown with the towel to get the last of trapped water out. Taking Sandrina’s bag, he slipped out of the bathroom. He froze. Jun stood in front of him, a smirk and cocked eyebrow on her eerily realistic robotic face.

“Have fun?” she asked.

“Easy there, Quagmire,” Dax countered. “We were just getting cleaned up, and that saves water for the ship.”

“Mmhmm,” she teased.

Dax waved her off and walked into the medical room where Sandrina stood.

“Giggiyy-giggity-goo!” Jun shouted behind him.

The nape of his neck warmed at the taunt. He closed his eyes and shook his head while holding back a chuckle.

“Just because she and Mark are finally having some fun doesn’t mean she has to project onto everyone else in the ship.” Sandrina chuckled.

Dax grimaced, opening his eyes back up.

“Really?”

Sandrina nodded, keeping her eyes on her work.

“How does that even work?” Dax asked, baffled. “Like, do we need to be worried about a broken hip, or an oil burn?”

Sandrina put her work down and looked at him.

“Do you really want to know anything about that?” she asked.

Dax paused. He looked out the door, then back at their physician.

“You know what? I really don’t.”

“Then stop asking questions and give me my bag,” Sandrina demanded with a laugh.

He handed it over. She unzipped it and peered inside, then rifling through it. Her smile quickly faded before she turned her attention to Dax.

“Are we really going to play this game?” she asked.

Dax leaned back. He grabbed the door and pulled it shut before reaching into his pocket. Grabbing both vials, he pulled them out and held them up for her to see.

“I wouldn’t insult you like that. But I need to know what this is.”

“It’s something that’s highly deadly to mammalians,” she replied. “Only people in the galaxy who had access to making it outside of a home world were the Toxic Queens.”

“They were your black-market contact?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “My run-in with Buzzro was simply because he was hunting them.”

“And you chose to bring this highly deadly gas onto a ship of almost exclusively mammals? Does that seem like a good idea?”

“It wouldn’t be, except I shot the vial just to test it before I made the purchase. If those break, this crew is already dead.”

Dax looked at the vials. His toes started tapping impatiently in his boots.

“Do I have to worry about your vendetta against Tylira too?” he asked.

“We already talked about this. I’m not going to be going on a crusade, or rogue, or whatever you’d call it.” She turned around and leaned against her table. “But I do intend to distill that into the most toxic and acidic substance in the galaxy and very carefully put it into one of Kane’s hollow point bullets.”

She motioned to her work. Dax peered onto the table. Chemical equations accompanied by a sample of the Death Squad armor sat behind her.

“Then, when the opportunity presents itself, I’m going to put a hole in her armor so that you guys can finish the job. It’s tactical, not emotional,” Sandrina confessed, extending a hand. “May I have them, please?”

“You swear that’s all it’s for?” Dax asked.

She nodded, gesturing with her fingers for him to hand them over.

“And will you give us a heads-up before you start working on this stuff?”

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I’m not going to put the crew in danger.”

He handed the vials to Sandrina. The ship’s engines roared to life, accompanied by a gentle rumble throughout the vessel. Sandrina quickly turned, opened a drawer full of foam and placed each vial in carefully.

“I thought you said those were almost indestructible,” Dax scoffed.

“They are,” she replied, shutting the drawer. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my time on this ship, it’s that if anyone can figure out how to break the unbreakable, it’s you.”

“You may have a point there.” Dax shrugged.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue learning about what makes their armor tick.”

“Atta girl.”

Dax gave her a nod before opening the door and stepping out. Dalia moved past him toward their room. With a raise of her eyebrows, he could tell what her question would’ve been. He gave her a thumbs-up before making his way to the main deck.

Henuva turned over Bleeze’s robotic finger while Mark took off and turned them toward the void. Jun sat next to PITA on a charging port Mark had installed across from their armor tubes. She crossed her legs, closed her eyes and slumped forward.

“Data storage device,” Henuva muttered. “That’s actually quite clever. I should think about adding something like that to my own arm.”

“Or you could get creative and make each one of your fingers something different,” Mark replied. “You’d be a real-life James Bond villain at that point.”

“I’m sure this James Bond has an interesting gallery of rogues, but I’ve put my past behind me,” Henuva said.

“We have the data,” Jun said, her voice coming from the ship. “Can you stop deliberating and just give me the finger already?”

Mark snorted while exiting Tachyon and soaring past the debris field.

“Seriously?” Dax asked.

“Is that data drive not a finger?” Jun asked.

“Yes, but…”

“Then what did I ask that was linguistically incorrect?”

“Technically, nothing, but you knew how it’d sound.”

“Is he blushing?” Jun asked.

Mark glanced over his shoulder. A wide smile spread across his face as he nodded.

“I’d say we’re two shades away from a record,” he teased.

“That’s disappointing. Henuva, please place the drive into my port. It’s under the screen in front of you.”

Henuva looked at the screen to Mark’s right. An arrow appeared on it, blinking and pointing downward. The Valtukta bent over. Dax watched him look for a few seconds before putting the data drive in.

“That’s the spot,” Jun groaned.

Dax felt his ears warm. Mark let out a victorious laugh while pointing at him.

“Great job, Jun, you got it. We’ve got a new maroon record!”

Henuva stood back up. He shook his head before moving his long hair out of his face.

“There are times I really hate that I started liking you guys,” he said.

Mark swiveled his chair. He looked at Henuva, eyes squinted.

“That was fast. How many tries did it take you?”

“One, why?”

“Witch,” Dax hissed playfully.

“Why are you hissing at me?” Henuva asked.

“There are quite a few universal constants that bind existence together,” Mark said, returning to his task. “Gravity pulls you down, stars give off light and USB drives never go in on the first try.”

Data uploads appeared on each screen in front of them. After a few seconds, mountains of data started to appear, infinitely more than they needed. Dax approached the cockpit, inspecting the information while pursing his lips.

“You’ve got to be some sort of magician to pull that off,” Dax teased, keeping his eyes on the information. “Jun, how much of this data corresponds with the contact Bleeze said he had for us?”

“An insignificant amount,” the ship replied.

“Siphon through it, portion it out into degrees of importance while locating the coordinates of our contact.”

“Already on it,” she replied.

“Or, maybe I’m just lucky,” Henuva said.

Before he was done speaking, their coordinates appeared on the ship’s navigation system. Mark quickly locked the location into their leap drive. After a few seconds, a green dot appeared on the screen.

“No one’s that lucky,” Mark pointed out.

He reached over to the leap drive lever and pushed it forward. Space before them swirled into a shifting blue wall as the ship accelerated.

“I must be,” Henuva countered.

Dax turned his attention to the screen showing the data Jun was sorting by level of importance.

“You’re a scientist. Where’s your empirical evidence to back your claim?” Dax asked, his fingers touching the cool screen.

“I am my evidence,” Henuva said, raising a hand. “I’ve survived no fewer than four encounters with you as a main point of antagonization. No other Valtukta has faced you that many times and lived.”

“That wasn’t luck,” Dax scoffed.

He put his hands in his pockets and turned toward their crew member.

“That was mercy. If we wanted you dead, we could’ve done it at any time, except for maybe once on Bastet. It’s called a conscience, not luck.”

“No, if you want to talk about luck of survival, we can go into how many times Tylira’s faced you guys down and walked away,” Jun chimed in.

“No!” all three men shouted in unison.

“She hasn’t been lucky either,” Dax countered.

“Yeah, we’ve shot her, stabbed her, irradiated her. If she weren’t genetically altered, she’d’ve been dead multiple times over,” Mark added.

“And even then, it’s only because she ran away that she survived. She’s alive because of cowardice, not luck. At least when I fought you guys, I stood my ground.”

“Well, yeah, but we’d usually beat you so quickly, you didn’t have time to run,” Mark jested.

“You guys can’t give me anything, can you?” Henuva asked.

“If they did, I’d start to worry,” Jun chimed in.

8

DATA

Dax sat in the kitchen, cup of coffee in hand and a half-eaten meal in front of him. He tapped his foot, watching the swirl of blue from the cockpit while Henuva made himself a cup of tea.

“Can’t sleep either?” Dax asked, glancing at the scientist.

“I can. I already have,” Henuva replied.

“Everyone went to bed three hours ago.”

“Yes, so did I,” Henuva explained.

He threw the tea bag away and walked over to Dax before sitting down across from him.

“That’s less than half of what you need.”

“No, that’s less than half of what you need. Valtukta don’t need that much rest.”

“Combined with the long lifespans, I guess that’d explain the technological gap between you and the rest of the galaxy,” Dax said with a shrug, taking a drink.

“Another theory correct,” Henuva mused.

He lifted his mug before taking a sip.

“I imagine that longevity can be a bit of a curse sometimes too?” Dax asked.

“We’re only long-lived compared to you.” Henuva chuckled. “The Tardigs have a much vaster lifespan than us, if any of them manage to make it to old age. I’ve seen Dal’no make it to eight hundred. That was pre-bug infiltration, though. They are extremely adaptable, very similar to your race. I did notice the more they fight, the stronger they get.”

Dax listened intently. He settled back in his seat before taking another sip.

“What I’m getting from this is that one day Dalia will go Super Dal’no if she keeps fighting, and humans are the shortest-lived species?”

“What? No, you’re not the shortest,” he said, taking a sip before muttering into his cup. “You’re just eighth on the list.”

“Interesting, and who’s above us on that list?”

“From what I gathered before I tampered with you, your genes can exist for about a hundred twenty years before natural failure, correct?”

Dax nodded.

“Then that’d put the Bastet just below you. They’re between eighty and ninety. Galio are just above you at one-eighty to two hundred. Bleeze will last about human length as well…”

“Decombres?” Dax asked.

“I have no idea. His race fell long before the Valtakuntera war. All data on his species was lost. I thought they were extinct until I saw that blue-skinned horned man. But rumors of him being in charge of Tachyon stretch back to before I was born, so I’m guessing a very long time. Even by my standards.”

“And the shortest?”

Henuva shrugged, slurped his steaming tea, and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“An insectoid race that never got out of the stone age. They live about a year before dying.”

“Hmmm, makes sense, I guess. When you’ve got such a short lifespan, there are more important things than infrastructure and technological advancement.”

“It’s also a very good thing because they’re incredibly vicious, and with how quickly they breed, they’d sweep across the stars eating entire planets bare with their savagery.”

Dax’s eyebrow raised.

“Are they the ones you used as a template for the bugs?”

Henuva’s gaze averted from Dax’s. He swallowed hard, causing the professor to sit forward.

“Oh my gosh, they were!” he exclaimed in a whisper of disbelief. “If they only lived for a year, how’d the Dal’no end up fighting them for four hundred?”

“Hi, I’m Henuva, the geneticist and borderline mad scientist. We’ve met before, right?”

The Valtukta pointed at himself as he spoke, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“I did dull down their intellect by a few points, though. With longer lives, I didn’t want them capable of figuring out science and coming for us all. But that’s no issue, there are none left.”

“And your work data?” Dax asked.

“You really think another Valtukta’s going to pick up where I left off?”

The corner of Dax’s mouth pulled to one side. He shrugged.

“You’re not wrong to think that. They’d one hundred percent dive on that if they could. Except all data was stored on a private device in my secret base. You know, the one Tylira blew up and burned to the ground? It’s lost. They couldn’t retrieve it even if they wanted to.”

A soft squeal caught Dax’s attention. Dax looked past Henuva, back to the main deck.

“Well, that’s a good thing,” he said softly.

Sandrina appeared, moving quietly to the cockpit. She ran her fingers through her hair, drawing down several stray strands before looking at their local coordinates. Dax watched her closely as she smirked to herself.

Henuva turned, leaning partially out of his side of the booth to look at her. Both men stared at her. She turned toward the kitchen. She jumped and gasped at the sight. Fighting a smile, she put her hand on her chest and took a deep breath.

Sandrina moved quietly toward them, her footfalls drowned out by the rhythmic hum of the ship’s engines. Once descending the dining room stairs, she shot both men a wide-eyed glare.

“What are you two doing up?” she whispered.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Henuva teased.

“If you didn’t hear us, Dalia and Mark won’t over their snoring either,” Dax added. “And what do you mean what are we doing up? What are you doing up?”

“Your people call it a catnap for a reason,” Sandrina countered. “And you?”

“Insomnia,” Dax said, pointing at himself before motioning toward Valtukta. “And space elves not needing more than three hours.”

Sandrina looked at their mugs. Her lips pursed in thought as an eye narrowed.

“Any more coffee?” she asked.

“Enough for one more cup in the pot,” Dax replied.

Sandrina turned and rushed to the mugs. Grabbing one, she poured herself a cup before rejoining them. She sat next to Henuva, scooting into his side.

“Make some room,” she said.

“Can you give me a second?” Henuva asked.

He tried to move, interrupted by hers. After a few seconds of struggling, they settled uncomfortably in the seat.

“A little patience wouldn’t kill you,” Henuva huffed.

“You had plenty of time. You saw me coming when you were being creepers. You watched me get the coffee and you waited to move until after I started sitting down?”

“Just pass the buck, why don’t you,” Dax said.

“I think I will.” Sandrina chuckled.

She motioned toward the cockpit with her mug before taking a drink.

“Did you see where we’re headed?” she asked after lowering her cup.

“Some abandoned planet?” Dax asked.

Sandrina rolled her eyes before looking at Henuva.

“Surely you, of all people, recognized the coordinates.”

“Coordinates?” Henuva asked.

“It’s one of the planets you targeted for bug dispersal. Nothing ever came of it because there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air.” She turned her attention to Dax. “And you ought to recognize it because it’s where you first met me. I almost died there. Heck, they thought his weapon was a gift from the gods, technically making him their god.”

“That is a terrifying prospect,” Henuva said before taking another drink.

Dax turned toward the Valtukta.

“Did you not know where your weapons were deployed?”

“About half.” Henuva shrugged. “Things are very segmented off from each other in the empire.”

“Has there ever been a Valtukta that’s defected before?” Dax asked.

“With our history, it’s typically kill on sight for just about every species in the galaxy,” Henuva explained. “But that’s for those who actually survive escape. More often than not, they get about ten miles off their cruiser before their ship’s shot down.”

“That doesn’t make sense. You were banished with a fleet and they didn’t come after you,” Sandrina chimed in.

“I don’t know what it means in your cultures, but for mine, it’s a death sentence.”

“It means you leave and never come back,” Dax explained.

He paused, replaying his words in his mind before finishing his coffee.

“How does that play linguistically?” Henuva asked.

“Tonally accurate,” Dax replied. “But that doesn’t answer the question as to why, if you were banished, you kept hunting us.”

“Are you kidding me? There has not been a single ship more wanted than the Junkyard in all of Valtakuntera recorded history. If I brought you guys down, they would’ve had no choice but to reinstate me.”

“But you failed at that,” Sandrina teased. “How do you feel about having become part of the crew you once hunted?”

“Like my life expectancy has both doubled and been cut in half at the same time,” Henuva replied.

“That makes almost no sense.”

“It does if we can manage to take down Tylira,” Dax chimed in. “That happens and he lives a long and happy life. He doesn’t…”

“And it doesn’t really matter because we’re all dead anyway,” Henuva interrupted.

“The empress won’t come after you if we manage to win this?” Sandrina asked.

“She already is. The only difference is Tylira’s the only lap dog she trusts with taking out high level former members of the Valtakuntera.”

“You didn’t even know where all your weapons were being deployed,” Dax teased. “You were middle management at best.”

“Quite the ego for someone in that position,” Sandrina piled on.

Dax watched Henuva’s eyes narrowed. They darted from one side to the other before widening.

“No,” he gasped. “I was. I really was just middle management. We were so big, I thought I was higher up.”

Dax leaned back. He bit his lip while running his finger over the rim of his mug.

“You studied Earth and our culture. How in-depth did you get?”

Henuva let out a frustrated whimper while falling back into his seat.

“No, I can’t be one of them. Give me black tank duties for the rest of time; just don’t make me one of them.”

Sandrina looked between both men. Her brow furrowed and lips pursed at Henuva’s overly dramatic wails. She grabbed her mug with both hands and leaned forward.

“I don’t think I’m following,” she said.

“He’s a Karen.” Dax chuckled.

“I’m a Karen,” Henuva whimpered.

“Is that some sort of human subspecies?” Sandrina asked.

“Yes, and no. More like a personality trait,” Dax explained. “A sense of over-importance.”

Sandrina looked Henuva up and down.

“Check,” she said.

“Insistent that they’re the center of the universe and can do whatever they want with impunity. They take particular pleasure in making people think they can ruin their lives,” Dax continued.

“Check, and check,” she said, motioning between herself and Dax.

“And they throw a fit whenever they don’t get their own way.”

“That’s a final check,” Sandrina jested.

“But there is one, crucial thing you’re missing.”

“Is it the hair?” Henuva asked.

“Yeah, it’s the hair.”

“I will vent myself before I let you touch my hair,” Henuva snarled.

Dax reached over and gave a few locks a playful pat.

“Come on, I think you’d look good with that pixie bob thing they’ve got.”

“I should’ve killed you when I had a chance,” Henuva growled.

“But you didn’t. Now you have to put up with us,” Dax beamed.

Sandrina put a hand up while clearing her throat.

“So, these Karens, if they’re so disruptive, why not just take them all out? With a name conducive to their title, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.”

“People have been heavily considering that for over a century,” Dax explained. “The issue is, it’s both a name and a title. Most of the people with the name are genuinely kind women. According to legend, the first person who became famous for it just happened to have the name, making it stick.”

Dax motioned to Henuva.

“To use it linguistically in a sentence, while Henuva is now a trusted member of the Junkyard, he used to be a real Karen.”

Henuva’s eyes narrowed. He put his cup to his lips and took a long, judgmental slurp.

9

ARMED

Engines roared as Mark maneuvered them in for a landing. Dax double-checked Dalia’s armor, ensuring it was tight and in place along the Dal’no’s body. He inspected what was left of her wolf bear pelt, once a large, flowing cloak, now little more than a plasma-scorched tattered rag that hung halfway down her back.

“You’re all good. While we’re here you want us to find you a new wolf bear pelt?” Dax asked.

“Mmmm, please, that was some good meat,” Mark called back. “Don’t get me wrong, not as good as the bug stuff, but still tasty.”

“No. We’re here to get information, that’s all. I’d rather stay on the ship, but it’s for Kane, so I’ll go with you,” Dalia said, her voice uneasy.

She took a deep breath before summoning her helmet. Dax double checked his armor. It was in place. He grabbed the Bastet pistol off its charger and holstered it as well.

Sandrina emerged from the crew quarters, her armor in hand. She set it on the ground and started to put it on too. Henuva walked in, adjusting his clothes. He paused, looked at the crew and chuckled.

“Do you guys really think this planet is that dangerous that you need those?” he asked, waving his robotic hand. “The biggest threat here is a large, fuzzy creature that only takes a single, well-placed shot to take care of.”

“Last time we were here, Dalia took fifteen…” Dax started.

“Sixteen,” Dalia corrected.

“…sixteen arrows to the back and almost bled to death.”

“You guys almost got taken out by the locals?” Henuva chuckled. “They’re barely out of the Stone Age!”

“And yet your empress deemed them dangerous enough to try and unleash the bugs on them,” Sandrina chimed in.

“Yeah, but that’s just because of the minerals here that have proven to one, provide an absurdly easy step into the space age, and two…” Henuva glanced over at Mark, who glared at him. “I mean B, could greatly benefit the Valtakuntera itself.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, setting the ship down in a familiar clearing.

“Your choice if you want to armor up or not. We are not responsible for any damages that may and probably will occur while we’re on the surface,” Dax said, summoning his helmet.

Sandrina clipped her last pieces of armor together while they spoke. Once Henuva said he was coming, she pointed at Dax and walked toward the medical bay.

“Already on it, boss,” she said before the thought ever entered his mind. “I’ll get the Valtukta trauma kit.”

“Smart move,” Dax called back.

Mark flipped a few switches. The ship powered down. Dax watched the young man slide out of his chair and walk toward the armor pods. He retracted his own and started to put his suit on.

“I will take my android form,” Jun said over the speakers. “I will keep the ship ready for any potential emergency pickups.”

The android’s eyes opened. She stood up, the charging port disconnecting from her spine before she walked to the pilot seat.

“PITA, you up?” Dax asked.

The robot corgi’s eyes opened. He stood up, disconnecting from his charger.

“I am. Shall I guard the back door, or do I finally get to burn down some bad guys?”

“There are no bad guys here,” Dax explained. “Just information to be gathered. But yes, we do need you to guard the cargo bay because there are dangerous animals and some hostile indigenous people that could hurt themselves or someone else if they get their hands on Kane’s arsenal.”

“In their defense, they were only hostile because you were stealing the gift from their god,” Dalia chimed in.

Henuva smiled, clicked his tongue and motioned to himself.

“You’re not going to feel much like a god when they put an arrow in your shoulder,” Sandrina said, emerging from the medical bay with a bag on her hip.

“Wisdom usually comes to all life,” PITA said, looking at Henuva. “One day, it may be his turn. Who wants to carry me?”

Dalia leaned over. The dog rushed to her side and hopped into her arms. She stood up, rubbing the back of PITA’s ears. His eyes turned a deep green while the LEDs shifted into a happy closed shape.

“Do you guys really think I’m being an idiot for not suiting up?” Henuva asked.

He nervously glanced at the rest of the heavily armored crew.

“No,” Jun chimed in. “They’re just wearing protective gear because it looks cool.”

“Just stay behind us and you’ll probably be fine,” Dax said.

He walked to the corridor that led downstairs. Dalia followed closely along with the rest of the team while Henuva rounded off the group. Dax grabbed the edges of the ladder and slid down it, hitting the cargo bay floor with a deeper thud than usual. He looked down to see a thick steel plate and fresh welds positioned in place.

“Who did the addition?” he asked.

“I did,” Sandrina replied. “The floor was starting to dent and the last thing we need is you putting your size ten foot holes in the ship’s hull.”

“I am not size ten,” Dax scoffed.

He stepped away to make room for Dalia.

“I’ve been size fourteen since I was eleven.”

“That explains why Dalia keeps you around,” Mark mused.

“By the world mother,” Dalia snickered, setting PITA down.

“It was a smart move. I appreciate the forethought,” Dax quickly cut in to regain control of the conversation. “Load up.”

“No plasma weapons,” Dalia said, grabbing her Dal’no rifle. “We don’t need to burn down this forest too, if we have to fight.”

Dax grabbed the ten-gauge shotgun and its bandolier. Sandrina retrieved her sub-machine guns while Henuva stared at Dax.

“He’s got the Bastet pistol,” the Valtukta complained.

“Yes, and I watched him shoot over a hundred targets on Dal’no’nuuur and he didn’t miss a single shot. What was your accuracy score?”

Henuva shifted from one foot to the other. He let out a growl of frustration before grabbing a set of revolvers with a belt of bullets.

“This is so technologically repressed,” he grumbled.

“It’s better than dying in a fire,” Dax countered.

“And don’t think we’ve forgotten about that plasma palm of yours,” Sandrina added. “If we get in a bind, which we shouldn’t, only use those rocket toes of yours.”

Henuva looked down at his high end leather boots. He let out a defeated groan.

“But these are my favorite shoes.”

Dax looked around to see Mark rifling through the crates for a weapon to use. He reached over and gave the Valtukta a pat on the back, keeping his eyes on Mark.

“I’ll get you a pair of tactical flip-flops you can use on the next mission.”

He moved toward Mark while Sandrina activated the cargo bay door. Mark picked up the Fat Mac and inspected it.

“You’re going to want to put that one down,” Dax said. “Even in your suit and with your strength, it’ll put you on your back, speaking from experience.”

“Eh, I think I can handle it,” he countered.

“There’s a reason only Dalia handles it. Besides, if you’re looking for something that packs a punch, the .50 BMG cycles pretty quick and can pack a punch. I take it you’re looking for range?”

Mark looked over at the last gun Kane used. It drew Dax’s attention too. Dried blood was caked all over the weapon. Dax’s heart pounded in his chest. His mind flashed back to the escape. The smell of burning wood and blood flooded his senses while images of his fingers desperately trying to hold the wound shut appeared.

He didn’t notice it on the day, but that rifle was at Kane’s side during transport. He could see it now, clear as day. He placed his hand on a crate, took a deep breath and centered himself.

“I’m sorry, that was a bad pick,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I’m not ready to clean it yet,” Mark replied.

Dax looked around. A unique crate sat on top of the others, gently tied down in place. He made his way over to it. Placing his hand on the box, he clenched his jaw while taking in the miniscule designs that appeared in the process of making the box.

With a flick of his thumbs, he unlocked it, pulling the lid up. It let out a soft creak. Inside sat Kane’s upgraded M4 with one magazine loaded and five more resting in their cutouts in the foam.

A whisper in the back of his mind told him not to touch the gun. It wasn’t his to claim. He took a step back and looked at Mark. Nodding toward the weapon, he removed his hand from the lid.

“You want something long range that can lay down the law? This’ll do it,” Dax said.

Mark slowly approached the gun. He looked at it with wide, glistening eyes. The young man tried to hold firm, but Dax noticed the slightest hint of a tremble in his lower lip.

“I can’t take this,” Mark said.

His words came out as little more than a whisper.

“Yes, you can,” Dax replied. “If he was going to let anyone use his pride and joy, it would’ve been you.”

Mark reached out. He hesitated before withdrawing his hand. Shaking his head, he grabbed the lid, pulled it out of Dax’s hand, shut it and locked it.

“I’ll find another gun,” he said.

Clearing his throat, Mark rifled through the boxes before emerging with an AR-15 and two magazines. He looped its strap over his shoulder before patting the gun.

“That’s not automatic,” Dax pointed out.

“I know, but you know what Kane said. Unless they were on the mounted machine guns, or providing cover fire, they never used full auto. It hampers accuracy,” Mark explained. “And besides, I can squeeze a trigger fast enough you can’t tell it’s not automatic.”

“Fair enough,” Dax said, motioning toward the open door. “After you.”

With a flick of his finger, Mark shut off the safety. He raised the rifle and made his way to the back of the ship, looking down its sights. Dax passed PITA, who sat, appearing to be in a dormant state.

“You’ve got to be awake if you’re going to stand guard,” Dax pointed out.

“My batteries were heavily damaged on Dal’no’nuuur and no longer hold a charge,” PITA replied, his eyes still off. “That’s why I have to constantly be on my charger now. In sentry mode, I use almost no battery but can still sense if someone or something tries to get in. I will activate and act accordingly if one of you are not with the intruder.”

“Note to self, buy you new batteries when we get a chance,” Dax said.

“That would be appreciated.”

Dax walked past Dalia. He looked up at her. Unable to see her face, he could pick up that she was nervous by the slight hunch in her shoulders.

“You don’t have to come with us,” he said softly. “Everyone would understand if you didn’t.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No matter what you believe, I’m this team’s heavy hitter. If things go badly, you need me out there.”

“We understand that, but this isn’t a combat mission. It’s in, get data, out, we’re done. Quick and easy.”

“Since when have any of our missions been quick and easy?” she asked.

“You may have got me on that one,” Dax said. “Okay, but if at any point you feel Henuva needs an armed escort back here, you just let us know.”

“Thanks,” she said, her shoulders rolling back slightly.

“Okay, ladies, line up on me,” Sandrina shouted back. “I know this forest like the back of my hand. You follow me this time.”

10

CONTACT

Sandrina led them through the trees quickly yet quietly. Dax double-checked the shells in his shotgun before clipping it shut. When he looked at his left arm, the vambrace showed an empty forest around them. Dots notated each team member, with a large one for their ship.

He lowered his arm, looking up at the trees and the twinkling stars in the night sky as they peered through the branches. Lesser twinkling orbs faded while they walked.

“If you guys don’t mind, I think I’m going to stay right here,” Henuva said.

He moved into the center of their semi-circular formation.

“The unknown of an alien forest at night give you the heebie-jeebies?” Dalia teased.

Dax glanced over his shoulder. His HUD indicated Henuva’s heart rate was elevated despite his calm outward appearance.

“I never said that,” the Valtukta argued.

“You didn’t have to,” Mark teased. “Our suits can pick up vitals, remember? Good thing you’re healthy. Your blood pressure…”

Mark trailed off for a few seconds. That silence pierced Dax like a spear tip. The young man cleared his throat.

“Your blood pressure would likely cause you to stroke out otherwise.”

Henuva offered a nervous smile before waving them off.

“Don’t worry, if there’s something watching us just out of view, we’ll know about it,” Sandrina said.

As if on cue, Dax’s HUD blinked a warning to their right. He spun and raised his shotgun, aiming it into the darkness. Mark moved up as well, the AR-15 pressed firmly against his shoulder while looking down the sight.

“You picked it up too?” Mark whispered.

“Yep,” he replied. “Circle up.”

Dalia and Sandrina moved behind both men and faced the opposite direction while Henuva slid into the formation’s center.

“What’s going on?” he whimpered.

Dax’s eyes scanned the darkness. Motion detectors blinked. All he could see was the void in front of them. His breathing was steady. With a flick of his eyes, he increased the audio input to his helmet.

The rustling of leaves, snapping of twigs and songs of insects rose in his helmet like a chorus. No sounds of heavy footfalls or telltale breathing of a large beast was picked up by his mic.

“What are we looking at?” Dalia asked.

Dax raised his left arm. There was nothing else indicated in their vicinity.

“Likely wildlife,” Dax replied. “There’s no marker, meaning no metal or technology to detect. Computer, thermal.”

The world shifted to blue. Dax’s heart started to race. His toes wiggled in his boots while his finger slipped to the trigger of his shotgun. He continued to look around before seeing a hint of orange slide between tree trunks deeper in the woods, accompanied by a motion detection alert.

“Mark, switch places with Dalia,” Dax whispered.

The orange stopped. It turned and looked at them, its eye concentric circles of lighter and darker orangish yellows. It looked directly at Dax before shifting its weight. Brush rustled under its movements but sounded like normal wind-disturbed undergrowth.

“Switching,” Mark replied.

“What are you seeing?” Henuva asked, his voice trembling.

As he spoke, the creature’s head tilted to one side.

“Shut up,” Sandrina hissed. “You’re hearing us through your translator, not through our armor. It can hear you.”

Dalia and Mark quickly switched places. A low huff left the creature’s snout, sending a puff of hot air out. With its front paws, it pushed off the ground, sitting up.

Dax’s finger tightened against the trigger, looking at the seven-foot-tall sitting creature. A low warning growl emanated through the trees before it stood up on its hind feet, staring down at them from almost twelve feet tall.

“Am I taking a shot?” Dalia asked, her voice an instinctive whisper.

“No,” Dax replied. “You’re going to show what’s left of your cloak.”

“Turning your back on an animal’s a bad idea, though,” she countered. “Great way to get it to charge.”

“That’s why I’m not turning around too.”

She lowered her weapon. Turning, she showed the pelt to the predator watching them. Its stunted snout rose to the air and inhaled a few times. With a low, defeated grunt, it dropped down to all fours. Dax lined up a shot to its head. He steadied his breathing, ready to fire.

With a final growl, it turned and walked away. Dax let out a sigh of relief. He took his finger off the trigger and let his arm drop. Dalia turned back around before looking down at him.

“It worked?” she asked.

“Yep, otherwise, we’d all be scattering right now.”

“Scare off a predator by showing you’ve already killed one of its kind, good strategy,” Sandrina mused. “Now can we keep moving? My old camp is right up here.”

“Yeah, Mark?”

“Already have thermal on. Everything’s clear on this side.”

Mark let out several guttural clicks after he spoke. Dax let a few off himself.

“Is this some new language you two created?” Henuva asked.

“No, this language already exists,” Dax said.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Sandrina chimed in.

“Me either,” Dalia added.

“I doubt any of you have met a Yautja,” Dax added.

“How do you know I haven’t?” Henuva asked. “I’ve met more races than all of you combined in my work.”

“Because if you did, it would’ve ripped your spine out already and put your skull on its belt,” Mark explained.

“I don’t think so,” Dax argued, continuing to scan the forest. “You have to be an active physical threat for one to deem you worthy to fight.”

“Hey, I’m a threat,” Henuva whined.

“Your mind may be, but a Yautja looks at the body, and yours wouldn’t be considered a threat to one of these guys.”

“How do you know so much about this race that none of us have heard of?” Dalia asked.

“Well, in 1987, they made a movie about it. It lurks in the forest, sees through thermal vision. Then the 2087 hundred-year anniversary remake rekindled love for the original…”

Sandrina threw her hand up, cutting Mark off.

“This is a fictional species?” she asked.

“We never said it was real,” Dax countered. “And if they were, we’d find the darkest hole in the galaxy to hide in.”

“Are you serious?” Henuva huffed. “It’s a fake story?”

“Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it’s not iconic,” Mark teased.

“Can we…” Dalia leaned toward Dax, whispering.

“Oh, absolutely. If it’s in the databanks Mark has from Earth, we’ll watch it,” Dax replied.

“Awesome.”

“I’m joining you,” Sandrina chimed in.

Before her sentence was finished, they broke the tree line. Dax looked at the once well-constructed camp. Most of the shelters were collapsed or disheveled. Rust ate away at every piece of metal left behind. One structure still stood.

Spare pieces of steel were welded, bolted and tied to the building, giving it a Frankenstein-esque appearance. Its front door was rusted pieces of other doors tack-welded together.

“Spread out, see what you can find,” Dax ordered.

Everyone scattered. They stayed within fifteen yards of one another. Dax raised his weapon before shutting off his thermal vision. He silently approached a door that sat ajar. Grabbing it, he slowly pulled it open.

A large cot, covered in dark hair and sagging in the middle, sat on one side of the room. On the other was a heavily damaged terminal with reports flickering from its display.

Wires twisted around the room and toward the roof. Stepping inside, he checked behind the door. A crate of vacuum-sealed ready-to-eat meals were tucked away in the corner, everything else was empty. He turned, closing the door behind him.

“Clear,” he called out.

“Clear,” Dalia added, followed by Mark and Sandrina.

“I found a path,” Henuva chimed in. “It’s decently hidden, but it’s a path. Does someone in armor want to go first in case something decides it wants a midnight snack?”

The crew followed Henuva’s voice. Dax was the first to reach him before giving the Valtukta a pat on the shoulder.

“It wouldn’t be a midnight snack,” he teased. “It’ll be morning soon. If anything, we’ll be breakfast.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Henuva grumbled.

With a chuckle, Dax passed the Valtukta. He reactivated his thermal vision and looked where Henuva pointed. Overgrowth was lightly disturbed, concealing what would be described as a path. On the ground, however, well-worn dirt was visible, trampled flat from continual use while plants and grass sprouted up around it.

“Good eye,” Dax said.

“Thank you,” Henuva replied.

Dax pressed forward. He followed the path forward. Realizing the direction they were going, he looked up once more. Fewer stars hung overhead while a tinge of pink stained clouds that danced high in the sky.

“Dalia, how are you doing?” he asked.

“Alive, kicking and ready to go,” she replied.

“Good, if you need to turn back at any point, we won’t judge,” Sandrina added.

“I’m not going to turn back. I’m protected this time,” Dalia countered.

“How’d you get shot so much, by the way?” Henuva probed.

“She used herself to be my shield,” Sandrina replied. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s sweet.”

“No, it’s because it was the right thing to do,” Dalia countered. “Although if I’d have known how deadly their arrowheads were, I might have let Sandrina take one or two for me.”

“Hey!” the Bastet exclaimed.

“I’m kidding. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Ahead, Dax caught a flash of orange. He slowed, readying his shotgun while continuing to creep forward.

“You all are so loud,” a low voice rumbled through the trees.

“You could hear us?” Mark asked.

“You’re walking and talking. Of course I can hear you. Now will you please lower your weapons?” the man asked.

Dax lowered his shotgun. He continued forward.

“How do you know we’re not a threat to you?” Henuva asked.

“Or you to us?” Dalia added.

“Because, out of all of you, only the big one would be a physical challenge to me. And if I was a danger to you, I would’ve blown up my lodgings from here while you were inside.”

Dax pushed through the trees. A man, twice the size of a silverback gorilla, sat on his haunches. His clothes were dirty and baggy but did nothing to hide the ape-like musculature underneath.

He continued to face forward while Dax approached. Carefully moving to the man’s side, he sported massive pointed ears that stretched up the side of his fur-covered skull.

Dax got a good look into the alien’s head without trying from the opening in front of him. The man glanced at Dax. An upturned nose hung high on his face between two beady eyes and a large mouth filled with needle-like teeth.

“How’d you know we were coming?” Dax asked.

“The second I saw Bleeze access my file, I figured he’d be sending someone to me. But who?” the man asked. “He only has a few confidants he’d trust with my location. Decombres? No, that man’s too obsessed with his little station to risk losing any power by leaving. Buzzro? He’s hunting the Toxic Queens last time I checked, and given Ruthnar is still with his brother, that leaves the Junkyard crew. Unless I’m mistaken?”

“That’s pretty good deductive reasoning,” Dax said. “We are the Junkyard crew.”

The man turned and looked at the group. He let out a soft squeak before shaking his head.

“You seem to be a member light. Judging from the sizes of each of you, I’d say the soldier. If he didn’t lead this expedition, I’m assuming he’s gone. I’m sorry for your loss.” The alien turned back to Dax. “That would indicate you’re looking for information on his killer. As the bounties on you are not being pursued by merit of holding an extreme danger flag, that means you only have one other threat capable of completing such a task.”

He looked at Henuva, causing the Valtukta to take a nervous step back.

“The Valtakuntera. But not any Valtakuntera; it’d have to be a death squad, given your successes in defending against attacks. Not any death squad, the top tier… Tylira. You’re looking to find her.”

“Listen here, Batman, if you know where she is, you’re going to tell us,” Mark snarled.

“Oh, threats, so many threats. You would be the one with the temper. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. But I do have a request. Sit,” he said, motioning toward the ground next to him. “Sit and watch the sun rise.”

11

NEW KINGDOM

Shadows lingered in the valley in front of them while beams of light broke against distant mountain tops. Their host motioned for them to remove their helmets. Dax was the only one who did.

Cool night air danced across his face. It filled his nostrils and lungs with a refreshing crispness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Dalia moved in next to him and pressed her rifle to her shoulder.

She kept an eye on the forest. Sandrina stood behind their host, watching as well, but with her guns firmly in hand. Henuva positioned himself between Dax and Dalia, his back toward the sun while Mark paced back and forth.

“We don’t have time for this,” he hissed.

“This is the only thing you do have time for,” the man countered. “If you don’t learn to slow down and take a breath, you may miss something spectacular, or more crucially, important.”

The shadows gave way, revealing the valley before them. Dax’s jaw dropped. His eyes widened while his breath caught in his throat.

“No way,” he whispered.

Where there was once a city on a mountainside and an encampment ready to attack, was now a single, expansive series of wood buildings surrounded by spiked tree trunks. The inhabitants, little more than dots, patrolled the top of the wall while a distant voice danced on the wind, notifying the city of sunrise.

“What happened here?” Sandrina asked. “This was little more than a warring faction, not a sprawling city.”

“Usually where these guys go things burn down, not build up,” Henuva added.

“Your actions created unity,” their host explained. “Without the gift from the gods to fight over for possession, they had no reason to continue the war that was at hand, forcing a tentative peace.”

“Amazing how religion seems to spark violence in every culture,” Mark said. “You showed us the city, now give us the information.”

“How about we not open that can of worms,” Dax chimed in, keeping his eyes on the small metropolis in front of them.

“That’s not what brought the lasting peace to this region,” Bleeze’s contact countered. “It was a mutual hate for the Sneak and the Thief who stole their gift.”

He turned toward Dax, who fought back a smile.

“Filthy Hobbitses,” he said in his best Gollum impression.

“Nothing brings people together like mutual hate,” Dalia said, turning toward Henuva.

“What are you looking at me for?” the Valtukta asked. “I didn’t join you for hate of Tylira. I joined you because you captured me then forced me into a survival scenario where it was help or be turned into a fungus head.”

“I believe they call that Stockholm Syndrome,” Mark chimed in. “Now, can we please?”

He motioned back into the woods.

“Yes, we can return to my lodgings,” the man said.

“You know who we are, do you mind telling us who you are?” Henuva asked.

The man shot the Valtukta a wry smirk before turning around.

“I’ve had many names, and many faces. I will soon shed this one soon, take on a new name and return to the stars to continue my work.”

He sauntered into the forest. His gate was eerily smooth for someone so large.

“Bleeze says you know things. Is your work traveling the stars and observing other civilizations?” Dalia asked.

“A celestial Animal Planet?” Mark scoffed.

“Mark,” Dax said in a low, sharp tone.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said with a shrug.

“Not just civilizations,” the man replied. “But a little bit of everything. To keep an eye on the state of the galaxy. Broker in data to prevent as many catastrophes as possible without interfering directly.”

He pulled back a large leaf and let the crew pass first.

“I must say, though, I’m impressed with the weapon you made to neutralize the Valtakuntera insectoid bioweapon,” the man added. “It’s even more admirable how you cleaned up your own mess, and survived a mutated, controlled sentient species. In all the galaxy, I’ve only ever seen something like that happen once.”

“If you know about the Valtakuntera and everything they’ve been doing, why haven’t you intervened?” Mark asked. “If knowledge is power and you trade in data, you should be a god. Kane could still be here!”

Mark turned to rush back at their host. Sandrina threw an arm out and caught him, keeping him moving back toward the camp.

“There’s a difference between knowing things and being all-knowing,” the man countered, his tone still gentle and even. “I was unaware of the attack on Dal’no’nuuur until after it’d happened.”

They broke through the overgrowth and into the camp clearing once again.

“Even if I did, I don’t have an army. I only have information. I can’t force people to act,” the man said, his gaze settling on Dax. “And as I’m not a man of action, people wouldn’t follow me if I called them to arms. Not like they seem to follow you.”

Dax locked eyes with the man. A void echoed through his mind on contact. It was unlike the Jarog, or when the fungus tried to take him over, more like looking into an endless void. A host, beckoning him to join. Something about him felt ancient yet familiar. The sensation grew unsettling. Under those layers of time burned a fire he’d only seen in Kane’s eyes when preparing for a fight.

“My father taught me to lead by example,” Dax said, finally breaking the silence. “And a good friend taught me that if you’re going to tell others to do something dangerous or stupid, you’d best be at the front of that group.”

“Which explains why the locals of this world view you and that friend as enemies of their race, to be killed on sight. But without your intervention, they would’ve undoubtedly slaughtered one another.”

The man motioned toward his shack while he spoke.

“Join me. Let’s see if I can find you some useful data to help your quest.”

Dax and Mark entered. Dalia and Sandrina remained in the open on either side of the door. Henuva stayed close to the Dal’no. Once inside, the rejuvenating scent of the forest was quickly overtaken by the stale air of the room. Body odor and bad food choked out any goodness that wafted in with them.

“How old is your intel?” Dax asked.

“My agents are always at work,” the man replied.

He placed his hands on the holographic interface and started to cycle through data.

“I make sure they check in with me every twenty-four hours. It’s more likely that the data will be useful if it’s fresh.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re not interfering with anything,” Mark cut in, pacing from one side of the building to the other.

“Why would I?” the broker asked. “Trading and selling information provides me with the funds I need to keep my vast network and aid channels open. If I interfered, not only my reputation, but my mission would also be compromised.”

“And your mission?” Mark asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Dax cut in.

The humanoid monkey-bat flashed a knowing grin at Dax. He turned his attention back to the work and continued.

“I appreciate your openness to my privacy,” he said, pulling a few marked pieces out of a cluster. “All I can tell you is, it’s of galactic importance and that the Valtakuntera is nothing compared to it.”

Dax’s brow raised. The man waved a hand at him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s my burden to bear.” He waved Dax over. “Give me your vambrace.”

Dax stepped forward and extended his left arm. The man took it in one hand while the other pulled at pieces of information, copied them and placed them on the piece of equipment with a soft beep.

“Some burdens aren’t meant to be borne alone,” Dax countered.

“True, but we are all destined to have our battles. This isn’t yours.”

“How can you tell what our destiny is?” Mark snapped.

The man reached down and shut off his console. He took a step away from Dax while looking at Mark.

“When you’ve seen destiny play out as much as I have, you get a knack for her patterns. Your pattern is to face the Valtakuntera. In victory or defeat, I trust you’ll find your rest at the end.”

He released Dax’s arm.

“Not sure if that’s a comfort or something to worry about,” he said.

“You say that like you know the future,” Mark added.

“That is not the gift attributed to my race,” he said with a chuckle. “But from what I know about you, if I were a gambling man, I’d bet on you.”

“Thank you,” Dax said.

He summoned his helmet. A notification of a new downloaded file blinked at the top of his field of view. Dax looked at his vambrace and tapped the download to the holographic image in front of him. The document stuck to the image. With his index finger, he moved the item to the Junkyard dot. As he released it, a data transfer notification appeared.

“I will warn you, the place I’m sending you to makes Tachyon look tame. It’s the space of pirates and raiders. The only rule is don’t mess with the Death Squad,” he said, sitting on his bed. “There’s a reason Tylira has crucial information stored there. You’ll need to be careful, but if anyone can make it, your crew can.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” Mark said.

The man held Dax’s eye as if wanting privacy.

“You go ahead,” Dax replied without breaking the gaze. “I’ll catch up. Get her warmed up.”

“Copy that,” Mark said.

He rushed out of the hut, calling the other three to follow. Dalia remained at the door.

“You want to tell me something?” Dax asked.

“I’m glad to have seen you,” the man replied, reaching under his bed. “This ancient being thought he’d have to safeguard the galaxy alone. It’s nice to know I won’t.”

“What do you mean?” Dax asked. “I thought you said we’d rest after the Valtakuntera fight.”

He crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one leg.

“You will,” he said, pulling out a small crate. “But your race will still be here, likely ready to fight in my stead.”

“Your stead?” Dax asked.

“There are many secrets of my people. I have one final change before my strength leaves me.”

He opened the box to reveal a large crown with polished spikes

equally positioned around the rim. He slid it onto his head.

“What are you, a Time Lord?” Dax asked.

“If I told you what I was, it would break your reality,” he said with a wry smile. “I will lose the last month after this change. I would like to leave you with this. You may never know all the answers, but your patience will forge paths for others that can lead to their betterment or detriment. The choice is yours.”

The man’s fur started to fall off in great patches. His ears grew smaller, while the sounds of cracking bones filled the room.

“You don’t want to witness this, human,” he warned.

Dax turned and rushed toward the door, a chill running down his spine while the snapping of bones followed.

12

OUTBOUND

Dax stood at the top of the cargo bay ramp. His hand hovered over the control to shut the door while his eyes remained locked on what was once the hybrid of a man.

He was taller now, much more slender, yet still strong. Robes hung loosely off his form while he strode past the Junkyard as if he didn’t even see it. His head was thinner and longer, with human ears. A square jaw gave him a look of authority while confused, piercing eyes looked around for something unseen.

His crown pulsed with a soft light, pulling his attention away from their ship before fading to its normal brass appearance. He wandered back into the forest, away from where his camp was. A long, robotic exhale pulled Dax’s attention down. PITA sat, eyes wide and mouth open. “Did you see that thing?” he asked.

“I did.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t make any noise and draw his attention.”

Dax pressed the up button, pulling the ramp closed. He looked at the scorched dog.

“He seemed friendly enough,” Dax countered.

“Yeah, but my scans indicated a level of muscular and bone density on him that surpasses a Tardig. He was having an adrenaline dump, so likely on edge. I do not think that armor would’ve helped you if he got spooked and attacked.”

“You can scan for bone density?” Dax asked.

“I scan everything. It’s how I see the world. I thought a Mr. Big Brain like you would’ve figured that out by now. Or are you too self-absorbed to realize there are others around you?”

“There he is.” Dax grinned. “I think Mark installed a charger down here if you want to port, Mr. One-Liner.”

Dax pointed to the back of the cargo bay. He made his way to the ladder but PITA whimpered.

“Wait!” he barked.

Dax turned to see the long dog sitting on his haunches with his front paws extended.

“Have you hugged an idiot today?” PITA asked.

“No?” Dax replied, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Great! Me either. Get over here!”

Dax rolled his eyes and shook his head. He started climbing the ladder.

“You know, I’d leave you here if I didn’t like you so much,” he called down.

“Wait, don’t leave me down here!” PITA shouted.

The dog rushed to the base of the ladder, putting his paws on the lower rungs.

“I promise, next time I speak with the short bus people, I won’t tell them that they missed one again.”

“Come on man,” Dax called down. “Too much.”

“What if I told you that I don’t have the energy to pretend to like you?” PITA asked.

Dax looked down to see the dog’s mouth open and his pilot light glowing.

“I’d say you’re full of stuff only a bio-dog is full of, because you love me.”

PITA’s mouth shut. He let out a disappointed growl before dropping to the ground.

“You’re right,” he huffed. “On a scale from one to ten. One being I’ll burn you, two being I’ll let you pet me, you might be a yes.”

“I love you too, PITA,” Dax called down. “Now charge up. Something tells me we’ll need you for this next bit.”

He continued to climb the ladder. Making it to the main deck, he approached the cockpit. Mark sat in the seat while Jun ran the pre-flight checks.

“Don’t take off just yet,” Dax said.

He approached his armor pod. He glanced over at Dalia, who already had half her gear off. Dax started to remove his own and place it in the tube.

“Why not?” Mark asked.

“Because that data broker guy just wandered behind the ship,” Dax explained. “Let’s not scorch the man who gave us viable intel.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Dax’s assertion,” Jun said.

“I’ll hold off, but if he’s not gone in five minutes, whatever happens is on him,” Mark countered. “We’ve got a lead; I’m not going to let it go cold.”

“Fair enough,” Dax said.

He looked over at Dalia while putting his gear away.

“Where are Sandrina and Henuva?”

“Their rooms,” Dalia replied. “Sandrina’s putting her gear away. Henuva said the stress exhausted him, so now he needs a nap.”

“Well, at least we know it won’t be a catnap,” Dax teased.

Dalia paused for a second, cracking a smile. She put the last of her gear away, followed closely by Dax.

“I’m detecting a tremor on the planet,” Jun called out.

Dax and Dalia turned toward the android. They rushed to the cockpit.

“What kind of earthquake are we looking at?” Dax asked.

A soft tremor emanated through the Junkyard. Dax instinctively grabbed on to Dalia despite it not being enough to throw them off balance.

“It doesn’t matter; we can be off the ground in a couple of seconds,” Mark replied, bringing the engines to life. “And the trees are short enough. Even if they fall, they’re not hitting us.”

“It’s artificial,” Jun explained.

Dax reached around Jun and pressed on the aft screen. An image crackled to life. A massive ship made of sleek, pitch-black material rose from the ground. There were no seams, no visible weapons or windows, just a smooth monolith spitting flames out from underneath it.

“That’s one heck of a ship,” Dalia whispered.

“Odd,” Jun said, looking at the image.

“What is?” Dax asked.

“This body can see the ship, but my sensors are not reading anything,” she explained. “Without visible confirmation, I wouldn’t have known anything was there.”

“Explains why approach scans came back clean,” Mark added. “That would be a very useful vessel to use against the Valtakuntera.”

“Maybe if we see him again, we can ask him,” Dax replied. “Wheels up.”

He gave Mark a pat on the back. Almost before the words left his mouth, the ship roared to life. They lifted off the ground and started to ascend. Mark intentionally turned to line their ascent up with the terrifyingly enormous vessel. Dax swallowed hard as it blotted out the sun, leaving no smoke trail behind it.

“That’s got to be almost four times the size of a Valtakuntera cruiser,” Dalia whispered in disbelief.

“Four point one,” Jun corrected.

“Any luck getting a peek into it from here?” Dax asked.

“No,” Jun replied. “It’s still invisible to sensors. I’m not even getting an engine discharge reading.”

“Its exhaust is invisible to you?” Dax asked.

“What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on some of that tech,” Mark muttered.

“I could only imagine what his weapons systems are capable of,” Dalia added.

“If I had one guess, I’d say make a big hole in the planet,” Dax replied.

“Obviously,” Dalia teased.

“Sorry, I meant a big hole through the planet, not in it.”

The sky blackened. Both ships left the developing world behind. Once out of atmosphere, the monolith accelerated, pulling ahead of them. Without any red-shifting or pulses that accompanied ships entering leap space, the vessel vanished into nothingness.

“What?” Mark whispered.

He stood up. Dax’s jaw fell slack while his mind desperately tried to reconcile what it had just seen.

“That’s not Boronian,” Dalia said, leaning forward as well. “I didn’t see a rip, did you?”

Everyone shook their heads before looking at Jun. The android turned from the viewport to all the eyes on her. She shrugged.

“How am I supposed to know?” she asked. “He just booped right out of existence to me too.”

“You’ve got the database on just about everything,” Dalia pointed out.

“And you’re an AI, so extrapolating from the evidence should be right up your alley,” Dax added.

“She’s an AI, not a data god,” Mark countered. “If the data’s not in there, the data’s not in there.

“Thank you,” Jun said.

“He did say he was old. Ancient, even. Maybe it’s tech from a civilization that dominated the galaxy before this modern cycle,” Dax explained. “They could’ve had technology that outclassed our own so vastly, we wouldn’t be able to comprehend it.”

“Your theory is sound. I’d lend a seventy-one-percent chance at accuracy,” Jun explained.

“I guess that means we’re just going to have to worry about Reapers showing up next,” Mark mused.

Dax gave the young man a playful smack on the back of the head.

“This isn’t Mass Effect or any of the hundred other iterations of it,” he teased.

“Are you sure?” Mark asked. “I mean, hashtag, Tali best girl.”

Dax’s brow knitted together once again. He looked from Mark to Jun and back.

“Really?” he asked, motioning toward the android. “I would’ve pegged you for an EDI guy.”

Dalia leaned back and toward Jun.

“What are they talking about?” she whispered.

“It’s a video game title originally released in 2007, then remade and upgraded and re-released again in 2047. Then a last time on next gen consoles for its one hundred year anniversary. Only that time, it was compatible with augmented reality chambers so you could physically fight as the protagonist,” Jun explained.

“Tali and EDI?” Dalia asked.

“An innocent non-human crewmate you can romance who is proficient with technology, and you never see because she’s trapped in a suit. EDI is an artificial intelligence who can take over the body of a highly advanced android.”

“So, you’re EDI,” Dalia added.

“Quite a bit more advanced than her,” Jun mused. “I’ve plotted our course.”

She stepped away from the control panel. Dax looked at it before grimacing. He motioned at a portion of their course in the middle with sharp turns every few hundred yards.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s a field of debris. I am unsure as to what. There seems to be a blank spot in my memory about it.”

“Meaning something happened there the government wants covered up,” Mark added.

“We’re not going down that rabbit trail,” Dax warned.

“Oh, I know. Even if you said we were, we’re not. Not until Tylira’s gone the way of the dinosaurs,” Mark replied.

“Is there another route?” Dalia asked.

“The next fastest route would add two days to our trip. Not impossible, but I calculated that the odds of the crew’s desire to finish this as quickly as possible sat at ninety-nine-point-nine percent.”

“Usually, I’d say never tell me the odds, but I think on that one, you’re right,” Dax replied.

“Why not one hundred?” Dalia asked.

“Nothing in this universe is one hundred percent,” Jun explained. “Just like nothing is truly zero.”

Mark flipped a few switches, bringing the ship’s leap drive to life. He locked in their path and sat back down before buckling himself in.

“You say that, but forget that Tylira has a one hundred percent chance of death,” he argued.

“I mean yeah, we all do,” Dax said. “That’s the very definition of being mortal.”

Mark shot Dax a stern look.

“You know what I mean!” Mark countered.

“Yeah, but I also like watching you get riled,” Dax teased before pointing toward the void. “Allons-y!”

Mark turned his attention back to the viewport. Dax looked at Jun. The android grimaced and shook her head. She held up a hand that displayed a sixty-two-percent notification in lights just below her palm.

“You like those odds?” Dalia asked, looking at Dax.

“I like those odds,” Dax replied.

“I don’t blame you. Dang good odds,” she added.

“Will you both stop talking about the odds?” Mark asked, looking up at Dax. “What was that word you said?”

“It’s French; means ‘let’s go’,” Dax replied.

“Alrighty then,” Mark said.

He put his hand on the leap drive handle and pushed it forward. The ship trembled while their engine roared to life.

“Allons-y,” Mark said.

Space in front of them shifted blue with a tight swirl as they accelerated, leaving the primitive world behind.

13

SILENCE

Dax sat in the engine room, the Junkyard’s power source gently pulsing in front of him. Harsh metal corners from the panel he sat against dug into his back. He ignored them and the stench of rust and oil that was so thick, it felt like it coated his lungs.

Kane’s puck sat in his palm. His thumb hovered over the activation button. Despite all his strength, Dax couldn’t find it in him to push down. He took a deep breath before leaning back, letting his head rest against the wall. He let out a frustrated, silent snarl at himself before giving the floor a gentle punch.

The soft crackle of the Junkyard’s speakers sounded over the engine’s hum. Dax’s eyes darted to them while his jaw tightened. No sound came from them. Several long seconds passed, his gaze still harshly on the speaker to the point he felt they’d burst into flames.

Another soft crackle and they went dormant. Dax turned his attention to the gently pulsing power core in front of him. He let its rhythmic nature relax his body, hypnotizing him with its azure-blue light.

Dax’s mind drifted to his first day on the Junkyard, his transport pod docking with the long since sealed side door. Kane had to use the last of long expired expanding foam to seal the leaks between both ships. The mere act of depositing him nearly destroyed what eventually became their home.

Kane’s many lectures on survival, tactics and what it meant to be a man continued to play in a loop. The old man’s crepuscular face contorted with passion, offset by his Sam Elliot-level, gloriously bushy mustache.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the child-like wonder that seemed to fill Kane’s eyes every time coffee got involved. His smile faded when his mind went to what remained in the kitchen and the fact that they were already half a bag down.

With a disappointed sigh, he rested his forearms on his knees, holding the puck gently between two fingers. He looked at it, letting the puck dangle in front of him. Biting into his cheek, he flipped it into the palm of his hand and gripped it tight.

Sliding it into his pocket, he looked at the patchwork that somehow still held the vessel together. Some of the welds were clumpy and messy, holding things in place by sheer volume of melted metal. Others were messy but significantly nicer than the first.

Dax’s fingers moved to a pristine seam on the floor next to him. About half of the welds on the ship were made with that level of expertise, the perfection only a lifetime of disciplined, military service could bring.

Pushing off the ground, he stood up and moved past the warm Dal’no power core. Approaching the door, he put his ear to it. Making a fist, he thumped it twice. He listened closely, but nothing sounded from the other side.

Dax grabbed the latch with both hands. With a powerful pull, he unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped into the corridor before closing it behind him. After locking it, he stood in place for a few seconds.

Between deep breaths, he heard a soft rustling sound followed closely by a metallic squeal and low click. Dax tilted his head, listening. The noise happened again, then once more a few seconds later. It continued in a cycle with almost machine-like efficiency.

He stepped toward the ladder, and the noise grew, drifting from the cargo bay. Turning around, he stepped onto a rung and started his descent. Each step was silent enough to sneak up on just about anyone.

The noise continued to grow while he descended. Stopping on the last quarter of the ladder, he peered into the cargo bay. Sandrina sat with her back to him. Several crates were open, with Kane’s hand-forged reloading equipment unpacked.

“Of course I made ‘em myself. Do you really think I’d trust my ammo, or the loaders to be factory made by some company looking to save a few bucks?”

Kane’s words echoed in his mind at their sight. Each piece was painstakingly placed and angled to Kane’s exact specifications. To Sandrina’s left was the gunpowder mix station. Next to that, cartridges that held the explosive powder.

Dax’s eyes darted around the cargo bay for any sign of the individual components. A smile tugged itself across his face at their lack of presence. She’d followed rule one of gunpowder forging: ‘don’t store the individual pieces together.’

The squeal brought his attention back to her. She used a hand press to reload a Fat Mac brass. Once done, she slid the round into Dalia’s bandolier before grabbing another empty brass. She carefully filled it with the appropriate amount of gunpowder before loading another round into it. Every movement was precise and careful. It was almost like watching Kane himself work.

Before he ascended, PITA caught his eye. The robotic corgi lay as far away from her as possible. Frustrated eye emojis flashed across his vision screen, and a thick layer of electrical tape wrapped around his snout to keep his mouth shut.

Dax held back a laugh while starting to ascend once more. Whether it was to stop the incessant yapping or to prevent him from activating his pilot light around open gunpowder, Dax didn’t blame her for sealing his mouth shut.

Climbing the ladder, he breathed in the scent of fresh gunpowder while even more lectures played in his head. How Kane went through the rules to gunpowder and reloading safety over and over again. The soldier repeated himself, beating Dax and Mark over the head with the information so much that he could write the speech in his sleep.

A hint of hope that he didn’t subject Sandrina to that amount of data torture tickled the back of Dax’s mind. At the same time, a twisted sense of joy fluttered in his gut knowing he and Mark weren’t the only ones who had to put up with the lectures.

Reaching the primary floor, Dax climbed into the corridor before pausing. He wondered, for the first time, how many of his students felt the same way about his lectures. With a snicker, he moved to the main deck and looked around.

Jun remained on her charger. The blue shift of the galaxy swirled in front of them while the auto pilot held their course. A grunt from the mess hall caught Dax’s attention. He stepped a little further forward to investigate.

Henuva rolled across the floor . He kicked his legs up while grabbing Dalia’s ankle. Wrapping his legs around her waist, he pushed off the ground to try and bring her down. Dax noticed every muscle in her body tighten, keeping her upright while she still teetered back.

With a smile, she tapped Henuva’s foot. He let go of her, popped back to his feet and raised his fists. Dalia prepared herself for a fight. She jabbed at the Valtukta. He dodged the attack, incorporating sloppy close-quarter combat techniques Kane had taught them.

Henuva nearly got her in an arm bar grapple. A misstep with his foot resulted in Dalia kicking his legs out from under him. Henuva hit the deck with a grunt. He popped back up, determination filling his face.

Dalia squared up with him once more and waved him on. Dax watched Henuva rush toward a woman nearly twice his size. The form of each attempt at a grapple, or contact break increased in strength. He eventually would slip up enough for Dalia to get a hand on him and throw him bodily across the room.

Dax gave Henuva credit. He never stayed down long. In the blink of an eye, he’d pop back to his feet and continue to engage. The Valtukta tried to incorporate some of his own combat chains into his attacks.

In the blink of an eye, Dalia shut it down, showing Dax and Henuva how easy she was taking it on him. She took the same stance as Kane used to during sparring sessions and held up a single finger. With a sigh, Henuva abandoned his native combat stance and adopted Kane’s once more.

Dax stood, watching them spar for a few minutes. Their former enemy grew better with each encounter. He eventually landed a hit that took Dalia by surprise. With a shove, she sent Henuva halfway across the dining hall.

A pleased chuckle rose from the Dal’no. They both retook their stances and started to clash once again. Dax turned around. He made his way toward the crew corridors. Sandrina’s room remained open. He glanced inside.

Everything remained exactly how its original occupant had initially set it up. The only difference Dax could see was the lack of Sandrina’s trunk. One of Kane’s forest-green duffle bags sat on top of his trunk. It was well-worn and stuffed to the brim.

The zipper nearly groaned with everything Sandrina had stuffed it full of. Dax grabbed the door, took one more look at the room and slowly closed it. He shut his eyes. With a deep breath, he felt an emptiness in him, like someone had pulled off a piece of his armor.

Dax raised a hand to his chest. He closed his eyes, listening to the memories of Kane echoing in his mind. He focused on them, recalling Kane’s features in their ever wrinkled and grayed glory, determined not to let time erase his face like it’d done with so many others.

The minutes slid past, feeling like hours. Eventually, he opened his eyes, re-centered himself and continued down the crew corridors. Approaching his room, he placed his hand on the wheel to open it before noticing Mark’s was ajar. He paused, realizing the normal flickering of computer screens didn’t dance across what little wall he could see.

Dax wrestled with himself. Should he just go to bed, get some rest? Exhaustion was starting to mount. He felt his eyes growing heavy and his body begging him to just lie down.

Ignoring his body’s pleas, Dax walked over to Mark’s door. He grabbed the cold steel and slowly pulled it open. Metal butterflies clanged around in his gut as he peered in.

He ignored them, pushing forward until he saw Mark sitting on the edge of his bed. The tech genius leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees. Held gingerly in one hand was the puck Kane left for him. His finger hovered over the activation button.

It twitched several times but never committed. An ache filled Dax’s chest, seeing the young man’s eyes clench tightly shut followed by a silent scream that shook his whole body.

Without a word or noise, Dax entered the room. He slowly approached Mark’s bed before sitting down. Mark twitched but didn’t move. Dax reached around him, letting his arm rest on Mark’s shoulder.

The young man’s muscles were tense. He trembled violently under Dax’s touch. He couldn’t tell whether it was rage, sorrow or exhaustion, only that the response was uncontrollable.

Dax pulled Mark close, squeezing him tightly to try and help reset his nervous system. Mark put the puck down on the bed and threw himself into Dax’s chest. The butterflies and void were quickly overtaken by a pain that permeated through his very soul. Dax wrapped his arms around Mark, holding the young man close.

Mark’s body started to heave, silent sobs coming from the young man. His tears soaked through Dax’s shirt as he pulled him closer. The professor held his ward, fighting his own exhaustion to help Mark process.

After an hour, Mark’s body slowed. It gradually relaxed in Dax’s grip as he passed out in a contorted, uncomfortable position. Dax reached around the young man and picked up Kane’s message before gently laying the unconscious Mark down.

Dax grabbed the scratchy blankets and pulled them over the youngest member of their crew. He placed Kane’s puck on Mark’s desk before shutting off the lights and leaving the room to get some rest of his own.

14

PASSING OF A TORCH

The leap drive engine’s lullaby hum faded. Dax leaned against his desk, looking at himself in the mirror. Dark circles had formed under his eyes and the few lines in his face seemed harsher than they’d been.

Dax ran his fingers through his wild hair and beard, undoing what the bed had done in his short, fitful sleep. He stretched before looking at Dalia, curled up in their little nest. The red light in their room gave her green skin a darker appearance.

He carefully opened his door, watching Dalia closely to see if she’d move. She didn’t. He stepped into the corridor, accompanied by Henuva. The Valtukta clipped in his cybernetic arm while nursing a slightly swollen discoloration on his cheek.

“Did you run into a door?” Dax asked, closing his.

“No, your Battle Bonded threw me face first into a wall,” Henuva complained.

“I caught a glimpse of your sparring session. You’re doing pretty well,” Dax mused.

“Tell that to the rest of my body,” Henuva groaned. “I feel like a spaceship crashed into me.”

“I’ve been there.” Dax chuckled, heading toward the main deck. “After our augmentations, Kane wanted to see how we’d fare against a stronger opponent, so he’d have us spar Dalia.”

“How’d that go?”

“Three on one and we’d barely win less than half of the time,” Dax replied. “The fact that you’re still in one piece is impressive.”

“One piece is a subjective term in the grand scheme of things when referring to me.” Henuva motioned to the robot arm. “She did manage to dislodge this and swing it at me. Fortunately, she stopped right before she made contact.”

“Please tell me she said she was armed and dangerous before giving it back.”

“She didn’t.”

Dax let out a disappointed snarl.

“Such a good, missed opportunity.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

They sauntered onto the main deck. Jun sat at the controls while Mark donned his armor.

“What are you doing?” Dax asked.

“This isn’t a time for salvage,” Henuva added.

“No, but it’s time for a spacewalk,” Mark countered.

He pointed toward the viewport. Dax looked out to see what looked like a cloud drifting in space before them. His brow furrowed while he took a step forward.

“Is that debris?” he asked.

“Only about half of it,” Henuva replied. “That is the part we have to carefully fly through.”

“Is that a problem?” Dax asked.

“You remember that minefield that generated artificial black holes you managed to completely dismantle?” Henuva asked.

“Yeah.”

“This is the counter minefield. Fortunately, it doesn’t have the singularity caveat, but they’re still magnetic mines.”

“Which is why I’m going out there,” Mark explained. “Our mines can cover the six, the plasma cannons will clear out our twelve, but we need some protection on the other sides.”

Dax crossed his arms. His sight remained locked on the minefield while he shook his head.

“Where’s the N.S.E.A. Protector when you need it,” he muttered.

“While I assure you, I am better than Tommy Webber per my upgraded programming, I’m not sure you’re quite on Jason Nesmith’s level of command,” Jun teased.

“He wasn’t even a real guy, either of the three iterations,” Dax argued, motioning toward the field. “And you’d better be. Last thing we need is to be dragging half of those behind us if we survive.”

“Does that mean you’re suiting up?” Henuva asked.

“Yes, I’m suiting up,” Dax grumbled. “And so are you. We’re going to need every gun available out there.”

“Should we wake up the ladies to help us out?” Mark asked.

“Mark, I would like to point out, I am not like an organic,” Jun explained. “I never truly need, nor have sleep. Waking them up may be more dangerous than handling the mines.”

Dax walked over to his suit. Opening the tube, he began putting it on. While he worked, he’glanced at Henuva who was donning his gear as well.

“If those mines use magnets to move toward ships, I take it that means they’ve got metal in them?” he asked.

“Usually how magnets work,” Henuva replied.

Dax pulled his chest and back armor over himself and clipped it into place before looking at Mark.

“Give him your left glove,” Dax ordered.

“I kind of need my left glove to keep a seal on my suit,” Mark countered. “Besides, Henuva doesn’t need that since he’s pulling a Winter Soldier.”

“It’s not for his suit’s protection, it’s for the magnetic array in the palm,” Dax explained. “It may be better trying to repel them rather than just shoot them, so if they detonate, it’s further away from us, and if they don’t, they’re still further away from us.”

“If I do that, I won’t be able to help out there. I clearly won’t have a seal, or a protected limb.”

Dax’s heart started to race. A tinge of guilt pulled at him while the suggestion danced across his mind. He forced a smile and gave a partial shrug before speaking.

“Kane’s glove is in the cargo bay,” he suggested. “If anyone is deserving of wielding that, it’s you.”

Mark’s lips pursed at the suggestion. His gaze went blank while he stared at the ground.

“We will need an answer,” Jun chimed in after a few seconds. “Otherwise, I will be forced to stop and turn around, delaying our mission.”

At that suggestion, Mark grabbed his left glove, and with a twist, he pulled it free and offered it to Henuva. The Valtukta took the piece of equipment and locked it in place on his own upgraded Valtakuntera armor.

Without a word, Mark marched past them and down the corridor. His descent of the ladder was deliberately loud, like a teenager stomping up the stairs after being told to go to their room.

“There are better approaches we could’ve taken to get him to come around rather than play on his emotions,” Dax scolded Jun while looking at the back of the chair.

“That may be true, but we don’t have time to waste taking those healthier approaches when scanners have already tried locking onto the ship,” Jun countered. “My firewall’s keeping them at bay for now, but it’s only a matter of time. If they get a good look at the ship, they will activate every mine to seek and destroy.”

“Can you hack them to make it stop?” Henuva asked.

“No, too much processing’s going into keeping them out.”

“What about Mark?” Dax asked. “Could he…”

“There’s not enough time now. It’s a matter of getting behind the scanners before they punch through. If he started before the approach, yes, I’d imagine with his skill we could.”

Dax reached into the charging pod and grabbed his pistol. He took a step to the side and opened Dalia’s before grabbing her Dal’no cannon.

“Do you really think you’re going to be able to wield both of those effectively?” Henuva asked.

“Nope, but I’m pretty sure if you shot Dalia’s gun, it’d rip your other arm off,” Dax said, offering the Bastet pistol. “And since you can’t use your hand weapon, you can use mine. If anything happens to it…”

“I know, I know, you’ll take my other arm,” Henuva interrupted.

He took the pistol and gave it a quick once over.

“No. I’ll just have Jun deactivate the magnets in your boots and use you to distract some of the mines.”

Henuva grimaced.

“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” he asked

“The Bastet weapon, to Dax, is your laboratory to you,” Jun chimed in.

“Oh,” Henuva whispered, holding the weapon a little tighter. “I understand. I swear on my life, you’ll get this gun back in as good a shape as you’re giving it to me. How many shots does it have left?”

Dax inspected Dalia’s weapon. It was clean, oiled and ready to work.

“That’s an extended magazine that’s still pretty fresh. Only ten shots used since my last reload,” Dax explained. “You should have two hundred forty before it runs dry.”

“Will that be enough?” Henuva asked.

Mark emerged from the corridor, Kane’s glove in place with his staff in his right hand.

“If you run dry before we get out of the minefield, we’re in bigger trouble than we thought,” Mark explained.

“I will do my best to get us through before that happens,” Jun explained. “Might I suggest you make your way to the exterior of the ship?”

Dax led them to the booth and pulled up the cushion. He climbed in and opened the airlock before looking back at Mark.

“You and Henuva take the wings. I’ll position myself on the keel,” Dax explained.

“I’ve got the staff; it’s wider sweeping than any of our rifles,” Mark argued.

“Yes, but it’s also a beam, meaning it cuts in a line. If a wave comes in, you’d be in trouble. This monstrosity, on the other hand, fires in an area of effect. With the protruding hull, I’ll have a better field of view to put it to greater use.”

“It’s a sound strategy,” Henuva chimed in.

Mark rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he relented.

Dax opened the airlock and climbed in, followed closely by Mark and Henuva. The Valtukta shut and locked it behind him. All three men closed their helmets before connecting to their mission radio frequency.

“How we lookin’, Jun?” Dax asked.

“Questionable, but ready to execute,” she replied.

“Okay, opening the airlock and starting spacewalk; remember, magnet boots.”

He reached toward the outer lock, inputting the code. A hiss filled the room as all of the air was pulled out. A soft beep notified him it was safe to unlock the door by hand. With a twist of the handle and a push, it silently swung open.

Dax activated his boots. He stepped out onto the hull of the ship before kneeling next to the door. He looked around at the void around them. An unease engulfed him that dug its tendrils in every time he ventured into space.

Mark climbed out, followed by Henuva. Mark’s helmet shifted from transparent to the OGRE skull before he stood completely up. Once they were all out, Dax shut the door and locked it.

“Do you think Xero will lend us any shielding technology?” Mark asked.

“I very much doubt it, and if we tried to steal it, I’d imagine he’d run us through with that meteorite sword of his,” Dax countered. “And that’s best-case scenario.”

“In his defense, I don’t think he’d need the sword,” Henuva chimed in. “I mean, did you see the size of that man? I’d bet he’d be able to rip through our armor and take us all out at once, with his bare hands, and one of them tied behind his back.”

“The man was built like a nuclear bunker,” Dax replied.

Dax took a few steps to the bottom edge of the ship while Henuva and Mark made their way around the it, toward the top of their vessel.

“You know, I’m starting to see why you wanted the hull,” Henuva teased. “Significantly less walking.”

“That’s how I do things,” Dax mused. “Jun, how are we looking?”

“Firewall’s got twenty percent left,” she replied. “Estimate seventeen percent remaining by the time we get past the sensors.”

Dax turned toward the mine cloud ahead of them. A pit formed in his gut while he gripped his weapon tighter and pressed it against his shoulder.

“You know, Henuva, your people’s propensity to just tick everyone off is making these mine runs a little old,” Dax said.

“What do you mean? It’s only happened twice,” Henuva asked.

“Yeah, and most other beings in the galaxy don’t even have it happen once,” Dax countered. “Let alone twice.”

“Okay, boys, lock and load,” Jun announced. “It’s time to get rolling.”

The ship let out a high-pitched whine that resonated through Dax’s armor while the nose started to glow. Dax’s helmet darkened as the plasma round erupted from the front of the ship, tearing a hole through the minefield in a fit of explosion.

“Giddyup,” Dax whispered.

15

FANCY FLYING

“We’re clear,” Jun announced.

A flash of green shot out in every direction for over a mile in a honeycomb pattern. Dax turned his attention to the minefield they rapidly approached. Floating heptagons hovered listlessly in place, barely lit by the light of a distant star and an erupting pink and purple nebula.

“Dropping digital ping to map safe route for potential future use,” Jun announced.

Dax’s attention was drawn from the swirl of color and birthing stars to the mission at hand. They soared through the hole Jun made and into the minefield. Debris spun through space, occasionally being attracted to a mine, detonating it. They’d explode in a shower of shrapnel and a flash of light. Dax’s HUD registered the debris. It was marked as harmless just before pieces rained against the Junkyard’s hull and Dax’s armor.

“Do you think this would count as one of those senseless risks I told Dalia I’d stop taking?” Dax asked.

“I would say no,” Henuva replied.

“If you’d invest in a three-sixty defense system, then yes, but you’re a little too cheap to do so,” Mark replied. “So, here we are.”

“I would calculate it as a necessary risk,” Jun added. “Without someone out there, the entire ship could be destroyed, and that’s a little more dangerous.”

She took a turn, diving between the mines. Dax’s legs and torso locked to keep him upright while he continued to hold the Dal’no weapon tightly. Cutting the corner a little close activated a mine. A red light appeared. The flaps on its squared protrusions opened before rushing toward their ship.

“Got our first straggler,” Dax said.

He pointed at the mine. Squeezing the trigger, his sound cannon went off. Plasma erupted from the upgraded weapon, flying in the same cone shape as the noise if they’d been in an atmosphere. A powerful kick to his suit caused it to lock up so he’d stay on his feet. His target was launched off course, along with a few other mines, spinning into a cloud before detonating.

“Nice shot,” Henuva mused. “And for the record, even if your lady was up and argued to do this herself, she’s a much larger metallic signature for them to lock onto, and her reflexes are slower than yours.”

A beam of light tore across the void from above the ship. It punched through a mine with its flaps starting to open, shutting it down without event.

“Let me guess, you’re the only person on the ship whose reflexes are just as fast?” Mark asked.

“Nope, I’d say it’s Jun if I’m being honest,” Henuva said. “Sandrina’s a close second. Maybe tied.”

“I am significantly faster,” Jun teased.

She turned again, only attracting another lone mine. Dax fired, knocking it away.

“But you want my precision and speed on the yoke. That way, you’ll have fewer issues to contend with.”

A beam of green flashed across the far side of the Junkyard. Two explosions flashed just out of sight.

“It is impressive how you’re threading this needle,” Mark added.

“Thank you. I took your lessons, extrapolated on them, then improved them,” Jun replied.

“And apparently put some of PITA’s coding in there too,” Dax teased.

Two mines activated. They rushed the Junkyard’s belly. With a shot, Dax took them both out. His HUD noted the distance between the mines shrank by almost six inches.

“Henuva, how dense does this cloud get?” Dax asked.

“I’m a geneticist, not a historian,” the Valtukta countered. “That’s like me asking what the Roche Limit of your planet is.”

“Wrong person to get that kind of petty with,” Mark warned.

“Nine-thousand, four hundred ninety-two kilometers,” Dax replied.

“What?!” Henuva squealed.

“Told you,” Mark teased.

“That’s the limit you were talking about, right?” Dax asked. “The one where, in celestial mechanics, the specified distance between a body within the orbit of a second celestial body would no longer be held together by its own gravitational forces, causing the first planet to pull itself apart through tidal forces before collapsing into the intruding/larger body?”

Silence overtook the radio while Jun took another turn. Another mine activated and started floating toward them. Henuva took his shot and shut it down.

“I hate you so much,” he muttered.

“If you’re going to pull the trivia card on someone, don’t do it to a professor.” Dax chuckled.

Dax’s HUD marked incoming movement just out of view. He turned to see three explosives rushing them. He aimed for the middle one and shot, taking them all out before being showered with metallic shrapnel peppering him and the ship.

“You’re a linguistics professor,” Henuva argued.

“Yes, but he’s also a breathtaking know-it-all,” Mark added.

A few more shots blazed out from above the ship, followed by a handful of explosions.

“Fancy flying’s starting to fall apart there a little, don’t you think?” Henuva asked.

“The mines have closed almost a foot of distance between them. This was not what the initial data suggested,” Jun countered.

“Can you take another shot?” Dax asked.

“Yes, but it’d be catastrophic for us,” Jun replied. “The distance between the mines now could cause a chain reaction that’d likely wipe us out.”

“How likely?” Henuva asked.

“Eighty-six percent chance.”

“That’s a little too likely for my nerves,” Dax added. “Any way you can get out of the increase?”

“There’s a planetoid coming up that has enough distance around it where we can try that,” Jun suggested.

“All in favor?” Dax asked.

Another mine spun and rushed him. With a push of his left hand, it spun off course, flipped behind the Junkyard and collided with another mine, detonating them both.

“Aye,” Mark called out.

“Aye,” Henuva added.

“You heard the men,” Dax called out.

“Finding alternate route. This is going to get bumpy,” Jun warned.

“We can handle a bumpy ride,” Dax replied.

Mines started to activate by the dozen. They turned toward the ship and rushed it. Dax opened fire, preventing any from slamming into their transport. Mark and Henuva made the top of the ship strobe like a techno club.

The HUD flashed warnings on activated mines to the point it shut itself off not to obscure Dax’s field of view. He let out a few repulses while continuing to shoot, preventing anything activated from getting close enough to harm them.

“How much further?” Dax asked. “It’s starting to get a little dicey out here.”

“Just another minute,” Jun replied.

“You may want to drop a mine,” Mark called out.

His warning drew Dax’s attention to the tail of the ship. His stomach dropped. Hundreds of mines were being dragged behind them. Their metallic signatures activated more around them, causing the pursuing trap to grow even larger.

“Guys, get back in the ship,” Dax called out. “Get back in the ship now!”

“Sealing and venting cargo bay,” Jun announced.

“We can hold them off,” Henuva cackled.

He fired like a madman in every direction. To his credit, each shot found its target. Dax started to lumber toward the back of their ship, careful not to raise both feet off its hull at the same time.

“No, you can’t. Look behind us,” Dax ordered.

“Heading to the cargo bay,” Henuva whimpered.

“Copy that.”

“Opening door by ten percent,” Jun announced.

Dax reached the door. He grabbed the lip and pulled himself in. Turning, he let his upper body hang out. The cloud behind them continued to grow and close in behind them.

Opening his left hand, he thrust it at the mass of swirling metal and red dots. The repulsive force did nothing to the incoming traps while their combined weight flung Dax across the cargo bay. He flipped through the air before bouncing off the ceiling and crashing into the back wall.

“Too much mass. I can’t do a push to slow them down,” Dax called out.

“We’re approaching the mine drop zone,” Jun announced.

“Get inside, guys,” Dax shouted.

Henuva pulled his way in. With a yank, he drifted toward the ladder.

“We’re in, close it,” he shouted.

“Shutting doors,” Jun replied.

With a clang, the ramp shut behind Henuva. Dax’s heart stopped. His eyes widened while frantically looking around the cargo bay.

“Where’s Mark?” Dax shouted.

“The blanket ahead is too dense for us to make it through,” Mark announced over the radio. “We’re going to need to make a hole that won’t cause a cascade in front of us before we get clear and drop a mine. I can use my staff to amplify the signal and get us that gap.”

Dax magnetically pulled at the ladder, yanking himself toward it. His stomach twisted into knots while adrenaline permeated every cell of his body. He left Dalia’s gun drifting idly behind him while scrambling to the upper deck door.

“Mark, get inside the ship now!” Dax shouted.

“If I do, we all die,” Mark replied, a lightheartedness in his tone. “Besides, I have a higher probability of survival at this than you.”

With a hiss, oxygen filled the cargo bay. Dax unlocked the door and shoved it open with all his might. A mighty clang tore through the ship as it struck the corridor wall.

Dax yanked himself into artificial gravity, clambered to his feet and rushed to the cockpit. A planetoid drifted listlessly ahead of them, just behind a thick curtain of mines. A lump formed in Dax’s throat before the soft impact of Mark’s staff struck the top of their viewport.

Dax looked up to see Mark holding the staff in his left hand while his right tapped furiously on a projected hologram from the staff’s side.

“Get ready to drop ordnance,” Mark called out, “the second we puncture that veil.”

Dax turned his attention to the screen beside him. He quickly brought up the rear-view camera and activated their defenses.

“Ready when you are,” he called up.

Mark raised his staff in front of him. With a swipe of his right hand, he increased his output as far as it would go.

“You shall let us pass!” he shouted like an old wizard.

The crystal at the top of his weapon pulsed. As it did, the mines in front of them were pushed violently out of the way. With a space clear for them to pass through, Jun accelerated before magnetism could pull the gap shut once again.

“Drop it now,” Mark shouted.

Dax’s finger twitched. A soft beep rang from his terminal followed by a low click that reverberated through the ship. On the rearview, a manhole-sized metallic disk drifted behind them.

“Mark, make yourself some cover!” Dax ordered.

“Already on it,” Mark replied.

Dax looked up to see the young man turn and hold his staff toward the rear of their ship. He dropped to one knee just as the screen went white from the explosion. The ship shook violently while its tail was shoved upward, nearly throwing Dax off his feet.

Alarms sounded while lights turned red and the gut-wrenching sound of metal impacting on their hull filled the ship. Jun’s expression twisted while her grip on the yoke tightened.

“I’m detecting hull and engine damage!” the android shouted.

“We can fix it; Mark, are you good?” Dax countered.

“Just a light drizzle compared to what we were accustomed to back on Earth,” Mark replied.

His staff trembled in his hand while sparks flew off his armor. Mark positioned his right hand to protect his helmet. Engines cut out while debris rushed past them, toward the world below. Power flickered, shutting off all but the bare essential emergency lights.

Silence gripped the ship for a few seconds before the angry scrambling of their formerly sleeping crewmates echoed through the halls. Dax looked up at Mark, who rose back to his feet.

“Good news and bad news, boys,” he said before walking out of view. “First good news, I’m still breathing. But it looks like we’ve got ourselves a lot more damage than expected.”

“And we’re not alone,” Jun said.

She pointed in front of them. Dax looked down to see five ships flying toward them from the planet’s surface.

“Get inside,” Dax ordered. “On second good news. If they’re hostile, we’ve got a way off the rock. Jun, take PITA and go hide in the faux airlock so, if they’re hostile, we’ve got a way off the rock.”

16

IMPOUND

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Dalia asked.

Her tone was sharp and her arms were crossed while she stared daggers at the crew in her pajama shorts and tank top. Sandrina stood beside her, the same expression of disappointment on her face as the Dal’no.

“I didn’t take any unnecessary risks this time?” Dax asked.

“The engines aren’t working, and we’re being towed into a planet by what I can only assume is pirates,” Dalia countered. “That seems like you took an unnecessary risk to me.”

“No, he was the one that said we should get back in the ship before the mines had a chance to overrun us. He and I got inside before the explosion even happened,” Henuva chimed in.

Dax’s head dropped.

“Dude,” he whispered, glancing daggers at the Valtukta.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Dalia asked.

“She didn’t have to know that,” Jun chimed in.

“We’re in our armor; how would she not know what went down?” Henuva asked.

Dax motioned out the viewport. Five ships attached cables to the front of theirs with a sixth positioned below to control their descent toward the rapidly growing planet. Mark emerged from the kitchen, depleted staff in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Anyone want to juice up before we have to kick some butt?” he asked.

“They know,” Jun pointed out.

“See? Even Mark found a way to cover,” Dax snapped at Henuva.

Sandrina walked over to Mark. She grabbed the mug from his hand and took a drink.

“That was mine,” he complained.

“When you decided to conceal the truth, you lost the privilege to drink it,” Sandrina countered.

Dax turned back to Dalia and took a half step toward her. The glare on her face felt like it was eating away at his soul.

“Look, I promise this wasn’t a half-baked plan that I threw together spur of the moment.”

“You were up for five minutes before we were out on the hull,” Henuva pointed out.

Panic and frustration boiled in Dax’s chest. He spun around and glared at the Valtukta.

“You want to go downstairs with PITA?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Henuva flashed a nervous smile before pulling his helmet over his face and locking it in place.

“Better,” Dax huffed.

“Not better,” Dalia chimed in.

She marched over to her armor tube, opened it and started to put her suit on.

“Dax is telling the truth,” Jun chimed in. “Despite Henuva’s derailments. This is the path provided to us for our lead to Tylira. Every piece of data indicated that the mines were evenly spaced. Something we could fly through.”

She got up and walked toward the Dal’no. Dax joined her.

“Jun ran all the numbers once Henuva informed us the mines were magnetic…”

“And I insisted on going out there to stop any from being drawn into the ship’s blind spots,” Mark jumped in. “So, if you’re going to be ticked at someone, be ticked at me. It wasn’t Dax’s idea. He just went along with it to ensure my safety.”

Silence fell across the crew. Dalia and Sandrina looked at one another. Dax could tell they were having a psychic conversation. Part of him wanted to be in on it; the other part was glad not to know.

“You should’ve woken us up,” Sandrina said, breaking the silence.

“Yes, five guns are better than two. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this predicament with more guns out there,” Dalia added.

“While enlightened, that’s an incorrect assumption,” Jun countered. “With the unforeseen distance changes among the mines themselves, if we would’ve had more people out there, you would’ve been caught in the explosion.”

“That’s fantastic to know,” Sandrina said, her voice monotone while motioning toward the window with her stolen mug. “Has anyone tried to get hold of them?”

“I have, but their communications array appears to be damaged,” Jun replied.

“At least they’re not actively hostile,” Mark replied.

“They could just want our ship for scrap,” Dax countered. “And if they blow us up, they lose it.”

“They could hack into the Junkyard’s systems and vent the atmosphere, leaving us to suffocate,” Henuva added.

“What makes you think that?” Dalia asked.

“Because it’s what the Valtakuntera would do if they wanted a ship intact without the fuss of a fight,” Henuva replied.

“I have detected no such probes to my system,” Jun replied.

“Where’s my rifle?” Dalia asked.

“Downstairs,” Dax confessed. “I used it for its area of effect properties.”

Jun walked toward the engine room corridor.

“I will go downstairs and take refuge with PITA,” she announced. “If you get captured, I will keep a comm channel open to your translators, and PITA and I will come rescue you.”

“Or just you,” Dax countered. “If PITA comes, he’s just as likely to torch us as he is the enemy.”

Jun paused for a second. Her mouth downturned in a contemplative frown before she nodded.

“Valid point,” she said.

The sounds of her robotic form descending rang through the ship as she disappeared down the corridor. Henuva approached Dax and wordlessly offered the Bastet pistol back.

“Thank you, and great shooting,” Dax said, sliding it into his thigh holster.

“You let him use your pistol?” Dalia asked.

“It was an all-hands-on-deck situation,” Dax countered.

The frustrated expression that twisted her features lessened. Sandrina finished Mark’s coffee and jogged back to her quarters.

“Mark, you’ve got the helm,” Dax ordered. “See if you can figure out what’s wrong with the ship and if power can be re-routed enough to get us out of here. The rest of us will do our best to defend until that time comes.”

“Okay, but if you get yourselves captured, I will leave you if I get her engines going.”

“Why not just shoot them out of the sky?” Henuva suggested.

“They haven’t tried firing at us,” Dax countered.

He grabbed his massive shotgun and its bandolier.

“We fire on them, they turn hostile, blow us up. If we manage to snag them all in the blast, we’re now heading toward a planet without access to stabilizers, now that they’re no longer attached. We fall and burn to death on re-entry,” Dax continued.

“Or, we hit them and drift right by the planet and into the minefield without the ability to move,” Dalia added. “Our best chance is to play defense until we get a bigger picture.”

“Yeah, not every race is shoot first, shoot some more, shoot again and then, when everyone’s dead, try to ask a question or two,” Mark teased.

“Is it my fault for being born into a hyper aggressive empire that’s bent on galactic conquest?” Henuva asked.

“You were the head of the science department in genetics, perpetuating power by actively geocoding entire races that could’ve one day posed a threat to the empress,” Dax explained.

“On top of actively attempting to manipulate my physical form to become an ultimate weapon, further cascading the matriarchal stereotypes of your species into the supplication of others,” Mark added.

“Guys, I’m a geneticist, not a linguist,” Henuva complained.

Dalia grabbed a Valtukta rifle and dropped it into Henuva’s hands.

“They’re saying that yes, you’re absolutely one of the people at fault,” she explained. “And not by that piddly ‘guilty by association’ argument most people make.”

“Active and complicit,” Mark replied. “But somehow you grew on us, so we love you half-pint.”

Dax noticed a slight change in Henuva’s stance. It slumped slightly, almost in defeat. He gave the Valtukta a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“We’re just giving you a hard time. We know you’re trying to make amends, and we appreciate that. And showing not only us, but a lot of others that not every Valtukta is bad.”

Henuva’s posture straightened slightly. Dax made his way toward the ladder and started his descent. The ship lurched, accompanied by a low whoosh.

“We’re entering atmo,” Mark shouted.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Dax replied.

He reached the cargo bay. Turning, he saw Dalia’s gun set carefully on top of one of Kane’s crates. He glanced at the closing fake airlock to see Jun, with a dormant PITA in hand, give him a knowing nod.

Dax stepped out of the way while Henuva stepped off, joined shortly by Dalia. Dax walked over to the Punt Gun. He placed his shotgun down and picked up the massive rifle.

“I’ll get the mount ready,” Dalia said.

She jogged to the back of the ship and activated the arm it mounted to. Henuva rushed to grab the propellant and shot for the cannon. Dax made it to the stand and set it in place.

“Here,” Henuva said, handing over the ammunition.

“I got this,” Dax said, looking at Dalia. “You go arm up.”

Dax moved to the loading chamber. Opening it, he loaded it to Kane’s exact specifications. The ship rocked and jolted violently while they continued to be escorted through the planetoid’s atmosphere. Sandrina reached the bottom of the ladder and rushed to Dax’s side.

“You really think we’ll need this?” Sandrina asked.

“Speak softly and carry a big stick,” Dax replied, pointing at the gun. “This is our biggest stick.”

Dalia returned with her Fat Mac and Dax’s ten-gauge. She handed Dax the shotgun while Henuva returned with a rifle and Sandrina’s sub-machine guns. She took them and clipped them to her sides before giving the Punt Gun a test aim.

“Still as smooth as butter,” she said softly.

Dax lined up next to Dalia, his shotgun at the ready while the ship continued to jolt from one direction to the other.

“Do you think we should create some cover?” he asked after a few seconds of silence.

“With what?” Dalia asked. “The crate’s full of gunpowder and who knows what other explosives?”

Dax activated his helmet before sighing.

“I retract that statement.”

“Besides, our armor’s good enough that it can take a few shots. We open fire and they’ll be the ones running for cover,” Henuva added.

“Don’t fire until fired upon,” Sandrina added. “Assume the worst but hope for the best. If they’re hostile, we reply with overwhelming firepower. If they’re not, we can break bread with them.”

Dax remained silent. A smirk pulled itself into existence at the edge of his mouth. Sandrina looked over at him and tilted her head to the side.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You sounded exactly like Kane for a second,” he replied.

“That’s the highest compliment someone could give me,” she replied.

One final, violent rumble shook the ship, followed by the unmistakable peace that came after a landing. Dalia double-checked the Fat Mac, along with the freshly restocked belt of ammo.

“I thought we were almost out,” she said softly.

“You were,” Sandrina replied. “But I found that I needed something to keep me distracted in my down time. Turns out ammo-making relaxes me. Who would’ve thought.”

“Above all else, blast the arm,” Dax said with a chuckle.

He raised his shotgun, aiming it at the ramp. Muffled voices sounded from the other side before a soft groan left its joints.

“When’d you learn to make ammo for this?” Dalia asked.

She raised her gun as well and took aim.

“Where do you think?” Sandrina asked, raising the Punt Gun to take aim as well. “Kane went through the steps with me to a near painful level, over and over again in our room.”

“Hmm,” Henuva let slip while aiming too. “Didn’t expect that.”

“What did you think we were doing in there all that time?” Sandrina asked.

“Not the intricacies of ammo forging,” Dalia mused.

“That wasn’t on my bingo card either,” Dax added as the ramp started to open.

“Get your heads out of the gutter,” Sandrina mused.

17

STRANDED

With the ramp a little less than halfway down, a stalk, tipped with an eye, poked over the edge, followed by a shrill screech.

“They’ve got guns, they’ve got guns!” the voice screamed.

A panicked murmur rose from just out of sight, causing the crew to look at one another in confusion. The ramp dropped, hitting the ground with a clang to reveal fleeing aliens of different species. Dax’s HUD immediately started scanning, gathering vitals data before the inhabitants vanished, keeping one scan open.

Standing in front of them, staring them down, was a man with ash-black skin and white hair shaved almost to his skull. Bald spots marked his head where scars told patterns of ruthless battles. His black and gold eyes narrowed, accentuating the crow’s feet around them. His pointed ears twitched. His attention went straight to Henuva while everyone’s guns pointed at the man before them.

“Interesting,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d see the day where a Valtukta abandoned the empire.”

“How do you know he’s Valtukta?” Dax asked in the man’s native tongue.

“Who do you think designed the armor?” he asked. “The upgrades are impressive.”

“Tuthial?” Henuva asked.

“Did he just say tooth?” Mark whispered.

“Your voice is young; I don’t believe we would’ve met in my time.”

“You went missing almost six hundred years before my great-grandfather was born,” Henuva replied.

He lowered his weapon. Dax clenched his jaw, letting his finger rest on the trigger with their host’s head in his crosshairs.

“My name’s Henuva, former Znanstvenk of the Valtakuntera,” he said, retracting his helmet.

“Hm.” The man crossed his arms. “Surprised to see a member of upper middle management in the field, especially a scientist.”

Henuva turned to the crew, pointing at Tuthial.

“You hear that, UPPER,” he taunted.

“Middle’s still in there,” Mark chimed in.

“You want to tell us what you’re doing here?” Dax asked.

“Same as you. I’m stranded,” he explained, looking at Dax. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen your race before. How do you know our language?”

“I taught myself while that one over there was running experiments on me,” Dax explained, nodding at Henuva.

“You released prisoners? How’d the Empress take to that?”

“I didn’t release them,” Henuva countered. He trailed off before muttering, “They escaped.”

“Ah, I’m beginning to see why you fled here.” Tuthial chuckled. “The only thing they hate more than deserters is failures. Now will you put your weapons down?”

“Hey,” Dalia barked. “Henuva’s many things, but he’s not a failure.”

Tuthial looked at the hulking mass of armor, his brow knitting together before looking at Dax.

“My translator doesn’t seem to know that language.”

“She speak Henuva no failure,” Mark clarified in his own broken version of the language.

“He let experiments escape; that’s a classification of failure if you ask me.”

“We only escaped because of how well he made us. Now, you want to tell me what an ancient Valtukta’s doing on a planet surrounded by a minefield from a long-forgotten war?” Dax asked.

“I wouldn’t mind having someone of intelligence to discourse with. I just have one problem before we do,” he said, motioning toward them. “Your guns. At the very least, I need you to lower them. We’re armed with little more than sticks and clubs. No threat to those war suits you’re wearing.”

The reading on Dax’s helmet showed no change in the man’s vitals. He lowered his weapon before attaching it to his lower back. Following his example, the Junkyard crew lowered their guns as well. He looked at Mark and gave the young man a nod.

“Where’s your translator?” Mark asked.

He swiped on his staff, activating its interface while approaching Tuthial. The Valtukta pointed at a tiny scar in the side of his neck while eyeing the staff.

“Is that a data staff?” he asked.

“Data, weapon, hacking… It’s really an all-purpose tool,” Mark replied.

“When did your race make them? Ours was debating if they should be in use for decades before the war.”

“Our race didn’t make them; this was originally Henuva’s, but I took it when we escaped, hacked into it and gave it a few new programs to make it even more useful.”

Mark extended the staff and tapped it against the man’s neck. A soft beep emanated from the staff before it flickered and shut down.

“Well, that’s me out of power,” Mark said in English.

“That’s the issue they kept running into, where to store a power core in something so small,” Tuthial said.

“Good, he can understand us,” Mark said, turning back toward the ship. “Now, you want to tell us how to get off this rock?”

“You can’t.” The Valtukta chuckled. “It’s impossible.”

“Maybe for you and the little group you’ve got going here,” Dalia chimed in.

“We’ll find a way off,” Sandrina added.

Her weapon was lowered but still ready. Dax ignored it and stepped forward.

“I find if something is said to be impossible, the right angle just hasn’t been found yet. How about you give us a tour of what’s going on here and we’ll find a way off this rock with you.”

“It’s not getting off the world that’s the problem,” Tuthial said. “It’s the mine field that’s the problem.”

He pointed up. Dax stepped out of the ship and looked toward the sky. The cloud of explosives hung over the world.

“From this perspective, it looks like the whole thing wants to come crashing down on us,” he said.

“Countless ships have exploded trying to get free,” the Valtukta said. “We’ve accepted our fates as prisoners of this long dead war.”

“War’s not over,” Sandrina countered. “Your people are still ravaging the galaxy, exterminating any race that may grow up to one day challenge them.”

Tuthial’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you? I don’t recognize the cadence of your walk.”

“Bastet,” Sandrina replied. “And one of the last.”

“Didn’t think they’d have the guts to go through with it,” he said under his breath.

Dalia immediately raised her weapon to his head height.

“That’s Dalia, she’s a Dal’no. Her species was one of the ‘on the list for extermination’ races too,” Dax added. “Your people just laid siege to her home because they were tough enough to survive their attempted genocide, and the Dal’no had to abandon their planet because of it.”

“She’s a little testy on that. I wouldn’t push it,” Henuva added before pointing at Mark. “Or with him either. It’s a flip of the coin whether or not he helps you with that staff or beats you to death with it.”

Tuthial turned his attention to Mark and tilted his head to one side.

“What’d we do to you?” he asked.

Dax’s hand immediately shot out and grabbed the young man’s shoulder. He held Mark in place while he tried to turn around. They locked eyes. Dax shook his head.

“Why don’t you take Sandrina and Henuva and do a once-over on the ship. Figure out what’s damaged and see what we can do to patch her up,” Dax ordered. “Dalia and I will take a look around and report back with any information that can help us get off this rock.”

“We’ve got the guns. We can always just take their ships and march them in a conga line right through the mines to open us up a hole,” Mark suggested.

Dax’s features hardened at the suggestion. Mark flashed an ornery grin before making his way up the ramp.

“Come on, Selina Kyle, we’ve got work to do.”

“My name’s Sandrina,” the Bastet countered.

“He’s calling you Catwoman,” Dax clarified.

“It’s a human thing,” Dalia added.

“You too, Spo,” Mark added.

“Spo?” Henuva asked.

Dax shrugged.

“It’s half of Spock because you only have one pointy ear,” Mark taunted.

“Will you just get in there!” Dax barked.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another of my kind. I would like to ask that Henuva join us.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Henuva countered. “Besides, there’s a lot of work to do here.”

“I’ve got plenty of help,” Mark shouted back. “You have fun with Legolas’s grandpa.”

“Still making old man jokes?” Dalia asked.

“Only when there’s old men to joke about,” Mark replied.

Tuthial walked over to the side of their ramp. He grabbed a magnetic cylinder attached to it with a cable on one end. With a twist, he popped it off and walked over to one of the ships that had escorted them to the planet’s surface and struck the machine’s side as hard as he could.

The winch let out a whirr as it pulled the cable back into place. Tuthial dropped the magnet, stepped over the wire and approached the Junkyard once again.

“Why’d you help us land?” Dalia asked. “You could’ve scrapped us, taken our parts, our weapons and increased your position here.”

“First of all, we have no position here to increase. The only sentient things that live on this planetoid are those who survived their crash landings,” the Valtukta replied. “We couldn’t scrap you because all of our weapons fell into disrepair centuries ago. The ones on our ships don’t have enough juice to do any real damage. And as for why we brought you here, we’ve learned that unless you work together, you don’t survive long. Harmony has become a way of life for this colony.”

“Good to know we crash-landed with a bunch of hippies,” Dax said, resting his hands on his hips. “Lead the way.”

“There are bad stories about weapons that linger from the war. I would ask that you leave them with your ship,” Tuthial suggested. “There’s a sort of religion that’s grown up around it.”

Dax looked at Dalia. Her grip tightened around her weapon. Even Henuva kept his weapon close and his finger resting on the trigger guard.

“Weapons are a part of ours,” Dax countered. “Rest assured, we’re not in the habit of shooting first.”

“But, boy, let me tell you, they sure are for shooting last,” Henuva mused, holding up his robotic arm.

Tuthial looked Henuva up and down.

“Do you swear on your ancestors that no harm will come to my people?”

“So long as your people don’t try and hurt ours,” Henuva replied.

“You’re taking him at his word?” Dalia asked.

“Growing up, my schooling taught about this man. He’s known as the Honorable General. When he gave his word, it was worth more than a planet. Some joked he was the last honorable Valtukta.”

“And what happened to them?” Tuthial asked.

“What do you think?” Henuva replied. “The empress had them executed.”

Their host turned and started walking between the ships they’d escorted them in with. Dax followed closely; his hand hovered over his pistol while he kept an eye on the vitals reading.

“I’ve managed to pick up rogue Valtakuntera transmissions during my time in accidental exile. From what I hear and what you said, it sounds like the plan went into full swing.”

“You knew about their spread and didn’t stop it?” Dax asked.

They passed the ships. A plain of trampled dirt stretched out before them before dropping off a few hundred yards ahead. Tuthial smirked. He motioned to the apparently barren world.

“How do you think I ended up here?” he asked. “I questioned a single attack strategy in the inner council. Next thing I knew, my ships were put on the front lines. When our enemy charged, my allies opened fire on us, sending my entire armada to crash on this world.”

He approached the drop off, slowing to a stop.

“Fortunately, the enemy we were fighting saw this betrayal. Those who were shot down didn’t continue the war on site, leading to Haven.”

Dax approached, slowing to a stop next to Henuva. Below them stretched a valley full of artificial structures made from shattered pieces of broken ships. Homes were dug out of the rock wall they stood on while thousands of people—Valtukta, Galio, a half dozen other species along with a strange, thin, slug-like race with eyes on top of long stalks—rushed around, tending to their colony.

“That’s… surprising,” Dalia said while joining them.

18

HAVEN

Dax walked through a massive, circular structure with a ceiling made of viewport glass cobbled together in a downward slope. On the ground, in the center, sat the framing tube of a Valtakunteran engine.

Humidity caused Dax’s helmet to fog up so much, he was forced to retract it. The stench of rancid water immediately flooded his nostrils. He winced while continuing to look around. At the outer edges of the facility sat a metallic trench. He wandered over to see brown liquid with a thin film on the top.

“This is our water-purifying station,” Tuthial said.

He walked to Dax’s side, picked up a rake that lay in the dirt and scraped scum from the top of the water. Dax’s stomach turned. He clenched his jaw, trying to hide his expression.

“Solar distillery; it’s smart,” he said.

“Where are you getting this?” Dalia asked, joining them.

“Some of it we get from deep in the planet; most of it is recycled from the inhabitants,” Tuthial replied.

“How are you not all horribly sick?” she asked.

Henuva stepped forward, giving Dax a tap on the shoulder.

“You mind if I take this one, professor?” he asked.

“By all means,” Dax replied.

Henuva grabbed the rake from his counterpart. He gave the near sludgy water a poke.

“My guess is if anyone so much as falls into this, it’ll kill them,” he started.

“We have had a few accidents,” Tuthial confirmed, grabbing at his earlobe.

“But when the water evaporates into vapor, it breaks down into its subsequent atoms. Since nothing is smaller than an atom, none of the contaminants evaporate with it.” Henuva pointed the rake at the roof. “The vapor hits the roof, condenses back into water, now with no contaminants, and rolls down the slanted ceiling to fill a catch.”

Henuva pointed at the massive cylinder at the center of the room. Dalia watched his movements from inside her suit. She rocked to her tiptoes, following the tip of the rake before letting out an impressed gasp. She turned back to Dax.

“That’s fantastical, is that really how this works?” she asked.

“Oh, come on!” Henuva huffed, dropping the rake. “I’m the real scientist here; he’s just a linguist who spent time around other scientists. He never actually studied the craft!”

“It’s the typical water cycle,” Dax countered. “We literally learn about it when we’re six years old. You don’t need an advanced degree. But yes, that is really how it works.”

“Well, thank you for teaching me something,” she teased, looking back at their host. “What do you do with the waste? Surely you don’t let it build up?”

“His name’s not Shirley,” Dax whispered.

Dalia gave him a playful elbow to the side.

“Our more resistant members clean it up then bring it to the Valley, where we’re using it to try and get past the local.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Henuva muttered.

“What do you mean, local?” Dax asked, a tinge of concern pulsing through his body.

“This planetoid didn’t used to be a wasteland,” Tuthial explained.

He turned and continued walking through the solar distillery. At the far door they were approaching, a handful of the slug-like aliens entered. Their conversations were murmured to one another as they grabbed rakes and started to dig out buildup.

“Due to a science experiment gone wrong, everything on this planet started to die.”

“I’m starting to feel like that’s the theme of our little misadventure,” Dax huffed.

“Hey, my experiments on you seemed to have gone really well,” Henuva countered.

Dax shrugged and nodded in agreement. Dalia’s hand reached for her cannon.

“I swear to the World Mother, if there are more Underbeasts on this world, I’m going to breach the Junkyard’s power core and be done with it.”

“The bugs were my invention,” Henuva corrected. “This happened way before my time.”

They passed through the door into a hydroponics lab. Thousands of plants dangled from the ceiling. The stench of the other room vanished while the humidity stayed.

Water flowed from hoses coming out of the ground and into the top of carefully cultivated gutters that let gravity pull the fresh liquid over plant roots. Thousands of plants filled the football field-sized room, stacked on top of one another.

“What kind of bioweapon did the Valtukta use this time?” Dalia asked.

Dax looked at the dirt floor. It was trampled so much, it’d nearly turned to stone. Not a single drop of water touched the ground in his entire field of view.

“It was here long before we were,” Tuthial said with a nervous chuckle.

Dax stood upright, picking up a hint of fear in the man’s tone. He pursed his lips together while they continued through the lush vegetation. Large, strange fruits and vegetables hung from the greenery. Some were of familiar colors and shapes; others were oddly alien.

“What was here before you?” he asked.

“The locals call it the Grasper,” Tuthial explained. “The only thing that seems to hold it at bay is the toxic buildup in our distillery.”

Dax glanced to Henuva for any hint of confirmation. He shrugged and his face contorted as if to convey he’d never heard of it.

“How’d you manage to figure that out?” Dalia asked.

“There’s a still somewhat intact Valtukta cruiser we tried to get to. Its cannon is pointed straight at the sky. We figured if we could get to it, we could fire the cannon and take out enough mines to give us a chance at escape,” Tuthial explained while they continued walking through the food supply. “At that time, we had a rudimentary steam engine that had flow-off valves for the sludge. We tried to make it; that’s when the Grasper attacked for the first time.”

He motioned to the scars on his head, face and neck.

“It gave me these. Out of fifteen, myself and two others were all that escaped. I did notice, when it crushed our ride, that the sludge burned it, almost immediately killing whatever it touched.”

“Oh no,” Henuva muttered.

“Here we go again,” Dalia added.

Tuthial stopped a few feet from the next door. He turned and looked at them while Dax’s face beamed. The Valtukta pointed toward Dax.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen that look before?” he asked.

“Any time someone says, ‘Hey, there’s this super dangerous thing you can do,’ that one has a tendency to dive in headfirst,” Henuva said, pointing at Dax.

“And more often than not, it ends with a nasty fight and at least one near death experience,” Dalia added.

“It’ll be an easy, sure-fire way to punch a hole large enough for us to escape without risking blowing up our ship,” Dax mused.

“Why not just wait until Mark’s done with the repairs? We pile in, fly on over and take the shots.” Dalia asked. “We don’t have to trudge face first into the depths of every horrible thing.”

When Dax opened his mouth to reply, Henuva shook his head.

“Don’t even make one of those Kane comments about how it’ll be fun, or just because it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean it won’t be a good time,” he blurted.

Dax sighed. He turned toward Tuthial.

“That is a good point, I guess. You’ve got ships. Why not just fly there?”

Tuthial let out a chuckle before pushing the next set of doors open. They followed onto the plateau below the one they’d landed on. The Valtukta made his way through the ramshackle town, toward its edge.

Dax was the first to follow. Dalia and Henuva quickly caught up. Dried meat hung from lines at what looked like a vendor’s hut. His brow furrowed while they pressed forward, not recalling any mention or sight of livestock.

They passed the last building. Several of the locals sat at the literal town’s edge, their legs dangling. Next to them were large clubs with metal spikes sticking from them. The humanoid slugs chewed on what looked like chunks of raw iron, overlooking the valley that stretched out in front of them.

Reaching the edge, Dax looked down at the five-hundred-foot vertical drop. His stomach turned while a tingling overwhelmed his nethers. He swallowed hard and took a step back, silencing his ‘call to the void’ before it could start speaking.

He turned his attention to the land that stretched below them. Scorch marks and craters covered the ground. Rusted remnants of destroyed ships were scattered every which way. On the horizon sat a cannon, pointed straight at the sky in defiance.

“The Grasper has a way of taking down our ships,” he explained. “We foolishly tried to destroy it. Every vessel with a gun was destroyed. We tried sending craft over it. They’d get shot down on their descent to the cannon. We’ve failed at so many attempts, no one even tries anymore.”

“There’s been no movement so far,” one of the locals said.

“We think it may have gone dormant,” another replied.

“Makes sense; lack of food would mean it’d need to go into a hibernation state until it senses something to eat again,” Henuva added. “Why not try and fly now?”

Tuthial pointed at a particularly nasty mangled mess of steel.

“You say that like we haven’t,” he pointed out. “It went silent for a year. Not a single peep. One of our best said he could make it. Took a crew of five, and that’s how it ended.”

Dax took another deep breath, centering himself. He inched his way toward the cliff again and looked down. The toxic sludge stretched out for a quarter of a mile at the plateau’s base.

“Do you have protective gear?” he asked.

“We’ve been here for a thousand years. What do you think?” Tuthial replied.

Dax inched his way back before flashing a wide smile at Dalia and Henuva. They both let out a reluctant groan.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Henuva huffed.

“If we could fire that gun, give you a hole to retreat through, and a safe haven to go to, would you do it?” Dax asked.

“In a second,” Tuthial replied. “We have an ark we’ve thrown every spare resource at to ensure it runs properly.”

“Okay, then start getting it prepped,” Dax said, looking up at the peak they’d landed on. “Those other ships, how attached to them are you?”

“They don’t have guns and are running low on fuel. They’ll be nothing more than sculptures soon. Why?” Tuthial replied.

“That is what I was hoping to hear.”

Dax turned back to his crew.

“We’ve got weapons and armor that’s been proven to protect us from just about everything,” Dax said. “What do you say we load up a few buckets of that sludge, lather ourselves up and make a break for that cannon?”

Dalia’s head tilted to one side. She turned and looked at the weapon, thinly veiled by haze.

“Hmm, that actually doesn’t sound like a terrible plan,” she said softly.

“What do you want our ships for?” Tuthial replied.

“Our pilot is incredibly skilled. He can fly our Junkyard and yours remotely. It’ll give him the cover he needs to land, pick us up and get us out after we take the shot, but before it happens.”

“What’s it?” Tuthial asked.

“When you spend any amount of time around humans, you’ll discover they have a propensity to blow things up,” Henuva replied. “He is referring to the inevitability of the remnants of that wreck turning half this planetoid into a crater.”

“Really?” Tuthial asked, looking at Dax.

“His observations of our patterns of events isn’t incorrect,” Dax replied.

“Means yes,” Dalia added.

19

THOUGHT

Dax stood on the main deck of the Junkyard, looking through the viewport. The soft pink light of the nearby nebula cast shadows across the planetoid’s surface. On the horizon, a pale yellow beamed over the edge from the rising star.

Mark emerged from the engine room, covered in grease while wiping his brow with his sleeve. Dax took a sip of his coffee before motioning at the window in front of him.

“This is technically a windshield,” he said softly.

“What?” Mark asked, inspecting the smudges on his hands.

“This, the viewport, it’s technically a windshield, but it feels really weird calling it that.”

“That’s because it protects from the void more than from wind. A viewport is exactly what it is,” Mark replied. “You wouldn’t call it a space shield, or a void shield… that’s actually kind of cool, now that I think about it.”

“True,” Dax said with a shrug, taking another drink.

“What brought that on?”

“Eh, just my stoner thought of the day.”

“Stoner thought of the day?” Mark chuckled.

“Yeah, you know, you kind of zone out and weird thoughts just start flowing.”

Mark snapped his fingers and pointed at Dax.

“Kind of like how water isn’t wet!”

“Excuse me, what?” Dax asked, fully turning to the young man. “What do you mean water isn’t wet? It’s water.”

“Think about it,” Mark said, his sour expression shifting. “Water is the thing that makes other things wet. The property itself can’t give itself its own property.”

“Is this another conspiracy theory of yours?” Dax asked, his eyes narrowing.

“No, it’s just scientific fact. Water can’t make itself, self.”

“That’s like saying soap doesn’t make itself clean.”

Mark tossed out a sarcastic frown and nodded.

“But it doesn’t; it just makes other things clean.”

Dax stifled a laugh.

“Your logic is predicated on the fact that water, which is a physical object, shares a trait it doesn’t have for itself when it touches physical objects. It’s like saying dirt is dirty because when you put it on something else, it makes that item dirty.”

“But dirt itself isn’t dirty, thus backing my hypothesis that water isn’t wet,” Mark countered. “An object can’t give itself its own property.”

Dalia shuffled out of the crew quarters, her eyes half open and hair frizzled in all directions. She sniffed the air before looking at Dax’s steaming cup of coffee.

“Do I smell the juice of the gods?” she asked.

Dax held up his cup. She turned toward Mark.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“How water isn’t wet,” Mark replied.

Dalia’s eyes opened all the way. She looked at Dax, who nodded in confirmation. With a shake of her head, she turned around and shuffled back toward her room.

“It’s way too early for that,” she muttered.

After a few seconds, the sound of a door shutting and locking sounded through the ship. Sandrina emerged, covered in grease as well. Her brow furrowed and lips pursed as if she’d been muttering to herself.

“What’s taking you so long?” she asked.

“We’ve been having an interesting discussion, Care to join?” Dax asked, taking another sip.

Sandrina eyed them both for a few seconds before giving Mark a shove.

“If this heathen is pulling someone else into his ‘stoner thought of the day’ that water isn’t wet and dirt isn’t dirty, I am going to stab someone with a rusty spoon.”

Silence fell on both men like a bucket of boiling water. They both stared at each other, their eyes bugged, and lips pursed while fighting back a laugh.

“A rusty spoon?” Dax managed to get out. “Really?”

“It hurts worse that way,” Sandrina countered. “Did he at least give you an update on the issue?”

“We have been having deep philosophical discussions. I was just about to get to the point, though,” Mark replied.

Sandrina shot the young man a suspicious glare.

“It’s not as serious as we thought,” she said, keeping her eyes locked on Mark. “Turns out when we were EMP proofing the ship, we attached part of the Farraday Cage to a rusty part that was knocked loose. When that many mines detonated, they let off a tiny EMP that hit us just right and fried a small but important circuit.”

“And?” Dax asked.

“And we have a spare. All we have to do is replace the fried piece, the rusty section of hull and the broken cage, and we should be good to go,” Sandrina explained.

“How long for repairs?” Dax asked.

“Six hours, tops,” she replied.

“And if you made the repairs by yourself?”

“Twelve. Why am I doing it by myself?”

Dax pointed at the gun that protruded out of the ground like Excalibur from its stone.

“Because we’re going to shoot that thing and then need immediate evac.”

“You planning on blowing it up?” Mark asked.

“Some crew members seem to think it will explode,” Dax explained.

“Based off previous events, I’d agree with that sentiment,” Sandrina replied. “But why am I doing it by myself? Do you need Mark to hack his way in?”

“No, I need him to put remote controls in those ships out there,” Dax countered. “Apparently, there’s something that lives between us and that gun that can knock ships out of the sky. You’ll need them as a buffer on your approach so you don’t get shot down.”

“I can outmaneuver gun emplacements.” Mark chuckled.

“It’s not guns. I don’t know what it is, except the locals call it the Grasper.”

“Sounds like a handsy guy at a bar no one likes,” Sandrina chimed in.

“It does, but something tells me it’s somehow worse,” Dax replied.

“Yeah, I can hook up remote controls on those ships. I’ll have Jun give me a hand. The faster we get off this rock the better.”

“What about the locals?” Sandrina asked. “Don’t they need a way to fly?”

“They’re leaving with us,” Dax explained.

“Not sure we have enough room for an entire colony,” Mark scoffed.

“No, but they’ve got an ark that’ll get them out and through the hole that gun’s going to punch through the minefield. You pick us up, get in front of them and lead them to safety.”

“The lead on Tylira…” Mark started.

“Isn’t going anywhere,” Dax interrupted.

“And neither have these people!”

“The mines are magnetic. What’s stopping them from filling in the gap after we leave?” Dax asked. “Trapping them here, this time forever. It’s not going to take any more time to get to the lead while helping them, than us just leaving and going straight there.”

Dax and Sandrina kept their attention on Mark, whose face started to turn red.

“It’s what Kane would’ve done,” Sandrina said softly.

The sides of Mark’s jaw flexed. His fingers clenched and loosened, sending white pulses across his knuckles.

“I’m going to get this grease off and get to work,” Mark said.

He marched toward the shower.

“Grease is greasy. When you touch it, you get greasy,” Dax called after him.

“That’s the argument I’ve been making,” Sandrina whispered.

“No, it isn’t,” Mark countered, slamming the bathroom door. “Grease isn’t greasy. It makes you greasy when you touch it. Think of the cat in the box.”

Dax’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head while his mind raced.

“Are you saying that any object that has a property, that can pass that property onto something else, is in a constant state of quantum flux?” Dax asked.

“And he gets it!” Mark shouted, his voice filled with sarcasm.

Dax closed his eyes. With his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a throbbing just behind his eyes.

“Ohhhh, that hurts my head,” he groaned.

“What?” Sandrina asked.

“He might actually have a solid point.”

“With a cat in a box?”

Dax made his way to the kitchen. Henuva sat at the table, his robotic arm partially disassembled. He leaned over it with a small tool in his other hand while he worked on it.

“Do not drag me into it,” he called out without looking up from his work. “When we catch Tylira, we can tie her down and let her listen to you pontificate. It makes this the second most painful thing I’ve gone through.”

He motioned to his missing arm while continuing to work.

“Fair enough.” Dax nodded.

He finished his coffee and washed out the mug.

“Our people had this experiment to explain quantum states. You put a cat in a sealed box you can’t see through. There’s a valve that opens randomly that will poison the cat,” Dax explained, placing his mug off to the side. “The observer doesn’t know if the valve has activated or not so, until observed, to the viewer, the cat is both alive and dead. It exists in a quantum superposition that is both until observed. At that point, the reality where it either survived or didn’t collapses into the truth of what’s in the box.”

Sandrina’s jaw dropped. Her brow furrowed as she blinked confusedly several times.

“Why would you do that to a cat?” she asked. “If we go back to Earth, are they going to put me in a box?”

“It’s a thought experiment,” Dax clarified. “No cats were actually harmed in the creation of the theory.”

“Are you saying no one actually observed it?” Henuva asked.

“I thought you weren’t getting involved,” Dax fired back.

“Typically, I wouldn’t, but that’s just scientifically unsound.” He put down his tool and sat back in his chair. “According to the scientific process, our people have to have the exact parameters. In order for something to be considered scientifically sound, it has to be observable, repeatable and recordable. Since you can’t observe a cat…”

“Can we stop using the example of killing a cat, please?” Sandrina asked.

“The cat’s not dead,” Dax explained.

“No, it’s both alive and dead, until you look at it,” Henuva added.

The Bastet let out a frustrated growl before stomping off.

“I don’t see how Dalia puts up with you sometimes. I’m going back to work!”

She stomped out of the dining room with Henuva and Dax watching. Once she left, they turned back to one another.

“Anyway, the experiment is itself a fallacy. Because you can’t observe the cat existing in that particular quantum state means it’s not observable or recordable. You could keep repeating it, but eventually, you’d just run out of cats,” Henuva explained. “Which means the idea of the experiment itself exists in the same superposition where it both succeeds and fails until it’s executed and observed. Since it can’t be observed, that reality can’t be locked in.”

Henuva’s eyes grew wide, his voice crackling with a hint of insanity as he continued to speak.

“And then you just keep pulling and pulling at the string, unraveling reality itself until it’s nothing more than an option of either it happened or it didn’t, until it’s observed and there’s no one left to look at it!”

Henuva panted, staring at his arm. Dax bit his lower lip to keep himself quiet. He ignored the entire speech, zeroing in on the space elf spiraling out of control to the point of teetering on the precipice of insanity.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, he thought to himself.

“There’s always God.”

The words slipped out as if on their own. Henuva whirled toward him.

“Don’t you try and use some all-powerful creator to explain away the insanities of your flawed scientific system to me!” Henuva screeched.

Dax stifled a laugh before making his way up to the main deck. Dalia shuffled back out of the crew quarters and looked at him.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We ran an in-depth experiment that I think explains why stoners get so paranoid,” Dax explained.

Dalia looked out the viewport, then at Dax.

“Yeah, still too early,” she grumbled before returning to their room.

20

SUIT UP

“Are you guys done with your little back and forth?” Dalia asked.

She stepped into her boots, clipping her suit’s armor up her legs while looking at Dax.

“It was just a thought experiment; we’re not conducting it anymore,” Dax countered.

“Thought experiment?” Henuva asked, while donning his suit. “I thought it was the tail end of a ‘stoner thought of the day’.”

“It’s allowed to be both.” Dax chuckled.

He looked back at Dalia, noticing her hair was still unbraided; it had been since the day Kane died. He pushed it out of his mind while moving up his body, encasing it in the patchwork gear.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Still not well,” she replied. “It’s restless.”

“Nightmares?”

She shook her head.

“Not that I can remember.”

“I’ve studied your mind,” Henuva chimed in, motioning at Dax. “It’s a lot like these guys. When I was observing you all, your brain waves showed six to seven dreams a night, but they don’t get transferred into your memory centers unless you wake up at a specific time in the dream process.”

Henuva stood up, put his helmet on, clipped it in place and retracted it while Dalia and Dax continued to get ready.

“I mean, you lost a very close friend, a disproportionately large number of your people, saw your recently revived world start burning and were forced to flee your world. And that was in the matter of a single day. You’ve got trauma your brain’s trying to process; you’re just not remembering it.”

Dalia glanced at Dax for confirmation. He nodded in agreement while sliding the ring of his helmet in place and grabbing his shotgun and pistol.

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest,” Dax added.

“I feel fine,” she countered.

“You might, but it’s probably because your mind’s trying to protect you. Trust me, all it takes is one thing, and it doesn’t have to be big, or even related to anything that happened, and it’ll break you. You won’t know why, or where it came from, but everything you’re feeling, that you don’t realize you are, will hit you like a tidal wave.”

Dalia’s expression dropped. Concern filled her face while she picked up her guns as well.

“Do you think this makes me a liability on this mission?”

“I very much doubt it. It’ll hit when things finally slow down, after all of this is done.”

“When’d it hit you?” Henuva asked.

Dax pursed his lips. His mind flashed back to that day, the warm sunlight on his face, the clear sky and soft grass under his bare feet. He curled his toes, almost able to feel nature’s carpet inside his boots.

“It was a ladybug,” Dax replied. “Landed on my shoulder, the day before I was arrested.”

“A bug landed on your shoulder?” Henuva scoffed. “I’ve seen you do some incredible things, but a bug is just a little too unbeliev… what do you mean arrested?”

“Lady bug, a beetle, about yea big,” Dax said, holding up his index finger and thumb. “Red with black dots and wings. It landed on my shoulder, and that’s when the dam broke.”

“You haven’t with Kane?” Dalia asked.

“I have. It just hits differently the second time. It happened when I watched you dance for him. I may not have said goodbye yet, but I’m waiting until I can bring him some good news to do that.”

Dax leaned into Dalia’s armor tube while she put on the last of her armor. He grabbed her hammer and handed it to her.

“Now, what do you two say to us getting off this planetoid and finishing the job we started?”

Dalia grabbed her weapon. Henuva shut his helmet before they made their way toward the ladder. The ship’s power source thrummed softly in front of them, giving off a gentle warmth.

Sandrina stood on top of Jun, who was positioned on her hands and knees. She held up a piece of metal with one hand while the other welded it in place. PITA sat next to a toolbox, more filament in his mouth, ready to pass it along.

“Heading out,” Dax called back.

“I’ll be done in an hour,” Sandrina replied.

“Sensors indicate welding integrity is above acceptable levels,” Jun replied.

“And I’m being a good boy, 3D printing any extra filament that’s needed,” PITA added.

“You mean you’re retrieving them?” Dax asked.

PITA turned around, filament in mouth and eyes upturned, emoting joy.

“No, I print them.”

“Is putting poop in your mouth just a universal dog thing?” Dax muttered to himself.

“I can hear that,” PITA replied. “And probably.”

Shaking his head, Dax climbed down the ladder with Dalia and Henuva close behind. Reaching the cargo bay, he walked across and grabbed Dalia’s Fat Mac and sound cannon. He turned around and held them up.

“Which are you wanting to use?”

“I want to use the sound cannon,” Dalia said, reaching the bottom of the ladder. “Before we left, the Bastet gave it an upgrade I’m looking forward to testing.”

“What kind of upgrade?” Dax asked, putting the Fat Mac down.

“The kind that only has three shots before it runs out,” Dalia replied.

She grabbed the Dal’no rifle and slung it over her shoulder.

“There was an upgraded shot I could’ve been using while I was fighting off those mines and no one told me?”

“It was a secret,” she replied.

Tossing him a playful wink, she headed toward the deployed ramp.

“You going to grab a gun?” Dax asked as Henuva reached the bottom.

“We’re going up against something they call the Grasper. Anything tries to get handsy with me, it’s getting burned,” Henuva replied, holding his rifle up. “No bullets, just unrelenting three-thousand-degree plasma shots to burn it away.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Dax chuckled.

“Surprised you’re not going for the M4,” Henuva added. “Has the best of both worlds.”

Dax looked at Kane’s pride and joy mounted on the wall in a place of honor. His chest tightened while his eyes lingered for a few seconds. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

“That’s not my weapon to claim,” Dax replied, holding up his shotgun. “Besides, this will turn anything that’s down range of it into mist. I don’t even have to aim, just point in the general direction and it’s gone.”

Dax looked at the bandolier still draped on his armor that held four orange shells. He pulled one of them out.

“And this little beauty right here is called Dragon’s Breath, in case I do need some more open heat than my pistol provides.”

“Why is it called Dragon’s Breath?” Henuva asked.

Dax cracked a smile and slid the shell back into place. Without a word, he made his way to the ship’s exit.

“It’s something horrible, isn’t it?” Henuva asked.

Dax shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s something horrible,” the Valtukta echoed.

Walking outside, he looked up at Mark, in his suit with his helmet up, welding an antenna onto one of the local’s ships. As he activated his helmet, it darkened to protect his eyes.

“How are things looking?” Dax asked.

“Almost done with this one, then I’ll just have one more,” Mark replied, not taking his eyes off his work. “I’ve already got the software patched into their systems so Jun can fly them on her own.”

“Fantastic,” Dax said.

The sparks stopped; Dax’s helmet lightened as Mark hooked the welding gun to his hip and leaned away from his work. Using the magnets on his left glove and boots, he leaned back and retracted his helmet.

“I ought to warn you. When I was uploading the files, I got a peek into their systems. These people are desperate. They’ve had an SOS beacon running for centuries that can’t get past the mines. They’ve lost sixty percent of their population to escape attempts.”

He deactivated his magnets, dropped to the ground and picked up another antenna that lay next to the ship. Approaching Dax, he did a quick glance around before leaning forward and lowering his tone.

“I’m talking one bad mission from going Lord of the Flies and eating each other desperate. If anything starts to go wrong, expect to get shot in the back,” Mark said.

“Tuthial wouldn’t do that,” Henuva argued. “He’s a man of honor. If he was going to shoot us, it’d be in the face, and we’d be armed.”

“You’ve never met the guy,” Dax countered. “History isn’t exactly reliable, and even then, he’s been stranded on here for a thousand years. No one would blame him for going a little coocoo for Coco Puffs.”

“The Valtakuntera prides itself on the accuracy of its histories,” Henuva countered.

“Yeah, and so does humanity, but guess what? Everyone seems to think Napoleon Bonaparte was this four-foot tiny man fighting against the giants of Europe when, really, he was five-foot-six,” Mark countered.

“What does that mean?” Henuva asked. “How tall is that?”

Dax held a hand up just below his collarbone.

“He was tiny!” Dalia mused.

“Everyone’s tiny to you,” Mark countered.

“The average height of a man at that time was five four. So, he wasn’t actually short,” Dax clarified. “What Mark’s trying to say is the history and the man are often two very different things. Just be careful and keep an eye out. These people deserve our help, but the last thing we need is a blade between the ribs.”

Mark marched toward the last ship, holding up the antenna.

“I’ll have the last one on in a few hours. Jun seems to think, unimpeded, you should get to the emplacement in less than half a day. My guess is it’ll be longer.”

“Sounds good. Keep your radio on, and we’ll let you know when to take off,” Dax replied.

Mark gave a thumbs-up before starting to climb the last ship.

“By the way, is Sandrina using my girlfriend as a stepstool again?”

Dax froze mid-step. He slowly turned toward Mark with a furrowed brow and a deep frown.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked. “I thought the whole you dating a robot thing was a joke.”

“She’s a true artificial intelligence with unique thoughts, feelings and ideas. Her mind is very much real; she just doesn’t have an organic body.”

“Dax, Dalia, Henuva,” Tuthial’s voice carried over the arid ground. “We’re ready for you!”

Dax looked forward to see the Valtukta in crude armor, standing at the mesa’s edge, a few steps from the path. Four of the humanoid slugs stood behind him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Dax said, pointing at Mark. “No broken hips.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Mark shouted as Dax rushed toward Tuthial. “Hurry back. We’ve got a job to do and I’m getting impatient!”

21

PREP

Each step down the winding path brought a strange weight to Dax. His eyes locked on the ground a few paces ahead while what could be considered the noon-day sun settled high above the minefield around the planetoid. The stampede of footfalls around him flooded his senses while he played what little planning he could do in his head over and over again.

“The fewer of us there are, the faster we can move,” Dalia suggested.

“You’ve also lost enough people,” Dax added. “We can take it from here. Just give us the information we need to get on the ship.”

“Absolutely not,” Tuthial replied. “We’re going with you because you don’t know what to look out for. There are countless dangers between here and there. If you haven’t seen them before, you won’t make it.”

Dax noticed Henuva slowing down. He drifted to the back of the group, gripping his rifle tightly. His helmet turned between their escort, the cannon in the distance and Dax, with a fidgetiness to it.

“Are your people in their ark?” Dalia asked.

“They are,” Tuthial replied, pointing up. “Once your ship takes off from our hangar roof, we’ll initiate the countdown.”

“This is a hangar?” Dax asked.

“Yes, but over the centuries, it’s been so caked in dirt that it became part of the mesa we built it on.”

They reached the lower flats and started through the buildings. An eerie silence settled over what was once a lively outpost. Anything of value was gone, leaving the buildings behind little more than ghosts.

He eyed the trampled dirt; soft chimes of dangling metal being blown into others by the gentle breeze sent a chill down Dax’s spine. He lowered his hand, resting it on the handle of his knife while he walked, letting his other brush just a little closer to his pistol grip. Dalia increased her pace to match Dax’s. Her hammer rested on her shoulder. Her hand clenched around its handle from where she swung it, not as a counterbalance to its head.

“If it’s going to take us a long time to get to that gun, why is everyone already packed up?” Dax asked.

He glanced behind him to the rock full of carved-out homes. There was no one to be seen. The slug-like beings near him continued to snack on raw iron ore.

“I’m the only one that’s been alive since the crash. These are descendants of those my people fought,” Tuthial explained, motioning to their escorts. “They’ve grown up hearing stories about the stars and places where your survival isn’t dependent on if one of our machines is feeling particularly temperamental today or not. They’re eager to leave, and can you blame them?”

“Not really,” Dax replied.

They reached the edge of the colony, passing the empty hydroponics farm and now-abandoned water distillery. Two sleds with a large crate and what looked like a hand pump attached to a hose sat in front of them.

Taking a closer look, Dax noticed dried sludge down the box’s sides that pooled in the bottom of the sleds. Tuthial approached one and grabbed the handle to push it forward. Two of their escorts lined up on the other.

“What are these?” Dalia asked.

She approached, looking the sleds over. Henuva circled around Tuthial, inspecting his ancient, heavily damaged armor.

“These were made by a man who wanted to prove we could venture toward the cannon by bringing the sludge with us and pumping it through the hoses,” Tuthial replied.

“What happened to him?” Dalia asked.

“He overestimated how far he could go and only made it halfway back.”

“We can just douse ourselves in the stuff and run for it,” Dax chimed in.

“No, you don’t want to do that,” Tuthial countered with a sarcastic chuckle. “I imagine armor has gotten better in the last thousand years, but this stuff is so caustic, if you don’t clean or burn it off your metal immediately, it’ll start eating through.”

He motioned toward his heavily damaged gear.

“I learned that the hard way. It’s also how I lost my hair growth the first time,” he added, tilting his head toward them, showing his short, trimmed hair.

“It ate away at your hair?” Henuva asked.

“No, it started eating through my helmet. I took it off before the burners could ignite the sludge,” Tuthial explained. “It went up in flames, claiming my hair. I’ve kept it short ever since.”

“Highly flammable, good to know,” Dalia said softly. “Probably a good thing PITA’s not here.”

“PITA?” Tuthial asked.

“He’s our dog that can run a little hot,” Dax replied, motioning down the path. “Shall we?”

“Before we go, when we get down there, there are a few things you should know. If you feel the ground rumble, stop moving. Once it stops, wait sixty seconds, then you can continue,” Tuthial explained, motioning to their escorts. “If you see these guys sniffing the air, get as low to the ground as you can. They will tell us when we can get back up.”

He looked at their escorts. With a nod, they stripped down, causing Dalia to turn her back toward them.

“They don’t really need to be naked, do they?” Dax asked, putting a hand up to block the view.

“Yes, they do. Otherwise, they can’t properly protect themselves,” Tuthial replied.

The humanoid slugs flexed their bodies, secreting a silvery translucent liquid from all over themselves. Dax and Henuva watched in equal parts interest and disgust while Dalia kept her back to them. After a few minutes, the ooze hardened into layers of metallic growths that covered them from eye stalk to toe.

“Fascinating,” Henuva whispered before looking at Dax.

“Don’t even think about it,” he jumped in, holding up a finger. “We don’t have a lab sterile enough for that experiment and my teeth can’t handle chewing iron to make that. I also don’t want to ooze.”

“It wouldn’t be that hard, just repurpose a portion of your sweat glands and increase the density of your teeth with protein structures. It’d take a week tops,” Henuva countered.

“You’re not turning my Battle Bonded into a slug hybrid,” Dalia countered.

“I’m not saying that I was, just that it’d be an interesting experiment,” Henuva replied.

“What are they arguing about?” one of the locals asked.

“Nothing of consequence,” Tuthial replied.

“Then can we please go?”

Tuthial nodded and motioned down the path that wound into a canyon, gouged into the earth in a straight line from them to the ship. Dax drew his shotgun and knife before making his way down first. His HUD ran scans of everything within range while highlighting nothing.

“Your guys seem a bit on edge,” Dalia noted.

She took her position behind the first sled while Henuva moved into their single file line behind the second.

“The Grasper has a tendency to be more active at dusk and dawn. If not stimulated, then it completely shuts down at midday and midnight,” Tuthial replied.

“What exactly is it?” Henuva asked.

“I couldn’t tell you; I’ve never seen anything like it. Just that it’s large and grabs people with these whip-like appendages that can crush a ship’s hull with ease,” Tuthial explained.

They cut around a tight corner, continuing down the winding path, descending much faster than Dax had expected.

“What kind of weapons does it use to take out ships?” Dax asked, nodding at the wreckage of the ships strewn out in front of them.

“It wasn’t any firearm I’ve recognized,” Tuthial replied.

“You were a Valtakuntera war hero,” Henuva chimed in. “How do you not recognize a weapon?”

“Do the locals know more about it?” Dalia asked.

“I’ve been here longer than five generations of the locals,” Tuthial replied. “I’ve seen it more than they have. It’s a pod that explodes and fires something at high velocity that detonates on impact.”

“Think it’ll try and take a shot at us?” Henuva asked.

“It’s never done that before; I don’t know why it would start now.”

They reached the bottom of the plateau. Tuthial released his cart and stepped past Dax a few paces. He leaned over and put his palm on the ground, his other hand raised with a finger upheld.

Dax watched him closely while his HUD continued to run scans on the area. It still didn’t notice anything. Silence fell on the group. Nothing but the rustling wind and rolling of sand filled the void.

“We’re good,” he said, standing back up. “Boys, take your positions. The rest of you stay between the sleds.”

“All due respect, that’s not the plan we made,” Dax countered. “Tell them that if the Grasper comes out to soak us first, we’ll protect the sleds since it won’t hold on to us if it does grab one.”

“If we do that, the timer starts. Your suits will be compromised, and unless purged, they will be useless to you in under an hour,” Tuthial warned.

“Then it’s a good thing we can run fast,” Dax replied.

He motioned toward the gun protruding on the horizon like a monument to a dead empire.

“How sure are we that weapon will still work?” Dalia asked.

“It’s a Valtakuntera heavy cruiser gun. It’ll still work,” Tuthial replied.

“Henuva?” Dax asked, glancing back at his teammate.

“So long as the power cells are still intact, and the relays weren’t destroyed in the crash, it should,” he replied. “But I fail to see why these questions weren’t asked before this whole thing kicked off.”

“We’ll chalk it up to being over eager,” Dalia asked. “How sure is should?”

“Valtakuntera ships from that era are still in service. They’re considered relics because of their age, but they are still completely functional, with minimal maintenance needed.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, this plan of mine is heavily reliant on a hunch and a hope that luck decides to be kind to us,” Tuthial added.

Two of the locals rushed to Tuthial’s sled and started to push it. Those remaining grabbed a hose, held it tight and walked alongside the primitive transports.

“Eh, we’ve gambled more for less,” Dalia said with a shrug. “And if it’s the only way off this rock, it’s not like we have a choice.”

“Pressing forward because of no choice, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing lately,” Dax said through the muted radio system, trudging forward.

“Maybe we can make it our motto,” Henuva added.

All three maneuvered between the sleds with Tuthial in front of them. He walked cautiously, ensuring his feet were on the ground as long as possible with each step.

“I thought it was ‘I’ll go’?” Dalia asked.

“It felt like we were starting to force it. But ‘just because it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean it won’t be a good time’ sums us up pretty well,” Dax replied.

“Dive headfirst into dangerous situations and survive because of just dumb luck,” Dalia scoffed.

“It’s not dumb luck,” Henuva chimed in. “It’s strategic responses to evolving situations and an ability to think on the fly that’s kept us mostly kicking so long.”

“Mark would call it plot armor,” Dalia said.

“If we were protected by that, Mark wouldn’t have been stabbed in the face and Kane would be more than the contents of a jar on our ship,” Dax said.

His eyes darted to an enormous hole in the side of the trench. It was hidden from view from above. From below, it stood four times his height. Jagged rocks surrounded the burrow while its internal walls were completely smooth.

“Possible contact left,” he whispered over his suit’s external speakers.

Tuthial turned his attention to the hole. He let out a chuckle and shook his head.

“Good eye. Part of it definitely comes out of there, but it’s not inside. If it were, we’d be in one nasty fight right now.”

22

GRASPER

They pressed forward, pausing every hundred yards or so for Tuthial to feel the ground. Dax’s HUD didn’t register any movement below them or down any of the dozens of smooth, massive holes in walls on either side of them.

Bones of multiple races, along with rusted or partially rotted weapons littered the ground around them. Dalia caught his attention with the wave of her gun. She motioned toward a strange stain in the ground.

A small voice in the back of Dax’s mind told him not to focus on it, that it was likely the leftovers of some poor colonist. His curiosity quickly overrode it. Following Dalia’s point, he noticed a dark brown stain in the reddish dirt.

“Computer, scan,” he whispered.

His HUD locked onto the stain. It ran a quick program before shifting Dax’s view. The same color that was under a thin layer of dirt became visible. A line stretched to their left and right. He turned around, looking at the towering mesa behind them.

Apart from a small spot buried deeper than the rest, a solid, wobbly line stretched all the way back on either side of them. Connecting both lines were arches across its center.

Dax let out a soft gasp of disbelief. Stretching back nearly half a mile, only a handful of non-effected spots bridged the initial outline. His stomach sank as he noticed a pattern of corpses or the dropped weapons next to those unstained places.

He slowly turned, keeping his eyes on the ground. A lump gradually formed in his throat along with a tightness in his chest. The stain stretched out ahead of them for another fifty yards. It cut at an uneven wobble with a deep divot in the ground and what looked like a mangled arm bone.

“Nobody’s even made it halfway, have they?” Dax asked in a hushed tone.

“Not on foot,” Tuthial replied. “But that’s why we have these.”

He pointed at the sleds. The toxic waste that stained the boxes sported a very similar color to the ground.

“Should we just run?” Henuva asked.

“Our helmets can see in the dark. Why don’t you just let us go into the tunnels to take it out,” Dalia suggested.

“There’s no easier way for you to get every one of us killed. Slow and steady wins this race,” Tuthial countered.

Dax let out a snicker as they approached the furthest point anyone had previously made.

“What’s so funny?” Tuthial asked.

“My people have a very similar saying,” Dax replied. “And honestly, kind of similar behaviors as your people. Without the laws we have in place, I think our races would be very ideologically similar.”

“That’s a terrifying prospect,” Tuthial sneered.

With a wave of his hand, two of their escorts started to pump the devices on their sleds with one hand while still holding the hoses in their other. Tuthial lingered at the furthest point for a few seconds. Dax noticed him take a deep breath before stepping onto the untainted dirt.

Dax held his breath in unison with their escort. He raised his gun, aiming it at a nearby tunnel. His heart slammed against his sternum like a jackhammer while he waited for what felt like an eternity for the order to keep moving.

Eventually, Tuthial gave the order. They pressed forward. Their escort’s spine was stiff. His ears twitched while his head swiveled from one hole to another. Each step was slow and deliberate. He dug the soles of his shoes into the ground.

The static of Tuthial’s trepidation coursed through Dax’s armor. The iron deposits on the locals seemed to clamp tighter around them while Dalia made herself as small as she could, drawing her weapon, Henuva getting as close to her as possible.

Tuthial made an up and down motion with his hand. The locals started to slowly and quietly work the pumps on their sleds as they pressed forward. Dax’s finger pressed hard against his trigger guard. It screamed to be allowed to slip, to shoot, create a noise, anything. The world’s silence screamed in his ears, causing them to ring in desperation.

“Hold,” Tuthial whispered.

His voice was so quiet, Dax wasn’t sure if he heard anything initially. Henuva froze in his tracks, not daring to move, confirming he’d heard what he heard. Stopping, he got his weapon ready.

“Do you feel that?” Tuthial asked.

Through Dax’s boots, he felt a vibration. One so gentle, he wouldn’t have noticed initially if attention hadn’t been called to it.

“Is that the Grasper?” Dalia asked.

Tuthial nodded. He held a finger to his lips, moving painfully slowly. Dax’s HUD blinked that there was movement detected behind them. His legs tingled, readying themselves to run or fight.

“Tuthial,” Dax whispered. “Tell your men, when Henuva shoots, to douse us.”

“Any movement could set it off,” Tuthial countered.

“It’s already been set off,” Dax explained. “Henuva, on my mark, go to four-fifteen and open fire.”

“Are you sure?” Henuva asked.

“My helmet’s detecting movement in that direction, large enough to notify me. I’m sure,” Dax added.

Before he could say Dalia’s name, her hand was already resting on her rifle, ready to flip it up to shoot. She offered a barely perceptible nod.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

“Don’t panic,” Tuthial said in the local language. “The Grasper’s behind us. “Wait for the small one to open fire, then cover our guests with the waste. They’ll hold it off while we make a break for it.”

“We move as a team,” Dax countered. “You break leave us behind, we won’t be able to protect you.”

“Some things are worth the risk,” Tuthial replied.

Henuva spun and opened fire with a relentless barrage. The ground shook as low screeches echoed through every tunnel around them. The locals turned, flipping switches on the hoses. They slung gobbets of black ooze at them.

It splashed all over their armor. Warnings of hazardous, acidic materials flashed across Dax’s HUD. They, along with Tuthial, charged forward. Fountains of sludge whipped forward and back in a series of well-choreographed arches, creating an unbroken line around them.

“A little help!” Henuva screamed.

Dax wiped his visor clean. He turned, only for his stomach to drop. A green tentacle as tall as a hole reared up, twisting and recoiling from Henuva’s shots. The plasma sublimated its water content, causing small steam explosions out of the forest-green tendril while only scratching its surface.

“Oh, you’ve got to be freaking kidding me!” Dax shouted.

He put his shotgun away. Before he could draw his pistol, Dalia stepped up and fired her sound cannon directly at its base. The impact obliterated rock and ripped flesh from the viny attacker.

A pained hiss echoed from the planet while the ground rumbled violently underfoot. The arm whipped violently back and forth, causing even more damage to itself until the weakened portion snapped free, leaving part of the vine blocking their path back while the rest retreated.

“Henuva, I’m starting to think your childhood hero’s a bit of a nash’nuh’lock,” Dalia snarled.

“Whoa!” Dax replied, more out of surprise that his translator wouldn’t clarify the word.

“I’m starting to think you might be right,” Henuva replied.

Two more vine-like growths burst from holes behind them. Dalia raised her rifle once again.

“I’ll cover our six,” she said.

“Good idea; move!” Dax ordered.

Two of the vines rushed them. Dalia fired. Her sound cannon filled the canyon, heavily damaging their attacker, causing the arms to recoil. Everyone turned and started to sprint toward the gun pointing into the air.

Vines rushed Tuthial and the sleds. Slop was slung onto them, immediately burning and eating away at the growth. They recoiled before rearing up to attack from a different angle. Dax raised his pistol and shot at the arm. His weapon punched small holes into it while Henuva opened fire, taking whole chunks away.

“Looks like penetration isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Henuva teased.

“Can we not go there right now?” Dalia asked.

She fired two more times.

“Tuthial, look out!” Dax screamed.

The limb he’d been shooting dove toward one of the sleds. The locals leapt off it while the transport was lifted off the ground. The hose slung toxic waste in every direction. With a strike of his weapon on the metal protrusions that covered him, their escort let off a spark.

It flipped through the air. Just before going out, the surge of waste from the hose crossed over it. Immediately, a wall of fire rushed up the hose. A muted light surged across the tubes inside before going dark.

A split second later, the sled exploded in a shower of flame and sludge. The vine whipped around frantically while the fire clung to it like napalm. Droplets splashed onto other emerging limbs, burning them and causing them to recoil back underground, settling to silence for several seconds.

Dax’s heart hammered against his chest while he panted, trying to catch his breath. Dalia flipped a switch under the barrel of her rifle. It let out a high-pitched hum while a yellow light pulsed along the lower rail.

“What are the chances we scared it off?” Henuva asked.

“No way it’s that easy,” Dax replied.

His HUD pinged motion behind him. He slowly turned to see a bulbous sphere emerge from one of the holes. It was bristle-covered; bulbous growth rubbed across the ground. Dax took in a sharp breath. Deep creases ran along the ovaloid growth. It started to tremble while pointing directly at them.

“Get down!” Dax screamed.

He turned and threw himself into Dalia. Colliding, they tumbled to the ground as an explosion ripped through the valley. The sound punched through Dax’s armor, sending waves of pins and needles through his body.

A dark brown, fifteen-foot-tall sphere screamed toward them. It whistled as it sailed overhead. The impact on the opposing wall sent a tremor through the entire valley. Momentum shot it into the air, and it sailed out of sight.

“What was that?” Mark called out.

Dax scrambled to his feet. Hooking his arm through Dalia’s, he ripped her to her feet while a crouched Henuva stood back up. He aimed at the arm that punched through the spent seed stalk, shooting at it. His weapon did almost nothing to it.

“Forget this,” he snarled in frustration, shoving Dalia forward. “Run, I’ll cover.”

“Your gun isn’t doing anything,” Henuva countered.

Dax holstered his pistol and drew his shotgun. He planted his feet and pointed it at the incoming vine. He braced his body, fighting the urge to join his team in retreat. With a squeeze of both triggers, a ball of fire erupted from the end of his barrel.

The ten-gauge kicked; lead screamed through the air before tearing into the fibrous flesh of the creature, ripping the tendril apart. It recoiled before moving back into its hole.

“It’s some kind of plant,” Dax replied. “Hope you’re ready; things are about to move quickly.”

With a flick of his thumb and a pull on the barrel of his gun, two smoking shells flew past his head. Dax turned and sprinted after Dalia and Henuva. He reached for his ammo belt. Grabbing two of the orange shells, he slid them into the breech before snapping his gun shut once more.

A thin vine whipped out of a hole and wrapped around his arm. It immediately released him, the sludge eating away at it. The ground started to rumble violently, knocking Tuthial and his guards off their feet. Small vines shot out from valley walls. They wrapped around two of the locals before yanking them into the darkness.

“I take it the rumbling isn’t a good thing,” Henuva called out.

“Very much doubt it,” Dax replied.

The ground around the valley exploded, sending chunks of rock and dirt high into the air. The locals threw themselves on top of Tuthial, their metallic bodies protecting him from falling debris.

Half a dozen tendrils whipped through the air. They turned toward Tuthial; all of them converged on him at once. Dalia rushed forward. She dropped her hammer and moved to a knee and took aim with her cannon.

“Leave it to the lady to save the day,” she said, squeezing the trigger.

23

RUN

A soundwave ripped out of the end of Dalia’s cannon, laced in yellow light. Her weapon kicked into her shoulder, sending her to her back and sliding a few feet toward Dax and Henuva.

Both men were side by side, their legs carrying them as fast as they could. They leaned down, hooking their arms with the baffled Dal’no’s and ripped her to her feet. She joined their sprint, grabbing her hammer as she did.

The tendrils surged toward Tuthial and the remaining locals. With feet to spare, Dalia’s shot crashed into them. Vines split under the soundwave before their insides dried and burst into flames from the plasma’s heat. The vines recoiled before slamming into the ground, rolling against the dirt and giving Tuthial and the others a thin window to get out of their range.

“Mark, you’re not going to believe this,” Dax shouted while they rushed between the flopping, massive vines. “For the first time in recorded history, I’m seeing stop, drop and roll being executed to put out a fire.”

“Is it on you?” Mark replied.

“Nope.”

Dax’s HUD detected movement to his right. He grabbed the back of Dalia’s head and shoved down before ducking himself. A thin vine whipped out, narrowly missing their heads with the sound of a cracking whip.

“With how much they pushed that concept in school, I would’ve sworn that catching fire would’ve been a much bigger problem,” Mark added.

“Same here,” Dax replied.

One of the large vines surged at them. Henuva took two shots at a charred pit in it. It recoiled while the others continued to flail wildly. Flaming pieces of the Grasper rained down around them. They approached the abandoned sled, sludge still churning out of its hose.

“Hurry up!” Dax roared.

His legs went numb trying to carry him faster. Dalia kept up while Henuva dropped a few paces behind.

“Keep going,” the Valtukta shouted. “I’ll cover our six, unless Dalia wants to take another shot.”

She looked down at her rifle. Red lights blinked all over it.

“It’s still cooling down,” she replied. “I can’t use it until it does.”

Henuva stopped in his tracks. Dax looked back as the arms extinguished themselves and started to reorganize.

“Henuva, move your legs,” he screamed.

“Don’t worry,” he cried out, turning his robotic arm away from the sled. “I’m going to be fine.”

He pointed his rifle at the sled. The arms rushed him. With a squeeze of the trigger and a flash of purple light, time seemed to stop. Dax’s heart skipped a beat while the sled snapped apart. Splinters and shards of dried wood spun in every direction while a ball of fire, pushed by a compression wave, surged in every direction.

Dax’s helmet darkened while the tendrils closest to the sled were ripped apart. Henuva disappeared in the wall of flames, sending a numb shock through Dax’s body. Dalia’s screams for him shattered the muted ringing in his ears as Henuva’s diversion bought them a little more time.

A streak of smoke and fire tore out of the explosion behind them. It flew overhead, landing halfway between Dax and the retreating Tuthial. The ball of flames rolled for a few feet, substituting the fire for smoke, before slowing to a stop.

“Henuva?” Dax asked, a flutter of hope in his chest.

Through the smoke, a charred robotic hand slammed into the ground. The Valtukta pulled himself onto his knees. Dark char covered his armor, accompanied by bits of smoldering tentacles.

“It was a really smart idea to upgrade the armor with an impact-dampening layer,” Henuva wheezed. “Otherwise, that might’ve really hurt.”

“You dumb, pointy bosh’tet,” Dax snarled.

“I’ve got him,” Dalia said.

She looped her rifle over her shoulder, switched hands with her hammer and leaned down. Dalia extended one arm while Dax gave her room. Dalia slammed into Henuva, who let out a pained wheeze when she lifted him off the ground like it was nothing and threw him over her shoulder.

A second plasma explosion tore through the valley behind them, making what was left of the six vines completely retreat underground. A wall of fire burned intensely behind them, completely overtaking the valley while flames rushed down the trail left by their former escorts.

“What’s going on down there?” Mark asked. “It’s starting to look like L.A.”

“Too dark,” Dax called back.

“I’m sorry, it looks like you’re burning tires, which is terrible for the environment. Is that better?” Mark asked.

“Will you shut up, please?” Henuva wheezed. “Your voice is hurting my head.”

“Henuva blew himself up to cover us,” Dalia cut in. “We’re almost at the crashed ship.”

Tuthial and the locals made it to the ship. The Valtukta reached the door pad and started pressing on it.

“If they get that door open, don’t let them shut it,” Dax ordered.

More vines erupted out of the ground around them. They started blindly, slamming and grasping all over the place. A shadow overtook them. Dax and Dalia instinctively split while continuing to run just as a tendril slammed into the ground where they’d just been.

Dax reached out, with his tainted glove and he ran it along the vine, leaving deep chemical burns in it. Instead of pulling back like he was expecting, the vine immediately curled back around him. His armor sounded pressure alerts but held firm while he was lifted off the ground.

Sizzling organic matter ate away at the vine; it held him firmly around the waist. Dax scrambled for his bandolier. Pulling it off, he chucked it at the crashed ship. It sailed through the air, hitting the hull before flopping to the ground.

“Dax!” Dalia screamed.

“I’ll be fine, keep going,” Dax replied.

The doors hissed open. Dax tried to move his legs to wiggle free. They couldn’t fight the coiled beast that held him. Tuthial and their escorts rushed inside. Dalia threw her hammer as hard as she could. As the doors shut, they slammed against the head of her Boronian weapon, not allowing them to close all the way.

Another shadow loomed over Dax. He looked up to see yet another massive vine looming over him, ready to crush. A smirk tugged across his lips. He pointed his shotgun at it.

“Go ahead,” he snarled. “I’ve always wanted to say it.”

The vine rushed him, ready to snap his upper body.

“FLAME ON!” he roared.

His finger twitched. Dax’s gun kicked in his hand while a wall of fire surged out of both barrels of his weapon. A wall of heat and sparks scorched the vine, but more importantly, ignited the lines of sludge that’d dripped down the barrel.

Flames surged up the weapon. They spread to Dax’s glove before completely engulfing him. His HUD noted the flames but marked them as unharmful to the suit.

Dax’s stomach lurched into his throat as he was released. He landed on his feet. The fire spread to his legs. He marched toward the door that Dalia and Henuva fought to force open.

With a flick of his thumb, his barrel broke, sending the spent Dragon’s Breath shells flying past the inferno of his helmet. While he marched, anger roared within him at the Valtukta willing to leave them for dead.

For once, his appearance matched what he felt inside. He locked eyes with Tuthial. Terror filled the ancient warrior’s face. Dax reached for his bandolier, still burning. He carefully removed the last two fire-breath shells and loaded them into his gun before closing the breech. Positioning himself behind Dalia, he extended the weapon, pointing it directly at Tuthial’s head.

“Open the door,” he snarled.

“Oh, forget this. I’d rather take my chances with the Grasper,” one of the locals screeched.

He hit the door control. It slid open, letting Dalia’s weapon drop to the ground. She picked it up before throwing her arms around Dax, which immediately spread the flames to her.

Tuthial backpedaled. He tripped over a piece of debris and fell to the ground while the others let out a series of shrieks and ran to the far end of the room.

“You saw how flammable the stuff was,” Henuva huffed. “Why’d you hug him? You’re a walking torch now too.”

Henuva picked up Dax’s bandolier before entering the ship. The flames on his body started to die out. He entered the ship as well, followed closely by the walking inferno Dalia had become.

Henuva shut the door as the Grasper’s vines vanished underground once more. Dalia’s flames quickly burned out, leaving nothing of her wolf bear cloak. Still smoking, she stepped toward Tuthial, hammer in hand.

“Now, you’re going to show us how this thing works, and you’re going to apologize for trying to leave us as bait, or I show you how the Dal’no deal with traitors,” she snarled.

Her already menacing helmet was even more terrifying now that smoke billowed from it, giving her the appearance of a demon.

“You wouldn’t hurt me. You need me to shoot the gun,” Tuthial bargained.

“No, they don’t,” Henuva chimed in, motioning toward the inside of the ship. “Part of first grade history is learning about the relics. I know how to shoot this thing. We don’t need you at all. You’re…”

He started snapping his fingers before looking at Dax.

“What is the word your people have for people in his situation?”

“Some would say redundant,” Dax replied, looking at his smoking gun. “In this case, I’d say expendable.”

Tuthial let out a whimper, his body trembling uncontrollably with fear while he held his hands up. Pity filled Dax’s heart at the sight of how far this soldier had fallen. He showed none of it, only tightening his grip on his gun.

“Oh, come on,” Dalia grumbled, taking a half step back. “I thought you were supposed to be a legendary warrior.”

“I was,” he replied.

“Legendary warriors don’t wet themselves,” she countered.

With her hammer, she motioned to the small puddle forming around Tuthial.

“Dude.” Henuva grimaced. “That’s just embarrassing!”

“I haven’t seen action in centuries. Even the hardest calluses fall off after time,” the Valtukta countered.

“Yeah, but not that badly,” Henuva scoffed.

“Look, one Valtukta is good, but it’ll take hours to prep this cannon. There are usually teams working on it. If you have two, it’ll cut that time in half. Keep me alive, and I’ll help you get off this rock faster.”

His eyes drifted to Dax. They were wide, pleading for mercy. Dax looked at Dalia, then at Henuva. The Valtukta shrugged.

“He may know where the armory is in this thing,” Henuva said. “And I just lost my rifle back there. I could use another gun.”

“You try anything, and I mean even breathe in a way I find funny, this smoking hottie,” Dax said, pointing at the smoldering Dalia, “is going to use your head as weapon testing for that hammer of hers. And if you try anything, you’ll get a taste of Dragon’s Breath first.”

Dax moved his shotgun as he spoke.

“Deal,” Tuthial said.

Dalia spun her hammer around and offered him the handle. He grabbed it. She pulled him to his feet. Tuthial pointed behind them to another door on the opposite side of the room.

“The bridge is that way. We need to get to it to run diagnostics and ensure enough power is running to the gun, otherwise, it’ll backfire and kill us all.”

“Lead the way,” Dalia said with a nod of her head.

The Valtukta turned and walked toward their escorts. Henuva stepped in next to Dax.

“I was right, by the way,” he said softly.

“Right about what?” Dax asked.

“That is something horrible. Awesome, don’t get me wrong, but absolutely horrible,” he said, motioning toward the gun.

“Why thank you,” Dax said with a wide grin. “Kane would’ve loved to hear that.”

24

SHELTER

Dax brushed off the loose bits of char on his suit. He looked at the locals on the other side of the room who trembled while desperately jamming their weapons into the door’s crease, trying to pry it open.

“Don’t uppity, we no harm face,” Dax said in their language.

The sentence was broken, and his pronunciation was off, but the message was clear enough to make them tentatively relax.

“How do you know their language?” Tuthial asked.

“He’s got a thing for linguistics,” Henuva replied.

“Almost as much as he has a thing for me,” Dalia added.

She approached him, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

“I wouldn’t say almost,” Dax replied with a flirtatious wink. “You’re a good four miles ahead of it.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Tuthial huffed.

“When I was experimenting on him, he became completely fluent in a few months just by listening to me and my aides speak our language,” Henuva explained. “We didn’t know his language; he had no reference to compare to and he still became so proficient, he fooled other guards into thinking he was part of the empire after stealing a few suits.”

“No,” Tuthial huffed.

“I mean, I could see what they were typing too. That helped with sentence structuring. But your tour gave me an opportunity to watch the locals, and most communication is done non-verbally. If you know what you’re looking for, extrapolating the words is easier.”

He looked at the door controls and nodded at them.

“You want to keep talking about my linguistic skills or open this door so we can get this job done?” Dax asked.

Tuthial moved toward the door. Dalia extended the arm she nudged Dax with, blocking his path.

“We’ve had some run-ins with Valtukta-controlled androids in the past. When you open that door, we’re not in for any nasty surprises, are we?” Dalia asked.

“Absolutely not,” Tuthial replied.

She motioned toward Dax’s helmet.

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, his helmet can pick up on things before we can see them. If he sees androids coming after us…”

“You’ll use me as a test subject for your hammer?” he asked, glancing at the weapon in Dalia’s dangling arm.

“I absolutely will,” she replied.

“The robotics we had on this ship weren’t combat platforms. Even if they were, they had to be manually hooked up to charging ports. No one’s been doing that, and without that, they’d run out of power in a month.”

Tuthial motioned to the thick layer of dust that covered every surface around them.

“It’s been more than a month.”

Dalia nodded and stepped back. Tuthial turned, making his way to the door. Dax stepped closer to his Battle Bonded while glancing at her limp right arm.

“Did you dislocate your shoulder when you took that shot?” Dax asked.

“Mostly,” she replied. “Trying to open the door popped it out the rest of the way. Think you could pop it back in?”

“Through your armor? Doubtful,” Dax replied. “But if we disconnect enough for me to get a hand in there, I could.”

“And leave me open to an attack by the team that left us for dead? I think not.”

Henuva stepped forward. He glanced down at his boot. Dax followed the Valtukta’s gaze to see the toe of his boot open, revealing his metallic toes.

“You guys do what you need to do,” he said, putting himself between Dalia and his predecessor. “They try anything, they won’t get two steps toward us.”

“Thank you,” Dax said.

“We’re family; we’ve got to have each other’s backs,” Henuva replied.

Dax looked up at Dalia. She nodded. He moved to her side. Fidgeting with her armor, his finger caught the external locking latch. Pulling it, the suit clicked, but nothing happened. Dalia’s helmet nodded. With a click, the armor at her shoulder separated from the rest, falling limp a few inches down her bicep.

“I’ve got enough room to get a hand in there. This is going to hurt,” Dax warned.

“You say that like we haven’t done this before.” Dalia chuckled. “I can handle it. Just give it a shove.”

Dax placed one hand inside of her suit. His HUD highlighted the dislocation. Feeling around, he figured out where the joint sat and how it needed to return. He placed his shotgun on his lower back before putting his free hand on the back of her shoulder.

“On the count of three, okay?”

“I swear, if you go on two, I’m going to…”

POP!

Dax shoved her shoulder in place. He felt the bone shift under his hand before his HUD’s highlight disappeared. Dalia let out a low grunt. Her arm flexed, accompanied by a forced laugh.

“I didn’t go on two,” Dax said.

He grabbed her armor and locked it back into place. Dalia stood upright and moved her arm before turning toward him. Her giant, looming presence forced a nervous smile to creep across his face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she snarled.

“I’m glad you think so,” Dax replied.

The door hissed as it slid open, stopping about halfway. The sound of grinding gears, followed by a high-pitched whine and a puff of smoke filled the room. Tuthial grabbed the door and tried to force it open even more. It refused to move.

“Well, at least it’s part way open,” he said before stepping through.

Henuva’s boot closed. He raised his left hand, letting his palm glow while the natives moved into the next room too. Henuva followed closely behind. Dalia gave Dax a barely noticeable tap with her hammer.

“I’m going to get you back for that one day,” she warned.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Dax replied.

Drawing his shotgun out from behind his back, he made his way to the mostly open door and stepped through. Dalia followed closely behind, ducking under the bulkhead and turning sideways to better fit.

The ground shifted underfoot. Dax caught himself, easily staying upright in a sea of soft sand that half-filled the enormous room that stretched in front of them. Metal wings, tails and an occasional nose of smaller ships protruded from the sand.

“What are the chances any of these ships still work?” Dalia asked.

“None,” Tuthial replied. “At least not in a way we could use. All the sand in the engines would have to be cleaned out before they’d even think about firing.”

“And that’s not taking into account that older ships like these had perishable fuel sources,” Henuva added. “Ten years after refinement, they’d break down to essentially water and paint thinner.”

“What about weapons?” Dax asked. “Where’s the armory?”

“That part burned up on entry. But there are security lockers on the bridge. Those will have battle-ready weapons. They’ll need a lot of care, but as long as they’re intact, I imagine they’ll work.”

“And the bridge?” Dalia asked.

Tuthial pointed at a door just over two hundred yards away. From the tilt of the crash, it stood almost fifty feet overhead. Mangled metal peppered the walls from the shrapnel of a broken hull casting eerie shadows from what little light poured through cracks in the ship.

“You’re expecting to climb that?” Dax asked.

“It’ll be dangerous, but I’m sure we can do it. The question is, can you?”

Dax looked at his team. Dalia motioned to his boots with her hammer.

“I think we can handle it,” Dax mused. “Lead the way. If you run again, though, we will shoot you.”

“We’re not going to run again,” Tuthial replied.

He started across the sand with the locals following him closely. Dax kept a safe distance between them. Close enough Tuthial couldn’t escape if he tried but far enough that any attempt to attack would be futile.

They walked close to the rusted corpse of a ship. Dax peered into the pitch blackness that lingered inside. With a flick of his eyes, he activated his suit’s lights. They shone brightly into the vessel. Two suits of armor sat strapped in the pilot and co-pilot chairs, their bodies limp, pulled to the side by gravity.

Dax clenched his jaw at the sight. With each step, he curled his toes in his boots from an itchiness that crawled under his skin. They passed another ship with a hole ripped across its side. Curiosity overpowered his will as he peered in. A shard of metal was embedded into the far wall. On the ground lay a suit of mangled armor.

The mid-chest down and the lower half of arms sat on one side of the ship. The upper half was on the other. Dax’s lights illuminated a vertebra poking out of the upper half.

“What was the war about?” Dalia asked, relaying Dax’s thoughts.

“What every war is about. Expanding territory and power,” Tuthial replied.

“Not every war is about that,” Dax replied.

Tuthial approached the wall. He grabbed some of the metal and gave it a tug. It didn’t move.

“That’s all there is,” Tuthial argued. “Are you telling me your people don’t go to war?”

“Oh, no, we go to war,” Dax replied.

He approached the wall and pulled on some of the shrapnel as well. It held firm.

“On my world, there is one faction that has, aside from a few occasions, exclusively gone to war for peace,” Dax explained.

“War for peace?” Tuthial scoffed. “That’s like drinking for sobriety.”

Dax looked at the Valtukta.

“Is it? Tell me, what is worse? Expanding, killing and stealing for the sake of doing it and consolidating your own power? Or, arming up and going to war against the power grabbers to stop their spread?” he asked. “Turning their hate, their rage, their malice against the oppressors. Men and women willing to fight the oppression for those who can’t succeed on their own?”

Tuthial’s eyes narrowed. He looked Dax up and down while pursing his lips.

“I don’t buy it,” he said softly.

“What do you think they’ve been doing for almost a decade?” Henuva asked. “They’ve been fighting defensively against the empire to stop them from genociding billions of lives. His kind is the only race I’ve ever seen do this.”

Tuthial started to climb along with the natives.

“And yet you hunt this Tylira. That doesn’t seem defensive,” he called down.

Groans started to sound through the ship while they climbed. Dax took a few steps back, accompanied by Dalia and Henuva.

“She stabbed one of our crew in the face and killed another one,” Dax explained. “And she’s been hunting us non-stop. We’ve hit a critical mass. Either we die or she does.”

“Killing your enemies. How is that different from what the empire is doing?” Tuthial asked.

One of the natives moved to a stop above Tuthial. The metal groaned before snapping free. Tuthial leaned away instead of catching him. Dax extended his left hand and activated his magnetic gauntlet, slowing the slug-like man enough for a gentle landing.

“Dax would’ve caught him,” Dalia pointed out.

“And I’m here,” Henuva added. “On top of that, our Bastet betrayed them to the empire. They forgave her. You just ran to leave him for dead. He stayed behind to make sure everyone was clear and didn’t Dragon’s Breath you. He’s also tried to negotiate with Tylira on at least a half dozen occasions.”

The local immediately started to climb once more. Tuthial reached the door, interacting with the pad. It unlocked. He grabbed it and pulled it open before climbing in.

“Name one instance where a Valtukta or any other race wouldn’t have shot and walked away,” Henuva added.

Dax walked over to the Valtukta.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Come on, man, I just stood up for you. Do you gotta do this?” Henuva complained.

“I won’t tell the dwarf,” Dax replied.

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh.

Before Henuva finished exhaling, he grabbed the Valtukta. With all his might, he threw his crew member toward the open door. With a push of his left hand, the magnetic field shoved Dax knee deep into the sand while propelling Henuva through the opening.

“Okay, sweety, your turn,” Dax said.

He dropped to his back before ripping his feet out and raising them into a kicking position. Dalia stepped in front of him and sat on the bottom of his shoes.

“Actually on three this time,” she ordered.

“On three,” Dax replied.

25

RE-ROUTE

Dalia held her hammer and rifle in front of her. Her knees were curled into her chest while she soared through the air. Henuva shoved Tuthial and one of their escorts out of the way.

“Dal’no, cannon ball!” he shouted.

She soared through the open door, extended her legs, and disappeared behind the floor. The screech of metal on metal hinted she landed on her feet. Dax stood up. He aimed his hand at the top of the door frame before jumping with all his might.

Dax curled his fingers back and yanked. With another magnetic pulse, he soared through the air toward the weathered steel. His stomach dropped, feeling like it had stayed where he was originally standing. Once above the doorway, and ten feet away, he deactivated his gauntlet. Momentum and gravity did the rest, carrying him toward the door frame.

He landed gracefully at the edge and grabbed the inside of the door before pulling himself through. Two deep gouges scarred the dusty floor for almost ten feet. At their end stood Dalia, rifle on her back with hammer in hand, the handle planted firmly in the ground.

Dax followed her gaze to a wide-open room with computers, interfaces and a single chair in the center. The house-sized hole in the floor seemed little more than a minor inconvenience compared to the gargantuan size of the room.

“I thought Valtakuntera bridges were at the center of the ships,” Dax said in disbelief.

“They finally did that?” Tuthial scoffed. “It’s about time. I kept warning them having the bridge too close to the outer hull was a recipe for disaster.”

“Case, meet point,” Dalia said.

“It was actually after this battle that they made that change. Apparently, a lot of ships were destroyed because their bridges were hit by debris and not ordnance,” Henuva said, looking at the hole. “Clearly, this one was a direct hit, but I’m sure there were others.”

“Where do we go?” one of the remaining iron-clad slug men asked.

“There’s a relay against that back wall. Third panel from that piece of shrapnel sticking from it. Take that off. Make sure the connection is still solid,” Tuthial explained.

He turned to the second and third.

“You two, behind the captain’s chair, remove the panel. There should be a computer system in there. Take a look. Let me know if it’s blackened or not.”

With a nod, the locals rushed across the bridge toward their respective jobs. Dax looked at Tuthial, hand resting on his hip.

“And us?” he asked.

The Valtukta motioned toward a large piece of steel that lay on the ground, having been sheared from the deck above.

“Weapons systems are under that. I could use Dalia’s strength to move it.”

“He may not look like it, but Dax is stronger than I am,” Dalia replied.

Dax grimaced and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied. “I’d say approaching the same level.”

Tuthial turned toward Henuva. His brow furrowed while gawking at the scientist.

“Well done, making such a compact individual so strong.”

“Hey, I’m not that small. I’m average for my species,” Dax countered.

“He was already strong when I found him,” Henuva countered. “My experiments made him about sixty percent of what Dalia’s capable of. The rest came with a particularly nasty adaptation.”

“I wouldn’t call the infection a nasty adaptation,” Dax countered.

“Infection? Are you sick?” Tuthial asked.

“No,” Dalia cut in, her tone stern. “If he were, we’d all be worse than dead right now.”

She walked over to the sheet of steel. Setting down her hammer, she waved Dax over.

“I could use a little help,” she added.

“On it,” Dax replied.

He jogged over, giving Henuva a knowing glance. The Valtukta moved, positioning himself behind his countryman. Dax leaned over and grabbed the edge of the metal. Crouching, he tucked his butt between his ankles before looking at Dalia just bent over.

“You’re going to want to use proper form unless you want to pull your back out,” Dax warned.

Dalia’s helmet tilted to one side. He could feel the sarcastic expression on her face through the metal and visors.

“Got it, on three?”

Dalia immediately started to pull. Dax tightened every muscle in his body and joined. His armor braced itself as he moved to help hold the detached decking. Clenching his teeth, he continued to pull, causing his arms to tremble. With a screech, the debris shifted. Standing straight up, he held it up to his mid-stomach while Dalia settled in at hip height.

“Think you can give it a shove?” Tuthial asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Dax asked through clenched teeth.

“It just needs to move a couple of steps,” he countered.

Dalia glanced at the hole to their left and the downward slanted floor leading to it.

“We do the ol’ push and jump?” she asked.

Dax felt every beat of his heart thrum through the vein in his forehead. He tried to speak again, but all that came out was a labored grunt before nodding. They shifted their feet in unison, not more than a few inches with each shuffle.

An ear-splitting screech filled the bridge, setting Dax’s teeth on edge before his helmet muted. His grip on the steel started to slip. Clenching his teeth even tighter, he mentally screamed at himself to just hold on for a few more seconds. Once reaching the edge, gravity started to pull on the debris. Dalia gave it one last shove, nearly yanking Dax off his feet.

“Move,” she shouted.

“Little hard,” Dax grunted.

He started to slide with the shifting weight. Dalia rushed out of the way. She grabbed his collar and yanked him free just before the full weight slipped from his hands.

Sparks flew in every direction while the scrap was pulled into the hole. Dalia hit the ground, pulling Dax with her. His heart skipped a beat when a piece of their junk rotated toward them, narrowly missing them before being consumed by the floor.

Dax propped himself up on an elbow. His heart raced and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His suit accelerated its internal cooling while he turned toward Dalia. Almost ten seconds later, a series of crashes echoed through the ship, accompanied by a minor tremor.

Dalia’s shoulders heaved as if she were holding in laughter. She reached over and gave Dax a pat on the leg. He returned the contact before looking back at Tuthial.

“That clear enough for you?” he asked.

“I would say so,” he replied.

Dax pushed off the ground and stood up. Offering Dalia a hand, he pulled her to her feet while Tuthial approached a gouge in the ground. The Valtukta carefully grabbed the edge while whispering something.

“What are you saying?” Henuva asked.

Tuthial stopped and turned toward Henuva.

“Please still work, please still work. Is that okay with you?”

“Acceptable,” Henuva replied.

“Don’t you have a little faith in me?”

“Asks the man who just left those trying to help him escape an unintentional prison world to die?”

“If he wasn’t going to ask you, I was,” Dax said.

“And if they weren’t, next in line,” Dalia added.

“You’ve made my error abundantly clear. I promise not to try anything like that again,” Tuthial countered.

“Eh, I think this is a fool-me-once situation,” Henuva said, raising his glowing robotic palm. “Open it. Anything I don’t like happens, just look right here, smile, and wait for the flash.”

Dax stifled a laugh. Dalia caught on, opening a private radio channel.

“What’s so funny?” she whispered.

“I told him he should watch the A-Team from the data Josh brought from Earth. Apparently, he did.”

“There’s no need for threats,” Tuthial huffed.

He pulled on the floor. With a hiss and a series of sand-induced screeches that sent a shiver down Dax’s spine, a console rose from the ground. Tuthial reached under it to a mess of wires.

“Let’s see if I can remember how to do this,” he muttered.

He pulled a few free before drawing a rusty knife from his suit. Cutting and stripping a few wires, he started to touch them together. Sparks jumped and a low rumble shook the ship. The control console flickered to life.

“One thing I will say about the older models, they clearly don’t make them like they used to,” Henuva scoffed. “No way this would work with a modern ship.”

“We had an ally that gave us these weird, highly radioactive engines that never seemed to run out of power. They managed to take all of them back after we started expanding, except for two or three ships. This was one of them.”

“I think we may know the same people,” Dax said with a murmur.

Tuthial inspected the flickering screen. Dax watched it closely, reading the older, but still legible version of the Valtukta language. He bit the inside of his cheek and let out a groan.

“What is it?” Dalia asked.

“Remote fire isn’t online,” Dax replied.

“That is true,” Tuthial replied, swiping on the screen. “But I have a way around it. The gun’s still functionally operational. We just need to run a few bypasses.”

“What kind of bypasses?” Dalia asked.

Tuthial continued to work while the power fluctuated. Low groans, accompanied by the sound of metal breaking coming from the hole caught Dax’s ear. He inched toward it. Activating his magnetic boots, he leaned over to peer into the bowels of the ship.

“The kind that removes the safeties in place that prevent manual fire,” Tuthial replied before looking at the escorts. “Gents, I’m going to have to re-route some power through those relays. Are they good?”

“Yes,” the slug-like being behind the chair called out.

“I’ll make sure mine works,” the other replied. “How much time do you need?”

“Forty-five to fifty seconds.”

The groaning continued. Darkness enveloped everything below. The pit seemed to whisper to him to jump, just to see how deep it was. To the right, a faint blue light pulsed. It was low enough he couldn’t tell if it was there or not for a few seconds.

“Rerouting now,” Tuthial called out.

The light started to flash brighter. Something appeared to be lurking in the dark. Dax leaned forward, straining his eyes to try and see what else was down there. He ignored the warning notification flashing on his HUD.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

His stomach twisted into knots while his mouth went dry. While the power core continued to increase in output, the Boronian blue light grew brighter and brighter, accompanied by a low hum. Each pulse illuminated what Dax hoped was just a hallucination brought on by staring into the dark.

A bulbous, organic ovaloid sat at the bottom of the pit facing straight up. Long hairs bristled over it, casting eerie shadows along the growth. Dax swallowed hard. It started to tremble. He leaned back, diving out of the way as it burst open.

The sound of its explosion reached their deck before the seed it fired screamed through the air, sending a percussive wave of air surging through the bridge. Dax hit the ground, rolled to a stop and drew his shotgun.

“We’ve got a problem!” he roared.

26

RACE

“What was that?” Dalia asked, turning toward the hole.

The entire ship shifted slightly with a low groan that sounded like the howl of the Grasper. Dax scrambled to his feet and turned toward Tuthial.

“We’re not alone here. Where to next? Before the Grasper gets its tentacles on us.”

Tuthial motioned to the bridge’s back door. Next to it sat the local, smoke rising off his scorched body. His metal covering still glowed slightly while a hand held tightly to either end of a severed wire.

“Oh no,” Dax whispered.

“They knew they likely weren’t coming back,” Tuthial countered. “It’s a sacrifice they were willing to make.”

Dax reached out and grabbed the Valtukta by the top of his breastplate. Henuva, Dalia and the surviving escorts rushed toward the door. Dax’s hand tightened around the old armor, bending it in his grasp.

“Is it a sacrifice you’re willing to make?” Dax asked.

“What do you mean?” Tuthial asked.

The HUD marked an increase in the Valtukta’s vitals and body temperature as the ship shifted once again. Deep thuds of vines scrambling up the hole grew louder the closer they got.

“If the time came, would you be willing to sacrifice yourself for those you claim to lead? Or do you keep a buffer so that you can escape?”

Tuthial looked at the hole behind Dax, then back to him. He tried to break free of Dax’s vise-like grip.

“Of course I would,” he said. “Now let me go before that thing kills us both!”

Dax didn’t need the heads-up display to tell him Tuthial was lying. A motion warning flashed at the side of Dax’s helmet. Keeping his eyes on Tuthial, he grabbed his shotgun and pointed it behind him until the red warning turned green.

With the squeeze of the trigger, a single barrel fired, filling the room in orange light. The craft shifted, accompanied by flailing impacts before a burning vine, severed by self-inflicted clashes with the hole’s edge, fell on the deck with them before slowly sliding back into the hole.

“You lie to me again,” Dax snarled, anger sparking to life in his belly, “and the next one’s for you.”

With a shove, he released Tuthial. The Valtukta sprinted toward the open door. Dax followed closely behind. He pulled a normal shell off his bandolier. When he opened his shotgun, the spent casing ejected itself. He replaced it, snapping the gun shut before passing through the door as well.

It slid closed behind him. He looked at the remains of their escort group.

“Me sorry, you misplace,” he said brokenly in their language.

“Thank you, but we knew our death would come on this mission,” one said.

“Once we take this form, we can’t digest food. It’s better to die in action, than to slowly starve,” the other replied.

Dax pointed his shotgun at Tuthial.

“Did this man tell you that?” Dax asked.

“It’s knowledge handed down from before the Valtukta war,” the first explained.

“You do know he won’t die for you, right?” Dax asked.

“Hey,” Tuthial cut in.

With a stern look, and Dalia stepping toward him, he fell silent.

“We don’t die for him,” the second said. “We die so our people can escape.”

Dax’s heart broke at the slug-man’s words. He swallowed hard before lowering his weapon.

“You’re better men than most in this galaxy. Tuthial, lead the way to the cannon.”

Henuva positioned himself behind his fellow Valtukta and lifted his cybernetic arm, aiming it at the back of his head.

“Does your cowardice know no bounds?” Henuva asked in disbelief.

“I said…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Henuva interrupted. “Get going!”

Tuthial made his way through a long, wide corridor. A thin layer of sand covered the tilted floor. Dalia kept an eye on it while Dax connected his radio with Mark’s.

“How are things looking?” Mark asked.

“Not terribly great,” Dax replied.

“I’d be concerned if it was otherwise. What’s going on?”

“It appears the Grasper is in the ship as well and is still less than pleased that we scorched part of it. The locals that came with us won’t be leaving the cruiser, and our great and honorable guide is little more than a coward who puts his own self interest above what’s best for the group,” Dax explained. “How are things on your end?”

“We’re airborne. Everything seems to be holding, Jun is tracking your suits, so we know where to come get you. We’re just waiting for the gun to go off.”

“Copy that,” Dax replied. “Enwha, ouya omeca ota etga us-a, on’tda ropda alla etha ipsha’s. Eepka onea orfa usa.”

“Wait, what? Oh, right, Pig-Latin’s not in the translators,” Mark murmured. “Copy that.

Dax cut the connection and looked at Dalia.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“We’re good,” Dax replied.

“Speaking code so I can’t hear your plans to off me?” Tuthial asked.

Henuva let out a cackle.

“If these guys were going to kill you, they wouldn’t speak code to do it. They’re more of the ‘tell you how they’re going to do it, then proceed’ type of people.”

They passed several open doors while they spoke. Resounding thuds rang from the bridge’s closed door. As they approached another one, Dalia grabbed Dax’s shoulder, stopping him. She reached out and stopped Henuva next before ending with Tuthial, a half step away from the open door.

“What?” the Valtukta asked, annoyance in his voice.

“How have you survived this long on a mostly desert planet without learning to read the sand?” she asked.

The locals were already motionless, looking at the ground. Dax followed their gaze to see a nearly imperceptible divot going straight across the corridor, into a small dent on the opposing wall. One of their escorts gripped his weapon tightly.

“How far is the gun emplacement from here?” he asked.

“Two doors to the left,” Tuthial replied.

“Are you sure it’s not Three Doors Down?” Dax asked.

“No, I said two doors to the left,” Tuthial countered, a hint of frustration in his voice.

The local turned back to Dalia.

“Does the sand truly speak to you as it does us?” he asked.

“I can help,” Dalia countered, going for her gun.

“You shoot that thing in here, and it could damage something that would stop the gun from firing, trapping everyone on this world,” he countered. “It’s an honor to have tracked the sand with another race, even if it was just once. I will buy you the time you need.”

Before anyone could move, he stepped into the door opening. A smaller tendril immediately punched its way through, slammed him into the opposite wall in a shower of sparks, wrapped around him and pulled him back.

Defiant roars, accompanied by the distinct sounds of chopping emanated from the room. Tuthial was the first to move. Everyone rushed after him. Dax glanced through the door to see the man with skin of iron hacking away at the vine that held him, causing it to whip him around the room.

Tuthial reached the door that was ajar. A skeletal hand lay on the ground in front of them. With a mighty heave, the Valtukta ripped the door open, revealing a pile of bones in a flight suit just inside, outstretched for the exit.

Tuthial kicked the arm into the room as everyone rushed in. Dax glanced back to see the vine burst into the corridor. Shards of iron protruded from its tip, accompanied by gashes deep enough to nearly sever the creature.

It rushed Dax. He stepped into the room. Henuva slid the door all the way shut just as it slammed into it. Dax smirked and gave Henuva a grateful pat on the shoulder.

“Well, we’re not getting out that way,” he said with a chuckle.

“No, we can get out that one,” Tuthial said.

He motioned to the cannon. Its base stretched out before them, almost a full city block. The gun itself reached into the sky, past a pivot hole in the side of the ship lined with rudimentary atmospheric shield generators. A sense of insignificance filled Dax at the sight, like he was little more than an ant.

“Did you guys ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, whoever built these guns was overcompensating for something?” Dax asked.

“No offense, Henuva, but I think the whole race might be overcompensating for something,” Dalia added.

“None taken,” Henuva replied, his eyes locked on the comedically massive gun. “Just standing in its presence, I can’t help but feel mildly inadequate.”

“That weapon will punch a hole in the stars?” the local asked.

“Oh yeah. Now let’s open the plug so we can shoot the thing without it backfiring.”

Tuthial walked over to a wheel that sat next to the gun. Skeletons in uniforms lay in piles around it, an occasional hand gripping a protruding handle. Tuthial pulled an arm off, tossed it to the side and kicked the corpses away.

“Talk about no respect for the dead,” Dalia grunted.

“I mean, in our culture, those who die are considered weak and the weak are useless,” Henuva added. “It’s hard to form sentimental bonds with that kind of brainwashing.”

“Get over here and push,” Tuthial ordered.

“Are we raising an anchor?” Dax asked.

The thuds at the door grew louder.

“No, there’s a retractable plug on the end of that gun. It automatically closes on a crash to keep the barrel clear in case they still need to use it,” Tuthial explained, looking at the alignment of the horizontal wheel. “It’s still in a closed position.”

Dax was the first to walk over. He put his shotgun back in place before positioning himself behind Tuthial.

“You don’t trust me?” Tuthial asked.

“I’m not putting my back to you where a very powerful shotgun is just within grabbing reach,” Dax replied.

Dalia dropped her hammer and moved in front of Tuthial while Henuva and the last survivor joined as well.

“But you’re going to let that cannon be within my grasp?” the Valtukta asked.

“If you shoot that cannon unarmored, it’s more likely to kill you than me,” Dalia replied.

“And if it doesn’t do the job, she will,” Dax added.

“Has anyone ever told you that you threaten death a lot?”

“Yeah,” Henuva said, holding up a hand. “I have. In their defense, though, they wouldn’t do it if they didn’t feel like they had to keep reminding you not to get any stupid ideas. Perfect example: I don’t think they’ve threatened to kill me once since I dialed back my drive for them.”

“Eh, maybe once, but we weren’t serious about it,” Dax replied.

He started to push, along with the rest of the group. A low groan emanated from the device. Dax leaned forward, putting his entire weight into the wheel. It refused to budge.

His, along with everyone else’s arms started to tremble from the force being imparted onto the wheel. Dax activated the magnets in his boots, locking him in place while repulsing with his left hand and pushing with his right. His jaw tightened with exertion. The groans and creaks grew louder while Henuva and Dalia let out a primal, defiant roar.

The thuds at the door grew louder, bending the steel. Dax continued to push with all his might, praying the wheel would give before the door. As if on cue, the wheel gave way.

Everyone lurched forward. Dax fell to the ground, his boots still firmly in place. Henuva crashed into him, bringing a quick end to the movement.

“Are you serious?” Tuthial hissed.

“Would you give me a second? It was to get more leverage,” Dax countered.

He deactivated his boots, crawled back into place and stood up before grabbing his handle.

“Okay, now I’m good,” he said.

Tuthial shook his head while Dalia fought back a laugh. Everyone started pushing once more. The wheel turned without resistance this time, only a series of ear-splitting screeches.

27

MAN THE CANNONS

Henuva rushed toward the cannon base. He started inspecting it before following an armored wire that ran around the side of the weapon.

“What are you doing?” Dax asked.

“He’s looking for the firing mechanism,” Tuthial replied.

“I’m looking for the firing mechanism,” Henuva called back.

“You need to make sure it’s loaded first,” Tuthial barked, following.

Impacts continued to shake the wall behind them. Dax looked back to see the door starting to bow with cracks forming across it. He gritted his teeth, snarled and rushed after Tuthial and Henuva, followed closely by Dalia and the last member of their escort group.

“What are the chances it’s loaded?” Dalia asked.

“High,” Tuthial replied. “The cap doesn’t deploy automatically without a round in the chamber; otherwise, opening the breech would clear most debris.”

Dax reconnected with Mark’s channel as they rounded the cannon’s base. On the far side stood a series of levers down the side of the weapon. A terminal flickered next to the weapon, accompanied by a series of cranks.

“I’d get high and start heading this way if I were you. We’re about to take the shot.”

“Copy that. Do me a favor and don’t throw it away,” Mark replied.

“You know we’re too young, scrappy and hungry to do that,” Dax sneered. “You’re going to grab us where the cannon protrudes from the ship. We’ve got a little company trying to get in the room with us.”

“Sounds good. Initiating launch,” Mark replied.

Henuva grabbed the first latch with his cybernetic arm. Dax watched as the scrawny Valtukta, with a mighty heave, pulled it up. As he threw all of his weight back, the latch followed a track and locked open. More squealing filled the room as the door, the size of a house wall opened to a full breach.

“Well, we’ve got good news,” Tuthial said, slowing to a stop as he caught up. “It’s loaded with an unspent shell.”

“What are the chances this thing fires?” Dalia asked.

“Better than our chances with what’s behind the door,” Tuthial countered.

“Wait,” the local called out.

He pointed at a series of protrusions that ran down the far wall, accompanied by a latch at the bottom.

“What is that?”

“It deploys ammo. We don’t have the gear or time to take another shot. We’ve got to do it now and run,” Tuthial explained.

“I’m a dead man anyway. If I’m going to die, I’d rather burn the Grasper with me. “You, the one who speaks my language terribly. Follow me.”

Dax pointed at Tuthial.

“Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything cowardly and idiotic,” Dax ordered.

“I’ll keep both of them on him,” Dalia replied, readying her hammer.

“I’m not going to do something dumb; you’ve made my fate clear enough if I were to try,” Tuthial grumbled.

Dax rushed toward the latch, close behind his escort. Both men reached it at almost the same time.

“Tuthial said enough heat can set off ammo stores. With the Grasper in the ship, your team may be able to approach un-attacked,” the local said, grabbing the latch. “To cover your escape, I’ll fire with the breech open. Enough heat should escape to set the rest of these off.”

“And wreck ship, damage core, it meltdown take that thing out,” Dax followed.

His vocabulary and pronunciation were just bad enough to make the armored man cringe but clear enough to be understood. He grabbed the latch and started pulling.

“You sport my specie level revenge,” Dax chuckled. “You solid want do this?”

“If I die, I’m not going out alone,” the man replied. “I’m taking whatever killed me into the darkness too.”

Dax couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. Both men continued to pull. The slide screamed with ancient metal moving for the first time in centuries.

“What’s so funny?” he asked in a strained voice.

“In dark work, world view healthy,” Dax replied.

The latch gave way. Both men tumbled back from the jerk. Hitting the ground, Dax threw his feet into the air. Doing a backward somersault, he popped back up on his feet. The local rolled and hopped up as well.

A series of ground-shaking impacts, along with loud clangs accompanied fifty-foot-long rounds that fell from the latch in the wall. Dax backpedaled while four piled up, blocking the open slat. The firing pin sat ten feet over Dax’s head and was as tall as him, as well.

“Oh, man, Mark would love to load one of you up and give you a shot,” Dax couldn’t help but mutter.

Another impact rumbled through the hull. Slivers of metal flew into the armory as the door started to fail. Henuva grabbed the breech door and started to close it.

“Don’t!” the local barked, pointing at the jammed munitions. “It’ll vent into that and take out everything.”

“Won’t that prevent pressure from propelling the shot to where it needs to go?” Henuva asked.

Tuthial shook his head while positioning himself on the barely functional terminal.

“No, it’ll only reduce its effective range by forty percent. Its effective range under gravity is almost a thousand miles. It’ll clear.”

Dax and the local rushed back toward the cannon. An earthquake sent a tremor through the entire ship, causing it to shift a few inches backward. Dax grabbed his escort, barely keeping on his feet. Dalia compensated with ease while Henuva and Tuthial held on to the gun to keep themselves upright.

“We’ve got something weird going on over here,” Mark’s voice crackled over the radio.

“I’m assuming that’s bad weird,” Dax replied.

“If you consider the ground in every direction for the better part of a mile starting to break up and move toward the ship fast bad, absolutely,” Mark replied.

Dax slid to a stop next to Tuthial. Sparks flew from his boots as he looked at the controls.

“How does he shoot this thing?” Dax asked.

Tuthial pointed at a little red button.

“That’ll fire it, but he has to wait until we’re away from the gun before he does, or the recoil will kill us by proximity.”

Dax looked at the man whose eye stalks were pulled close to his head. An intensity overtook his features. He nodded in understanding, motioning toward the button.

“I’ll give you as much time as I can, just make sure my people survive,” he replied.

“We will,” Dax said. “Everyone onto the gun!”

“Maintenance ladder,” Tuthial replied.

He pointed at a terribly aged ladder fastened to the outside of the cannon. Henuva rushed it, being the first to ascend. Tuthial followed suit. The ladder groaned under their combined weight.

“You go,” Dalia said. “If I climb that, it’ll break on you.”

“Yeah, but if I climb, it may not be able to support your weight after,” Dax argued.

He looked at the power levels on his HUD.

“There’s got to be a different way up. I’ll find it,” Dalia said.

“You take the ladder,” Dax argued. “I’m going to channel my inner Peter Parker. I’ve got enough juice to pull it off.”

“Who’s Peter…”

Before Dalia could finish, Dax rushed the gun. He activated all three magnets in his suit and started to climb, quickly passing Tuthial and Henuva.

“Hurry up, slow pokes. You want to live forever?” Dax asked.

“No, but a good, long life wouldn’t be too bad,” Tuthial replied.

“You’re a disgrace to the Valtakuntera,” Henuva huffed. “And they’re not anything to strive for, which is even worse.”

“Burn,” Dax called down. “Mark, anything shooting at you?”

“Nope Everything’s coming for you. We’re going to make our approach. We’re still using the other ships as cover, though.”

“Copy that,” Dax replied.

In less than a minute, he was on top of the gun. He leaned over, and using his gauntlet, he pulled Henuva and Tuthial up before the battery drained, causing his HUD to disappear while the suit’s full weight acted on him.

“Could I get a hand?” Dalia asked.

“I’m out,” Dax replied.

Henuva leaned over; he extended his armored hand and curled his fingers back. He stumbled forward. Dax turned, grabbed him and dug his feet into the cannon.

“Right, I’m lighter,” Henuva said through gritted teeth.

He started to pull his arm back. Dalia ascended the ladder much more quickly, reaching the top as the banging at the door subsided. Dax released Henuva and looked at the barrier, now a single hit away from completely giving in. His stomach knotted as his instincts screamed for him to run.

“That’s not good,” he muttered. “Move it!”

Everyone turned and sprinted up the cannon. Tuthial broke away, leading the pack with Henuva a few paces behind. The weight of Dax’s armor slowed him down. He continued to barrel forward, his strength granting him the same lumbering speed as Dalia.

They passed beyond the ship’s hull to see the Junkyard flying at them. One of the ships hurtled toward the ground, crashing into churning dirt that was closest to them.

The second did the same while the third hovered just below the Junkyard, its cargo bay door wide open. Dax looked back to see their final guide looking up at them, a smile on his face and his hand hovering over the button.

Guilt pulled at him as the Junkyard flew next to the barrel and lowered itself for them to jump onto. Tuthial was the first onto the safety of their ship. He went straight for the controls.

Henuva was close behind. He used his momentum to body-check the ancient warrior into a wall, knocking him out. Dax and Dalia leaped with all their might. Dirt flew up in every direction as vines burst from the ground. Some started to coil around the crashed Valtakuntera cruiser while others reached for them.

A thinner vine whipped at Dalia’s leg. In the blink of an eye, Dax drew his shotgun and fired both rounds under his Battle Bonded. Pellets ripped it apart while the Dragon’s Breath scorched it into retreating.

They both landed hard. The ship shifted under their combined weight. Henuva hit the button to close the cargo bay door. Dax rushed for the ladder while Dalia called out that they were on.

Artificial gravity kicked in when Mark turned the ship’s nose straight up and launched into the sky. Dax grabbed the rung, fighting the sudden shift of gravity, and ascended.

“Are we clear?” Dax shouted.

“We’re clear, we’re clear,” Mark replied.

Dax reached the top of the ladder. He manually pulled off his helmet while rushing to the main deck. Reaching the viewport, he saw the local’s cobbled-together ship burning its engines at full power, staying ahead of the Junkyard.

Dax looked at the rear-view screen to see the cruiser completely encompassed by vines. A blinding flash of light made the screen go white. A glowing projectile ripped past them and, in seconds, flickered from leaving the atmosphere of the planet.

“Keep a safe distance behind that thing, but follow it as best as you can,” Dax ordered.

“Like I wasn’t going to do that anyway,” Mark replied.

The screen darkened, bringing the image of the ship behind them once again. The slit for the gun emplacement to move flared several times before detonating, ripping the ship apart and engulfing the Grasper in plasma fire so hot, the dirt as far as the eye could see turned molten.

“Rest well, good man. Your people owe you a debt they won’t soon forget,” Dax said softly. “How long do you think it’ll be until the core melts down?”

“My calculations suggest five minutes,” Jun replied. “And if scans indicate anything, it will reduce this planetoid into little more than an asteroid belt.”

Dax looked at the looming minefield before them. He nodded.

“Okay then, you’d better punch it.”

28

THROUGH THE MINES

The ancient Valtukta round tore through the mines, causing a series of explosions to ripple across the void before them like a coil of firecrackers. The once impenetrable wall now sported a hole in it the size of the planetoid behind them.

“Jun, how big is the blast going to be?” Dax asked.

“Large enough you don’t want to stop and watch it happen,” she replied.

“Good enough for me,” he said, motioning at one of the radio buttons. “This connected to the ark?”

“I did get it cued up, but they can’t understand us. They don’t have translators,” Mark replied. “Get Tuthial up here and we can get it done, though.”

“He tried to leave us on the cannon down there; Henuva knocked him out,” Dax explained. “Fortunately, I picked up enough to be useful.”

Dax leaned over and pressed the button, connecting him with the ark.

“This Dax from Junkyard. Tuthial live, he sleep, we give back once safe,” Dax said. “Follow near, stay behind, we get clear.”

“We’d appreciate it if you’d stop butchering our language,” a voice on the other end crackled. “We’ll follow you, but if we aren’t given Tuthial by the time we exit, we will shoot you down.”

“Sunny,” Dax replied.

He released the button before turning toward Mark with a furrowed brow.

“Talk about picky,” he huffed.

“I know, what are they, French?” Mark chuckled.

He accelerated past the arc. They approached the minefield. They passed through the hole made by the weapon. Debris, slowly drifting through the gap, bounced harmlessly off their ship. In the distance glowed the faint light of the Valtakuntera round as it continued to tear through the field.

“Jun, can you calculate out where that’s going to exit versus our original point of egress?” Dax asked.

“Already on it,” the android replied.

Dax gave Mark a pat on the shoulder before turning toward the armor tubes. He stripped his gear off as the pilot gave a nervous groan and accelerated faster. Several chunks of rock flew past them and into the void.

“Hooo-hoo-hoo that was close,” he grunted.

“What was?” Dax asked.

“Looks like the planetoid went the way of the Kuiper Belt. Fortunately, the mines started re-attracting to one another, stopping the debris that would’ve taken us out,” Mark replied.

“Dandy,” Dax said, pulling his helmet off.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Jun said.

“That seems about par for the course. Let’s start with the good news,” Dax replied.

He started to remove his armor, setting it on the charging station piece by piece.

“Good news is, even if the round dissipates now, we’ll be able to get out of the minefield with no further issues,” Jun explained.

“And the bad news?” Mark asked.

“We’ll be off of our initially intended course, which was originally plotted to give us as little time as possible in pirate space.”

Dax placed the last piece of armor in its spot. He opened the shotgun, catching both the ejected cartridges.

“How long are we talking?” he asked.

“Instead of an hour, it’ll be a day,” Jun explained. “On the plus side, it’ll give me an opportunity to practice my dog-fighting skills.”

“I’m sorry, your what?” PITA asked from his charger. “Why would you want to punch a dog? What’d they ever do to you?”

“No, like, ship-to-ship combat, not getting in a fistfight with a pooch,” Dax clarified.

“I’m well aware of that, Infecto, the Fungal King,” PITA countered. “Just giving her a hard time.”

“Firstly, that’s slander. I’m not infectious. We’ve already established that. And I’m not sure how I feel about being referred to as a Fungal King.”

“Still not fully human anymore.”

Dax turned toward the cyber dog, letting his mouth move without thinking.

“Listen here, scorch face. If you want to do a line of lithium off a marble desk and release your little friends on people, by all means, do it, but remember, your charger is on this ship. I am the captain of this ship and have a say who steps foot on it. You want to get personal; I have no problem dropping you on Tachyon at our next visit.”

PITA stood up, his eyes turning combative.

“You want to play rough?” he asked.

Jun stepped between them, putting both hands up.

“You forget something, Dax. I am intelligent and a true cyber living being,” she said before glancing at PITA. “No offense.”

“None taken, chrome dome,” PITA replied.

“You forget, this body isn’t my original form. The Junkyard is. I have a say in who can be inside my body…”

“Phrasing!” Mark called out, maneuvering around a mine.

“Fine, who comes aboard,” she corrected with an eye roll.

Dax saw Mark lift a hand; he motioned toward the pilot.

“I think he’s trying to say ‘phrasing’ again,” Dax whispered.

“If you two can’t cooperate, I’ll shut the engines down and put you both in the black tank until it gets cleaned and you iron the literal crab between you out,” she snapped.

Jun turned back to the viewport and loomed over Mark’s shoulder. Dax looked at PITA.

“Did she just threaten to pull the car over until we can cooperate?” Dax asked.

“I believe she did,” PITA replied. “I’m sorry you took offense to me calling you a Fungal King.”

“You know any apology that starts with ‘I’m sorry you’ isn’t a real apology and just projecting your bad behavior on someone else, which is borderline sociopathic behavior?” Dax asked.

“Are you not familiar with how I’ve been programmed? I’m, like, ninety-percent sociopath,” PITA replied. “And you know I still have the brown note and weaponized caffeine, and we just brought a second Valtukta onto the ship. So, you can take it, or the walls will get sprayed.”

“Fine, you freaking terrorist,” Dax said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not a terrorist,” PITA argued.

“You just threatened a ship full of people with bio-chemical warfare; that doesn’t exactly make you a peacekeeper,” Mark added.

He didn’t take his eyes off their flight path. In the distance, the purple flash of the round exploding caught Dax’s attention. PITA let out a huff, rolled his eyes and sat back down on his charger.

“Fun killer,” he grumbled.

“We don’t kill fun; we do our best to have as much as possible. If I remember correctly, I heard you scream over the radio ‘taste my nipple guns’,” Jun said, keeping her eyes forward as well.

“And if you’re ever in a situation where you can legitimately say those four words and not be having a good time, there’s something wrong with you,” Dax added.

“There’s something wrong with all of us,” PITA replied before going into sleep mode.

“I’m going to head back downstairs and tie up our little coward of a passenger,” Dax said. “How long do you think it’ll take to leave the field?”

“Assuming the other ship keeps up, just a few hours at this rate,” Mark replied. “Then we can get back on our hunt.”

Dax gave them a thumbs-up while making his way back to the ladder. Descending, he listened for any conversation or joking from the cargo bay. Nothing but silence. His gut told him to go back up and get his gun, or at least a knife. His mind countered with, if he went back up and something was going on, it’d be suspicious.

Reaching the bottom of the ladder, he could feel a death glare on the back of his head before seeing anything. Dax took a deep breath, looked at the ground and shook his head.

“Tuthial, think long and hard before you do anything too stupid, okay?”

“How’d you…” the Valtukta replied in a trembling voice.

“It’s called a gut instinct.”

Dax turned around to see Henuva without his cybernetic arm and Dalia on the ground, her armor partially removed, and Tuthial standing between them with a smaller revolver in hand.

“Is… is that a Clerke .22 revolver?” Dax asked, stifling a laugh.

“I’ve seen what your human weapon can do. I squeeze this trigger, and your Battle Bonded goes up in flames.”

Dax looked at Dalia. The Dal’no’s expression was flat. She showed no surprise or concern while Henuva trembled at the situation.

“No, no.” Dax shook his head, taking a step forward. “You saw what a ten gauge with Dragon’s Breath can do. That is what Kane affectionately called his mistake, once.”

“I thought he was referring to the woman,” Dalia chimed in.

“He bought it for the woman so she could have something petite to get her eased into it,” Dax explained, taking another step forward. “But he meant it for both the lady and the weapon.”

“You’re just trying to buy time. Take another step and I put a bullet in her head!” Tuthial snarled.

Dax froze. He took a deep breath before looking down at Dalia once more. She gave him a slight nod.

“Look at the guns around you,” Dax said, motioning to the armory. “I want you to look at the diameter of each and every barrel in this place.”

Tuthial glanced around, looking at the .50 caliber rifle, Punt Gun and Fat Mac.

“Now look at your piddly weapon,” Dax continued, inching forward. “On our world, we call that a pea shooter. It’s good to scare off cowards, but that’s about it.”

“I told you, take another step and I’ll shoot!”

Dax stopped again. He rubbed his eyes with one hand before grabbing the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to keep the gradually boiling rage in his gut in check.

“Even if you were to shoot her in the eye at point-blank range, all you’d do is blind her in one eye and piss her off, and make me very angry,” Dax snarled, his voice dropping several octaves.

“Tuthial, listen to him,” Henuva replied. “Every time I’ve heard that tone, I lost at least one body part. If you want to get out of this intact, lower the weapon and surrender.”

“I am the premier general of the Valtakuntera. I will not be ordered around like some lower-class soldier!” Tuthial bit back.

Dax noticed a slight tremble in Tuthial’s tone. The veins in his neck thrummed rapidly while beads of sweat glistened against his forehead. Dax took another step forward.

“You were, almost a thousand years ago. I guarantee you, outside of a history book, the empire’s forgotten about you. If you showed up now, the empress would likely have you killed, seeing the coward you’ve become,” Dax said, getting slightly closer. “I mean, if there’s one thing a dictator can’t stand, it’s having living proof that the history they brainwash their children with is a lie. No offense, Henuva.”

“Absolutely none taken,” Henuva replied.

“You’re just saying that to break my concentration. I’m in charge here!”

The muscles in Dax’s legs tightened as Dalia let out a snicker. He leaned forward as he started to play out different reactions in his head and how he’d handle them.

“What’s so funny?” Tuthial growled.

“Anyone who has to say that he’s king is no true king,” Dalia replied.

“Same goes for anyone who claims they’re in charge,” Dax added. “Now, if you’re going to point that gun at anybody, I’d point it at me.”

“He is the bigger threat in the room. Tactically, it makes sense,” Henuva said softly.

Tuthial turned to point the pistol at Dax. The second its barrel wasn’t on Dalia, Dax lunged forward. He closed the seven-foot gap before the Valtukta could move an inch. His right hand grabbed the barrel of the pistol. Squeezing with all his might, he bent the barrel. With his left, he punched Tuthial in the face using only half his strength.

Silver blood and several teeth flew from the Valtukta’s mouth. His body went limp as he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, gently snoring. Dax looked at the ruined gun in his hand.

“Sorry, Kane,” he said softly. “Didn’t mean to ruin one of your guns.”

“I think he’d be okay with that one,” Dalia said.

Dax reached down and helped her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“You make it seem like this was my first time at gunpoint,” Dalia said. “I will say, Henuva tried to take him out. Put up a good fight too.”

Henuva picked up his cybernetic arm and put it back in place.

“Not good enough, apparently,” he said in a defeated tone.

“In your defense, you’re a scientist that learned to fight. He was born to be a warrior and has centuries of experience on you,” Dax countered while making his way to a crate. “No one expected you to be able to win that hand-to- robot hand.”

Dax grabbed a roll of paracord from the crate. He walked back, knelt next to Tuthial, rolled him on his stomach and hog tied him up before rolling him on his side.

“When he wakes up, he’s not getting out of that,” Dax said, looking at Henuva. “By the way, sorry we didn’t get a chance to grab you one of those guns.”

Henuva gave a dismissive wave while walking over to the puddle of blood on the ground.

“Ancient weapons are overrated. It’s likely they wouldn’t have gotten the job done I wanted, anyway.”

He leaned down and picked up a tooth. He let out a snicker.

“What’s so funny?” Dalia asked.

“I did warn him he’d lose a body part,” Henuva replied.

29

FILTER

Dax carried Tuthial by the rope that connected his arms and legs. The Valtukta groaned and snarled in discomfort while Dalia walked next to him.

“I can walk,” Tuthial snarled.

“You tried to leave us for dead twice and actually thought it’d be a good idea to pull a gun on my crew. You’re lucky Sandrina relocated your jaw. If it were up to me, I’d have left it that way,” Dax countered.

He passed an open bulkhead and stopped walking, still carrying Tuthial like a suitcase.

“Will you let me go? This hurts!” the Valtukta hissed.

“As you wish,” Dax replied.

He let go, dropping Tuthial six inches, face first on the metal deck.

“Poor choice of words.” Dalia chuckled.

“Why is he tied up?” one of the locals asked.

A group of them emerged from an opening door.

“They beat me, tried to leave me for dead. They want the ark for them…”

Dalia cut off Tuthial by putting one of her feet on his back.

“Pointy try kill us,” Dax said, motioning between him and his heavily armored Battle Bonded. “Try leave us twice then indicate thrower at mate.”

“Tuthial has kept us alive for generations. You expect us to believe this?” the leader asked.

Whispers and murmurs rose from the group behind him. Dax looked them over before shrugging.

“Sight shows not only time try this,” Dax explained. “Dalia, you’ve got the recording?”

She pulled a puck from her armor and held it out.

“This reveal what outer hard skin transcribed,” Dax explained.

A hologram flickered to life showing Tuthial trying to close the cargo bay door on them. After a few seconds, it cut to him kicking Henuva in the knee, taking him off his feet. In the blink of an eye, the soldier removed Henuva’s arm, grabbed a gun, struck Dalia in the head, knocking her down and pointing the weapon at her.

“He coward, will only lead dilemma if remain on ark,” Dax explained. “Do you with him. In flat-round map to dock.”

Dalia leaned over. She touched the puck to Tuthial’s translator. It beeped. She stood back up and handed the puck to the locals showing a holographic image of the Alcazar.

“What’d you just do?” Tuthial asked.

“We removed the program that translates English because we can’t trust you with it,” Dax said, in English.

“What’d you say?” Tuthial asked. “Are you speaking that stupid coded language again?”

“No,” Dax replied in Valtukta. “I wanted to make sure you couldn’t understand me. Now, if we ever see you again, I’ll hit you with my dominant hand as hard as I can. I may even make a necklace out of the teeth I knock out from that one.”

“If we find out you’ve interacted with the Valtakuntera, we’ll track you down and I’ll step on your throat,” Dalia said in her native tongue.

Tuthial turned toward her, his eyes wide.

“How would you even know?”

“We’ve got friends everywhere. Most of them owe us a favor, and they’re the kind of people who can find out what your cousin’s roommate ate for lunch two years ago on a Wednesday,” Dax added. “We’ll find out. And if we do, I won’t stop her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Henuva was right. You people are terrifying,” Tuthial replied.

Dax turned back to the locals.

“If me you, lock in barroom, guard by those find him agitating, let Alcazar deal with him,” Dax said.

“We will, and we can’t thank you enough for letting our people traverse the stars once again. Although I will ask that until you get better, you can speak to us in the Valtukta language,” the leader replied.

“Fair enough,” Dax said, shifting to Tuthial’s tongue. “We wish you a safe trip, and a long and fruitful life.”

Dax turned and walked back toward their airlock. Dalia joined him, leaving the humanoid slugs to pick up Tuthial and take him further into their ship.

“How salty do you think he’s going to be about this?” Dalia asked.

“For the sake of his new caretakers, hopefully not very,” Dax replied.

He motioned to the open airlock door. Dalia climbed in and went straight to the mess hall. Dax followed, closing, sealing and ensuring pressurization of each section as he crawled through.

Once in the dining room, the rumble of their decoupling shook the Junkyard. Henuva stood behind the bar in the kitchen with a mouth full of food while Sandrina cooked something up for herself.

“How’d the drop-off go?” Henuva asked.

“Smoother than expected,” Dax replied.

“I had my boot on his back,” Dalia added.

“That explains it, then,” Sandrina chimed in. “Your boot’s the size of his back. He moves, you crunch.”

“Glad to be rid of him,” Henuva said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Humans have a saying: never meet your heroes,” Dax said. “I know it’s not of any comfort to you, but no one is the way history painted them.”

“What I’m grappling with is, was he always a coward?” Henuva asked.

“Maybe,” Dalia replied. “Or maybe centuries of being stuck on that world broke his warrior spirit. Either way, the truth remains that you fought with honor and bravery, and you shouldn’t compare yourself to him, if that’s what you’re doing.”

Henuva couldn’t fight a smirk while he swallowed his food. He looked from Dalia to Dax.

“You sure she’s not part Jarog?” he asked.

“If she were, I doubt Mark would’ve lasted more than a week,” Dax replied.

“I heard that,” Mark shouted from the cockpit.

“Is he wrong?” Dalia asked.

Jun stood upright. She crossed her arms and stared down at him.

“I choose to plead the fifth on that.”

“Smart choice,” Dax replied.

“Do you mind telling me what the point of that ship that’s shadowing us is?” Sandrina asked.

“When we get closer to our goal, I figure if Tylira’s in the area, she’ll notice the Junkyard from a parsec away,” Dax explained. “But if we load you and Dalia up in it with a couple of weapons, maybe you will go unnoticed and be able to set up an ambush when Henuva, Mark and I confront her.”

“You really think you three can take her on?” Jun asked, pointing at Mark’s fake eye. “You don’t have the best track record.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mark said.

“Maybe not of actually killing her, but getting her to run. We chase her into an alleyway, a doorway, or some narrow little spot where Sandrina’s set up with her Punt Gun special shot. She’ll try retreating in a different direction, run into Dalia with her Bastet/Dal’no weapon and hammer. Another blast, if she survives both shots, I doubt her suit will be functional anymore. At that point, PITA blocks her third attempt to escape, we close in and finish the job.”

“We see her, it’s on sight,” Mark shouted back.

“How well did that work for Anakin on Geonosis?” Dax asked.

Mark remained silent.

“And then on the Invisible Hand?” Dax added.

“Fine, but, Jun, if it looks like she’s going to escape again…”

“Don’t worry, I fully intend to find a ship to crash into her if it looks like she’ll escape,” Jun interrupted. “Or a small fleet, whichever will get the job done.”

“Let’s try and keep the collateral damage down to a minimum, if possible, please,” Dax called out.

“What about the Death Squad?” Henuva asked. “She’s never alone.”

“You let me worry about that and we’ll be fine,” Dax said. “Sandrina, how’s that alteration for Henuva’s helmet coming along?”

“Alteration?” the Valtukta asked.

“Just looking into a way to increase the filtration system of your suit,” Sandrina explained. “Through a specific microalga, I can make your suit’s filtration systems so efficient that you could be standing in the engine room and none of the radiation would get to you.”

Henuva’s features turned to a look of approval. He washed off his plate before heading toward the stairs.

“I like the sound of that; means I won’t need to worry about any bioweapons deployed in the field.”

“When have they ever used bioweapons?” Dalia asked.

“They haven’t yet, but we’ve used them, so the way I figure it, it’s only a matter of time.”

He sauntered up the stairs, through the main deck and toward the crew quarters. Dax and Dalia approached the bar. He leaned against it while Sandrina shut off the burner and put her food on a plate.

“Quick question,” Dalia said after a few moments of silence. “You said you were using an alga as a filter. We haven’t been on land with water long enough to farm any. Unless you’ve been holding out on us and that’s what you were picking up on Tachyon.”

“That’s not what she was picking up,” Dax said with a shake of his head.

“I was harvesting something that could possibly eat away at Tylira’s armor,” Sandrina explained. “We’ve damaged it before but never got through it enough to finish her off. I’ve created a unique round that, when it makes contact, should eat away at her protection enough that the next shot of any kind landed in the area should end her.”

“That’s… that’s actually fascinating,” Dalia said, leaning forward as well. “What’s stopping you from accidentally hitting anyone else when you shoot?”

“Same thing that’s stopping all of us: good aim and better timing.”

Sandrina glanced at Dax. Dalia noticed before turning completely toward him and retracting her suit’s helmet. An incredulous look was plastered across her strong features.

“Good try at changing the subject. Where’d the algae come from?” Dalia asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Dax said with a shake of his head.

“And what if I do?” Dalia asked.

“Trust me, you don’t,” Sandrina added.

“Are you going to put the filter in all of our suits?”

“No, just Henuva’s,” Dax explained.

“Then why don’t you want to tell me?”

“Because if we tell you, you’ll want to enlighten him, which could put the entire plan in jeopardy,” Sandrina added.

Dalia pointed at Dax before moving her finger toward Sandrina.

“If you don’t open up to me right now, I’ll let him know you’re planning something nefarious.”

“We’re not doing anything nefarious,” Sandrina countered.

Dax took a deep breath. Every ounce of his being screamed for him to stop and consider what he was doing. He ignored it while tiptoeing through his sentence.

“Sandrina may or may not have discovered something on her last round, that when certain products that are produced by separate species, four to be exact, combine, they tend to create algae that’s more efficient at filtering out toxins than anything else in existence at this time.”

Dalia’s brow furrowed. She leaned back for a few seconds while her eyes narrowed and darted from one side to the other.

“What?” She paused, and her eyes grew wide. “Eeeewww, nooo, your last round was black tank!”

30

SEPARATE

The weightlessness of space engulfed Dax while he jumped toward the remote-controlled ship, the Punt Gun under his arm. Dalia stood on the top of the smaller ship; a cable wrapped around her arm while she handed ammo crates down to Sandrina inside.

“How’d installation go?” Dax asked.

Dalia shuddered at the question.

“It was clean,” Sandrina replied. “His suit accepted the upgrade and integrated it with less than one percent failure.”

“That’s fantastic,” Dax replied.

“I’m testing it now,” Henuva called out. “My suit is picking up fatal doses of radiation. I have air intake on to simulate a ground mission and I’m surprisingly not dead.”

“Henuva, get out of the engine room,” Dalia called out. “The filters are still experimental. You don’t want to wear them down before you actually need them.”

“I agree with the big green lady,” Sandrina added. “I only had time to make up one set. You burn through those and that’s it.”

“I’m already on my way out,” Henuva said with the annoyance of a teenager. “I just wanted to make sure they worked, and they do.”

Dax reached the top of the ship. He pointed his boots toward its hull and activated the magnets. Attaching to it, he walked over to Dalia and handed her the glorified cannon. She took it and lowered it to Sandrina.

Dax looked back at the open cargo bay of the Junkyard. Mark stood at the entrance and offered them a thumbs-up.

“That was the last of it,” he called out.

“Perfect. I’m going to help them get settled, then I’ll be back. Then we can head that way.”

“Copy that,” Mark replied.

He walked over to the controls and shut the door. Dalia was the first to climb inside the smaller ship. Dax followed her, shutting the seal overhead.

“I’m detecting complete concealment of your vessel,” Jun announced. “Initiating atmospheric pressure, followed by artificial gravity. If you have anything floating around, now’s the time to tie it down.”

Sandrina put the ammo crate on the floor before doing the same with the Punt Gun. A hiss filled the cockpit. Dax pushed himself to the ground, followed closely by Dalia. A few seconds later, a low click echoed through the ship. The distinct tug of artificial gravity on Dax’s guts nearly made him groan.

“Well, we haven’t exploded yet, so we seem to be good,” Dax called out. “Thanks, Jun.”

“You’re quite welcome,” the android replied.

“Okay, one of you want to grab that crate and the other pick up the butt of this gun?” Sandrina asked. “We need to get it to the offboarding area so it’s easier to get off the ship.”

Dax walked over to the ridiculous handle of the weapon. He bent down and picked it up while Sandrina grabbed the barrel. Dalia picked up the crate.

“Why not just use that to load everything in?” Dalia asked. “I feel like that would’ve been easier.”

“It would’ve been,” Mark chimed in. “If Tuthial hadn’t sabotaged it to stay open once the ramp is deployed.”

“Couldn’t you just re-write that programming?” Dax asked.

“It wasn’t a programming thing, it was a mechanical thing,” Mark countered. “And we could’ve fixed it, but we didn’t exactly have the time.”

“How long do you think he’s going to survive in the wider galaxy?” Sandrina asked.

They shuffled their way through narrow corridors and down a ramp.

“You’re going to want to pivot right here,” Dax said.

They approached a turn on the ramp. The gun ran into the far wall, getting stuck for a second.

“Pivot,” Dax called out.

“I am pivoting,” Sandrina countered.

“No, you’re not. Pivot!” Dax reiterated.

He tried to raise the gun to an angle. It remained stuck in place.

Sandrina let out a frustrated huff. Dalia put down her crate. She reached forward, and with a quick pull, loosened the gun so they could move it to an angle.

“Easy there, Ross,” Dalia teased.

Dax froze at the comment. The words cut deeper than any knife could. A pit formed in his stomach. He let out a pained, wheezing groan.

“You okay?” Sandrina asked, pulling the gun to the next straightaway.

“I don’t think even my healing factor can recover from that damage,” Dax said. “I need a minute.”

“You just called him Ross; that’s just a different name,” Sandrina replied. “How is that painful?”

“He’s a character from a sitcom that’s been remade twice over the decades to lesser and lesser acclaim than the original,” Dax explained.

“And Ross is the sociopathic, narcissistic, possessive, arrogant paleontologist who is written in a way to try and come off as cute and loving, but it just makes his sincere moments seem like he’s being manipulative,” Dalia replied.

“I personally know five Rosses who were going to be paleontologists before they watched the show and immediately decided to switch careers because of that character,” Dax explained.

“Did any of them find success?” Sandrina asked, pulling the weapon forward.

Dax grabbed his end and continued to move with her.

“One of them became a fairly accomplished author,” Dax replied.

“Unfortunately, none of his books made it into the download from Earth,” Dalia added. “And as for Tuthial, a coward like that can only last so long in a ruthless galaxy. I give him a month before he crosses someone bad enough that they take him down.”

They eventually made it to the deployment bay. Dax set the gun down in the middle of the room. Dalia put the crate down against a wall. She opened it to reveal boxes of ammo with Sandrina’s submachine guns, Dalia’s cannon and hammer, along with a few knives.

“No Fat Mac?” Dax asked.

Dalia’s helmet retracted, her hair frizzing every which way.

“I figured if there was a chance we’d run into a group of bad guys, it’d be best to pick the weapon that can take out the most without requiring them to be lined up.”

“That makes sense,” Dax replied.

Dalia gave a look to Sandrina. As if on cue, the Bastet started for the door. She stopped next to Dax on her way out and pulled two shotgun shells from her medical satchel. They sported a green line painted across them.

“I had a little left over. Figured if anyone could put them to use, you’d be the most effective.”

Dax took the shells. He inspected them closely. Her thoughtfulness brought a warmth to his heart.

“Thank you,” Dax said, sliding them into the empty loops on his bandolier. “I’ll be sure to wait until I can see the black of her soul before I fire.”

“How about the gold in her eyes?” Sandrina suggested. “Because I’m fairly certain you can see the black of her soul a parsec away.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dax said with a chuckle.

The Bastet quickly left the deployment bay. Dalia pulled her cannon and hammer out of the box and closed the lid before sitting on the deck.

“Do you think you can help me get a handle on this?” she asked. “All the helmet deploying and retracting is really frizzing it out.”

Dax nodded. He walked over to her while removing his gauntlets and retracting his helmet. Setting them down on the crate, he sat next to them, his legs on either side of Dalia. He quickly and gently combed his fingers through her hair, taming the wild tendrils swirling in whichever direction they pleased.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked, after taking a deep breath.

“Of course I am,” Dax replied. “It is one of two pinpoint focuses.”

“Yes, but can you rein Mark in while hunting Tylira and processing your emotions all at the same time?” Dalia asked.

Dax paused. His fingers came to a stop as they ran through his Battle Bonded’s silky raven locks. He sat silently for a few seconds. The storm of emotions he’d been holding back flared up, raging against the walls he’d placed in his mind. He took a deep breath, repressing them once again before he continued to untangle her hair.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have healthy coping mechanisms for strong emotions. But I know how to control them. My focus is on Mark and ensuring he doesn’t develop the same strategies that I do,” Dax explained.

He separated her hair into three distinct sections and started to braid.

“He needs to learn how to process what he’s feeling in a healthy manner.”

“Wouldn’t that involve arresting Tylira, not killing her?” Dalia asked.

Dax paused, a few crossovers in. Dalia shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I just heard what I said. Of course she’s too dangerous to be left alive.”

“Which is why my focus is ensuring that it’s done in a manner antithetical to my own,” Dax explained. “We need to make sure it’s not cowboy justice, even though we’re practically space cowboys at this point.”

Dax continued to braid. Dalia reached for her belt and disconnected the puck attached to it. She activated it, showing it was number four of six. The symbol floated above the small projector. Dax’s eyes narrowed.

“He didn’t.”

“He did,” Dalia replied. “Made sure everyone knew if there were holdouts. Everyone knows it’s you and Mark.”

“True, but what everyone doesn’t realize is that Mark’s holding off to say his final goodbye to tell him that we got her.”

“And you are, because no matter what you say, it’s your way of unhealthily handling the situation?” Dalia asked.

“Exactly, so I promise, by the end of this, I will process everything and work on a healthier coping strategy. For now, against Tylira, I need to make sure that the duct tape and hate that holds me and the Junkyard together stays in place long enough to confirm the job gets done right this time,” Dax explained. “You can shrink me all you want afterward, but we need to get this done first.”

Dax finished braiding her hair. He leaned down and gave the top of her head a kiss.

“Okay?” Dax asked.

“That’s a deal,” Dalia replied.

She turned around. She put her hands on his legs and smiled at him.

“You’re a good man, and I love you. I and this crew are lucky to have you,” she said before leaning forward.

Dax moved in and gave her a passionate, loving kiss.

“I love you, and am lucky to have you too,” he whispered against her lips.

He tucked her braid into the neck of her armor before pressing his forehead against hers. He savored every second of their skin touching one another. The sweet taste of her lips that lingered on his and how, even after all this time, her presence still made butterflies flutter in his gut.

Dax took a deep breath, taking in her scent one more time before grabbing his gloves. He put them on, locking them in place. Dalia stood up first. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Okay, enough of the mushy-gushy,” she said, flashing her tusks. “We’ve got a Valtukta to hunt down.”

“That we do,” Dax said.

He reactivated his helmet. Dalia did the same. They made their way back to the cockpit. Dalia shut the door behind them while Sandrina prepped the remote-controllable ship.

“Drain the atmosphere and turn off artificial gravity,” Dalia ordered.

“It’s time for me to get back to the Junkyard so we can get this done,” Dax added.

31

PIRATE

Dax stood next to Mark, his eyes glued on the scanner as they drifted through what they were told was hostile space. Every hour that ticked by felt like a day. Jun and PITA were connected to their chargers to ensure they were ready when the time came.

Shadows from the red lights lent an eerie atmosphere to the Junkyard. After hours of not moving, body or eyes, Dax’s mind started to play tricks on him. He’d see things move at the very edges of his vision. Things his brain screamed at him were monsters like the Xenomorph. Dax shook his head.

“You’re just looking for something to distract you,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Mark asked.

“Nothing, just the space version of highway hypnosis,” Dax replied.

“Oh, yeah, I get that from time to time. What are you seeing? The Thing, Blobs, a White Spike?”

“Xenomorph,” Dax replied, keeping his eyes on the scanner. “Just creeping around the kitchen doorway.”

“Have you tried picturing a Predator?” Mark asked. “They don’t like each other; maybe your subconscious will make them fight and at the very least you get a peripheral show.”

“How are things looking?” Henuva asked.

He emerged from his quarters in his armor and with one of Kane’s fifty caliber pistols. He held a lead-like bullet in hand with a bandolier sagging around his waist with four more rounds in its loops.

“What does spent uranium mean?” Henuva asked.

“It means the material used was once highly radioactive and now is mildly radioactive, but most importantly, extremely heavy,” Dax explained. “I think only the tungsten rounds are heavier. Why?”

Henuva raised the bullet.

“I pulled these out of a lead-lined box that was buried at the bottom of Kane’s ammo crates with a strange yellow mark on it.”

Dax’s eyes widened. He turned his full attention to the ammunition. Henuva’s hand moved toward his helmet to retract it.

“DON’T!” Dax shouted.

“What?” Henuva asked.

“Did you not hear what I said? It’s still radioactive. Not enough to harm us, even before you made your improvements,” Dax said, motioning between Mark and himself. “But what do you think it’ll do to you?”

“Note to self, get familiar with human warning labels,” Henuva said, loading a round. “On the plus side, it’ll be super effective against the Death Squad.”

“Don’t you mean Tylira?” Mark asked.

“Boy, if anyone gets to take that white-haired, pointy-eared, she-witch down, I think it’s the one who she stabbed in the face,” Henuva replied. “Best I can do is take out a knee or two.”

Mark took his eyes off the viewport for the first time in nearly a day. Dax watched him rotate to face Henuva. For the first time since Kane had died, a warm smile spread across the young man’s face.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “That means a lot.”

Henuva glanced around awkwardly for a few seconds before shrugging.

“I’ve never had someone thank me for a potential kill before… You’re welcome, I guess?” Henuva pointed toward the viewport. “I’d keep your eyes up, we’ve got company.”

Dax turned to the scanner. Nothing appeared on the screen. He and Mark turned their attention to the void, seeing nothing but black, dotted with distant stars and several anti-leap buoys periodically dotted around them.

“Those aren’t ships,” Mark countered. “They’d just pull us out of leap if we tried to fly through them, and let everyone in the sector know we’re here.”

“I’m not talking about those,” Henuva countered, running his robotic fingers over the massive pistol. “I’m talking about the stars that vanish and reappear.”

Dax’s eyes narrowed. They darted all around the space in front of them, looking for any hint of movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a star vanish. Zeroing in on it, he watched the point, praying his mind was toying with him again. After a few seconds, the star re-appeared. Dax took in a sharp breath as every warning alarm in his head rang like a spike through his skull.

“How’d you see that?” Dax asked.

“Part of Valtukta education. Keep an eye out for the clever pirates,” Henuva replied.

“How’s he not showing up on the scanner?” Mark asked.

“There are paints that are so black, they absorb everything, including the frequency scanners let off,” Henuva explained. “If we were in a cruiser, that system would be powerful enough to pick them up, but they’d show as a piece of debris, not a ship.”

Dax kept his eyes locked on the spot next to the reappearing star. He summoned his helmet before cycling through the various spectrums of light. Once reaching thermal, an image of a triangular ship pointed straight at them shone brightly. His heart started to race as he felt unseen eyes burrow into him.

“What are they waiting for?” Dax asked, his voice automatically dropping to a whisper.

“Probably for us or the ladies to show our backs,” Henuva replied. “Second we do, they’ll introduce the inside of our ship to the vacuum of space.”

“Any idea on how we take it out?” Mark asked.

“It’s absorbing all light and other frequencies; the thing’s lit up like the beacons of Gondor. Switch to thermals and you’ll get a lock on it right away,” Dax suggested.

“Hmm, that’s pretty smart; wouldn’t have thought of that,” Henuva said with a nod. “Downside to that is, if they’re not alone, we’ll invite just about every one of their friends to us.”n

“Okay, what do you suggest?” Dax asked.

“Well, if they keep to typical pirate tradition, you should be hearing from them in about…”

The Junkyard’s radio’s crackled to life.

“You are not part of any guild in this sector,” a raspy, uneven voice sounded.

“I knew the conspiracy about RFK Jr. leaving Earth and escaping to the stars was true,” Mark whispered.

Dax shot him a stern look before shaking his head.

“Do you speak or translate to Valtukta?” Dax asked in Henuva’s native language.

His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan.

“Ohhh, we have members of the Valtakuntera in our midst?” the voice asked. “Provide us the codes to one of your nearby cruisers to raid and we may just leave you in peace.”

“And if we don’t?” Dax asked.

“Then we breach your hull and climb over your corpses to see what you have that’s useful to us,” the pirate replied.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dax asked.

“I’m sure,” the pirate replied.

“Well, that’ll be a shame,” Dax said, his words leaving his mouth before his brain could catch up. “Because if you were to do that, then Tylira will want to know where her shipment of weapons went. We’re recording everything. If anything happens to our ship, the recordings go straight to her.”

Dax, what are you doing? Shut your mouth! he screamed to himself.

“And what do you think Tylira will do to you when she finds out that you were the ones that destroyed her transport?”

“I’d recognize a Death Squad ship if I saw one. Yours is not it,” the pirate countered.

“Oh, it’s not?” Dax asked, his voice dripping in aggressive sarcasm.

Dude, stop digging, right now!

“It’s almost like Tylira doesn’t want anyone in this sector to know she’s here. Or that she’s stockpiling experimental weapons to take out the members of that Junkyard starship. I’ve got a question for you. What’s the largest, most well-known military faction in the galaxy?”

“The Val…”

“The Valtakuntera?” Dax interrupted. “Were you going to say the Valtakuntera?”

Silence sat on the other end for a few seconds. Henuva groaned while Mark’s shoulders heaved silently.

“Yes,” the voice finally replied.

“Oh, good, at least I know you’ve got a brain somewhere in that head of yours,” Dax continued.

Seriously, Dax, shut your mouth!

“Now, let’s think about this logically for a few seconds, shall we? I mean, you’ve got a very well-camouflaged ship, that means you must be intelligent. At least unless you just saw it and thought it was fancy, then stole it. If that’s the case, then that means you must have the IQ of a cannoli.”

You know what? You’ve gone this far, just dig through.

“If you’re smart, you’ll know to leave us alone and let us pass. That this ship was intentionally selected by Tylira herself because it’s distinctly not Valtakuntera in design and won’t set off every red flag the second it shows up somewhere,” Dax continued, throwing his hands into the air. “Or you can blow us out of the sky. Go ahead. I’m sure you have a firing solution.”

Mark grabbed the controls and turned the ship toward the hidden pirate vessel.

“You can go ahead and shoot too; our guns are bigger, and plasma-based. You may puncture our hull, but you forget, just because we’re in a non-Valtakuntera ship doesn’t mean we still don’t have the tech. Our battle suits are always on for this exact reason,” Dax snarled. “Depressurize us. Go ahead. All it’ll do is give my pilot here an excuse to fire. The heat absorption of your ship will cause catastrophic failure long before ours.”

Dax started pacing. With the ball rolling, channeling his inner Tylira, he was unable to stop himself from his word vomit.

“That may let your friends know we’re here and they might finish what you started, but you have to still remember one teeny, tiny detail. Tylira is expecting us.”

The pirate on the other end cleared his throat to interject. Dax continued to steam roll his way through his improvised threat.

“You may not have anyone that you love or care about, but I doubt your crew is so isolated. The second she finds out that you were responsible for her not receiving her weapons, she’ll come after you. Yeah, you might be dead so it’s not your problem anymore, but do you think that’ll matter to a woman like her? The leader of the DEATH Squad? You don’t get that position by leaving people alive.”

Dax turned to Henuva, who offered a thumbs-up and made a circular motion with his hand.

“After she finds out every person on your ship, and any other vessels you get involved, she’ll go after families, girlfriends, boyfriends, aunts, uncles, your fathers, brothers, nephews, cousins; former roommates won’t even be safe. When she’s done, anyone who ever had a passing thought about you will have passed into the great beyond in the most prolonged, horrifying deaths you couldn’t even imagine. Now, for the last time, are you sure you want to do this?”

More silence came across the radio. Mark’s finger hovered over the weapon’s fire button while Henuva slowly inched his way toward the viewport.

“Should I open fire?” Mark whispered.

“Give them a second,” Dax replied.

Almost a minute of silence passed, seeming like an eternity. Dax’s heart hammered against his ribs. His adrenaline dump caused a tingling sensation to run through his appendages, making his fingers and toes feel like TV static.

“Um, yes, hello?” a younger, more solid voice came over the radio. “Are you still there?”

“We are,” Dax replied. “Who am I speaking with?”

A puff of decompressing air seemed to appear out of nowhere. A blob with hundreds of tentacles drifted listlessly into the void with ice forming all over it.

“I’m the new captain of this ship,” the man replied.

“And as new captain, what do you say to our offer?” Dax asked.

“We extend our deepest apologies for holding up Tylira’s delivery and ask that you be on your way with a promise that you won’t be bothered again.”

“You’re darn skippy we won’t be bothered again,” Dax said.

The ship turned. Its engines flared as it flew away. Mark’s fingers slipped from the trigger as he turned them back onto their course. Dax pointed at the frozen blob drifting past them.

“See, not RFK Jr.,” Dax said. “I thought we proved not every conspiracy is right.”

“When sixty percent have proven to be true, it’s hard not to believe all of them are,” Mark replied.

32

HEAP

Mark pointed at the plotted route. Ahead of them was a large dot. The nearby star gave off little light, casting faint highlights on chunks of rock that floated slowly around. Mark flew around them while their remote-control craft broke away.

“We’ll drop pins where to set up,” Dax said over the radio. “You ladies keep your heads down.”

“Same to you,” Dalia replied.

When they rounded a particularly large asteroid, a planet revealed itself. Small space stations that looked like they’d break apart if someone sneezed too hard orbited the world. Ships in even worse shape flew off world and from station to station.

The planet below was tainted by streaks of black smoke billowing from entire city blocks. On the night side of the world, cold lights covered every inch of the entire sphere. They’d flicker and go out in swaths, hundreds of miles in every direction.

“Is it just me or does this feel like post-Imperial Courrisant?” Dax asked.

“On a scale from one to seeing through the lies of the Jedi, I’d say it’s right up there with the tragedy of Darth Plagus the Wise,” Mark replied.

“What are you two talking about?” Henuva asked.

“It’s nerd banter; you should be used to it by now,” Dax called back.

“I don’t think I ever will because it’s weird,” the Valtukta countered.

“Vitals indicate it’s their way of calming their nerves,” Jun said from her charger. “Would you like me to track the data broker’s contact?”

“Please do,” Dax said.

They continued to approach while Jun’s eyes fluttered. After a few seconds, her head tilted to one side.

“Uploading coordinates now.”

The screen showing their path flickered to an image of the planet with a dot on the dark side of the world. Mark corrected their course to head toward that dot. Dax recorded the image with his HUD and shared it with Dalia and Sandrina.

“Remember, when we set down, this place is likely worse than Tachyon,” Dax said over their encrypted suit radios. “Don’t get caught in the open, and try to avoid people at all costs.”

“Also, don’t let the ships be stationary,” Mark added, looking up at Jun. “The pollution clouds aren’t able to be penetrated by our sensors. I’d suggest hiding both ships in those until the time’s right.”

Jun flashed Mark a smile and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Henuva emerged from the crew quarters holding Mark’s staff. He held it out and inspected it.

“You bringing this?” he asked.

“I don’t need hacking materials for this mission,” Mark replied, keeping his eyes on the flight.

“Do you mind if I bring it?” Henuva asked.

“By all means.”

Dax reached for his belt sheath and untied it. Grabbing the knife Dalia had given him, he pulled it away before wrapping the ends around the weapon. He made his way to the armor pod, opened it, and placed the knife inside before closing it again.

“What’s with the crew not bringing their signature weapons on this one?” Henuva asked.

Dax shut the pod, drew his pistol and checked it before doing the same with his shotgun.

“Tylira’s taken that knife away from me and stabbed a man in the chest, cut off Bleeze’s arm and stabbed Mark in the face. I’m not letting her add more bodies to its count this time around.”

“My other eye thanks you,” Mark said.

The viewport erupted in orange as they entered the planet’s atmosphere. Dax walked over to PITA, knelt next to him and gave him scratches behind the ears. The cyber dog woke up and turned his attention to Dax.

“Are we here?” he asked.

“That we are. Stay in low power mode; we don’t want that damaged battery of yours running dry before the fight,” Dax said.

“I will wait for my cue,” PITA replied.

His eyes shut off. Dax lifted the cyber corgi off his charger and tucked him under one arm.

“Jun, you want to take over?” Dax asked. “Don’t land; we’ll drop out of the cargo bay.”

Mark slid out of the seat with Jun moving in and grabbing the yoke.

“ETA to drop site, one minute,” Jun called out.

“Then we’d better get downstairs,” Mark replied.

He was the first down the corridor and clomping his way down the ladder. Dax and Henuva followed suit. Once in the cargo bay, Dax found a shoulder bag he looped around his side before setting PITA’s low-power mode body into it.

Mark made a beeline for the Fat Mac. Dax quickly cut him off, putting a hand on the barrel.

“This normally has three-hundred-fifty pounds of felt recoil,” Dax said. “The tungsten rounds probably put it closer to five hundred. We don’t need you staggering backward with every shot you take, because with every move you’ll make, they’ll be watching you.”

Mark gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes as Dax hummed the tune to “I’ll be Watching You” and did a little dance.

“Enough with the stalker’s anthem; I’m going to put her down, and it’ll be fast and hard,” Mark countered.

“Remember what Kane taught us,” Dax said.

He turned and grabbed Kane’s enhanced M4 off the wall and offered it to Mark.

“Sometimes it’s better to have a scalpel instead of a hammer.”

“Unless it’s Dalia’s hammer; that thing hits hard,” Henuva said, opening the back of the ship.

“It’s an idiom, not meant to be taken literally,” Dax called back.

Mark stared at the weapon for a few seconds. His right hand touched his left glove while his eyes glazed over.

“I know what you did with the helmets,” Mark said softly. “This HUD doesn’t show the same things mine did. First the glove, now his gun?”

“If anybody was going to get it, it would’ve been you. Besides, what’s more poetically just than using his own weapons to drop her?” Dax asked, appealing to the hint of revenge he saw in Mark’s eye. “You’re not betraying him or trying to take his place by accepting it, either.”

He stood motionless for a few more seconds. Mark reached out and finally grabbed the gun. Dax picked up the pre-loaded M4 magazine belt and handed it to Mark as well.

“Something tells me you’ll need every one of those rounds.”

Mark pulled back the slide, chambering a bullet.

“And each one of them has a Death Squad member’s name on it,” he replied.

“Guys, we’re ready to deploy; our hovering’s starting to draw some attention,” Henuva shouted over the roar of the engines.

Without a word, Mark turned and rushed toward the open ramp. Dax followed closely behind. Both men leapt out, landing on the rusty ground with a hard thud. Henuva activated the door’s closing mechanism before jumping as well. He landed, rolled and popped back onto his feet.

“We’re clear,” Dax said.

Jun took off, leaving them alone in a city circle with curious pirates ravenous for a potential payday emerging from the woodwork. Dax’s HUD flashed warnings of a toxic atmosphere. A sepia filter seemed to color the world from the sheer amount of pollution being pumped into the air.

“Interesting weapons you have there,” a creature said.

His red eyes locked on them. Two of his six chitinous limbs were robotic as he leaned over a railing, making it groan.

“I think it’s a good day to get paid,” another rasped.

Dax’s hand went to his pistol as a humanoid crab-like alien stepped toward them.

“Go ahead and try to take them,” Mark said in Valtukta. “I bet you’d be tasty after being slow roasted with a bit of garlic butter.”

A handful more emerged, completely surrounding the trio. Dax drew his shotgun with his free hand as firing solutions appeared on his HUD. He activated the OGRE skull while backing up to Mark and Henuva.

“Knuckle up,” he said softly. “That way, they can’t get behind us.”

“Let me take care of this,” Henuva mused, holding up a hand. “You took care of the last one.”

The Valtukta stepped forward, facing the side with the most pirates.

“I have learned from my colleagues here that pirates are supposed to have peg legs and eye patches,” Henuva called out. “I see that none of you do. Now, I would be more than happy to oblige you to meet that requirement. Or, you can leave us to go about our work.”

A series of chuckles rose from the pirates. Dax looked back at Henuva to see the crystal on his staff starting to flare with green light. He tapped Mark’s shoulder. Mark looked at the stone as well.

“Oh boy,” Mark whispered.

“Boys, whoever relieves our guests of their belongings gets twice the shares of our next expedition,” the red-eyed man called out.

The pirates let out a shout of excitement. Mark turned his attention to Dax.

“They wanna play rough,” he said.

“Let’s play rough,” Dax replied. “Henuva, do your thing!”

Dax and Mark ducked. Henuva slammed the bottom of his staff onto the ground. A single green beam of light shot out, cutting one of the crab man’s legs off. It vanished. In a blink a dozen more single shots tore through the air, narrowly sailing over Dax’s and Mark’s heads.

Screams of pain filled the streets from an entire crew now missing their right legs. Some of the younger members broke cover from the nearby rusted-out buildings, grabbed the injured men and pulled them to safety. Henuva turned toward the man with red eyes.

“Those shots were hot enough to cauterize the wound without sublimating. Now, for you, I can turn the intensity up and just blow you to pieces, or down, and punch a hole through your chest and let you bleed out,” Henuva said. “Or, you can take what’s behind door number three and let us walk out of here with your life.”

The red-eyed man produced a wicked smile, giving his face a jagged appearance. He leaned even further over the railing.

“I think I’ll take option four,” he snarled.

Mark and Dax rose to their feet and pointed their weapons at the man.

“I don’t think you’re understanding my staff-wielding friend here. There is no option four,” Dax said.

“It’s die quick, die slow, or let us go and live to raid another day,” Mark added.

“A man with a glowing staff, a being with a skull for a head, and a young, hot-tempered human from the planet Earth,” the man replied.

A knot formed in Dax’s stomach as the man continued to scrutinize them. Henuva pointed the staff at the pirate. Dax grabbed it and aimed it away while keeping his pistol trained on the man.

“How do you know us?” Dax growled.

“It seems we have a mutual slightly hairy friend. He told me you were coming and to watch out for your temper,” he said, motioning toward all the knee-high severed legs. “Clearly, he wasn’t exaggerating when he said that you were aggressive. It’s something you’ll need if you’re going to kill Tylira.”

Dax immediately lowered his weapon. Mark surged forward, the rifle still aimed at the pirate.

“What do you know about her location!” he roared. “Tell us now and you keep your head!”

Dax stepped forward, grabbed the barrel of the gun and pulled it down to aim at the ground.

“Hold up, take a breath,” Dax snarled. “We have been sent here specifically to meet with this man. You will not threaten him again!”

“He knows where Tylira is,” Mark growled back.

“Which I’m sure he’d be more than willing to share with us if we’d stop threatening him,” Dax countered.

“Your threats are meaningless in a place like this,” the pirate mused. “But please, come in. I believe I do have some information about her you’d like.”

Dax glanced at Henuva, who consulted the hologram of his staff.

“No Valtakuntera signatures inside,” Henuva replied.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go for the heads,” Dax said.

“I was thinking about it, but then figured I’d take the approach you would. At least this way, they’ll be legitimate pirates now.”

33

BARGAIN

As they passed through the door, Henuva stood just outside, facing the square. His staff glowed softly while he nodded for Dax to keep following the pirate.

“I’ll make sure no one flanks you guys,” he said.

“Thanks. Anything funny happens, you let us know,” Dax replied.

“I will only if you pop him first, then come help me.”

“He even moves in a way I don’t like; he’s getting one to the dome,” Mark called back.

“I may not be able to understand you two, but the Valtukta’s words translate yours better than any technology,” the pirate replied. “So long as you don’t ‘pop’ me, I promise no harm will come to you by my men.”

“If that’s true, what’s stopping other people’s men from getting to us?” Dax asked in the Valtukta language.

“Because I own this section of the planet. The only people here that aren’t mine are his,” the pirate countered, motioning toward Henuva.

“You want to tell us how you got into bed with them in the first place?” Mark asked, switching to Valtukta as well.

“When a Valtakuntera Death Squad rolls up to your planet, if you want to live, there’s only one real option: comply. And as this little rock doesn’t have the advanced defenses that a place like Tachyon does, that means our little slice of freedom was quickly snuffed out when that THING came through.”

“Sounds like you hate her almost as much as we do,” Dax said.

The pirate walked over to a table with a cloth on it. Dax and Mark followed. With a mighty pull and a cloud of dust, he revealed a holographic projection surface.

“No one hates her more than the denizens of this world,” the pirate countered.

Mark pointed to the scar on his face, making his robotic eye glow.

“She stabbed me in the face, has been hunting us in particular for years, and killed a man that was like a father to me,” Mark countered. “No one hates her more than I do.”

The pirate scoffed, pulled a knife out of his leather coat and cut into one of his flesh hands. Blue blood oozed from the wound. He placed the knife on the side of the table, making Dax wince.

“That’s a great way to get an infection,” he muttered.

The pirate shot Dax an agitated look. With a twist of his palm, a map of the area appeared in front of them. Dax immediately started recording the data through his HUD.

“You got lucky. Tylira’s currently out of this portion of the city. My guess, expanding her influence to other controlled portions of the planet,” the red-eyed man explained. “There are rumors that she’s becoming more and more erratic, unpredictable and aggressive. Her plan is to take over this world, raise a force of her own and make a play for the empress, whatever that means.”

Dax and Mark looked at one another. Both then turned to Henuva, whose shoulders were tensed. He maintained his post.

“Okay then, that means after we’re done, you have a vested interest in letting us get off this rock,” Dax countered. “No last-minute back-stabs once your problem is cleared up.”

A wry grin spread across the pirate’s face. His back straightened as his cybernetic arms stretched out.

“What would make you think I’d do that?” he mused.

“Because you’re pirates and you have no honor,” Mark said without skipping a beat.

“Fair enough; let’s say that’s my plan. What’ll you do about it?”

“You really think we’ll show you all our cards?” Dax asked. “You’ll have to take it on faith that once we win, we’ll leave, and you won’t have to worry about Tylira or the Death Squad eve…”

“Valtukta keep what they kill,” Mark interrupted. “If she’s making a play for the empress then you’ll have a megalomaniac controlling the entire Valtakuntera empire. How long do you think your little planet will stand then? We kill her, we take over the Death Squad. You attack us, they attack you, they wipe this planet clean. Or, we win, completely withdraw from this heap of a world with the Death Squad, and you can keep on groveling for the galaxy’s scraps like the bottom feeders you are.”

“Mark!” Dax scolded.

“Don’t,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Check his vitals; he’s already planning on betraying us.”

“Which we could’ve used to our advantage if you hadn’t just spilled the spaghetti out of your pockets,” Dax countered.

“Maybe if you’d told me that before we dropped in here with such high visibility that Hellen Keller saw us coming, I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“He is a pirate; aside from the ones who 'don’t do anything’, they’re all untrustworthy and more likely to stab us in the back than lend a helping hand.”

“No wonder she keeps getting a hand up on you. Your kind is clearly useless. Perhaps I’ll let her kill you and take her out myself. Then I’ll have control of them.”

In the blink of an eye, Dax’s pistol was aimed at the pirate’s head. Mark’s weapon was raised as well, pointing at one of the man’s red eyes.

“Dax, did he just call us useless?” Mark asked.

“I think he did, Mark,” Dax replied. “Henuva, he just called us useless.”

“Now, that’s downright dumb,” Henuva chimed in, keeping his eyes forward. “You think that’s dumb, Mark?”

“I think that’s dumb,” Mark replied. “Dax, why do I think that’s dumb?”

“That’s downright dumb because we play defense; we do not fire unless fired upon. In every encounter, we are not the aggressors. We try to talk our way out before resorting to violence. Now, when that first shot is taken, and it almost always is, you can rest assured that it was never an OGRE’s finger squeezing that trigger. But when that last shot rings out, you can rest assured it was one of us that took it.”

Dax focused down the sights of his pistol and pointed it just above the pirate’s main eye.

“Henuva, how many people have tried to kill us?” Dax asked.

“Including myself?” Henuva asked with a long exhale. “Close to a million at this point.”

“And how many of them are still breathing?”

“The number’s impossible to calculate, but given your proclivities toward creative and utter violence, I’d say less than half,” Henuva replied.

“You hear that?” Dax asked. “Less than half.”

“And why does that translate to you pointing those things at my face?” the pirate asked.

“Because Tylira killed a member of our crew,” Mark chimed in. “And that means we’re no longer on the defensive. We don’t negotiate first then shoot second. We shoot first and make demands after you surrender. Rest assured, we are a steam roller going down a mountainside. Your options are, get out of the way or get crushed. And you just threatened us.”

“But I’m not the target of this fight,” the pirate countered.

“A steam roller doesn’t care what rocks it crushes. It pulverizes them all the same,” Mark argued.

“Pulling those triggers will be a very bad idea,” the pirate said, his tone softening.

“Eh, doesn’t mean it won’t be a good time.” Dax shrugged. “We could use the target practice, and that much noise will attract Tylira. What you may not know about her is she won’t care. I’ve seen her kill her own men trying to get away from me. Do you think for a second she’ll spare you or yours?”

“She ran away from you?” The pirate chuckled in disbelief.

“He chased her into space, headbutted her face plate so hard it shattered both their helmets, and then spat a radioactive solution into her face, surviving exposure to the vacuum for more than two minutes before Mark picked him up,” Henuva added. “Tylira’s scared of them, for good reason, and that was before they had motive to hunt her. The only way you get out of this alive is to give them what they want and tell all of your men to retreat.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” the pirate asked.

“Computer, move recording of the escort mission to transfer files,” Dax ordered.

His vambrace blinked. Dax tapped it on the holographic table. The recording of him chasing down Tylira, getting pulled into space and headbutting her played out on the table with a marker of ‘authentic’ being produced by the table’s system.

Color drained from the pirate’s face at the sight. He took a step back before slowly raising his arms. Dax noticed a slight tremble in his organic limbs. The HUD recognized a change in vitals indicative of fear.

“You weren’t exaggerating,” he whispered.

“You’d be surprised at how rarely I do that,” Dax said. “Now, what’s your choice?”

The pirate motioned toward the table as the video started to replay.

“May I?” he asked.

“By all means,” Dax said.

The pirate leaned forward and touched the table, bringing the map back.

“I can control barriers to be raised in my section of this planet. I make my men run drills using them. Tylira’s used to seeing this. I can raise the barriers to force her to meet you on your terms.”

“You expect us to believe your sudden change of heart?” Mark scoffed.

“I haven’t survived this long and risen to be a pirate captain without knowing when to identify a legitimate threat. If Tylira’s running from you to the point she’s willing to space herself to try and get away, I believe you’re the predator in that relationship,” he replied. “Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for us, she doesn’t seem like she understands she’s the prey yet.”

Dax lowered his weapon. Mark kept his trained on their host. Turning his attention to the map, he saw they were in the dead center. He started streaming the image to Sandrina and Dalia, highlighting two spots for a fatal funnel. He opened an encrypted channel to both women.

“You get those ladies?” Dax asked.

“Is that where you want us to set up?” Dalia asked.

“It is. And good news, you shouldn’t have to worry about pirates for the time being,” Dax replied.

“Who are you speaking with?” the pirate asked.

“Our other team members. Tell your men not to mess with them, either.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I don’t know what they look like.”

“Well, they’re both carrying comically large guns,” Mark chimed in. “And one of them looks like she can crush your skull with her little fingers.”

“Hey, you didn’t say ‘thighs’ this time,” Dax said, turning toward Mark. “I’m proud of you.”

“We have bigger things to worry about,” Mark said.

Dax motioned to the two narrow spots he highlighted.

“That’s where they’re going to set up. We are going to engage Tylira in that square and you’re going to stay in this house and raise those barriers after she starts running from us, because she will.”

“If you betray us, you die first,” Mark threatened. “If the barriers don’t go up when she runs, you die first. If one of your men even thinks about throwing a vegetable at one of us…”

“I die first?” the pirate interrupted.

“There you go. Now you’re getting it!” Mark beamed, lowering his weapon.

“Now, how to lure her here without raising every alarm she has?” Henuva asked.

“I can call her, tell her that a raid job some of my men went on for her is done. She’ll come immediately to confirm it.”

“What are they raiding?” Dax asked.

“She wanted an element that can absorb plasma fire and get stronger when it does,” he explained. “She sent them to a small planet that is encircled by two suns.”

“Yeah.” Dax grimaced. “We’ve met the Boronians. I can tell you right now, your men aren’t coming back.”

“Go ahead and make the call, and remember, any funny business…”

“I know, I know,” the pirate interrupted Mark once again. “I die first.”

34

PATIENCE

“We’re set up,” Sandrina’s voice crackled over the radio.

“I’m having a little trouble with my HUD tracking,” Dalia added. “The buildings are interfering with my suit.”

“My guess is there’s lead, or something like it ,in these structures,” Dax replied.

His eyes darted around the roof and walls that made the Junkyard’s hull look shiny. The warning of a toxic atmosphere minimized in his field of view, yet always blinking. He peered through a grimy window, only able to see from the shattered glass. Across the square, his HUD locked onto Henuva tucked into the recess of another building, completely out of sight.

“Have the pirates vacated?” Henuva asked.

“Nope,” Mark replied.

A soft murmur of voices joined his over the radio.

“Not one hundred percent sure why not either, if they know what’s about to happen.”

“Maybe they don’t,” Sandrina chimed in.

“I mean, these are pirates we’re talking about,” Dalia replied. “If the captains want Tylira off their world, I’d be willing to bet the Fat Mac that the prospect of losing a few crew members is one they’re okay with.”

A rustle behind Dax pulled his attention. An exhausted-looking woman, nowhere near as hard as the pirates themselves, moved across the room. Dax tilted his head. She didn’t appear to be mammalian, but her stomach had an unnatural bulge to it.

“Excuse me,” he said in Valtukta.

She turned and looked at him, confusion on her face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a translator. Did you say something?” she asked.

Dax held up a finger. His translator vibrated at the base of his skull as his suit’s computer analyzed the language. It was identified as Rhodaheeran.

“Computer, can you translate through my suit’s speakers?” Dax asked.

A YES appeared on his HUD.

“Why haven’t we been using this for years?” he muttered to himself.

“Using what for years?” the woman asked.

“Ah, good, you can understand me. Are you part of the pirate crew?” Dax asked.

“I’m a world wench,” she replied, turning toward him. “Why?”

Dax’s brow knitted together, his head tilting to one side.

“I’m sorry, a world wench?” he asked.

“I belong to one of the pirates to do with as he pleases when he’s back from raids,” she explained.

Dax suppressed the spark of anger in his gut. He forced a smile, keeping his eyes locked on her wide purple ones.

“Are you pregnant?” he asked.

She touched her belly and gave a half nod.

“How many other world wenches are in this area?” Dax asked.

“Fifty to a hundred,” she replied.

“And did you choose that role willingly or did they make you do it?”

He nodded toward the broken window.

“We’re women captured on raids. Most taken from our homes, our families, as prizes.”

Every muscle in Dax’s body tightened. His HUD blinked a dangerous spike in heart rate and core temperature at the comment.

“Are there any ships nearby capable of space travel?” he asked.

She gave a sheepish nod.

“There are, but they’re heavily guarded. We can’t commandeer them.”

“What if I told you a distraction was coming big enough to give you and your child a chance to get off this world?” Dax asked.

Her face lit up, beaming with hope.

“Really? How? You may be more heavily armed, but you’re outnumbered.”

“There’s a saying my people have about crap hitting the fan because when it gets hit, crap gets spread everywhere and no one is safe,” Dax explained, pointing at the woman. “It usually results in panic, terror and for those looking for an opening, one of those.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The Valtakuntera are coming. They will be here guns blazing,” Dax elaborated. “It will cause panic and pandemonium unlike anything this world has seen. That will be your and the other world wenches’ opportunity to escape. Steal a ship, get off the planet. No one will notice until it’s far too late.”

“Really?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes, just wait for the screaming; that’ll be your signal to go.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

She rushed him, throwing her arms around his hulking armor. He froze for a second before giving her an awkward embrace back.

“May the gods favor you in every endeavor you take on,” she said. “And that your battles will end with your enemies at your feet.”

“Uh… thank you?” he replied.

She broke the embrace.

“How long do we have?”

“Could be a minute, could be an hour. I don’t know; it’d be best to get ready now,” Dax instructed.

With a nod, she turned and rushed out of the building.

“Why is that woman leaving your building looking so happy, Dax?” Henuva teased.

“What woman?” Dalia replied.

“Eh, you don’t have anything to worry about; she’s just conventionally attractive,” Mark replied.

“Yes, because the conventionally attractive ones are the ones no one wants,” Sandrina chimed in.

“Before you guys start busting my lug-nuts, she was a world wench. A woman stolen from her home by the pirates. She’s also pregnant, so I may or may not have tipped her off to give her and the other women in this area a chance to escape,” Dax countered. “I don’t know about you, but I’m more comfortable with the idea of evil men getting caught in a crossfire than innocent victims.”

“Valliant point,” Sandrina said.

“How conventionally attractive?” Dalia asked.

“Yeah, Dax,” Henuva continued to prod. “On a scale from one to ten, how conventionally attractive was she?”

Dax peered through the crack in the glass. He looked at Henuva. The holographic light of his staff illuminated the dark room.

“Zero being you and Dalia being ten?” Dax asked.

“Henuva’s zero.” Sandrina chuckled.

“Four,” Dax said.

“Four?!” Dalia cut in.

“Who’s the ugliest person you can think of?” Dax asked.

Silence settled over the radio for a few seconds before Henuva, Sandrina and Dalia all answered in unison.

“Bleeze.”

“Bleeze is a one; she didn’t look like him, which automatically makes her at least a two,” Dax explained. “But that’s still two, too close to Henuva. With Bleeze being the exception, anyone within three digits of Henuva is just cruel and unusual. She didn’t seem like she deserved cruel and unusual.”

“Ouch,” Sandrina whispered.

“Burn,” Dalia added.

“Also, did you know that our suits can project translations out of their speakers using the devices in our heads?” Dax asked.

“Yes,” Mark cut in. “That was one of the first updates I made to the suits in case we ran into someone who didn’t have translators.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dax asked.

“It’s been a busy eight years; it may or may not have slipped my mind. Now can we all shut up and keep things mission critical?” Mark asked.

“Copy that,” Sandrina said.

“Going radio silent,” Dalia added.

Dax kept an eye on Henuva’s position, the soft glow of his staff casting harsh shadows across his armor.

“Henuva, what are you doing? You’re going to give away your position.”

“And all this talking won’t?” Mark cut in.

“These channels are so heavily encrypted that unless Tylira’s directly jacked into our armor, she’s never going to pick us up,” Henuva countered. “And I’m adding some coding to the staff based on a scan I got from the Death Squad armor on our last tryst with them.”

“Tryst?” Dax asked. “You make it seem like it was something enjoyable.”

“I promise you, this one will be,” Henuva replied. “I just need two more minutes.”

“Copy that,” Dax replied.

He knelt at the window, keeping an eye on the sky. He increased his suit’s audio intake by a hundred percent. Low murmurs of the pirates in other buildings flooded his helmet. The skuttling of insects and other creatures that were closer nearly drowned them out.

Dax closed his eyes. Concentrating on the sounds, he tried to sift through them for anything that might give him an indication of Tylira’s incoming. Nothing. After almost an hour, his nerves started to fray from the incessant insect noises. He turned down the volume to stop from being overstimulated before the fight.

He sat on the ground, keeping an eye on the square as pirates stumbled drunkenly across it. He occasionally glanced at the captain’s building. The red-eyed man occasionally paced across one of the few clean windows, Dax presumed, on the planet.

“Dalia, anything on your end?” Dax asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” she replied. “Yours?”

“Deader than a doornail,” he replied.

“Hold that thought,” Henuva jumped in.

“Seriously?” Mark asked, agitation filling his voice. “Can we not just shut up and be ready?”

“If you wouldn’t interrupt me, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Henuva countered. “The staff is getting Death Squad readings.”

“Why plural?” Sandrina asked.

“Because I’m picking up almost a hundred of them closing in.”

“We need to abort,” Dalia replied. “We can’t take on a hundred of them. We’d die before we got close to Tylira.”

“That’s why we wait for her to get in the open, then rush her,” Mark argued.

“How about we table the retreat and suicide charge for a few seconds, shall we?” Dax asked. “Because I’ve got a plan.”

“Mind looping us in?” Dalia asked.

“Just trust me, I promise, it’s not a stupid charge in head first thing.”

“I see her!” Mark whispered.

His voice tightened. Dax turned to look at a street only Mark could see into.

“Do not fire,” Dax snarled. “Remember, Invisible Hand not Geonosis, okay?”

“I have a clear head shot,” Mark countered.

Tylira sauntered into Dax’s field of view. Her helmet retracted, showing the recognizable scar on her face. Dax grabbed his shotgun, fighting the urge to charge her himself.

Movement along the rooftops caught his eye. Death Squad members lined up on the high ground, their guns raised and aimed at the kill box. Tylira opened her arms while giving a swirl in front of them.

“I have to admit, you were sneakier than I thought you’d be,” she shouted. “I figured you’d come at me guns blazing after I put my knife through your friend’s throat. Did it take him long to die?”

Dax could almost hear Mark’s safety switch off.

“Mark, hold your fire. Let me handle this. Do not engage until the Death Squad are dealt with.”

“You’re good, but I don’t think you’re that good. I have a clear shot,” Mark countered.

“Boy, hold,” Henuva growled. “Stick to the plan or Kane’s death will have been for nothing.”

“Dax, just come on out so we can get this over with. Go ahead, tell that traitor Henuva to join you,” Tylira ordered. “I promise I’ll make it quick before I hunt down the rest of your team. You make me wait, I’ll make them suffer, though.”

“Henuva, you ready?” Dax asked.

“As ever,” the Valtukta replied.

Dax drew his shotgun. He stood up and made his way to the door. Just before exiting, he took the satchel off himself, set it down and gave PITA a tap on the side. His eyes turned on and blinked open.

“Am I up?” PITA asked.

“If you’re ready for it,” Dax replied.

“It’ll be my finest hour,” the cyber dog said.

Dax put his hand on the door. With a shove, it flung open. He stepped into the square with PITA close by his side. Henuva emerged from his cover as well on the other side of Tylira.

“Let’s end this,” Tylira said, a wicked smile spreading across her face, her helmet closing around her head.

35

SHOWDOWN

The plates on PITA’s body twisted open, revealing speakers and little holes all over the core of his body. Tylira drew her weapon, Dax raised his shotgun. He fired before she could. A flash of green flame accompanied by sparks jumping off her armor caused her to stagger.

“Henuva, now!” Dax roared.

“Slaughter them all!” Tylira screamed.

The Death Squad took aim. Henuva pressed a holographic button projected by the staff. A pulse of green light shone from the crystal. Instantly, every Valtukta helmet aside from Henuva and Tylira’s opened.

“I call this one the brown note!” PITA shouted.

A low sound resonated from PITA, enough to rattle Dax’s armor, while a vapor erupted from the cyber dog and immediately settled as a thick fog over the battlefield. The clatter of guns sounded from the rooftops, accompanied by a hundred pained groans.

A warning flashed on Dax’s HUD that being this close to PITA’s nebulized caffeine concentration could cause cardiac issues.

“I said kill them!” Tylira screamed.

Unholy sounds echoed through the fog like farts in a tin can. Dax shuddered at the noise.

“They’re not going to be able to help you,” Dax said.

“I learned the hard way what the chemical caffeine does to our kind, and it’s not great,” Henuva added.

“You can do this the easy way or the hard way. At least one way it’s quick,” PITA added.

“Please choose the hard way,” Mark grumbled over the radio.

“You really think you two can take me? You haven’t succeeded so far,” Tylira snarled.

She drew a knife with her free hand, still stained red.

“This look familiar?” she asked.

An image of Kane being stabbed in the throat flashed across Dax’s mind. The rage that’d been sparking in his core erupted. He took a deep breath, focusing it, concentrating it like the fire of a blowtorch.

“PITA,” Dax said softly. “I think this calls for some atmosphere.”

“What were you thinking?” the cyber dog asked.

Dax opened his double-barreled shotgun. The shells flew out, smoking gently as they did. He grabbed the last two toxic shells Sandrina made for him, slid them in and snapped it shut.

“Mick Gordon’s ‘The Only Thing They Fear is You’,” Dax ordered.

PITA’s protective barrier slid shut around him, taking a sleeker, more combat-ready look. His eyes turned red as the bass started to play. Tylira raised her pistol again. A beam rushed from Henuva’s staff, cutting across her suit and knocking her forward but deflecting the beam at an upward angle.

Dax raised his shotgun and fired both shells, further damaging her armor. He broke the weapon open and slid two more normal shells inside, snapped it shut and fired again. Sparks flew,;she screamed and rushed him.

“Mark,” Dax said.

Flashes of light shone in the corner of Dax’s vision. Radioactive, plasma-encased bullets splashed across Tylira’s armor. Some struck the weakened portions, further damaging them while others bounced harmlessly off her much more advanced suit.

Without a word, a square device popped up out of her shoulder. It pointed toward the building Mark was in. A soundwave, similar to Dalia’s cannon, erupted from it, ripping steel from the ground while collapsing the front of the building.

“I’m good,” the young man called out without missing a beat. “I’ll find my way out and join you in a second.”

Henuva shot at her again. Her armor tanked the beam while she closed the distance to Dax, who planted his feet, focusing his adrenaline and anger to sharpen his senses while putting the shotgun on his back.

She slashed at him with one hand; Dax dodged it. A flash of purple erupted from the other. The plasma shot struck Xero’s patch, being absorbed and partially recharging his suit.

He opened his left hand. The magnetic repulse sent her gun backward. Her grip remained firm, but the sudden jerk opened her up. PITA lunged in. His beartrap of a jaw clamped closed around her upper thigh.

“I’m going to enjoy killing the boy first,” she hissed.

Dax punched her in the visor as hard as he could. Sparks flew off his fist while her lightly damaged face plate remained strong. Her knife flew at the joint around his hip. He narrowly blocked it, wrist to wrist.

With a quick spin of his hand, he twisted their arms together, locking hers in an extended position, pinned against his back. With his free hand, he started punching at the cracks his shotgun had made with all his might.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she taunted. “My armor’s better than yours, now.”

“Henuva!” Dax roared.

The Valtukta struck Tylira in the back of the knee with his staff. It buckled. Dax’s grip on her slipped. She broke free, punched him in the chest hard enough to stagger him back, and an impact warning flashed.

With her knife, she wrenched PITA’s jaw open. He fell to the ground before being kicked past Dax. Henuva tried to swing again. His staff was blocked by her knife. She fired twice at his helmet, buffeting Henuva away.

Dax closed the distance once again, this time grabbing the barrel of her gun and squeezing. The metal crumpled while the gun sparked in his hand. She grumbled, swore, and elbowed him in the chest before reaching for his knife. Her hand clasped shut around nothing. A gasp left her helmet.

“Yep, decided to leave it behind this time,” Dax scoffed.

He punched her in the side of the helmet. She took a few steps back before quickly centering herself. She took a position so she could see the building she’d shot, Dax and Henuva at the same time. With a flick of her hand, she flipped her knife to a reverse grip.

“You don’t actually think you can win here, do you?” she asked with a hiss.

The sounds of caffeine’s horrible side effects continued to echo through the streets as PITA’s fog faded. Mounds of armored suits rolled around on the rooftops while Henuva let out a low groan.

“I mean, all we have to do is breach your armor,” he said. “Coffee’s active ingredient will do the rest for us.”

Another square popped up on her other shoulder. Dax dove out of the way, landing on his side. Instead of a sound cannon, a dozen mini rockets swirled through the air. Half flew at Henuva, the other half sought out Dax.

Dax spun to his back. He used the magnetic repulse in his gauntlet to throw off almost all of them. They tumbled through the air, crashing into surrounding buildings before exploding.

Two struck Dax. He hardly felt their impact. His audio intake cut out to prevent the sound from damaging his ears. The explosions were so bright, his helmet darkened, temporarily blinding him.

His vision quickly returned to see Tylira over him, mid stab, her knife inches from him. Before Dax could react, PITA lunged over Dax, his jaw hanging loose on the side she’d pried off her leg.

He threw his dense metal body into her, throwing her aim off enough for the blade to glance harmlessly off Dax’s breastplate. Tylira quickly tried to recover. Gunfire rang out. M4 ammo peppered the Death Squad leader.

Dax looked over to see Mark, OGRE display on, rifle against his shoulder and moving like a seasoned warrior. Each shot was precise, hitting exactly what he was aiming for. The young man moved with grace despite being in such bulky armor.

Before a dry fire sounded, Mark ejected the magazine. It tumbled to the ground, empty. Before the small ammo box was at Mark’s knee, he’d already reloaded and continued to fire.

Tylira raised her arms, protecting her face plate. Several more small missiles launched from her back and flew directly at Mark. He ceased fire long enough to roll out of the way. Explosions ripped across the ground, tearing the rusted metal apart before he got to one knee and pointed his gun at her.

During the chaos, Dax scrambled to his feet, drew his shotgun, reloaded and positioned himself partially behind Tylira while Henuva did the same, trapping her in the center of a triangle.

“Not possible,” she snarled. “I killed you. Not even I could survive a stab like that, and I’m an improvement.”

“You’ve lost your mind. I wouldn’t say that’s an improvement,” Henuva countered.

“I thought to change my suit’s codes to something unique,” she argued.

“I’m not Kane,” Mark growled. “He is gone. You did your job. He passed all his skills on to me, and unluckily for you, I don’t have his conscience.”

Tylira raised the knife she’d used on Kane to taunt Mark.

“Then I’ll just have to use this on you too!”

Plates on her suit slid open. Black orbs erupted in every direction before exploding into a thick smoke. Mark unloaded. Some of his rounds struck. Others zipped by as she moved out of the way.

“Pirate, now!” Dax roared.

The ground rumbled as the sounds of hydraulics screamed. Sparks cut through the smoke around all but one street of the square as the pirate did his job.

“I need extraction on my coordinates, now!” Tylira screamed.

Her voice gave her position in the smoke screen away. Dax reloaded, as did Mark. They joined with Henuva and a limping PITA while following the screeches of desperation.

“I take it that means I’m up, boys?” Jun asked.

“Ten-four, good buddy,” Dax said.

Exiting the cloud, Tylira stood where a street once was, not blocked by a wall of patched steel. She turned to face them. Her armor was lightly damaged, with a knife in one hand while her other ran across her suit.

Dax snapped the shotgun shut, planted his feet and raised his weapon. Mark lined up with him, doing the same. Henuva drew the fifty-caliber pistol and joined the firing squad.

“There’s no escape this time,” Mark growled.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she mused.

The cockiness in her voice made Dax want to pull the trigger then and there. The roar of an engine screamed over the streets. Tylira looked up as her ship stopped high above her, hovering for a few seconds.

“Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, boys. I guess I’ll just have to upgrade and kill you l…”

A small ship screamed through the air. It crashed into hers, cutting Tylira off with the resulting explosion. Dax looked up to see the Death Squad dropship and what was left of the vessel they’d kept hidden spinning uncontrollably off to one side. They disappeared behind a building before the sound of an explosion ripped through the streets, accompanied shortly by a massive fireball.

Tylira let out a pained groan followed by a nervous laugh. She flipped the knife back around and pointed it at the men.

“I guess we’ll just have to do this the hard way,” she growled.

“I really wish your helmet was off,” Mark said.

“Me too,” PITA added.

His broken jaw dropped slightly. The pilot light ignited, glowing softly in what was left of his maw.

“I’d have loved to see the hope leave her eyes.”

“Take her out,” Dax ordered.

Tylira pressed a finger into her armor. Dax squeezed his trigger. A device launched out of the side of her suit. Dragging a cable, it sailed over the crew’s head before clanging against the roof of an opposing structure.

With a zip, she was yanked off her feet. Dax’s shotgun went off; his pellets bounced off the steel wall. Tylira sailed over their heads. Dax spun, following her while reloading. Henuva pointed the massive handgun and fired. It nearly knocked him off his feet, but it sliced the wire.

Tylira fell to the ground. She landed on both feet, rolled forward and sprinted for the only open street left to her. All three men lowered their weapons.

“Ladies, she’s headed your way. We’re in pursuit,” Dax called out.

36

RUNDOWN

Dax’s legs carried him as fast as they could. Tylira kept a decent lead, gradually pulling away with each step. Henuva sprinted at his left, his suit screaming while trying to keep up. Mark kept his rifle in hand with PITA on his back, his pace matching Dax’s with ease.

“Who saw the grappling hook coming?” Henuva asked.

Tylira hurdled a fallen gantry. Mark dropped back. Dax lowered his shoulder and plowed into the metal. The impact caused the metal to bend around him. He stood up and threw an arm into the air, sending the debris overhead long enough for Henuva and Mark to pass under.

“Not me, but she clearly made a few upgrades to her suit,” Mark said.

“Feels like she’s been reading Batman comics,” Dax added.

He drew his Bastet pistol and fired at a steel cable supporting a banner. The bolt cut through the wire as if it weren’t there. The banner fell toward Tylira. Her armor hissed; tufts of gas released from her back before a handle protruded over her shoulder.

With a flick of her wrist, she drew a sword with a blade as black as the void itself. Another flick of her wrist sliced the would-be trap in half. With a leap and spin, she soared between the falling pieces. Looking back, she flung her knife at Henuva.

Dax’s HUD quickly highlighted the knife, tracking its trajectory. He reached out, snatching it out of the air just before it pierced Henuva’s helmet. He holstered his pistol, shoved the knife into the satchel and pushed himself even harder.

“She’s faster than us,” Mark growled. “We have to slow her down or cut her off, or she’ll just escape again.”

A Valtakuntera fighter screamed overhead at them. Its plasma cannons started to glow. It managed to get two rounds off before a ball of blue light engulfed the fighter, turning it almost completely to slag. The Junkyard screamed overhead with a handful more fighters on its tail.

Mines dropped from the back, immediately attaching onto the hull of the lead attacking ship before detonating, taking out three pursuers at once.

“Nice flying,” Mark said between huffs.

“I’m trying to hold off an entire fleet up here; not sure how much longer I can pull this off,” Jun replied. “But if I do, it’s official. I’m my own best pilot of my whole crew!”

She spun the ship before disappearing behind the buildings. Dax leapt over the banner. He glanced up to see two cruisers hovering in low orbit above the planet while hundreds of ships scattered like roaches when the lights turn on.

“Any luck weakening her?” Dalia asked.

“The only thing better than her armor, I think, is Xero’s,” Dax called out.

“It’s lightly damaged but not enough to do anything with,” Henuva replied.

“Sandrina, thirty yards,” Mark called out.

“Locked and loaded,” she replied.

Tylira sliced a support for one of the countless sets of scaffolding that covered most of the buildings. It started to crumble toward them. Dax and Mark raised their left hands, extending their fingers. The magnetic repulse collided with the falling debris.

Both men slowed. Henuva rushed past them. Heaps of twisted metal blew out in every direction while most of it continued to rain down around them.

“Fifteen yards,” Dax said.

Pipes bounced off his armor, slowing him even more. He continued to press forward with Mark close behind. Henuva cleared the chaos and fired his pistol at her. The round struck the back of her head, sparking in every direction while her helmet snapped forward.

Tylira hissed. She turned toward Henuva, raising her hand. The same glowing plasma projector in Henuva’s palm glowed in hers. The scientist stopped dead in his tracks and slammed his staff into the ground with a resounding thud.

“NOW!” Henuva roared.

A door flew off its hinges. The Punt Gun’s barrel poked into the street. Tylira turned toward the cannon. In the blink of an eye, a blast of green flame accompanied by a caustic cloud of smoke filled the street.

Sparks flew off Tylira’s armor as layers of her highly polished black metal peeled away, revealing muted grays and hidden compartments. A scream echoed from Tylira’s helmet as she flew across the street, slamming into a building, putting a dent in it.

Sandrina quickly stepped out, a submachine gun in each hand. She opened fire on the Death Squad leader. Dax and Mark pushed through the debris to Henuva’s side. All three men raised their weapons and rained down fire on their quarry.

Tylira covered her face with one arm while shoving off the ground with another. She slung her sword at Sandrina, a cable attached to the hilt. With cat-like reflexes, the Bastet narrowly dodged the flying blade. It slashed through one of her guns, cutting it clean in half.

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the weapon back. Catching it, she turned and opened fire on Dax’s position with her palm weapon. Mark stepped forward. He raised his left hand, dissipating the plasma bolts as they rained in.

“PITA, herd her,” Mark ordered.

Dax broke cover. He drew his Bastet pistol and fired at the weakened portions of her armor. PITA hit the ground and charged Tylira with his music still blaring. Sandrina kept suppressing fire on the Valtukta.

Through lightning-quick slashes of her sword, she cut Dax’s shots out of the air like they were nothing. Dax watched each flick of her wrist move as if she knew where he was aiming. Henuva raised his pistol and squeezed the trigger. Just before the hand cannon went off, she moved her head, dodging his shot.

“She’s got an assist in her HUD like us,” Dax shouted.

Tylira kept returning fire, forcing Mark to play defense. Sparks jumped off her forearms. Damaged pieces of her armor forced themselves open, a detection of explosives flashed on Dax’s visor.

“Bombs!” Henuva warned.

With compressed gases, disks were fired at everyone. Sandrina dove, grabbing the door and raising it with her free hand into a shield. Dax tried to use his magnetic repulse to deflect the incoming mines. They passed right through the barrier.

With a sharp breath and his heart skipping a beat, Dax dove away from the bomb. They exploded with no fire or light but a wave of concussive energy unlike anything he’d seen.

It flung him into a pile of debris, sending his HUD flickering while his skin and bones tingled from the shockwave. As he tried to move, a sharp pain surged through his gut like someone grabbing his intestines and twisting.

He pushed through the pain; his joints screamed with each movement, like sandpaper rubbing against his bones. He forced himself to his feet before letting out a pained groan.

“Everyone okay?” he asked.

Dax looked at where the Valtukta once was. She was gone, down the only side street open to her.

“Alive,” Henuva said, pulling himself to his feet.

“In better shape than she’s going to be,” PITA added, flipping from his back to his paws.

“She’s not getting away,” Mark growled.

He threw bent pipes off him, scrambled to his feet and limped after her. Dax looked at Sandrina, pressed against the outside of a building with the door bent around her.

“I think I broke an arm, but I’m alive,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Keep after her!”

Henuva limped over to Sandrina before kneeling next to her and grabbing the door.

“I’ll get her free, you follow Mark,” he shouted.

Dax started limping after the young man as well. Each step sent surges of pain through every joint in his body. His rage flared, helping him push out the pain. A surge of adrenaline numbed it until his healing could kick in. By the time he passed the shards of Tylira’s damaged suit, he was in an all-out sprint.

His HUD continued to flicker on and off. He struck the side of his helmet a few times. It continued to sputter on and off for a few more seconds before the connection to the rest of his armor was re-established.

“Mark, are you hurt?” Dax asked.

He noticed Mark still limping ahead of him with PITA close behind.

“It’s just a fracture,” Mark replied. “It’s healing.”

He disappeared around a corner along with PITA.

“Not if you break it all the way,” Dax argued.

“Tylira’s not moving much faster,” Mark explained. “I still have eyes on her.”

“How far out?” Dalia’s voice chimed in.

“A few hundred yards,” Mark explained.

“Careful. She’s got a new sword that was able to cut through Sandrina’s gun like it was nothing. Don’t let her see you before you fire,” Dax warned.

“Gun’s already charged. I just have to release the trigger,” Dalia replied. “It’ll be faster than she can swing anything.”

Dax reached into the tattered satchel. He drew Tylira’s knife while quickly catching up to Mark. Ducking his head, he slid it under the young man’s arm, wrapped his right hand around Mark’s waist and practically lifted him off the ground.

“What are you doing?” Mark grunted through clenched teeth.

“If you want to catch her, just come along for the ride. I don’t have anything broken,” Dax replied.

PITA rushed past them, galloping as fast as his three-inch legs could take him after Tylira. She slashed more support struts, bringing them crashing into the street to block their paths.

Small racks emerged from PITA’s sides; two rockets dangled in each one. Their engines roared to life, sending half of them spiraling into the debris, detonating and blowing a hole for them to continue through.

Shrapnel rained harmlessly around them while Dax carried Mark through the gap PITA made. A fork in the road stood in front of them. Tylira turned to take the left path. PITA’s last two rockets fired at Tylira. They narrowly missed her before slamming into the ground in front of her.

The blast knocked her off her feet while tearing a hole in the street. Mark raised his rifle and fired at her. Half the bullets bounced off her still-intact suit while the other half spattered against the ground and the buildings around her.

She turned right and continued running. PITA followed with Dax and Mark close behind.

“Let me go,” Mark said. “My leg’s not hurting anymore.”

Knowing arguing would just slow them down, he let the young man go. Mark still had a limp, but he continued to push forward at a much faster rate. Another dropship swooped in to take her, only for Jun to shoot it out of the sky.

“Are you guys almost done?” Jun asked, vanishing overhead once more.

“Couple hundred more yards,” Mark replied.

“My HUD’s not marking Tylira on a map. I see you guys, though,” Dalia said. “How far ahead of you is she?”

“Fifty yards,” Dax replied. “The front of her armor’s been weakened. If you can get her to face you before you shoot, you may end her then and there.”

“Don’t take the chance, just shoot her. We’ll do the rest,” Mark countered.

They started to catch up to PITA. The robotic corgi’s legs stopped moving as fast. The metal music he was playing slowed and down-pitched.

“Batteries running low,” PITA called out.

“Keep the torch going,” Mark ordered.

Mark slung his weapon over his shoulder as they caught up to PITA. He leaned over and picked up the robo-corgi and tucked him under his arm. The music shut off and his eyes went dark. PITA’s dislocated jaw bounced with each step, the pilot light still flickering where his tongue should be. Dax looked up to see Tylira reach another town square.

“Dalia,” he called out.

“I see it,” she replied.

Even without a radio connection, Dax heard her scream ‘Hey pointy!’ Tylira covered her face. A blinding blast of soundwaves mixed with yellow plasma blasted into the Valtukta, throwing her off her feet and out of view.

37

TAKEDOWN

Dax made it to the square and looked at Dalia first. She was on her back, her gun and armor smoking while holding up a thumb.

“I’m good,” she called out. “Everything just locked up. It’s rebooting. I’ll be functional in a minute. Get Tylira!”

“DAX!” Mark shouted.

He turned in the direction the Death Squad leader was thrown. She flew through the air at him, her sword in hand. Dax’s instincts kicked in, piloting his body almost faster than he could think. He took a half step back and raised the knife.

Her strike would’ve been powerful enough to break his defense but Dax lifted his arm, catching the back of her sword with his knife’s guard. He ducked while redirecting the swing over his head.

In a swift, circular motion, he drew the knife’s edge across Tylira’s exposed inner thigh. The blade cut deep. Silver spurted as she let out a pained scream. Before his swipe’s arc was complete, her leg had already healed.

With a twist of her body, Tylira kneed Dax in the side. It threw him off his feet. He hit the ground, shifting his weight to let momentum carry him back to his feet.

Dax looked up to see her sword slashing at his face. With a hop and lean backward, the very tip of her blade caught his helmet. It sliced through the dome like it wasn’t even there. Fractures stretched across the barrier as time slowed for Dax.

The stench of the corrupted world stung his nostrils and burned his lungs. He ignored it and the itch that immediately flared at the back of his throat. Her follow-through left her side wide open. Melted metal from Dalia’s shot ran down her hip and leg, revealing her ribs.

Dax surged forward. He plunged the dagger hilt deep between her ribs before instinctively twisting. She let out a gasping sputter while Mark, raising his rifle, cheered.

“How do you like getting stabbed with your own weapon!” he screamed.

His helmet retracted, showing off his glowing robotic eye.

“Hurts, doesn’t it!”

Dax yanked the knife out, making a scooping motion as he did. Tylira threw an elbow. A sharp pain split across his skull. His vision instantly blurred while his legs buckled under him.

Dax staggered, feeling blood roll down the side of his face. Tylira swung her sword at him. He raised the knife at the image of the middle Valtukta. A split second of relief filled him when sparks flew. He was able to deflect her attack.

With a quick jab, he stuck the knife into a crack in her face plate. He punched at the knife handle as she heel-kicked him in the chest. Both made contact at the same time. Her visor shattered as his breastplate collapsed, forcing the air out of his lungs and his left shoulder out of its socket.

He hit the ground, chest aching, lungs burning as he coughed violently for air, ignoring the electric pain in his shoulder. He held the dent in his breastplate with one hand while the other moved for his shotgun. Tylira kicked the knife away before pointing her sword at him, her eyes wild while spittle flew from her mouth.

“I am sick and tired of your kind. When I’m done with you, I’m going to glass your planet and slaughter your loved ones. You never should’ve made the mistake of crossing me!”

“I’m not the one who made the mistake here,” Dax said between wheezes. “You did.”

His fingers curled around the handle of his shotgun.

“How?” she sneered.

Dax looked at Mark. She turned toward the young man, who had his gun trained on her.

“I’m no longer down range,” Dax replied.

He pulled his shotgun, aimed at the gap in the side of her armor and fired. Mark unloaded as well. She covered her face with one arm while the other crossed over her heart.

Chunks of flesh and spatters of silver flew out from the parts of her body no longer protected. She dropped to her knees, blood spilling from her mouth as Dax climbed to his feet. He looked down at his bandolier. The shotgun shells were flattened from being thrown around. He put the double-barreled weapon back while making his way to the knife. As he picked it up, Mark’s rifle let out a click. Dax glanced over at him.

“I’m out,” he said, staring at Tylira.

Dax followed his gaze. The Valtukta was on her hands and knees, sword still in hand. An unnatural gurgling wheeze left her mouth, interrupted by a series of coughs, heaving her trembling body.

“Doesn’t really matter; that’ll have been enough,” Mark added, picking up PITA.

Dax walked over to him, ignoring the lump forming in the back of his throat. He spun the knife around and offered it to Mark.

“She’s done for,” Dax said. “Finish her off; make it quick.”

Mark looked at the knife in disgust. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Tylira cackling like a hyena anticipating a meal. The noise set Dax’s teeth on edge. His mouth turned to cotton as an electric chill shot down his spine.

He slowly turned. Tylira looked up at them. Blood poured out of her nose and mouth as she pushed off the ground. A look that could only be described as insanity contorted her expression as she rose to her feet. The chunks they’d taken out of her rapidly closed. Her grip on her sword tightened as she took her fighting stance.

“I managed to figure out how to perfect Henuva’s petty work,” she hissed. “Did you really think you could kill me? I can heal from anything you throw at me!”

“Did you notice that?” Mark whispered.

Dax turned to square up with her. He gripped the knife tight while his free hand hovered over his pistol. His eyes darted around her body, looking for any hint of an attack.

“She covered the switches,” Dax replied. “We only tried to start the timer.”

“Something tells me she can’t heal if we flip the swi…”

Mark was cut off by a low gurgling emanating from Tylira’s stomach. Dax’s shoulders relaxed. He stood up straight.

“Do you have any idea how many calories you just burned? We don’t have to shoot you anymore; you’re going to die of starvation first,” Dax said.

He looked at Mark, intentionally revealing as much of his neck as possible.

“That explains the insanity. Your brain’s made up of sixty percent fat. She didn’t have much on her to begin with. Every time she had to heal from us, it likely ate away at her mind just to keep her ali…”

He saw a flash of movement from Tylira. He ducked. Her sword flew over his head before harmlessly clattering to the ground.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t actually go for it.” Dax chuckled.

He drew his pistol and aimed it at Tylira’s forehead. She turned and started to sprint away. The back of her helmet and armor were still intact enough to stop a shot from taking her out. Dax growled through clenched teeth as Mark stepped forward.

“No, no, you don’t get to run this time.”

His eye glowed brighter. A beam of energy erupted from his skull. It swiped across the damaged part of her armor. Her leg, severed at the hip, fell to the ground first. A scream erupted from her as Tylira followed suit.

Mark flinched. He shook his head as his skin smoked. Dax watched him march toward Tylira with a singular purpose. He rubbed his still sore chest while quickly catching up.

“Wait!” Tylira screeched.

She flopped to her back, waving her hands wildly.

“Wait, wait, wait. I have the empress’s ear. I can do things for you.”

“What kind of things?” Mark asked, giving her leg a kick toward her.

“I can make you rich, make it so the Valtakuntera will leave you alone. I can make your existence easy. Just spare me.”

Dax caught up to Mark. He turned his back to Tylira and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at the young man. Before he could say anything, Mark’s right hand twitched under PITA. Heat danced across Dax’s face, accompanied by Tylira’s screams.

“I want my father back!” Mark screamed.

He watched the pain and rage ripple over the young man’s features as beads of sweat dribbled down his forehead. The stench of burning hair and flesh mixed with the pungent poison of the world.

The flames stopped, leaving the stifling air to feel cool by comparison. Tears rolled down Mark’s face, his body trembled, his mouth stretched wide as a scream of pent-up pain drowned out the sounds of a healing Tylira. Another burst of flame erupted from PITA’s mouth for another few seconds.

“Heal,” Mark growled, stopping the fire. “HEAL, DAMN YOU!”

He squeezed again, leading to another belch of flame. Mark held it until the stream ran dry. His body shook. PITA slipped from his hands and he collapsed into Dax’s arms.

“I got you,” Dax said softly.

He held Mark close, ignoring the crackling behind him.

“You did good, kid, you did good.”

He squeezed Mark tightly, looking at the town square entryway. Sandrina and Henuva entered carrying the Punt Gun, while Dalia clambered out of the alley she’d been stuck in. All three froze at the sight in front of them.

Henuva quickly stepped forward with Mark’s staff. He slammed its base on the ground. A green light scanned Dax, Mark, PITA and the smoldering pile behind them. Almost instantly, every Valtakuntera ship overhead stopped flying and started to hover.

“Jun, I think we’re ready for pickup,” Dalia called out.

Dax turned his attention to the sweat-soaked young man in his arms. Tears streaked his dirty face. The burns from his implant healed while his robotic eye drifted off center, out of power. His biological one lacked its usual spark and luster.

“Can you hear me, kid?” Dax asked.

Mark remained unmoving. Dax wrapped his good arm around Mark. Holding him close, he picked up the young man before walking back to the group. Henuva grabbed PITA and quickly joined.

“Are you two okay?” Dalia asked, rushing toward them.

“Physically, yes,” Dax replied. “I think Mark’s still trying to process.”

He looked over at the sword on the ground. Before he could suggest anything, Henuva retrieved it before looking back at Tylira. He let out a whistle, shaking his head.

Dax slowly turned. His heart raced. Part of him screamed not to look, that his imagination was more than enough. The other part pushed him to confirm that the job was actually done.

In the center of the square sat a pile of smoldering remains and melted metal. Small flames still licked off what was left that clung to bone. Disbelief and relief crashed through Dax. A weight he didn’t realize was pressing down on him vanished. His knees went weak. He dropped to the ground, letting out a gasping laugh as his body reacted without his control.

Henuva moved next to the ladies, looking at the corpse closely. He cleared his throat and pointed at Tylira’s remains.

“How sure are we that she can’t heal from that?” he asked.

An engine’s roar filled the square. The Junkyard flew low over the building tops. Jun swooped in; harmless scorch marks scored her hull. With a violent, mostly controlled descent, she set the ship down on top of Tylira’s remains. A high-pitched whine rang out while the cargo bay started to open.

Dax looked up at Henuva, his senses quickly returning. He rose to his feet, still holding a catatonic Mark close.

“She may have built on your experiments to make her better, but I don’t think even she could come back from that,” Dax said.

“Yeah, she’s dead,” Dalia replied, looking at Dax. “Need me to set your shoulder? I promise, I’ll count to three.”

38

OFF WORLD

Dax handed a still unresponsive Mark off to Dalia. He took the M4 while she carried him up the ladder. Henuva helped Sandrina bring the Punt Gun back onto the ship after dropping PITA, Tylira’s sword and his staff off with the rest of the weapons.

Silence permeated the ship like a wet blanket. Dax made his way to the back of the vessel. He looked out at the town square, ravaged by their fight. Tightening his throat, he cleared out all the toxins he’d inhaled before spitting it onto the ground outside.

He closed the ramp and turned and looked at Sandrina. Her helmet was retracted. She was slumped onto her knees, tears rolling silently down her face.

Henuva knelt next to her, the staff scanning her before flickering and running out of power. With a frustrated grumble, he set the weapon down before looking at Dax.

“Her collarbone is broken, and she’s got two hairline fractures in her arm that need to be stabilized, but I can’t do it from down here,” he said, retracting his own helmet. “And I’m not strong enough to get her up the ladder by myself.”

Dax looked at his dangling arm, then back to the Valtukta.

“I’m not exactly one hundred percent either,” Dax said.

He walked over to Sandrina and knelt in front of her. Her eyes were glazed over and bloodshot. Each breath she took was short and shallow. Dax placed a hand on her shoulder to try and get her attention. She continued to stare right through him.

“Sandrina,” Dax said softly.

He placed a gloved hand on her cheek.

“Sandrina, can you look at me?” he asked.

Her dilated pupils narrowed to slits once more. She looked directly at him, and a smile pulled wide across her face.

“She’s dead,” she whispered. “Tylira’s dead.”

“I’d say so,” Dax replied. “I very much doubt even she could survive a scorching and having the Junkyard land on her.”

“Kane got his justice,” she added.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have more of a hand in it,” Henuva added.

“More of a hand?” Sandrina chuckled, looking up at him. “I ripped her armor apart. I watched some of my poisoned projectiles pierce her skin. They didn’t go all the way through; she healed around them. That kind of poison slowed her down considerably, giving my boys here time to do what they do best.”

Dax looked down at his dented breastplate. Only the pieces repaired by Xero were unbent. He let out a nervous chuckle before giving it a quick tap.

“Then my sternum sincerely thanks you for your deviousness. What else, outside of the cannonball, did you shoot at her?”

“In with the Punt Gun ammo, there was a little box with Tylira’s name on it written in Kane’s uniquely aggressive handwriting. It was full of rusty screws. I tossed them down the barrel after loading it up.”

“It’s nice to know he was in that fight too,” Dax said.

He pointed at her other arm while looking up at Henuva.

“How’s this side?”

“Couple of bruises but nothing broken,” the Valtukta replied.

Dax scooted to Sandrina’s side. He looped his good arm with hers and pushed off the ground. He nearly lost his balance but caught himself before looking at Henuva.

“Oh, don’t help at all. It’s not like you’re the only person on this deck with no significant injuries,” Dax said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“Just because you don’t see any injuries doesn’t mean I don’t have any,” Henuva countered.

“Do you have any dislocations?” Dax asked.

“Or broken bones?” Sandrina added.

“Or anything, really, that would stop you from participating in the assistance of our friend’s ascension to the main deck?”

Henuva looked around before shrugging and shaking his head.

“Then get over here, snowflake, and give me a hand,” Dax ordered.

“Snowflake?” Henuva asked.

“I don’t know, it’s an old Earth insult that lost its original meaning. Now it just stands for someone who melts away when it’s time to get to work,” Dax replied. “For the record, there were supposed to be air quotes around ‘melts away,’ but one arm is supporting an injured friend, and the other’s dislocated!”

“I have one functioning side,” Sandrina mused. “I can climb the ladder by myself. How is Mark?”

Dax released her. She started toward the ladder with labored steps.

“I think he broke an ankle. Physically, he’s fine, though,” Dax replied. “Just catatonic until his mind can reconcile what just happened.”

Sandrina reached the ladder and started to climb with her good arm.

“Hopefully, he snaps out of it soon. I may have tampered with PITA’s little gas dispenser.”

Henuva picked up the powered down and slightly damaged dog. He inspected PITA for a second.

“Tampered how?” Henuva asked.

“Yeah, tampered how?” Dax asked, getting on the ladder himself.

“With the caffeine gas; I laced a time release cure into it. I figured if we took out Tylira, we could use as many of her fighters as possible.”

“You’re not worried that they’ll come after us?” Henuva asked.

Dax stifled a laugh as he passed the midway point of the ladder.

“What’s so funny?” Henuva asked.

“They are in sealed suits of armor and exposed to caffeine. Even with the antidote automatically stopping the biological attack, one: How fast do you think they could recover? And two: they’re in sealed suits of armor. They won’t be sloshing their way after us any time soon.”

“Did you have to use ‘sloshing’?” Henuva grimaced, joining them on the ladder.

Sandrina reached the top first. She slid onto the main deck. Dax followed, doing the same. Both clambered to their feet while Henuva reached the top, PITA in hand.

“Can one of you guys give me some help? This is a little difficult…”

He trailed off as he looked up at them, each with a useless arm.

“Never mind,” Henuva conceded. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I will see you in the medical room,” Sandrina said.

She turned toward Dax and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, for getting justice for Kane,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome,” Dax replied before pointing to his cheek. “You know I have to tell Dalia about this, right?”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Sandrina turned and walked toward the medical bay. Henuva slung PITA’s depowered body onto the main deck before climbing out himself. He shut the door and picked up the robo-dog.

“I’ll get him on the charger and be right with you,” Henuva called back.

“You’d better be,” Sandrina called back.

Dax walked onto the main deck. It was empty. He looked around, not seeing Jun anywhere.

“I guess that explains why we haven’t taken off yet,” he said softly.

Dax walked over to his armor tube and started removing his damaged gear. Henuva placed PITA on his charger before going to give aid to Sandrina. Dax struggled getting his upper body armor removed. Once it was in the tube, he looked down at his legs, then his bum arm.

“Nope,” he muttered. “Not worth the pain. I’ll get you later.”

Dax walked over to the cockpit. He sat in his old desk chair and sank into it with a pleased groan.

“Now that’s a nice chair,” he said softly.

With one hand, he removed the docking dampers. Grabbing the yoke, he pulled back, moving away from the rusty city streets. Before getting too high, he brought the Junkyard to hover and turned it around.

Below sat a smear of ash and crushed metal in the outline of the ship’s landing gear. Dax’s heart raced. His hand gripped the controls tightly while he swallowed hard. With a shake of his head, his finger slipped to the trigger.

“She’s dead,” he whispered to himself in disbelief. “She’s been burned; she’s been crushed. No one can survive that, not even her.”

Memories of every time she showed up, intervened and hurt or killed someone surged through Dax’s mind. Doubt clouded his certainty of her demise. His finger twitched. A blinding blue light ripped out of the front of their ship.

The ball of plasma slammed into the ground, chewing away at the steel while consuming everything else it touched, including Tylira’s remains. Dax continued to hover for a few seconds, waiting for the smoke to clear. As it did, he couldn’t help but crack a smile at the crater where their enemy once lay.

“What was that?” Dalia asked, walking onto the main deck.

Dax nodded toward the smoking hole in the ground.

“I just needed to make sure,” he replied.

“Mark burned her to a crisp and Jun intentionally landed on her. How much more surety do you need?”

“That much, apparently,” Dax explained. “Personally, I’d rather throw the remains into a star, but I guess a ship-ending plasma blast will do.”

Dalia walked over to him, placing her hand on his back. Pain shot through his shoulder causing him to flinch.

“Weapons lock alert!” Jun’s voice rang over the ship’s systems.

Lights turned red while the screen to the left of the ship’s yoke filled with enemy dots surrounding them. Dax clenched his jaw and raised the nose of the ship to see pirate vessels surrounding them.

“You released our world wenches,” a familiar voice crackled over the radio. “And disabled the Death Squad. That wasn’t the smartest choice. No more viable fighters on the ground. It looks like your pilot took out those in the air. All we have to do now is shoot you out of the sky and those that remain will be mine.”

“I would say we need to talk with Bleeze about the friends he keeps, but this seems par for the course,” Dalia said softly.

Dax turned to the screen managing radio frequencies. His good arm flew across the screen in search of open frequencies. In the blink of an eye, tens of thousands of Valtakuntera lines became visible. They were password protected. He typed in Zulozare1 and was instantly let in.

“The only thing I love about that race.” He chuckled.

Dax opened a line to every Valtukta channel and the pirates aiming at them.

“This is Daxter of the starship Junkyard,” he called out. “Slayer of Tylira and rightful inheritor of every unit under her command. Lock all weapons onto the ships aimed at my position. If they open fire, you do the same.”

Without missing a beat, a chorus of confirmations sang from the Valtakuntera network. Dax slid his hand across the screen, isolating the pirate’s frequency.

“Ball’s in your court. Go ahead and shoot, but I’d check the weapons locks on your ships,” Dax said.

He looked at the cruisers in low orbit. Purple lights glowed, dotting the sides of the massive ships.

“I’m fairly certain that’s enough firepower to turn this entire half of the planet into a crater. What’s your next move?”

Dax stared at the vessel pointed directly at them. His breath was as steady and even as his heart rate. After a few short seconds, the hostile ships turned around and flew away.

“That’s what I thought,” Dax growled. “Valtakuntera ships, terminate all connection with the empire. Make it look like you were defeated in battle.”

Instantly, the Junkyard registered a change in frequencies overhead. A flicker of hope sparked inside of Dax’s chest as Dalia placed a hand against his shoulder.

“Did we really just gain control of the entire Death Squad?” Dalia asked.

“All ships, face away from the planet,” he ordered.

Immediately, they all turned their engines toward the world. Dax looked up at Dalia, unable to hide his glee.

“It looks like,” he said.

“Good news for once,” she sighed, putting a little pressure against his arm. “Ready?”

He winced and nodded.

“On three,” Dalia replied.

With a shove and a pop, a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder, arm and back. Dax groaned and punched the console.

“You didn’t even count to one,” he squealed.

“Now we’re even,” Dalia teased before kissing his cheek.

39

GOOD NEWS

Dax leaned against Mark’s door frame. The young man lay unconscious in his bed. His staff sat on its charger while his screens blipped through countless lines of code. He took a deep breath before pushing off the wall.

“How’s he doing?” Sandrina asked in a whisper.

Dax turned toward her. A brace encompassed her arm while a sling held it motionless in place.

“He’s exhausted,” Dax whispered back.

Grabbing Mark’s door, he silently pulled it shut.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Sore,” Sandrina replied. “Hopped up on painkillers, and not really sure how to feel.”

Dax crossed his arms. The dull pain that once throbbed through his shoulder was now nothing more than a memory.

“I’m right there with you,” he said softly. “Part of me knows she’s gone, that we got justice for Kane…”

“Part of you still sees her walking around every corner at you every time you approach one?” Sandrina asked.

“Exactly. But that’s what happens, I guess.” Dax chuckled. “Kind of reminds me about the time I lived in California.”

“Is that some sort of ship?”

“No, it’s a region on my home world. Right after my wife and I got married, I moved out there for some opportunities. We were broke kids at that point, could only afford a crappy little apartment.”

Dax grinned while slowly walking toward the main deck. Sandrina walked by his side.

“It was roach-infested. It was so bad, actually, that we refused to leave the bedroom at night because the roaches had the rest of the apartment.”

“That’s what you referred to Tylira as,” Sandrina pointed out.

“Yeah, because they’re everywhere, impossible to get rid of and show up at the worst times,” Dax replied.

“How’d you keep them out of your room?”

“We didn’t. They were just in there by the hundreds, instead of the thousands.” Dax chuckled. “But, when we left, for almost five years, we’d still see something scurry across the wall in the corner of our vision or smell their unique scent randomly throughout the day. But it eventually went away, and I can promise you, it will for you too, because Tylira isn’t coming back.”

“I mean, I’d imagine it’d be hard to, after being burned and landed on,” Sandrina said, stopping at her door.

“And shot with the full force of our plasma cannons,” Dax added.

Sandrina’s brow furrowed and head cocked to one side.

“I needed to be sure, so I atomized what was left to make sure. That’s also why I re-entered the pirate world’s atmosphere a few times before leaving, to burn off what was left.”

“A few times?” Sandrina asked. “I don’t get motion sick, but you dipped so much, even I threw up.”

Don’t say it, don’t say it, Dax thought to himself.

“Was it a hairball?” he asked before wincing. “Sorry.”

Sandrina laughed. She gave him a pat on the shoulder before stepping into her room.

“No need to apologize. That was a good one. But no, it was my dinner.”

“So, fish? Again, so sorry, it’s an alternate coping mechanism.”

“After meeting some of your Earth felines, I have to admit, I find your cat jokes amusing,” Sandrina replied. “And also yes, it was fish. And get some rest, will you?”

She stepped into her room and shut the door. Dax moved to the main deck where Jun sat at the yoke while PITA remained on his charger. Muffled talking and the clinking of glasses echoed from the dining hall.

Dax peered in to see Dalia and Henuva celebrating by sharing a bottle of dark liquid. Dalia appeared unfazed, while Henuva had a slight slur to his words.

“How’s Mark doing?” Dax asked, keeping his eyes on the booth.

“Exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. It’s been twelve hours, and he still hasn’t so much as moved,” Jun replied. “His vitals are stable, but I don’t understand why he hasn’t woken up yet. I was thinking about getting him in an hour or two, just to make sure he’s okay.”

“Don’t,” Dax instructed. “Prolonged negative emotions, especially stress, take a toll on human bodies. It exhausts us more than hard physical labor. Let him sleep until he wakes up on his own. He needs it; he’s earned it.”

“If that’s true, why haven’t you slept yet?” Jun asked.

“Because there’s still stuff to do,” Dax replied. “I have no doubt that when this is over, I’ll pass out for two full days at least.”

He ran his fingers through his well-groomed beard while looking at the swirls of blue in front of them.

“How far out are we?”

“About two days,” Jun replied. “So, if you’re going to pass out for that long, I’d strongly suggest doing it now, so you wake up before we land.”

“I will. I just have a few more things to do. I know this is unconventional, but can you route the communications array through the engine room terminal?”

“Yeah, but what’s with the privacy?”

Dax glanced back at the celebrating pair.

“I’d rather not distract from their drinks,” he explained.

“You know you have nothing to worry about with those two, right?” Jun asked.

“Why do you say that?” Dax asked, turning back toward her.

“They seem to spend a lot of time together and share drinks. Your kind might misconstrue that as something more than it is.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think there’s anything going on between them,” Dax countered.

“Why not? Most would.”

“Yes, but I trust Dalia more than anyone, and I know the only thing in this universe Henuva may fear more than me is those space leviathan things. No way he’d risk my wrath again, even if he had feelings for her.”

“And would you? If he tried anything?”

“No. I mean, I’d kick him off the crew, but only because having a dynamic like that in the delicate situation we find ourselves in will only get people killed,” Dax explained.

“And if Dalia decided to be his Battle Bonded?” Jun asked.

“First, he’d have to beat her in a fight. That’s not something he’ll ever be capable of. But my question back to you is, if something is trying to get away from you and the only way you can keep it is to hold on to it so tightly you hurt it, is that love or just greed?”

Jun released the yoke. She turned toward Dax, drumming her fingers on the chair.

“Can’t it be both?” Jun asked.

“I’m assuming Mark’s joke about you being his girlfriend wasn’t a joke?” Dax asked, motioning toward the crew quarters.

“I am a sentient being; my medium is just different from yours,” she replied.

“So, yes, look, you’re not going to get any pushback from me. We’re social creatures; he’s been pent up in a spaceship with a bunch of old men, a woman who dated his father figure and a hottie built like a brick house. I don’t blame him for bonding to you, or vice versa.”

“Even though I’m only a few years old?” Jun asked.

“Couple things,” Dax winced. “Don’t say it like that. It makes it sound creepy. And secondly, you were created with the minds of people who were adults, you have access to most of the knowledge in the universe and you’re synthetic, so to me, your age isn’t exactly a factor because you were born an adult. You have likely experienced eons of life that we can’t conceive and you have the form of a…”

Dax trailed off.

“Vivacious young woman?” Jun asked.

“I’ve heard Mark make that comment. Seeing as I’m in a committed relationship, I’m going to refrain from commenting on the body built for you.”

“That, and Dalia could snap you in half if she wanted?” Jun asked.

“That too. Now, I think I’m going to go spread some good news if you don’t mind.”

“Re-routing communications to engine room now,” Jun explained.

Dax walked back toward the sealed door. He put his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling the smooth puck Kane had left him. Reaching the door, he unlocked it, pulled it open and stepped into the comfortably warm room before shutting and locking the door behind him.

The console Mark used while making repairs sat on the other side of the thrumming engine. Dax walked past it, looking at the hypnotically pulsating light. Once he reached the terminal, he quickly put in Bleeze’s personal frequency. It took a couple of seconds before his handler picked up.

“I take it this means you’re still alive?” Bleeze asked.

“It does,” Dax replied.

“And?”

“And the guy your contact sent us to is a jerk. He tried to blow us out of the sky.”

“You shot him down?” Bleeze asked.

“Didn’t have to. The threat of an entire Valtakuntera Death Squad fleet hovering overhead with weapons trained on him, and an order that if anyone shot us down to open fire, is quite the deterrent.”

Nothing but silence on the other end. Dax couldn’t help but crack a smile, picturing the shock on Bleeze’s face.

“Bleeze, buddy, did I finally manage to shock you into silence?” Dax asked.

“You… you said they had orders. Were those orders from you?” Bleeze probed.

“That they were,” Dax replied.

“And they didn’t shoot you down?”

“They did not, and they still haven’t.”

“You did it?” Bleeze asked, a hint of hope catching in his throat.

“We did,” Dax replied.

“How?”

“What?”

“I want to know how she died,” Bleeze countered. “I want to know how you know for sure that she’s not just going to pop back up.”

“Well, Mark scorched her with PITA’s flamethrower until there was no fuel left, Jun landed the Junkyard on the ashy remains, and I took a shot with our ship cannons after we took off, followed by multiple re-entries to the planet’s atmosphere, just to be safe.”

“She’s not coming back from that,” Bleeze said with a sigh of relief. “Good job, boys. I know you did it for Kane, but thank you. Knowing he’s avenged brings a bit of peace to this old man’s heart.”

“You’re not that old.” Dax chuckled.

His hands flew across the screen, putting in two more radio frequencies.

“Wait, if you killed her, does that mean you’ve got her division at your command?” Bleeze asked.

“Give me one second and I’ll let you know,” Dax replied.

“This is Master Decombres,” one voice sounded. “How did you get my personal line?”

“This is Alcazar Leader Cauroptuquadanebvoc. Who do I have on the line?” the Galio asked.

“Decombres, Dan, this is Dax of the Junkyard with Bleeze on the other line.”

An echo of Dax’s voice sounded over the radio.

“Bleeze,” Decombres called out. “You can get out of the corner to take your private call. I’ve got him on my line. Just hang up and come over here so we don’t have feedback.”

Bleeze’s line went dead. A few seconds later, Dax heard him huffing at Decombres’ desk.

“What is so important that you have the Alcazar and the leader of Tachyon on the same call?” Dan asked.

“I come with good news, boys. Tylira, leader of the Valtakuntera Death Squad, has been eliminated,” Dax explained.

“How can we be so sure?” Decombres asked.

“Yes, where’s your proof?” Dan replied.

“There is none,” Dax explained.

“He means there’s none left,” Bleeze chimed in. “He already told me; he was very thorough.”

“That, and I currently have the entire Death Squad fleet escorting us to an undisclosed location per our orders,” Dax explained. “We’ve dealt the Valtakuntera a mighty blow, as they were the most advanced and skilled fleet in their military.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Dan asked.

“Yes, gentlemen, it’s time to pool our resources. We’re going to war against the Valtakuntera, and removing their influence from the galaxy once and for all.”

EPILOGUE

Dax’s eyes shot open. He sat up. A fog clouded his mind while his vision blurred. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes and let out a groan. Swallowing hard, his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Smacking his lips, he moved to the edge of his bed and dangled his feet, fighting the spinning room.

The door squealed as it opened. Dalia stepped through with a cup of water. For a split second, he didn’t recognize her, or the room, or anything else around him. She extended a hand, holding a glass of water.

“Figured you might need this,” she said.

Her voice was muffled as if underwater. Its sound snapped his memories back into place, partially lifting the fog. Dax reached out and took the cup before taking a drink of the tepid water.

“How long have I been asleep?” Dax asked.

His voice creaked from disuse.

“About two days,” she replied. “How are you feeling?”

“I could’ve sworn for a second I was late for my bus in third grade,” he replied, finishing the water and handing the cup back. “I must’ve been deep in it for that one.”

He pushed off the nest and found his footing on the deck before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Did we make it?” he asked.

“Yeah, and we didn’t run into any issues,” she replied.

“Good. Where’s Mark?”

Dalia set the cup on their vanity next to Dax’s necklace before crossing her arms.

“Where do you think?”

Dax took a deep breath. He nodded in understanding before putting his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling Kane’s puck.

“Is he okay?” he asked.

“As okay as can be expected,” Dalia replied.

“How’s Sandrina?”

“She has found a hot spring and said, and I quote ‘if any of you interrupt my me time, I’ma give you these claws’,” Dalia replied.

“That’s uncharacteristic of her. My guess is she’s working through some stuff too,” Dax replied. “Deservedly so.”

He leaned toward the vanity and grabbed his necklace that held Malcoth’s piercings. Looking at the dangling pieces of metal for a second, he turned his attention to Dalia.

“Now that he’s your people’s chief, do you think I should return these to him?” Dax asked.

“It would be an insult and an embarrassment if you did,” Dalia replied. “Unless he beats you in combat and earns them back.”

“And let me guess, if he does that, it’ll trip a few dominoes and open you up to be eligible for being Battle Bonded to him?” Dax asked.

“He’d have to fight and beat me first,” Dalia replied.

“And if you lose, you become his Battle Bonded, but if you win, no one will believe that he legitimately beat me. I imagine that would make his job a little more difficult.”

“It would bring into question his ability to rule.”

Dax lowered his head and slipped the necklace on before putting the talismans into his shirt.

“You know, for having such a straightforward approach to power, it’s starting to seem like it’s very complicated.”

“As Kane would put it, a real house of cards,” Dalia replied.

Dax cracked a smile. He leaned forward, getting on his tiptoes and gave Dalia a kiss.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m not quite ready to face that myself yet.”

“Okay, have you gotten any rest since Tylira?”

She shook her head.

“Then get some rest. I’ll get you if anything exciting happens.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dalia replied.

She climbed into bed. Dax grabbed the cup and left their room. As he shut the door, he heard a groan coming from Henuva’s quarters. He peered in to see the Valtukta on his side, a bucket on the ground next to him with an inactive cyber arm flopped limply at an unnatural angle. A sour stench taunted Dax’s nostrils, causing him to recoil.

“You okay, Henuva?” he asked.

“I need to stop trying to outdrink your lady,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you do. She’s two and a half times your weight. That alone would mean she can outpace you. Not to mention the Dal’no heal quickly, which means it’d probably take six to eight of you just to have a chance at keeping up. Probably ten to win.”

“It’s too early for math,” Henuva huffed. “Just let me sleep in peace.”

Henuva waved him away with his good hand. Dax leaned the door and walked to the ladder. He descended as silently as possible, only to see Jun looking at him with several guns disassembled in front of her.

“Glad to see you’re up,” she said, motioning toward the weapons. “Routine cleaning and maintenance. Kane said it’s the only way any of his weapons have lasted this long. I intend to keep them combat ready at all times.”

“I appreciate that,” Dax said, stepping off the ladder. “I know Kane would too. How’s PITA doing?”

“Currently 3D printing himself a new battery since we were able to get the needed components and feed them to him.”

“And how are you?”

She motioned at the disassembled gun and smiled.

“I am putting my knowledge to action,” she replied. “A unique puzzle that I get to do with my hands. It’s a rare opportunity and an enjoyable one at that.”

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself, then,” Dax said, pointing out the back of the open cargo bay. “Mark’s this way?”

“We’re not where we usually are. He’s out and to the left. I’d guess about three hundred yards.”

“Thank you.”

Dax turned and walked out of the ship. The warm, slightly humid air engulfed him like a warm embrace. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air that still sported the sweet scent of burned oak.

Monolithic trees lay scattered around them. Charred bark scarred their shattered trunks. Despite it being only a few months since Dal’no’nuuur was besieged, new growth was already well on its way. Small trees, with what Dax would’ve guessed was ten years of growth, already sprouted up to replace their fallen counterparts.

Peace settled in Dax’s chest, seeing the world already healing itself. He looked at the ruins of the coffee plantation. Sitting on one of the burned-out building’s ledges was Mark. His legs dangled while he overlooked the regrowing coffee field.

Dax gave the puck in his pocket a tight squeeze before making his way toward the building. His heart started to race along with his mind, searching for the right words to say. He slowed at the sound of Kane’s voice coming from Mark’s location, stopping to give him a few more moments of privacy.

If I would’ve had a son, I wish he would’ve

been like you. Even though the circumstances

of our meeting wasn’t ideal, I’m happy

we met and I got to see you grow into a wise,

caring, strong young man. I know Dax feels

the exact same way. If you are watching this,

then I’m sorry I won’t get to see your continued

growth. But I have faith in you, I will always

be with you. I love you more than life

itself, and no father was ever more proud

of their son than I am with you, my boy.

The message stopped and the hologram flickered out. Dax watched Mark slide the puck into his pocket before taking a deep breath.

“You’re not the only one with enhanced hearing,” Mark called down. “If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least come up here and do it.”

“I’m not droppin’ no eaves, promise,” Dax replied. “Just coming to check up on you.”

“You know, you have a unique skill that I appreciate. Not many people can just drop a Samwise quote into a sentence and make it sound organic,” Mark said, waving him up. “There’s a ladder over here that’s solid enough for you to climb.”

With a nod, Dax walked around the building’s corner and climbed the metal ladder. Reaching the roof, he paused, seeing the urn Kane was in. Mark noticed the hesitation and shrugged.

“I figured if I was going to say my final goodbye, it’d be over the crop he loved more than anything else,” Mark said, motioning toward the coffee field.

Dax couldn’t help but crack a smile. He walked over to Mark and sat next to him, Kane’s urn between them.

“You know what? I think if there was any place in this galaxy he’d want to be laid to rest, it’d be on his precious coffee trees.”

“Knowing him, he’d probably force everyone to drink it afterward,” Mark said with a chuckle.

“Really?” Dax asked, turning toward Mark.

“Oh yeah, he didn’t show you guys, but around me, he had a dark sense of humor. Like, really dark.”

“He was in the military. That’s a typical coping mechanism for them, I guess. When you say dark, on a scale of one to his coffee, what are we talking about?”

“Apparently, before his incarceration, he had a home office. He liked that home office to have a particularly nice smell, so he bought a diffuser,” Mark explained.

“Let me guess, it was the smell of gunpowder, explosives, vaporized iron?” Dax asked.

“No, eucalyptus,” Mark corrected. “But the diffuser itself was the Chernobyl reactor, with a little blue light that glowed out of the hole.”

Dax stifled a laugh.

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” he said.

Mark reached down and picked up the urn. He grabbed the lid and pulled it open.

“I figured you’d be out here sooner or later to check up on me. I didn’t want to do this without you,” Mark said.

A soft breeze danced gently through the forest floor and into Mark’s face. He extended his hand and started to tip the urn. Dax reached out and quickly stopped him.

“Wait,” Dax said.

“Do you have something you wanted to say?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, wait until the wind’s not blowing at us. I love the guy, but not enough to inhale him.”

“Good catch,” Mark said with a nod.

They waited for a few more seconds for the wind to switch directions. As it did, Mark poured the urn out. A gray dust fluttered through the air, dancing on the gentle breeze before settling among the coffee plants.

Dax watched as Kane floated away. He hardly noticed Mark put the lid back on and set the urn on the building’s edge as if it were overlooking the field.

“I’ll see you back on the ship,” Mark said.

He jumped off the roof, landing with almost complete silence, and walked back to the Junkyard. Dax pulled the puck out of his pocket. He looked at it closely while spinning it against his fingers. Like pit bulls fighting over a steak, his mind raced if he should listen or leave it. After a few minutes of back and forth, he let out a defeated sigh.

“I guess it’s time to say goodbye, my brother,” he whispered.

His fingers gripped the puck tight. With every ounce of willpower he could muster, he pressed the button. The puck flickered to life with an image of Kane’s face. Dax’s eyes burned and his vision started to blur, though he couldn’t help but smile.

Hey, Dax, if you’re watching this, it means

two things. One: I’m pretty sure you’ve

already figured it out. And if I know you guys, whoever

got the best of me is likely atomized at the bottom

of some crater somewhere. In advance, I appreciate the

overkill. Some say it’s overrated, but you’ve

seen my arsenal. And B: looks like you’re

the old man now…

BOOKS IN THE STARSHIP BANDITS UNIVERSE

1. Starship Bandits

2. The Last Scoundrel

3. Deadman’s Run

4. War Tide

5. Void Signal

6. Dark Matter Gambit

7. Eon’s Edge

8. Manhunt Overwatch

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For updates about new releases, as well as exclusive promotions and giveaways of content not available on the Facebook page, sign up for the VIP mailing list by clicking here.