Death Drop (19 page)

Otto locked his gaze on the scratched hand, studying every detail. He was mesmerized by the intricate joints between each finger and the sharp contrast between the black outer coating and the silver metal that each gouge revealed just below the surface. Otto’s eyes watered with the strain of staring but he didn’t dare blink: he didn’t want to miss a response he feared would never come. Otto waited. After an agonizing period of time spent staring at Bertie’s hand, Otto could feel the little voice in his head get ready to launch a stinging reprimand. But before it could commence its cynical attack, Otto’s laughter chased it into the back of his mind and his sheer joy held it captive. He stood there smiling as Bertie’s finger inched forward once, retracted and then inched forward again, just as he had asked. “Okay, buddy, okay. I don’t want you to wear yourself out,” he said merrily.

Otto grasped Bertie’s hand and squeezed it again as he smiled and then his face became very serious. “Bertie, I need you to do me a favor. You can’t respond to anyone else until I tell you it’s okay, got it? I can’t go into it right now, but I have my reasons. You can’t even respond to Blink, no matter how strong you get. That’s an order, soldier. Do you understand?” Bertie’s finger flexed two more times and Otto smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, my friend. In return, I’ll make good on my promise. I’ll fix you up the best I can. I’ll repair your cog, replace your missing tread, and fix all your leaky spots—oh, yeah—and give you an oil bath. But I’m afraid the table will have to wait until we have the materials to either re-skin yours or just replace the whole thing. Same goes for your damaged arms. I don’t have the parts on board the Hellion to fix them, but I can make good on all the other stuff. How’s that sound?” Bertie straightened his finger two more times and Otto shook his hand before backing away. “I have to go talk to Malo and then I’ll change clothes and be back to start fixing you up.” Otto’s cheeks hurt from the unrelenting smile on his furry face. He knew that if he was going to keep Bertie’s recovery a secret, he would have to put on one heck of a con job. Part of him felt guilty for what he was going to do, but he had a feeling in his gut that told him something wasn’t exactly right. He didn’t know what just yet, but until he could figure it out, he was going to keep Bertie’s recovery under wraps.

Otto tried to walk as somberly as he could, but he had to fight sudden urges to smile as he headed toward the front of the ship. He straightened his uniform and regained his composure before touching the sensor and trudging heavily through the open door to the helm. He paused just inside the doorway and watched intently as Malo piloted the nimble Hellion toward their rendezvous with Admiral Rilek and his fleet of Dissension ships disguised as runners. Malo’s enormous hands dwarfed the controls of the small craft, and his big frame poured out of the captain’s chair as if he were sitting in a child’s seat as a joke. Otto tried to fight back the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. His grin stretched until he had to open his mouth and then a chuckle snuck up from his stomach as he stood there, shoulders shaking and trying not to draw any attention to himself. He didn’t know what Malo would think if he turned around and found his superior officer laughing at him. Otto stifled his titter and lightly cleared his throat to announce his presence. He watched as Malo carefully adjusted the controls for auto-pilot and then turned his chair around to face him.

“Major!” Malo said enthusiastically as he stood up and saluted, bending at the waist to keep from piercing the ceiling with his gigantic horns. Otto saluted him and couldn’t help but smile at the situation.

“At ease, Malo. Please, sit down. It’s obvious these little Hellion fighters were never meant to carry Moxen around.” Malo sat down as gingerly as he could and smiled at the little major.

“Malo happy to see you! Glad you alive!”

“Me too, Malo, and I have you to thank for that.” Otto’s smile changed from amused to grateful.

“You save Malo, Malo save Major.”

“Actually, Malo, you have Doctor Blink to thank for saving your life. I was certain you had been lost in the collapse of the tunnel. Blink was the one who didn’t give up hope. I feel ashamed now, but I had to make a decision to keep the rest of us alive and complete the mission. I did what I thought was best at the time; I hope you can understand that.”

“Malo understand.”

“I want you to know I would’ve kept the promise you made to Talfus as long as I was capable.” Otto’s face had become gravely serious. “I would’ve found a way to beat the Mewlatai that killed him—I don’t know how, but I would’ve done it—and I would’ve taken his body to the oceans of Waadi if you had been lost.”

“Malo know.” He smiled acceptingly and a heavy weight lifted from Otto’s heart. “Have something for Major.” Malo pinched a small, metal object between his thumb and forefinger and presented it to Otto as delicately as he could. Otto accepted the pistol thankfully and placed it in the holster on his new belt, immediately feeling more secure with its weight resting on his hip.

“What’s the status of our mission, Lieutenant Schunkari?”

“Meeting Rilek Trinity Straits. Malo put location in computer.”

“And how long until we reach the rendezvous point?”

“Seventy-two hours.”

“Excellent, Malo. I’ll leave you to pilot the ship. Inform me when we’re two hours out. Until then, you can find me in the cargo hold.” Otto almost told Malo that he was going to be working on Bertie, but he didn’t want to raise any suspicion, so he stopped short. “If I’m not there, you can find me in my quarters amidships. Carry on.”

Chapter 19: Lonely

“T
his is your three-thirty wake-up call.”
The soft voice of the holodex chimed happily through the intercom as a wide-eyed Dezmara Strykar watched the rays of a white sun break past the curvature of a large, purple moon floating just off the bow of her ship. She always left the clock set to the time of the last planet she had been to, although she hardly ever slept and when she did, she never needed help waking up at a particular hour. Like so many other so-called nights, Dezmara was unblinking at the helm and didn’t need the reminder to rise. She let out a long exhale and brushed her dark hair from her green eyes. She pulled a steaming cup to her lips and sipped slowly as she searched the stars for something she had never seen. Dezmara was Human, or at least that’s the only conclusion she could come to that made sense, although she wished, with all her heart, it wasn’t true.

She hardly believed it herself, but it was the only explanation for the fact that she couldn’t find anyone else like her. Humans were a legend, a myth—a race so hated by the Durax that they annihilated the entire Human home world. The Durax killed vast numbers of their conquered, but they
always
took survivors as slaves. But something else happened with Humans—the Durax left none alive; or at least, they thought they hadn’t. Legend said that an unknown number of Humans escaped their ravaged and dying world, and that the Durax, despite all their power, could not find and destroy them all. That is why they had been hunted.

Humans were talked about in whispers and secrets. Some storytellers said Humans wielded a great power over the Durax and, like the Mewlatai, were destined to one day help overthrow the reign of Helekoth and his vile followers, freeing the enslaved galaxies of the universe. But still others asked, if Humans had this mysterious power, why didn’t they use it to save their own world? Why did they flee instead of stand and fight? Why haven’t they returned as saviors? Some believed that they escaped to a free galaxy, never to return. Others believed they were hunted to extinction. Descriptions of Human shapes and features were once posted at every Durax outpost and checkpoint across the universe and they were always accompanied by the words “extremely dangerous” followed by “reward.” But Humans had not been seen for an age. It had been so long since any living creature had caught even a glimpse of a Human that they were scarcely believed to exist at all. Not even the Durax, except perhaps for the few still living who discovered them, believed that there once was or still existed any such thing as a Human.

Of course, there was such thing as a Human. There was Dezmara. She was flesh and blood and the destruction of the Human planet happened so long ago that she couldn’t have possibly lived the hundreds of millennia that had passed since the Durax were said to have begun their quest to dominate all life. Or could she? She didn’t know anything about her physiology. No one knew how long Humans lived, if they were granted great gifts of strength and speed or if they possessed powers of the mind. No one she ever spoke to knew anything about Humans, and too much snooping after a successful run was a surefire way to convince good paying clients and ringers that you were a Durax spy. Dezmara had no idea how old she was, but there was something about her smooth skin and bright eyes that told her she was still relatively young. She was tall compared to most races she had seen, and although curvy, her body was covered in toned muscle from several years of combat training.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she began the morning ritual she had repeated every day for the last eight years. Dezmara concentrated on the last thing she could remember about her past—the night she was discovered on a derelict ship, with no power and with no crew, floating in an uncharted vector of space. She remembered becoming aware of a deep, impenetrable darkness that consumed her. Then, slowly, she remembered feeling the smallest trace of an ember spark somewhere in the recesses of her mind. The spark flickered into a faint glow that continued to swell, cutting into the darkness until it raged like the first sun born into the emptiness of a universe that had never before seen light. The rays emanated from her consciousness and launched a fiery attack on every inch of her frozen body until at long last she could feel the tingling sensation of blood pulsing through her extremities. Her eyes swam beneath their lids as she struggled to open them and a voice like a warning went off in her head. “Wake up! Wake up, Dezmara! Dezmara Strykar—WAKE UP!” She summoned all her will to force open her heavy lids. The flashes of light that played around the room flooded her senses as tears of protest streamed down her bluish cheeks. Then the first sounds Dezmara could remember hearing vibrated in muffled tones in her ears.

“Captain, we’ve found something. There’s a life form in a cryolech and its vital signs are stable. There’s no other cargo aboard.”

“What does the registry say on the cryolech, Rhinok?”

“The register is empty, Captain. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t look familiar to me.”

“Keep the chamber locked but start the thawing process and prepare to move the life form. I’ll make ready the infirmary to examine the specimen.”

“I’ve already done so, Captain. Rhinok out…”

“’Ello, luv.”

Dezmara woke from her trance with a sudden jerk as the familiar voice of her mechanic broke the silence.

“Daydreamin’ again, were we? Same ol’ Dezmara. Three years, ev’ry mornin’ I been wakin’ you at the same time from a dream you won’t tell me nuthin’ ‘bout. I’m gonna go out on a limb an’ assume it was nuthin’ again—just like the last ‘undred times?”

Dezmara’s small mouth smiled coyly as the Kaniderelle busied himself with finding a clean cup without waiting for a reply. Simon Latranis peered into the neatly organized compartments in the cockpit with yellow eyes framed by perfectly round mechanic’s goggles that rested squarely on his long, narrow snout. He smiled to himself, revealing two sharp incisors followed by a succession of less menacing teeth on each side of his mouth as he slowly poured a steaming, green liquid from a shiny cylinder into his favorite cup. His keen sense of smell was working overtime as his nostrils flexed vigorously at the hot vapor that danced from the vessel and gently caressed his nose.

“Aaah,” he said as he stared mistily at the object of his affection. “Nuthin’ quite like a steamin’ cup of oshkva to warm your insides first thing in’ the mornin’, is there?” His question wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, and he gripped the cup with both paws in a reverent embrace as he carefully eased backward into the copilot’s seat next to Dezmara, making certain not to spill a single drop of his beloved nectar.

She eyed him with interest as they sat in silence and enjoyed the beautiful scene unfolding before them through the viewing panes. He was a medium-sized Kaniderelle at just over five feet tall, not including the pointy-tipped ears that sat attentively on top of his head. The backs of his paws, and the extent of his arms that was exposed when he pulled up the sleeves of his blue, grease-stained smock, were covered in short reddish-brown fur. His tail was of the same color, but the fur that covered it was considerably longer than anywhere else on his body, and at the moment, the bushy appendage curled from behind him and rested motionless in his lap. The insides of his arms, neck, and ears were lined in white and contrasted sharply with the rest of his body. He had distinctive markings on his face that started on his snout and continued onto his brow, then traced around his eyes like a mask and gave him a mischievous look, particularly when he wasn’t wearing his goggles.

Dezmara didn’t know much about Simon’s past before she met him three years ago. She had needed a crew member who knew his way around plasma turbines and was more than familiar with on-board weapons systems. She also needed someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. Fortunately for Dezmara, the underworld of ringers, moonrunners, and black market smugglers was full of characters who didn’t want to be found. When Simon agreed to sign on as Dezmara’s only crew member under the strict condition that she never ask about
his
past, she knew it was a match made in heaven. Of course she was even more delighted when he turned out to be a whiz with anything mechanical, from plasma turbines to magneto generators, as well as any type of weapon they had happened to come across in their three years of flying together.