Earthman Jack vs. The Ghost Planet (22 page)

“You know, I may have shot you, but you guys just destroyed
my entire planet,” Jack sneered.  “I’d say if anyone has a right to be mad, it’s
me.”

The Deathlord began walking toward a rectangular alcove
nestled in a nearby wall of the control room, holding Jack out by the neck as
though he weighed less than a rag doll.  “I have fought in many battles,” said Abraxas. 
“And I have faced many opponents.  Those were all glorious struggles against
worthy adversaries.  But you… a child who distracted me from my mission… you
shame me.”

“Gee, I’m sorry,” said Jack.  “How about I kill you again,
this time for good?  Would that make you feel better?”

Abraxas stopped at a control console and began typing at it
with his free hand.  “If all your species were as petulant as you are, I’d say
we did the universe a great service by wiping you out.”

“Trust me,” said Jack.  “No one’s more petulant than I am.”

The Deathlord looked Jack in the eyes again.  “Then I will
have to be satisfied with the knowledge that where you’re going, you will
suffer a fate far worse than that of your people.”

With a flick of his arm, Abraxas threw Jack onto the
rectangular platform nearby.  Jack hit it hard and had just enough time to look
up at the Deathlord as he tapped the final key on the console.

“Good riddance,” Abraxas growled.

Jack felt a jolt of static electricity course through him.  Then
his vision blurred in a haze of purple, the world around him disappeared, and suddenly
he was falling.

It didn’t take long for him to hit the ground, knocking the
wind out of him.  Jack lay stunned on the cold, unforgiving floor he had just
slammed into.  After a few seconds, he recovered enough to look around.

It was dark, but there was a bit of light – a pale, white
illumination, which reminded Jack of moonlight – coming from somewhere.  Jack
looked down at the floor and saw the same material that seemed to make up so
much of the Deathlord’s technology – hard, course, black rock-like matter
spidered with veins of green and purple that glowed and pulsed ever so slightly.

The air around him was cold, though not like being in a meat
locker or out in the snow.  This was a different kind of cold, one that chilled
him to the bone even though his skin could not feel it.  There was something
off-putting about Jack’s new location.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on
what it was, but he just knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Then Jack heard the noises.  They were quiet, almost
distant, but they were there.  Moaning, cries of anguish and despair, and
sounds of choking and retching.  As Jack got to his feet, the sounds seemed to
swirl around him in the darkness, and he had a sudden, sinking feeling in the
pit of his stomach.  Wherever he was, it was definitely not good.

Oh crap
, he thought. 
I am so screwed
.

A noise, louder than the others, found its way to Jack’s
ears – the sound of feet scuffing the rocky floor behind him.  He turned and
could see a figure in the darkness walking toward him.  Fear rose inside Jack,
and he quickly looked around for something, anything, to help him defend
himself.  There was nowhere for him to hide, and he could see nothing but
rubble around him.

Desperate, Jack picked up a nearby rock and hurled it as
hard as he could at whatever was coming toward him.

The rock hit the figure straight on, causing it to stumble.

“Gragh!” came a voice, followed by a series of words in a
strange language.  Jack’s ears picked up on it quickly, though, and instantly
he knew the figure was saying something along the lines of “What the bloody –
creekers tha’ hurt!”

Jack didn’t know who the figure was, but he wasn’t going to
take any chances.  He ran straight for it and tackled it as hard as he could,
bringing it to the ground.  The two of them hit the floor with an
Oof,
and when they did, the figure let go of what looked to be some type of rifle.

Jack grabbed the rifle and got up quickly, aiming it at whatever
he’d just brought down.

Lying there was a creature unlike any Jack had ever seen
before.  It had an oblong head with spiked ridges running down either side. 
Its skin was green and scaly, tinged with yellow and brown.  It had no nose to
speak of, and two small, beady eyes with no pupils.  Its mouth was wide, with
rows of sharp teeth.  It was dressed in what looked to be leather armor of some
type, though it was so tattered it was barely holding together.

The creature put its three-fingered hands up to shield it
from the rifle, large black nails protruding from them.

“Blimey!” it cried.  “Don’ shoot!”

Jack hesitated.  For something that looked like a monster
out of a horror movie, the thing seemed genuinely scared of him.

Suddenly, Jack felt something hard and barrel shaped pressed
up against the back of his head.  Another voice came from behind him.

“There now, mate,” said the voice.  “Not that a plasma blast
ta the face wouldn’t improve our friend’s looks here, but we’re gonna have to
have ya drop that blast-stick yer holdin’ nice and slow like, savvy?”

Jack hesitated.  He was pretty sure that whatever was
pressed up against his head was a fairly big gun, but he certainly didn’t like
the idea of giving up the only thing he had that he could use to defend
himself.

“How do I know if I drop this, you’re not going to kill me?”
asked Jack.

Behind him, the voice was silent for a moment before it
spoke again.  “Crikey.  Faruuz, ya understand a bloody thing this little bugger
just said?”

“Just shoot ‘em already,” said the green-scaled Faruuz as he
stared down the barrel of Jack’s rifle.  “The browner hit me with a bleedin’
rock.”

Whomever Jack suddenly found himself with, it was obvious
neither of them was speaking English.  He could somehow understand both of
them, but it was clear they had no idea what he was saying.  Jack suddenly
thought of his interface with the Ancient terminal, and how he heard all those
voices in his head.  If he had somehow downloaded how to understand these
languages, maybe he had also downloaded how to speak them?

 “Um…” said Jack trying to find the right words.  “I said,
how do I know if I do as you say, you’re not just going to shoot me?”

To Jack’s surprise, he actually spoke in the right language,
and for some reason, it wasn’t that hard to do.

“Not for nothin’, lad,” said the voice behind him.  “But if
I wanted ya dead, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation right now.”

Somehow, that logic made sense to Jack.  Slowly, Jack moved
the rifle away from the one he assumed to be Faruuz and dropped it on the
ground.

Faruuz grabbed the rifle and scrambled to his feet, leveling
it at Jack.  For an instant, Jack felt he’d made a terrible mistake, until
someone else stepped in front of him, shielding him from the alien’s weapon.

“Now, now, play nice, ya scaly grolp eater,” said the man in
front of Jack.

“He hit me wit’ a bleedin’ rock!” growled Faruuz.

“Aye, ya mentioned that,” said the man.  “Now, ya gonna
mention yer just pissed ‘cause some mystery midget laid ya out and took yer
weapon while makin’ ya cry like a bloody female?”

Faruuz grunted and lowered the rifle.  “I think I liked ya
better when you were a ripe ol’ browner, Scally,” the alien growled.

“That ripe ol’ browner woulda let this one melt yer face,
don’t forget,” said the man.  “Now shake it off, and let’s get back to camp.”

Faruuz grumbled and gave Jack the evil eye before walking
off, rubbing his head where the rock had hit him.  Jack watched him go with a
sense of cautious relief.

“Thanks,” said Jack.

The man turned toward Jack to reveal that he wasn’t really a
man at all.  His skin was bright red and leathery; he had a pointed chin and
long, flowing jet-black dreadlock-like hair.  His teeth were large and bright
white, and he had long whisps of black hair on his upper lip that hung down
like a mustache.

The alien was dressed in what looked like a silly medieval
costume to Jack.  He had knee-high black boots, baggy pants, and a torn and
faded burgundy jacket, the kind with two long tails in the back, worn over a
faded brown vest.  He had various types of guns and knives strapped to a belt
that hung low on his waist.

All in all, Jack thought the thing before him looked like a
strange mix between a pirate and a devil.

“Don’t mention it,” smiled the alien.  “Seeing Faruuz get
beaned in the noggin’ made my day.  I haven’t seen the jowler go down like that
since the Havee bugs on Sigma 5 raided his scales.  Ha!”

“Okay,” said Jack, having no clue what the alien just said. 
“Um… who are you guys?”

“Well, in case ya didn’t pick up on it, that right ol’ brute
was Faruuz,” said the alien.  “And I be Scallywag the Red, professional
scoundrel, part-time rake, full-time captain of the pirate vessel Reaver.  At
your service.”

Scallywag gave a slight bow and smiled.  “And who might you
be?”

“My name’s Jack.”

“Jack, eh?” said Scallywag.  “That’s a weird name.  Ya
almost look like a Regal, but not quite as uppity.  What are ya, lad?”

“I’m ah… I guess you’d call me an Earthman.”

“Right-o,” said Scallywag pulling out a rather odd looking
small pistol from his belt.  “Know how to shoot a blaster, Earthman?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” said the alien, handing him the weapon.  “If you see
anything that moves, shoot it.  If it keeps moving, shoot it again.  If it
insists on continuing to move, continue to shoot until it sees the wisdom in
doing otherwise.  And try to keep up, because if ya get lost, yer on yer own. 
Savvy?”

With a pat on the back, Scallywag began to trot off after
Faruuz.

“Wait!” said Jack, following behind him.  “Where are we
going?  Where’d you guys come from?  What is this place?”

“We are going back to our camp,” said Scallywag as he
bounded up an outcropping of rocks.  “Our ship was captured by the Deathlord
Fleet right outside the Yucca system, and as for where ya are, well…”

As Jack reached the top of the rocky hill, he froze.  Before
him was an immense cavern stretching out for miles and miles, made of veined
black rock from ceiling to floor.  Sounds of moaning and screaming echoed
throughout the cave, and somewhere in the distance was a massive pillar of
brilliant, ghostly white light that spiraled and churned chaotically.

“Welcome to the Pit, lad,” said Scallywag as he surveyed the
scene before them.  He turned and looked at Jack with a frown.  “This is where
we’re all gonna die.”

The hangar bay doors closed with a
thunderous
CLACK
as the tractor beam disengaged, isolating the Ancient
Earthship in one of the mothership’s many smaller hangars typically reserved
for captured vessels.

Immediately after the hanger sealed, atmosphere vented back
into the room, and the large, circular, metal entrance rolled open to reveal a
small army of Deathlord soldiers. They filed in and took up position around the
ship, weapons drawn, ready to blast anything that moved.

Abraxas entered the large hangar and glared at the ship. 
He’d have liked nothing better than to have simply ordered his soldiers to rip
the vessel apart, but the Deathlord Supreme wanted it examined.  After all,
technology from the Ancient Heretics could be a valued prize, and a ship that
seemed to be able to disappear and reappear out of nowhere would certainly be
of use.

“Report,” Abraxas barked.  The Deathlord squad leader
Vishni, who had been in charge of the boarding assault, attended to him.

“Warlord Abraxas,” Vishni said.  “All of our boarding
parties have been destroyed.  Whoever is on board that vessel is an extremely
skilled warrior.”

Abraxas’s mind flickered back to his battle at the temple. 
“That is an understatement,” he growled.  “Keep sending in the troops, as many
as it takes.  I want that ship.”

Vishni nodded.  “Yes, Warlord.”

No sooner had Vishni ordered another boarding party to teleport
onto the ship than the party leader called in over the comm.

“The control room is empty,” said the Deathlord.  “It
appears they have fallen back into the rest of the ship.”

“Follow them,” ordered Vishni.

“They have sealed the door behind them, Commander,” the
Deathlord replied.  “Shall we break through and pursue?”

Vishni looked to Abraxas.  “What are your orders, Warlord?”

“Secure the command room,” said Abraxas.  “The Supreme does
not wish to have the ship damaged any more than it is before the Acolytes can
take a look at it.  We’ll have them open the doors and then we’ll begin a
sweep.”

“Is that wise, Warlord?” asked Vishni.  “That could give
them time to—”

“To what?” snapped Abraxas.  “What is there for them to do
other than cower and hide?  We have them surrounded.  We control their bridge. 
Their ship is trapped in our hangar.  There is no escape for them.”

Vishni bowed his head.  “Apologies, Warlord.  I did not mean
to question your orders.”

“Then redeem yourself,” rumbled Abraxas.  “Find that warrior,
and bring me his head.”

“I swear to you, Warlord; he will die this day,” replied
Vishni.

While the Deathlord troops were preparing to board the ship,
deep inside it, both Shepherd and Professor Green were looking for a way out. 
After escaping from the bridge and sealing the door behind them, their search
of the quarters along the hallway had yielded nothing.  They found no exits, no
weapons, no places to hide, only barren, empty rooms.

Finally, the two had come to the end of the hallway, and
nowhere in sight was there any sign of escape.

“Oh, dear,” mumbled Green.  “We are in quite a pickle,
aren’t we?”

Shepherd grimaced.  That was putting it mildly.  “Our
priority right now is to find the Princess,” he said.

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” replied Professor
Green.  “By now, they undoubtedly have the ship surrounded, and it’s only a
matter of time before they get through that door.  I hate to say it, but I’m
afraid we’re trapped.”

“There
has
to be some way off this ship,” Shepherd
growled.

Suddenly, a door behind them hissed open.  Shepherd and
Green turned and looked, startled.  They expected to find a Deathlord hit squad
bearing down on them, but instead all they saw was a dark room.

“I say,” said Green.  “Did you notice a door there before?”

“No,” said Shepherd.  He popped out a cannon from his
gauntlet and stepped into the room cautiously.  No sooner had he entered than a
friendly white light turned on, illuminating the room and revealing its
contents.  On the far wall, a small platform jutted out, made of a glowing
white metal.  Two computer consoles stood a few feet before it, humming
patiently.

“Green, what is this?” asked Shepherd.

Green walked up to one of the consoles and began examining
it.  “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered as he read through the data on the screen. 
“It’s a teleportation device!”

“A teleporter?” grunted Shepherd.  “Like what the Deathlords
use?”

“Well, considering we have very little knowledge about how
Deathlord technology works, I can only speculate that it’s similar in the
respect that it does teleport things from one place to another,” replied the
Professor.  “Beyond that, I have no idea.  The Empire has nothing even close to
this level of technology.  How I’d love some time to delve into the science
behind this—”

“Can we use it to teleport the Princess back to the ship?”
asked Shepherd.

“Hmmmm,” said Green as he tapped a few keys, scanning
through the console’s data.  “It would appear we could—”

“Do it,” the Paragon barked.

“If we knew what her location was,” continued Green.

Shepherd punched the wall in frustration, leaving a slight
dent in the smooth white metal that composed it.  The only images running
through his mind were all the horrible things the Deathlords could possibly be
doing to Anna while he desperately grasped at straws trying to figure out what
to do.  He felt helpless, and he did not like that feeling one bit.

“On the bright side,” continued the Professor, “this is our
way off the ship.”

“You can teleport us off?” Shepherd asked.

“Short range scanners are hooked into this system,”
responded Green.  “I could teleport us somewhere deeper into the Deathlord
vessel, away from the ship.  That might give us the opportunity we need to
track down the Princess.”

Shepherd nodded.  Finally, some good news.  “Hurry up and
punch in the coordinates.”

“Should I even bother pointing out that I just recommended
teleporting us deeper INTO a Deathlord mothership?”

“We
must
rescue the Princess,” responded Shepherd.

“Undoubtedly, but we won’t be much use if we get ourselves
captured, or more likely, killed.”

“Green, you’re wasting time!” snapped Shepherd.  “Now punch
in—”

“NO!” exclaimed Green.

The outburst was so unlike the Professor, Shepherd was taken
aback.  Green composed himself.  “I never thought I’d see the day when you
would blindly rush into a situation as dire as this without a plan, old
friend,” he said.  “I know you’re anxious to get the Princess back, but please
consider – we have no way of knowing if the location we teleport to will be safe. 
Once there, we have no way of tracking down the Princess.  And should we, by
some miracle, find her, we will still be in the heart of a
Deathlord
Mothership
.”

Shepherd nodded.  Green was right; he was letting his
emotions get the best of him.  He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

“Can you figure out a way to teleport us somewhere that’s
not likely to have any Deathlords present?” Shepherd asked.

“Possibly,” replied Green.  “I don’t think they’re expecting
anyone to infiltrate their ship so security will probably be fairly light.  But
that doesn’t account for the fact that if someone sees us, we’re dead.  This is
a big ship, but I doubt we can roam around it freely without being discovered.”

“The hologuises,” said Shepherd.  “There’s a safety feature
on them that will project that of a Deathlord soldier.  It comes installed on
all hologuises to help aid in escape if attacked.”

Green’s eyes lit up.  “Yes, I’d forgotten about that,” he
said.  “Nifty little security feature, indeed.  But that program is based off
of eyewitness accounts and battlefield video.  There’s no way it will stand up
to close scrutiny.”

“It’ll be good enough,” said Shepherd.  “As long as we don’t
get too close to any of them.”

Green nodded.  “Well, that’s one problem solved.  Sort of.”

“Once we’re in the ship, do you think you can access the
Deathlord’s computer system and figure out where they’re holding Anna?”

“I can try,” said Green.  “Worse comes to worst, I could
break down the programming code into binary and figure out a basic
understanding of how their system works.  That could take time, though.”

“Better than nothing,” responded Shepherd.

“And what about Jack?” asked Green.

“We need to rescue him, too,” Shepherd said.  “Without Jack,
even if we find the Princess, we’ll be stuck here.”

“If the Deathlords haven’t already killed him,” replied
Green gloomily.

Shepherd nodded.  Anna was of value to the Deathlords so
chances were she was still alive.  Jack, on the other hand, could be dispatched
by them without worry.  Shepherd knew if that were the case, then their chances
of escape were quite grim.  “We’ll have to assume he’s still alive until we
find out otherwise,” Shepherd said.

“And if he’s not?”

“Then we’ll stay hidden until we figure something else out,”
said Shepherd.

“Stay hidden on a Deathlord Mothership,” said Green dryly. 
“Nice to see you have not abandoned your sense of optimism, dear Paragon.”

“Frankly, right now we don’t need optimism, Professor,”
replied Shepherd.  “We need a miracle.  Now punch in the coordinates, and pray
the Princess and Jack are still alive.”