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Lacuna Blue

By Mantrid Brizon

Chapter Seventeen: Out Of The Bag

“Zebrina, you are cleared for launch. Lagos Depot traffic control, out.” A woman’s voice says through their comm-link.

“Where too, captain?” Kristen asks.

“Earth. Same place as last time.” James replies.

“Understood. Plotting course.”

Prepared for the two-day journey back to Earth, the Zebrina floats through a large opening, emerging from Lagos Depot, which is still under construction. Built into one of the larger icebergs floating in an ice field nearest the Martian moon of Deimos, the entrance was designed to safely fit ships as large as the Bannockburn and Animus. The door, opening like an iris, is the outermost of three, and is painted to match the coloration of the ice, camouflaging it as well as it could be. Glancing back, James turns his chair in the pilothouse, looking out a rear window and back at the base as they depart.

“It would be nice if Lagos had windows.” He remarks.

“The fake city backdrop in the quarters is a nice touch though.” Kristin remarks.

“Makes you feel real insignificant, as it should.” Bradley quips.

“George always did have a twisted sense of humor.” James sighs.

“So, another supply run?” Kaley glances to her captain.

“Yeah. Michael is meeting us there this time. He’s making a pick-up too.” James answers.

After an uneventful, two-day flight through hyper-space, the Zebrina exits the warp bubble and cruises toward Earth. Entering Makahdian space, they fly low over land that was once both Iran and ancient Persia. Coasting over a deserted landscape, left unused after over-extraction of the natural resources decades earlier, the Scrappers now reside there. Not a hidden base, per se, the quasi-legal status of the Scrappers allows them to operate in the open, their buildings of cheap looking, modular hangars and jury-rigged scrap metal shacks appearing like a small, decaying city.

After gaining permission to land, the Zebrina touches down and her engines deactivate. Having already contacted the Scrappers ahead of time, Michael secured two landing pads situated beside each other, each inside of a large hangar with a retracting roof. The hangars are connected with walls which have been extend near the mid-section, allowing people, cargo and even smaller ships to move freely between the two. A quick glance from within the pilothouse reveals that the Governor Parr, Michael Cost’s ship, is already there.

Having purchased a like-new ZDA-3600 “Lotus” Armored Transport from the Jade Dragons, with whom George now has a cordial relationship, Michael has been hard at work hauling supplies for Lagos depot. Though with a stronger hull, more powerful shields and fewer but more capable weapons, the Armored Transport class ships can best be described as one step above a personal freighter, and just below a true transport; the Lotus can outfly and outgun the Zebrina, and with the right crew, survive an encounter with the Bannockburn, but the Governor Parr can only hold a fraction of the cargo.

With a crew of five, including Michael himself, the ship is so small by comparison that all crew stay in a single room with four berths; the captain is the only one with a private cabin, and it too has a single sized berth as well. All amenities are basic and streamlined, with a galley that also functions as a dinette set using pull-out stools that stow within the food-prep island. The armory and workshop are the same room, while the med-lab, the only dedicated facility besides the quarters, is as small as a typical college dorm room.

With a long, thin fuselage like most conventional aircraft. The Lotus has four short, horizontal wings, two above and two below, placed near the center and gradually tapering before reaching an abrupt, squared edge. The squared edge has a flat sheet of vertical hull paneling that connects the upper and lower wings together. Painted gold and silver, as most of the Tongyan craft are, it is a semi-common and non-descript ship that would easily blend into a crowd, and at barely two-thirds the size of the Zebrina, she isn’t big enough to look important; this is precisely why George chose it as Michael’s introductory craft.

Riding the cargo lift to ground level, James and his chosen crew look over the few workers they see. Their eyes land on a Scrapper with a dark golden suit with three olive drab bars running over his shoulders from front to back; the gaudy outfit is typical of Scrapper upper management. Standing nearby and speaking with the man is Michael, accompanied by two of his own crew, both Slavers who were once guards at the Tongyan base he formerly operated.

A Voeldahn man approaches James, confirming his ship’s identity before ordering other loaders to begin placing cargo aboard the lift. Spotting James from the corner of his eye, Michael waves the only other human over to him. Grumbling to himself, James joins the captain whom he despises; he’s sickened merely standing beside the psychopathic man, whose very existence tarnishes the reputation of his race.

“So, you finally showed.” The Scrapper turns to James.

“Just picking up the supplies that we paid for... Unlike last time.” James mutters.

“Hey, that wasn’t our fault.” The Scrapper retorts, taking a cigarillo from his mouth. “Sometimes things get... Lost. We found adequate replacements though, didn’t we?”

“Just make sure you don’t fuck us before buying us dinner.” Michael quips.

“Heh. I’m too cheap for that.” The Scrapper murmurs. “Besides, fucking customers isn’t good for business... Unless, of course, that is your business.”

“Not ours.” James remarks.

“Not yet anyway.” Michael interjects.

James glares at Michael with a condescending look.

“... What? Did you really think that George brought in a captain with an Indolence yacht because he thought it looked cool?” Michael continues.

“I didn’t hear George mention any such plans.” James retorts.

“The boss probably doesn’t tell his minions everything.” The Scrapper suggests.

“I’m his brother!”

“Oh... Well then maybe he isn’t going to? I don’t know, I’m just a Scrapper!”

“Well, I’ve been setting aside some of the prettier cargo, so they’ll be ready when George comes around. It’s bound to happen sooner or later.” Michael comments.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a hot Scrapper. A nice piece of ass sounds very tempting, and expensive.” The Scrapper says.

“It will be. No customer will have their wish unfulfilled, no matter how outrageous or taboo; our slaves are very obedient.” Michael boasts.

“Clearly...” The Scrapper says, pointing a finger past the men.

Turning around, Michael’s eyes narrow. Approaching them is a somewhat frightened looking Voeldahn man, wearing only simple trousers and a strange collar.

“And expendable... What are you doing off of the ship?!” Michael snarls, taking a small controller from his pocket. “This better be good!”

“Please, I can explain!” The man pleads, falling to his knees and raising his hands before him in a pitiful heap. “It’s very important!”

“Who the fuck is this?!” James glares at Michael.

“Oh, just my slave boy... What? I paid for him!” Michael replies defensively.

“What do you do with him?” The Scrapper asks with an amused smirk.

“Whatever the fuck I want. Mostly he just works on my ship... Mostly...” Michael shrugs. “Anyway, what’s so damn important?”

“I left the long-range scanners on as you commanded, Master. Ships are coming!” The slave explains.

“What ships? We aren’t expecting any ships!” The Scrapper exclaims in shock.

An explosion from outside startles the men. Instinctively dropping to his knees and beside a pallet containing a metal bin of mechanical parts, James draws his blaster. The Scrapper and Michael both look around, shocked by whatever is happening. Many of the loaders stop what they’re doing, also intently listening. Blaster fire erupts outside, bolts clinking against the heavy-duty titanium shells of the hangars. Taking up their weapons, virtually all delivered by the Slaver’s themselves, the Scrappers prepare for an invasion.

Is it the Con-Tali, or perhaps it is a group of exceptionally brave bounty hunters? Glancing back, James sees that the Zebrina’s cargo lift is fully loaded. Pulling his crew close, he orders the girls who stand beside him to return to the lift right away and take cover. As they bolt for the platform, the outer hangar doors slide open. Before them stands a small army of men and women, many of them Voeldahn, with a few humans sprinkled in. James’ heart sinks when he realizes that they are official police, a tactical team sent to raid the base.

James knows that there will be ships waiting for them when they launch. It is entirely possible that they will shoot on sight. If they don’t, they have an even greater chance of disabling and arresting all of them. His only hope is for the police to not realize who they are, and with the Zebrina contraband free, only Michael will be at risk; James couldn’t care less. The police rush in and many Scrappers lower their weapons. As a quasi-legal faction, most comply with police and military, unless they themselves are the target.

“Halt! Drop your weapons and surrender!” A police captain barks at the criminals.

They look to each other, unsure as to whom the man is speaking to.

“Griffon Jamison, you are under arrest for weapon smuggling and harboring known fugitives at your base!” The captain yells at the Scrapper.

“Why do you insist on doing this now? I’m working!” The Scrapper defiantly replies.

“Shut the fuck up and raise those hands, scumbag!” The captain snarls, stepping closer.

“Whatever. I’ll be out in a day anyway.” Griffon sighs, raising his hands.

As the captain approaches, he sees movement and aims his blaster at the half-naked man who cowers beside Michael. Noticing the shock collar and the human who holds the controller, it’s obvious what is going on. Speechless, the Captain’s eyes scan the others. Landing on James, his expression changes to that of recognition.

“You’re James Woods! Wanted criminal and Slaver! Put up your goddamn hands!”

“Woah, what?! You’re making a mistake!” James remarks, holding up his hands.

“Drop that fucking blaster!!!” The cop screams.

James turns and closes his eyes, mentally facepalming as he sees the custom decorated blaster in his right hand. He reaches out and sets the weapon before him, atop a piece of chest-high machinery.

“I never thought we’d find a real Slaver here! We’ve heard the rumors, but damn... The worst of the worst and he’s standing right here. This will get me a promotion for sure!” The captain thinks aloud, stepping closer.

The other officers do not follow, holding their weapons at the other Scrappers, who don’t know what to do. Many hold their weapons by the sides or at angles, not in ready-fire positions. Taking out a pair of handcuffs, the captain turns to bark orders at their subordinates.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Get over he-”

A blaster shot startles the entire populous within; with his head turned, Michael drew his own blaster and casually executes the police officer. Following his lead, the other Scrappers fight back. Many are gunned down as they raise their weapons, but several cops fall to returned blaster fire. Rushing around aimlessly, both criminals and police look for places to hide themselves. James snatches his blaster and fires round after round until his magazine runs dry, the metal bar that produces the shard cuts down and the battery drained.

Dashing back to the Zebrina, his crew provides covering fire. He dives behind a pallet bearing a crate of interior hull panels, only for shards to clink off of his cover. Pressing the button near a rear hydraulic arm, the lift rises as the police move in. Glancing back, James can see that Michael’s slave and crew run toward the Governor Parr. Michael himself has a human female police officer held hostage, an arm around her throat in a lethal choke hold and a blaster to her head. Backing slowly away, he uses her as a living shield.

With the cargo lift locking into place and the keel-side doors closed, the interior pressurizes. While, the pilot prepares for launch, Bradley uses a command prompt from within the pilothouse to force the hangar doors of both hangars to open. With their shields fully charged and activated, James orders the hyper drive to be charged as well, before they have even lifted off. As the ship rises from the hangar and the landing gears retract, nearly a dozen ships come into view.

Painted white with yellow and blue checkered stripes, they are fighters and armored transports belonging to the Makahdian police. Billy slides a digital meter into the red-line, lurching forward as the Zebrina’s engines flare. Nearly crashing into a police ship, he dodges the craft with a sharp turn. Rotating the ship to one side, he pulls back on the controls. As the craft forms sideways backflips, picking up speed, police ships shoot rounds of superheated plasma at them, missing every shot.

Glancing over, James sees the Governor Parr lifting off, following their lead. Rotating the ship again and pulling hard on the controls, Billy aims the craft at a forty-five-degree angle. Police ships gives chase. Firing more rounds, they slam into the fully charged shields, swiftly depleting the energy reserves.

“Are we almost ready to launch?!” James asks.

“Ninety-five percent!” Brooke replies.

“When we hit one hundred, activate it!”

“Even if we’re still in the atmosphere?!” Brooke asks in shock.

“Yes!” James yells.

It’s considered highly dangerous to activate a warp bubble while still in the atmosphere; the mere attempt to do so is often a misdemeanor offense in many areas. James knows the risks, but he wouldn’t take it if it weren’t their only recourse; they either surrender, die, or risk an escape. Rounds strike the shield, the blue glow of the dispersed energy illuminating the pilothouse with each hit. The shields fall to thirty percent, then twenty. With only five percent left, the hyper drive is ready to activate.

Activating the warp bubble while still within the stratosphere, the rush of thin air shakes the police ships trailing behind. A wing tears off of a fighter, the wing spiraling through the air before smashing into another fighter that wobbles as it loses altitude. With a large explosion, the blast absorbs the remaining craft, killing all of the officers who follow them. Safe within the cyan and pink swirling bubble, the ship is reduced to a singularity and flies at incredible speed back to Lagos Depot.

Sitting back in his chair, a shaking James runs his fingers through his hair. Brooke softly weeps at the realization of nearly being caught or killed, her life still flashing before her eyes. Bradley rests his head on his console, breathing heavily. Rising from his seat, James can’t even issue any orders. The crew simply act on their own, plotting a course and checking the systems. Entering his room, James lies back. He turns his head toward his nightstand, opening the drawer to find his whiskey bottle empty.

Desperate for anything that will take the edge off, he looks for his back-up flask. While rummaging through a small cupboard normally reserved for his bedsheets, he hears the subtle swooshing of his sliding bedroom door behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, his arms buried deep within the cupboard, he sees Kristen standing in the doorway. Visibly shaken, she glances to him with big brown eyes.

“Kristen?”

“I’m sorry, captain. I... Ne-never mind.” She murmurs.

“Wait!” He calls out.

Turning away, James pulls his arms from the cupboard and approaches her. As she looks up to him, he can see her trembling. Feeling genuinely sorry for her after suffering through a situation he feels responsible for, he reaches out and impulsively takes hold of her.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He asks.

“We almost died barely ten minutes ago.” She answers.

“I know, but we’re alive. It’s alright now. That won’t happen again.” He assures her, rubbing her back softly.

“I trust you.”

“Don’t be scared.” He adds.

“I’m not.”

“But you’re still shaking.”

“I’m just so happy.” She coos.

Suddenly feeling a strange sensation, James eyes grow wide as Kristen nuzzles his neck. Her short, feline snout caresses his flesh before giving him a soft lick and a gentle kiss. James, who had never found himself attracted too or interested in Voeldahn women, having a definite preference for humans, finds himself the object of a Voeldahn’s desires. Though unnerved by her advance, it pales in comparison to the fear he’s suffered only minutes earlier. She kisses him again, and James finds himself wrestling with a thought in his mind.

Looking up, Kristen’s heart sinks. Without the faintest reaction to her affection, more than enough to see anyone else stripping down at that very moment, she pulls away. Embarrassed and upset, she sniffles and turns for the doorway. Before she can take a second step, James’ arm reaches past her and touches the plate, closing the door in front of her. Turning slowly around, he steps forward and takes hold of her again. Embracing each other, they share a series of kisses.

Walking down the hallway, Bradley heads for James’ quarters to reveal the good news. After a thorough examination of the ship’s electrical systems, nothing appears to be wrong. Luckily the shield absorbed one hundred percent of the incoming plasma and dispersed the energy without so much as a blown fuse or a fried circuit. Reaching the door, he takes up his hand to knock but stops when he hears strange noises. Two distinct voices, one James’ and the other Kristen’s, are heard from within. With a little smile upon his face, Bradley turns around and walks away; he can always tell him later.