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Chapter I - The last Job

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“From now on, you are under my guardianship, Zane." The suit-wearing, bespectacled man with an unreadable, yet eerily cold and neutral expression said. He bore a neatly trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard, his short, dark and graying hair combed over to one side and gelled down. He appeared to be more of a businessman than the renowned xenologist and historian that he was. His icy blue eyes stared daggers at a young kid, who seemed to cower under his scrutinous gaze. The youth couldn't have been more than 12, perhaps 13 at most, he was just a kid. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, his green eyes reddened with trails of dry tears caked on his cheeks, hands hidden inside his coat's pockets, unable to summon the courage to look up to the man.

And so he simply nodded, quietly sniffling before wiping his snot-smeared nose on his sleeve.

“Your parents have left you in my care, however unsavoury and unfortunate that may be for either of us."

The man looked unamused. Zane had seen him a few times around his parents' office in the University, as well as a couple of times at his own house. However, the only words he'd ever exchanged with him were simple, curt greetings.

“You shall address me as Dr. Gorgon, or Mr. Gorgon, is that clear?"

“Yes Mr. Gorgon." Zane nodded meekly.

“It is a rather contemptuous situation but I've no choice but to deal with you. I shall at the very least honor their last wishes." Gorgon's voice dripped with contempt, annoyed at the prospect of having to take care of a child.

“They have left to you everything they owned: their fortune, their land and their belongings, however, they've also stated that you will not yet see any of it until you have finished your education with me. Thus, I have taken the liberty of having your things packed and shipped to your new living quarters in my estate. Now get up, we have a ship to catch.

The Gorgon gestured towards the door and promptly began marching off.

Zane couldn't help but let out a breathless gasp of shock as he looked up at the man, his lower lip quivering, but he closed his mouth and simply nodded once again as he slid off the chair and stepped along quickly.

It seemed like the world was ending for him, back then.

Those events had taken place about a decade ago, nothing but a bad memory. Right now, he had to finish his last 'class assignment'. Throughout it all, Gorgon had seen to it that he would be appropriately trained and educated in many different subjects and disciplines. His teaching methods, however, were highly unorthodox.

“This is your last assignment, Zane. Once you've finished this project for me, you and I will have fulfilled our respective parts of the contract and you may go wherever you wish. Back to your parents' home I imagine."

Gorgon's condescending manner towards his late colleagues' son had never worn off, almost as if he blamed Zane for the fate they had suffered, or perhaps simply hated him for being hoisted upon him by them. Despite all that, however, Zane had grown resilient, and had long since come to terms with Gorgon's character and demeanor. He was a cruel, callous man who punished failure severely and rarely acknowledged success.

“For this assignment you'll be on an expedition to the Outer Rim, in the Laecedona quadrant. You'll look for and find the Grimoire of Acathon for me."

“Acathon?"

“The 'Grimoire' artifact contains the sum of all knowledge of the Empire of the Fang, supposedly safeguarded somewhere in the capital of their homeworld. I believe your parents Alanna and Iles were looking for it as well, before their demise a decade ago."

“Uh-huh. And how do you propose I find it? Acathon has been lost for thousands of years. No one knows the location of that planet."

“And so it has been for the last twenty six millennia. That is until I re-discovered its location. I'll spare you the details of how I accomplished such a task but it has been the aggregate result of hundreds of years of research now passed on to me."

“... Right. So I just get onto the next Skycruiser and ask'em to drop me around the next sector?"

“Very funny, Mr. Octam." Octam was Zane's last name. Gorgon seldom used it unless he was annoyed or angry. “No, I will chart a course for your captain, whom you'll be meeting tomorrow when you leave Phos II. He is someone I trust, so you can trust him as well."

“That still leaves the matter of finding the actual 'Grimoire' artifact-thing. Even if we know where the planet is, how the hell will I find it?"

“I'll send digital and physical copies of the manuscripts with my notes to your datapad and room tonight. This is your assignment, you'll have to figure that out by yourself with the data I'll send you. You'll know what to do."

“Easy for you to say." Zane muttered under his breath, clearing his throat to hide his retort. “I mean, yeah, I suppose I'll have plenty of time to spend reading books and tablets over the course of the trip."

“Indeed. Now, that being said, if you find anything else you think may be important to hold on to or any curiosities from Acathon, feel free to bring them back as well. I'll have my research teams assess them thoroughly, so don't try to pull another fast one on me like you did on Besrath."

“Will you ever let that go? It's been seven years, Void's sake."

Gorgon simply smirked. He wouldn't.

“That will be all, Mr. Octam. Your transport will be waiting at... " He took a second to check his wristwatch. “One-thousand hours your local time."

“What's so important about this Grimoire anyways?" Zane crossed his arms and looked at the holographic display, leaning away. He didn't show it but he felt slightly concerned over his assignment.

“It's history, Zane. It has always been about knowledge, to discover what happened in ages past. It is about what we can do to avoid the Collapse, the end of their days and their ruin. This artifact may contain the knowledge I… or rather, we seek to avoid a similar fate."

Gorgon had such a patronizing smile, as if he were explaining basic arithmetics to a complete idiot. His gaunt and sunken features did him no favors either, giving him such a villainous and caricatured appearance.

Gorgon laid back on his seat comfortably, bringing his hands together and tenting his fingers. “Now, if you are done wasting my time with such inane questions, this briefing is over. Good luck, Mr. Octam."

With an unceremonious click the holocomm was switched off, and Dr. Gorgon's transmission cut.

Zane took a deep breath and shook his head as he turned around to leave the conference room. His last assignment and he'd be able to claim his inheritance like his parents had intended him to do all those years ago. He hadn't grasped the magnitude of what that meant when he first heard his parents' will a decade ago.

One job was all that was left, and he could finally free himself from Gorgon's 'guardianship'.

* * *

Worlds in the Colonial Provinces of the Federated Systems of Ichorr and Sima, also known as the Greater Sol Empire, within the Middle Rim sector were usually sparsely populated outposts whose sole purpose for existence was to stake and justify claims of territorial expansion, the majority of the population being military personnel, and its smaller parts being cohorts of civilian colonists to take care of maintaining the settlement and providing an excuse for keeping military garrisons around the Empire's borders. Phos II was one of such worlds, though it had the benefit of being one of the more older, populous and prosperous worlds in the Colonial Provinces, its upcoming agri-industries and growing tourist economy setting it apart from the others. Its cities, unlike the ecumenopolises of the founding Crown Worlds on the Inner Rim sector within the Empire, were home to no more than four hundred to five hundred thousand subjects, and had been developed and planned in such a way that its architecture blended with its rather wild, picturesque and verdant landscape, full of hills and mountains that peaked reaching into the skies and rivers that ran through the land, deep crevasses teeming with wildlife and fertile rainforests.

Not exactly a backwater world like so many other Outposts, but not an established world with billions of citizens either.

Phos II was almost a paradise, were it not for the fact that many of the animals in the planet were vicious predators with a taste for sentient flesh. Far be it from anyone to ever find an exotic paradise that wasn't hiding something awful about itself, as though the world itself were hiding its maws, waiting for some fools to land upon it, only to be swallowed whole.

For Zane, however, it was a perfect training ground. Gorgon's education was not purely of the intellectual sort, it also included the physical and survivalist sort. Time and time again he was pitted against wildlife in hunts, which earned him more than a few scars overtime. Effective yet painful physical training.

When morning came and Zane got his usual routine done before calling over an aircab, and it was nothing short of liberating to think he'd kiss this planet goodbye. 'Good riddance', he thought.

The trip to the starport was short and uneventful. The aerial transit lanes of the town were smartly designed after all, keeping in kind with those in the Crown Worlds.

The starport always resembled more of a giant open-air market than it did a proper port, as it was always abuzz with traders bringing in their goods, live or otherwise, who proudly displayed their merchandise to the people around them as they offloaded them from their freighters and transports. Transatmospheric shuttles ferried hundreds people back and forth, transporting their passengers to and from the few ships that moored themselves in the world's stable low orbit around the few stations that Phos II had, eclipsing the sun with their elongated, oblong shapes, casting long, huge shadows across the planet's surface.

It was always quite the experience visiting the city starport.

'Flight G92.' He recounted in his mind, tapping the straps of his rucksack with the pads of his fingers as he looked around the open landing field, spotting a number of ships. Freighters, corvettes, mercenary fighter ships, shuttles, all paired up with large holographic banners in front of their landing lots, some displaying various flight numbers according to their categorization.

It was like navigating through a maze, but he eventually found his way to his ship, somewhere on the far end of the field.

By looks alone he already had pegged it for a junker. It was about the size of three two-story houses put together. Massive, but most of that space was for transporting cargo. An old freighter model, clearly, by the way the paint job had long since faded off its hull, leaving behind mere smudges, not to mention the many mismatching plates that had been used to repair the ship. It looked like dirty patchwork. He wondered if the thing could even fly.

The ship's captain, he guessed, a fat man with a long, unkempt beard who stood leaning against its ramp, was not much different. The fat man was wearing oil-stained overalls and wore a pair of red, dirty pilot goggles over his brow with cracked red lenses.

Zane eyed the man over the corner of his eye, then looked back to the holographic banner, hoping that he had perhaps misread the sign. Then the fat man turned his attention towards him and waved him over.

“Yoh-shoi!" He called out in a jolly manner. “Ah, you must be our passangier! Er, is that correjt, soula min?"

His voice had a rather thick franturcish accent, harsh and dropping the last letters of words as he pronounced them.

Zane took a deep breath, then simply nodded as he produced the thin electronic ticket from his pockets. It resembled a small thumb-sized keycard.

The man took a second to inspect the ticket, taking out his datapad and slotting the ticket into it. A moment later he nodded, satisfied, handing the e-ticket back to Zane.

“Everything is in ordair! Welcome aboard la Zultana, massa Octam! I'm vous capitaine, Jarkes Salhin to, er, your servier!"

“Zane Octam. My pleasure captain."

Captain Jarkes extended his hand, taking and pulling Zane's before roughly shaking it with a wide, toothy smile as he nodded repeatedly.

Zane nearly stumbled as he was caught off-guard by the man, though he managed to laugh it off as he shook his hand back, before Jarkes let go and turned to walk up the ship's ramp, then he too followed soon after.

Despite the quaint, aged look of the Sultana's exterior, the inside was quite spacious, if still a bit dirty and rusted. The hum of the engines was noticeable but not loud enough to be a nuisance, lengths of thick rubberized cabling ran along the ship's ceiling and the dim light of the walkway lights guiding the crew around the ships' interiors, the ships walls were matted an off-yellow color and were missing some of the panelling in some areas, showing the ship's internal structure.

Jarkes looked over his shoulder towards Zane, giving him an ear-to-ear grin.

“Well? Let's show you around, Mr. Octam!" he announced.

Jarkes was kind enough to give him a quick tour around the ship: the sleeping quarters, the medbay, the cockpit, the foyer and the engine rooms as well as the cargo bay.

It was always good to have another hand onboard ships, no doubt Gorgon probably told them he could help them out if need be. If nothing else, it'd give him something else to do, other than spend time reading through the backlog of information about the Artifact.

Jarkes also introduced him to his first mate, a female gavaronian by the name of Irginna.

Irginna was… well, less than polite and really forward, fitting for an alien of her looks. The top of her head nearly brushed against the ceiling of the ship's interior, broadly built and wide, she had a matronly, yet muscular appearance with two rows of arms on her torso. Gavaronians were humanoid in configuration and appearance but differing in their body build, their facial features which tended to be sharper and bore a slight snout-like mouth and nose, and the number of their limbs, although they did have thicker hair and their skin tended to be mottled and faded to different colors towards their limbs, ranging between a deep purple and ocean blue colors, sometimes aquamarine. Irginna was a deep purple, and her limbs were the same color as the rest of her body.

She wore a black, loose tank top underneath her gray coveralls which she had unzipped down to her hips, the sleeves tied around them.

“So, you're the professor's pupil, xha?" She seemed --and sounded-- disappointed.

“I expected you to be a little bigger, like Jarkes here. He is big captain, but you are small and lean!"

Irginna seemed to have no concept of common social etiquettes or personal space. She stepped up to Zane, reaching out to his arms and torso with her four arms, grasping him tightly as she roughly patted him down and pressed her fingers and palm around his arms and torso, yanking him about like a ragdoll as she laughed.

“Wh- What the hell?!" Zane freaked out.

“Irginna! Stop that! Non, non!" Jarkes shouted as he quickly tried to push the tall, burly alien away from Zane, giving her a glare of annoyance.

“Ach! We've talked about this Ginna, you are not to touch the passengier!" He chided, almost hissing his words at the alien as he roughly grasped her arms and pried her hands off Zane, grunting.

As he pushed back Irginna he looked back at Zane with a pleading, nervous smile.

“So sorry Mr. Octam! She is just-- ah, how you say, 'messing around', yes? Gavaronians are a little bit, er, dumb! Isn't that right, dear?" the captain interjected, glaring at Irginna, though she didn't seem to catch on.

“Dumb? Naye! I am NOT dumb!"

Jarkes then promptly pushed his hand against Irginna's mouth, muffling a bunch of expletives and complaints from her as he shut her up.

“Ai, er, just a small detail I must discuz with our first mate. Afedersiniz!"

Jarkes then promptly began to hushedly chastise her in their strange language as he shoved her down the corridor and into the cockpit, closing the sliding door behind them.

Zane stared at the two, a little taken aback by the woman's brashness as he smoothed down his clothes. They seemed like decent people, at least, but things like these were why he could never truly get used to xenoids. Still, far better than many of the other ship officers he had dealt with in the past, some of which had barely acknowledged his existence. At the very least, they'd keep things lively, though he wondered about Irginna's behavior. Looked like Jarkes had her on a tight leash.

“I'll, ah, go settle myself in one of the cabins then!" He called out after the captain, loud enough for him to hear through the door.

“Ia! No problem! See vous at dinner time?"

“Aye!"

It took about half an hour to finish the preparations for take-off. A ship like the Sultana was small enough that it didn't need to be docked at an orbital station or gravitationally moored, but they still had to deal with flight control. The engines hummed louder, running hot as the freighter began to lift off the ground, its landing gear retracting into its hull.

As the ship soared forth into the clear blue skies of Phos II, Zane walked into his allotted room and let himself fall freely on the bed, kicking off his boots.

He tossed and turned on the bed, before settling on his back as he stared up at the gray metal ceiling of his cabin, pondering over the events of the day. His last assignment. It hadn't quite sunk in yet. It was weird to think that after so many years, all it would take would be a few more weeks or months and he'd be free to pursue his own dreams, even if they didn't amount to much. All he wanted was a quiet life after this, to retire into the wealth his parents had left him and enjoy the fruit of their labors. Moreover, he'd be Dr. Gorgon's pupil and pawn no more.

How many times had he been thrown to the wolves because he demanded it? Sometimes even literally, as expected of his training. He'd done much for someone his age, traveled the Colonies over and learned many a skill and language. He spent years as what might as well be a slave, serving not only as Gorgon's student but his agent as well, acquiring historically significant goods both near and far, some that very much straddled the line of legality and some that crossed it. Of course, he had little choice over the matter, it was follow his orders or lose his inheritance and be thrown off to the streets, where he would probably end up dead sooner or later, one way or another. But now, he was nearing the end, and that Grimoire artifact, whatever it was, was the key to reaching his freedom.

Gorgon's words echoed through his mind.

“It's history, Zane. It has always been about knowledge, to discover what happened in ages past. It is about what we can do to avoid the Collapse, the end of their days and their ruin. This artifact may contain the knowledge I… or rather, we seek to avoid a similar fate."

It was strange to think that dusty old disks and dataslates could hold anything significant enough to cause such change in the Empire, or any other nation in Aeon. Zane himself was a firm believer of the Endless Cycle, a theory that postulated the cyclical life and death of all nations. Dust to dust, all dies in the end, no different from organics, and however long it took, all decayed. Seeking an end to the Endless Cycle was no different than attempting to find the secret to immortality: plenty had tried, none had succeeded, as though our bodies were hardwired to die in time. Plenty had tried to 'download' themselves into digitized versions of themselves but the true self died and what lived on was merely a copy, a SPIRIT (Systematized Personality Index Reconstructed and Integrated through Transcendence) that was only an imprint of the real person. Similarly, no one had found such knowledge regarding the indefinite sustain of a nation. History was replete with men, women and even SPIRITs who had tried to lengthen the years of their respective empires and nations to varying degrees of success, but none had really attained their ultimate goal: for their nation to remain eternal, locked in its golden age without decaying.

Which begged the question, what did Gorgon hope to find within those dataslates? Could they truly hold the key to cultural and societal immortality? Zane mulled the idea over, but he doubted it. In what few years of studies he'd had, he'd learned one very important thing: nothing lasts forever.

But perhaps it would shed some light on a few interesting ideas and thoughts that have not been seen since, lost to time and strife.

Zane turned on his bed, splaying himself across the mattress, face down, as his mind began to mellow out. His body slowly gave way into sleep, despite the loud hum of the ship's engines and the rattling of its frame as it escaped Phos II's gravitational field. It took only a few minutes for the gravity well generators to kick in and stabilize the ship's insides to prevent the crew from floating around, weightless, as they finally left the planet's gravitational field.

“Atmospheric exit successful!" Jarkes's voice blared through the intercoms. “We'll be entering streamspace in five hours' time, that is once we leave the system."

Zane merely groaned in response, his hand slamming on the nightstand's surface as he blindly felt around for the comlink, then grasping it in his hand when he found it, feeling up the cylindrical device with his thumb before muting communications for a bit. They could afford to let him sleep a couple hours, couldn't they?

He exhaled tiredly as his body began to shut down, the day's events soaking in and leaving him bereft of consciousness as he fell into deep slumber. He did not even notice the usual tremors that ran across ships as they tore through lightspace in their ship, finally underway to their first destination: Kamor-5 Station.

* * *

Streamspace, the one and only known method of faster-than-light, for as long as anyone can remember. Most of the time uneventful, the monotony of days- to month-long trips through intergalactic stream routes is usually broken by stops around refueling or colonial outpost stations, where travellers restock on whatever supplies and fuel they need. The Greater Sol Empire maintains hundreds of small detachments composed of light frigates, corvettes and starfighters, patrol groups colloquially known as 'Stream Wings' or 'Feddies'. These patrols were one of the major reasons why travelling through the major routes of Greater Sol was so monotonous. Few pirates and corsairs dared to tread the streamlines protected by the Stream Wings, as they would indubitably attract more attention and would soon find themselves utterly destroyed by them, and any survivors from the battle would quickly find themselves either executed on the spot or sent off to work in the Empire's many penal mining operations, which in and of itself more proved a delayed death sentence more often than not.

However, these patrols were usually present mostly around the Crown and Wreath Regions of the Greater Sol Empire, where most space transit occurred. Beyond the Wreath Regions, the Empire lacked the resources and manpower to maintain as much a tight hold on all the mercantile and travel routes that snaked across imperial space. Little by little, the further away from the core regions you went, the more lawless space became, and more often than not you'd find private mercenary groups making the bulk of local law keeping forces, though they seldom expanded beyond colonial worlds and systems, leaving many of the travel routes bereft of any protection, left to the mercy of marauding bands of pirates.

Phos II lied in the provinces external to the Wreath Regions, and so Zane was well aware of the dangers involved with space travel this far away from the Core.

Dangers that struck sooner than he would've expected. They had only travelled a few days when they stumbled over their first obstacle.

The ship rocked violently as it suddenly exited streamspace, its engines sputtering and the lights going dark for a second or two, the rolling motion of the ship as it tumbled through truespace throwing him across the cabin and slamming him into a pile of bags. Alarms blared and the white lights of the walkways turned to a dim. blinking orange.

Jarkes's voice boomed over the intercoms across the ship.

“ZANE! WE HAVE BOUCANIERS!"

Then, Irginna's voice followed, cutting in after Jarke's.

“Sa'sui! Hurry to the dorsal turret!"

As the ship grinded to a halt, its engines presumably working once again and normalizing the gravity within, Zane scrambled to get up and out of the cabin. He nearly tripped over himself as the steel flooring shook under his feet once more, throwing him off balance and almost slamming himself against the door's frame but only barely managing to catch himself. Tremors of impact rattled the Sultana again and again, the ship battered by enemy fire. He heard no tell-tale creaks or breaches of its hull just yet, feeling only the residual shockwaves, which meant its energy shields must've been holding. For now. The chaos of multiple alarms going off, the glaring emergency lights and the impacts of munitions on its energy shield nearly broke Zane into a panicked state. It was maddening, and it was all happening so quickly. Within the span of a few seconds he'd gone from being asleep to running on towards the dorsal gun pod. He could hear the thumping of his heart. Adrenaline pumped through his body.

“Come on, come on, come on! De shields won't hold for long, ami!" Jarkes barked through the intercoms again.

“I'm getting there, I'm getting there!" Zane yelled back as he jumped into the gunner's seat, thrusting his hands onto the controls and brought up the heads-up display. The pulse twin-autocannons clicked as powered up. From then on it was all, mostly, just a blur, mere seconds feeling like infinite days.

The weapons' control systems and holograms made four blip noises as they locked onto the enemy ships, big red diamonds whizzing around the screen. Three starfighters and a single corvette, all of them painted black like the void around them. No skulls and no bright colors like in those childrens' stories or sense-sim games normal people would enjoy. And nothing to keep them from blasting you apart either.

Zane clenched his hands around the gunnery controls and pushed his feet on the pedals, angling the twin-linked autocannons towards the closest target, one of the three starfighters. As soon as the targeting module flicked green on the screen, he pulled on the handle-triggers and began firing the massive gun at the tailing starfighters, ripping out a burst of explosive flak pulsefire that took the pirate by surprise.

Ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk-ka-chunk!

Each massive shell rocked the gunpod as its primers ignited and sent their deadly payload down its coil-assisted barrels, sparks of pure, blue electricity arcing across them. The gunpod shook and the noise was deafening, the loud 'clanks' of the automated chain-link mechanism loading new shells into the autocannons several times a second nearly disorientating Zane in tandem with the chest-thrumming blastwaves of the shells themselves firing off.

For a second all was silent as he released his death-grip from the handles, the green light on the targeting control screen blinking off.

The pirate never stood a chance. As the hail of explosive shells soared through the void and neared the enemy starfighter, they bursted into clouds of deadly shrapnel that propelled at supersonic speeds and tore through its wings and cockpit, shredding it to pieces of scrap in front of his other two comrades.

The sudden retaliation had been shocking, and for a second, the pirates were all but unable to maneuver from the sheer display of violence. Zane could not see it, but the pilot had surely died a gruesome, if quick death.

That second was all he needed to make sure the rest of them met the same fate. Pedal to the metal and the pod rotated, its barrels pointing menacingly towards the other two starfighters, and lining up shots with the targeting module blinking green on both red dots on its screen.

A pull of the trigger and another barrage of steel-breaching shells assailed the incoming pirates, blasting them to bits as though they had been pulverized, leaving behind nothing but mangled strips and pieces of metal.

Jarkes did not mess around when it came to heavy ordinance, it would seem.

“Good firing kid!" Jarke commended him, grinning in the holographic feed of the gunpod's tactical display.

“Not my first tango Jarkes." Zane responded, coolly, grinning with satisfaction.

But they had seemingly forgotten about the pirate corvette, which had knowingly stayed beyond the freighter's range, instead firing a full broadside of missiles against the freighter, the salvoe breaking through the ship's starboard shielding with such force that the shield within such a small span of time that it had overloaded, shutting down all systems onboard momentarily while the rest of the missiles rained upon the Sultana, severely breaching its hull and tearing chunks of its plating straight off, projectiles of red molten slag tearing through the void. The entire frame of the ship shuddered, groaning with an ear-sundering screech of torn metal, punished by the lone corvette. Zane was nearly knocked out as his head slammed against the pod cabin's walls, leaving him dazed and bleeding from his nose. Maintenance panels had been blown out open and wires hung from them, sparking. The ship had automatically ejected the magazine to prevent it from cooking off while still inside, and the gun itself had been rendered inoperable, its barrels bent out of shape and bloated from the flash-heat wave that had nearly melted them. He alone had been saved by the protective cask that surrounded the gunpod, which had 'softened' the blow, somewhat.

He shook his head, his head throbbing and blood running down his nose as he flailed his arms around to try and feel around him, trying to get his bearings in his dazed, stunned state. Frantically, he began to crawl and pull himself off the wreckage of the gun-pod, the adrenaline in his body dulling the pain as he clambered over the broken gunpod's seat and he made his way out.

As Zane grasped an emergency medkit near the manhole leading down to the main corridors, the intercoms blared again, static making the captain's voice almost inaudible.

“Engines are hit and dead!"

Not good news at all, he thought, groaning as he held his head in pain while limping out of the pod and into the light freighter's corridors, the ship shaking with each subsequent explosion. The engines were out, their shields were cut, and the rear gunpod was disabled. They were a sitting duck. He ripped the kit open, retrieving an emergency medihypo, sticking the injector into his thigh and applying the stim quickly. Biting down his lips, he felt and heard the hiss of the injector pouring in its pain-killing solution, quickly lifting that haze of white flashes from his head, leaving behind only slight dizziness. As he limped onwards towards the cabin, he began to feel lighter and lighter, missing his steps on the ground, and he wondered if he'd suffered any brain damage from that conk he got from earlier. It was hard to think amongst the screeching fire alarms and the general disarray that the ship was in.

What luck. Everything was all going to hell already and they hadn't even reached their first destination. The ship was heavily damaged, disabled even, and he likely had a serious concussion. Chances were the pirates were after whatever cargo the Sultana was carrying.

After that disabling barrage, the ship was left adrift in space and in the span of a few seconds everything went silent. The damage must've been extensive, as the main power supply had been promptly cut off. Only how did he realize that he wasn't just delirious and misstepping-- the gravity well generator had been turned off and he was starting to float weightlessly. The ship's systems had probably locked down the affected decompressed areas which explained the fact that he was still breathing perfectly fine, although chances were the auxiliary power unit would soon run out of juice and consequently kill the life support systems, and with it, the amount of oxygen would steadily decrease until they asphyxiated.

What a way to go, on his last assignment.

* * *

“Of all the things that could have happened, this is the worst!" Jarkes cried, slamming his fist against the console's frame, shaking his head as he got up from the captain's seat. Irginna rested one of her hands on the man's shoulder, grasping it tightly and giving him a stern look.

“Ia ia, I know, I know." He simply said, nodding towards the alien woman, lifting a hand and placing it over her own, squeezing it. “Oke, oke, it is not all over. Though I hope they are slavers rather than the 'leave-nothing-behind' sort."

“Yazha, we should check on the sui." She muttered, tilting her head towards the entryway of the cockpit.

Speak of the devil. No sooner had a couple seconds passed since she mentioned to him, that Zane was entering the cockpit.

“I'm here." he proclaimed as he stepped inside, waving them off. “Good to know you guys are still in one piece. I'm guessing we're boned?"

“Ah, Zane. We were just about to get vous." Jarkes clasped his hands together, rubbing them. “Ia, it is as vous has just said. We are 'boned'."

Irginna nodded, looking towards Zane as well. “Xha, sui, the engines are boom-boom, powerplant too, and the S-drive is destroy." She pursed her lips in annoyance and disappointment.

Jarkes interjected, waving his hand at Irginna as though trying to brush off the heavy atmosphere that was brewing in the cockpit.

“But well, all is not lost yet! We have already activated the distress signal, so imperial patrols will arrive soon!"

The holocomm projector in the controls beeped audibly as if on cue, a second later. Jarkes gasped and turned towards the dashboard to answer the hail. Predictably, it wasn't the law who appeared, instead a humanoid alien dressed in worn combat gear, sitting on what was presumably the captain's seat of the pirate ship. He had a cruel appearance: long tentacles protruded from its head, adorned with strings of beads, gold and gems, the lower half of his face hidden behind a sort of rebreathing mask, with dark green, scarred, rough scaly skin, and his large, all-black eyes that seemed to stare directly into their souls. A Q'irithian.

“Shar'nathara, zhigin iela." He spoke with a grave, rasping voice, befitting of his appearance. “We have caught treacherous signal and jammed it."

The pirate stared them down menacingly.

'Ah, of course they did.' Zane thought to himself, pursing his lips.

The q'irithian pirate waited for his words to sink in, giving them a second to truly appreciate their state of affairs, the absolute hopelessness of the situation they were currently mired in. Though his face was mostly hidden behind that rebreather, the way the pirate leaned on one side of his seat and stared at the trio in the ship made him look incredibly contemptuous and mocking.

“Your ship, ours; your goods, ours; your lives… Ours, or no one's. Ghela'sarrah"

The same second Jarkes opened his mouth to respond to the pirate's demands, the holofeed cut.

A simple choice was given, either make an attempt at resistance when they board the ship and die a glorious-yet-meaningless death, or, they could allow themselves to be captured and enslaved; where the future outcome of it all would likely entail death The latter, however gave them a chance of regaining their freedom at some point. A slim chance. Jarkes and Irginna stared at each other for a few, long drawn-out seconds, then looked towards Zane. It was almost as though they were speaking telepathically to each other, given the expressions they wore on their faces. Neither Irginna nor Jarkes said a word but they both knew what the other one was thinking. Zane simply pursed his lips. He had an idea of what was going to happen, in any case.

Clang! Ka-chunk. Cchk!

That was likely the sound of a docking shuttle ship. They had little time to react. The pirates had planned this all along, most likely, and had their boarding party ready since the beginning of the encounter. They probably sent the shuttle the minute the Sultana had been disabled.

Within seconds of their shuttle coupling with the ship's airlocks, a dozen pirate shocktroopers clad in full-gear stormed the freighter, pouring from the boarding pod.

Zane clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. This was it. They'd be here soon and he battled with himself in his mind, trying to figure out whether or not he should stand and fight. Aside from his hold-out chem-tech pistol he wasn't carrying much in terms of firepower, but given the trigger-happy savagery that pirates in the Outer Rim were known for… well, there was a 50-50 chance they'd get shot down. He couldn't simply take that choice however, he didn't know if they'd be allowed to surrender.

Irginna, however, had no such thoughts.

As soon as one of the troopers popped their heads over the doorframe of the cockpit, she lunged towards the closest pirate in a split-second, grasping the poor sod with her top pair of arms and pulling him into the cockpit, slamming him into the wall. They barely had a second to react before she started to pummel away into the pirate's armored torso. It was a like watching a trainwreck, you just couldn't look away as she struck and slammed her fists again and again into the mook's belly with enough force to leave behind embossed imprints of her knuckles on the armor plating, the metal ringing loudly and the pirate's body flattened against the bulkhead with sickening squelches, his guts practically bruised into paste by the Gavaronian woman.

Jarkes had nearly no time to react before more of the troopers poured in and lifted and fired their autoguns at the tower of sinew and muscle that was making pirate pudding out of their buddy, dashing towards Irginna and tackling her into the ground, away from the hail of bullets that flew past where she had been just less than a second ago.

“Wait wait wait!" He yelled out, covering Irginna with his own body as he lifted up a hand towards the goon squad. “We will go! We will go! In peace! Please, don't shoot! She is just scared!"

Irginna tried to free herself from her mate's grip, but eventually calmed down, grunting and nodding. The pirates themselves showed incredible restraint as they did not shoot them on the spot. The one in charge grunted out an order in the same language as their captain spoke, gesturing towards the injured, groaning pirate who sat dazed on the floor.

Then, the captain looked at them three: Zane, Irginna and Jarkes.

“Sagagh. You will pay in time, as slaves. If you try that again, you will die." He stated calmly, before gesturing with his head towards the rest of the shocktroopers. Half of them stepped forward, each pair roughly grabbing one of the Sultana's crew and restraining them. Before long, they were promptly escorted out of the cockpit and into the corridors, shepherded into the boarding shuttle. As they climbed aboard, Zane clicked his tongue in frustration.

Well, things would only get more interesting like this, wouldn't they? After all, where's the fun in a quiet, uneventful trip? Makes for a boring story to tell doesn't it. He huffed, stifling a smile and chuckle as he was pushed around into the shuttle. It wouldn't be his first time in a pirate ship, and it certainly won't be his last. He'd make sure of that.

The shuttle decoupled from the disabled wreckage of the freighter, and soon maneuvered their way over to the pirate's heavy corvette, where it landed within the ship's hangar.

The situation was grim and he could note the nervousness Jarkes bore on his face and the anger that flared up in Irginna's as they were shoved out of the shuttle and down the gritty corridors of the corvette.

Zane leaned towards Jarkes as they were escorted, quietly muttering.

“We'll get out of this one, give it some time."

“Don't try anything dumb, ami!" The man warned, exasperated as he whispered back.

The one of the guards immediately separated them, however, as they took note of their mumbling, striking Zane across the back with their weapon's stock, making him grunt in pain.

“Shut the hell up!"

Zane bit down his tongue, holding back from snapping at the pirate. He'd bide his time. He didn't know how he'd get out of this one, but he would, in time.

Eventually, however, they were separated, with the guards pushing Jarkes and Irginna down another corridor. He, however, was pushed off towards the lower decks. The guards there would promptly pat him down, taking his weapons and gear from him and tossing them into a secure box near the warden's posting locking it down. It was likely they'd divide what they stole from him in between themselves later when they took stock of all of their things.

When they pulled up to his cell, the pirate went and planted his steel-plated boot into his back, kicking him inside.

“Agh!" He grunted as he landed on his shoulder, hissing in pain. He pulled himself up, sitting and rubbing his arm, he shot a glare towards the prick, huffing. “Fucker." He spat out.

The guard laughed at him as he pressed his hand against the cell's control panel, locking the cell gate closed before leaving.

Zane opened his mouth to say something else but he held his tongue. It would have been nothing but wasted breath. He ran his hand through his hair down to his neck, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. He looked up and around from where he sat, taking in his surroundings.

The room was a standard, block-shaped cell, dimly lit with dark durasteel walls. A basin sink, an open toilet and two cots. There was a certain scent in the air as well. It was sweet, almost floral. It seemed odd that the pirates would keep their cells clean and smelling nice for the prisoners. Even most nations didn't keep their prisoners in very humane conditions, let alone warlords and bandits. He turned to look behind himself.

Oh. So that's where the scent came from.

Another prisoner sat on a small durasteel table, bolted to the ground. A female leporidan, who looked to be in her early 20s. She had large, long lop-ears that hung lazily behind her, resting over the table and spilling over its edges, reaching down to her thighs. She had short-cropped gray fur with cream-white stripes along her body, and her eyes were a striking light aquamarine. She was quite short, however, if physically well-built. He estimated her to be only about 5'3 or 5'5; it was difficult to tell with her sitting.

She shot him a smug, glaring smile, raising her chin at him.

“...Took you a while to notice, new cellmate."

“What? Who're you?" Zane tilted his head in confusion.

“Just a fellow prisoner I guess." She huffed, her smile growing into a grin, nose twitching as her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Name's Harley, bud, what's your name?"

“... It's Zane." He muttered, as he began to stand up from the ground, still somewhat confused. “So… ambushed out in the streamlanes?"

“Eeyup! ...They caught my transport while I was on my way to a dig site. I was supposed to get there a week ago but… I suppose that's not happening any time soon. There goes my research project. At this rate I won't even make it back to scoop out a bucket of dirt, let alone present my thesis." She grumbled, rolling her eyes. “You?"

“Same boat. Freighter got hit up. Here I am." Zane chuckled, walking up to one of the cots and sitting back down. “But I don't really plan on staying here until they finally decide to sell us off to the slave markets."

“Ooh! There's a coinky-dink!" She grinned, leaning forward on the table, staring right at him. “And here I was waiting for a partner-in-crime to drop by so I could put my P.E.P. into motion!"

“P-E-P?"

“Perfect Escape Plan! Welcome aboard matey, we're getting out of here as soon as that dumb-idiot-guard comes around! Just follow my lead and try to keep up, alright?"

Zane furrowed his brow a little. This was going to be an interesting last assignment indeed.