Starship Desolation (4 page)

T
ears streamed
down Prince Valinok’s cheeks. His black eyes were puffy, and his nose was runny. His body heaved in jerky sobs.

He was only a boy—14 years old. Not entirely different from a human boy. Bigger and taller, but still a child. A child who was now heir to the throne of Saarkturia. A child who’s mother had been killed, and her fleet destroyed. He was the son of Queen L’Naar.

He tried to wipe away the river of tears, but more kept coming. He screeched with the kind of sorrow that only the death of a loved one can bring. The hollow empty pain of abandonment. The horror of being truly alone.

He curled into a ball on his bed. Like all Verge structures, the Palace was an architectural masterpiece. Sleek, curved lines, vaulted ceilings, dim lighting, dark walls. Opulent, by Saarkturian standards.

Attached to the bedroom was a large terrace that overlooked the royal city of Fonesia. The gloomy blue sun cast a pale light over the city that even at noon was no brighter than dusk on New Earth.

“I’m sorry to be the one to bring you this news,” Rylon said. He was an older gentleman who had long been an advisor to the Queen. His game was politics, and he was good at it. He had been the queen’s eyes and ears. Nothing could stir in the Senate that he didn’t find out about and relay to the Queen. Above all things, he desired power. And as always, he wanted to ensure his place right next to the most powerful person in the Realm.

Rylon sat next to Valinok and watched him cry until his tears ran dry. He tried to comfort the boy. When he spoke, he did so in a soothing and compassionate manner. “You cry all you want now. But when you are through, I never want you to shed another tear. You are no longer a boy. Soon you will be King. And you must never show weakness. Do you understand?”

Valinok sat up, dried his eyes and nodded. “We will take our entire fleet, and we will destroy the humans.”

“While I echo that sentiment, our fleet is in shambles.”

“Then we will build a new fleet.”

“It will take decades to amass the strength necessary. The weaponized fuel for the Noxvis bombs is not easy to obtain. It takes years to extract and refine.”

“I will have my revenge,” the boy yelled, his face red with rage.

“That you shall. But we must be prudent. You are about to become the youngest king in our history. But your ascension will not go unchallenged by the Senate. You must display wisdom beyond your years. You must be strong and aggressive, but not impulsive. It is far better to rule with the support of the Senate and the people.”

“I know nothing of politics, Rylon. My mother had a distaste for it.”

“That is why she relied on me. As you too can rely on me. I am ever your humble servant.” Rylon bowed in an effort to appear humble.

“Find a way to destroy the humans, and you shall have anything you desire.”

“I serve my King not for want of material possessions, but for the good of all Saarkturians.” It was a lie, and Rylon was playing up to the child’s growing ego. “But I can assure you, the humans will be destroyed.”

“How?”

“Now may be the time for a strategic alliance.”

“With who?”

“The Decluvians.”

Valinok’s face twisted up. “Never. I will not conspire with our enemy. An inferior one at that.”

“Don’t underestimate their potential. They have proved a worthy adversary. Their continued existence is proof that we have failed to eradicate them. My sources tell me their capacity for war has grown.”

“Their technology is inferior.”

“But adequate. It is only a matter of time before they challenge us again. And we are no longer prepared to address the threat.”

Valinok scowled.

“An alliance could be made. Though, it would require concessions.”

“What kind of concessions?”

“Relinquish the Thelovian sector.”

“No.”

“It is of little strategic or economic value. The Decluvians have laid claim to it for centuries. It would be a gesture of good faith.”

Valinok pondered this. “No.”

“I would urge you to reconsider. Have you ever been to the Thelovian sector?”

Valinok shook his head.

“Perhaps we should arrange a visit. You could see for yourself how insignificant the region is.”

The boy was quiet for a moment. “If I do choose to relinquish the sector, how can you be so sure that would be enough to convince the Decluvians to become our allies?”

“Oh, that won’t be enough to convince them. That is just what it will take to get them to the bargaining table. For the Decluvians to fight and die on our behalf, it will take a far greater gesture.”

The boy’s curious eyes stared at Rylon. “Like what?”

Rylon pondered how best to present his plan. “A union between the two species.”

Valinok was a smart boy. It didn’t take him long to see where Rylon was going. “Absolutely not.”

“Sometimes, rulers must make personal sacrifices,” said Rylon.

“It’s a little more than a sacrifice. It’s a nightmare. The Decluvian’s have tentacles. I will not marry the princess.”

“Merely a symbolic gesture. And the ceremony will not take place until you come of age.”

“The Saarkturian people do not want a Decluvian queen.”

“It will be years before the actual marriage takes place. There are many things that can happen in the mean time.” Rylon’s tone was devious.

“Tentacles, Rylon. Tentacles!”

Rylon shrugged. “Such are the sacrifices one must make in order to rule the galaxy. You do want to rule the galaxy, don’t you?”

Prince Valinok sighed. “I want my mother back.”

Rylon looked at him with sympathy.

“I want to be a child and play games and be irresponsible. When I grow up, I want to rule the galaxy.”

“My dear boy, none of us want to grow up. But one day we wakeup to discover that we have. Today was that day for you. You can never go back to being as you were. Remember your childhood fondly, for today, you must become a man and lead your people.”

The Prince eyed Rylon for a moment. “You have always been a friend to my mother. I trust you, Rylon. I will defer to your judgement.” Valinok grimaced. “Contact the ambassador. Offer the Thelovian sector in exchange for a meeting.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” A slight grin curled on his treacherous lips. The boy was going to be easier to control than he thought.

T
he shuttle was filled
with a dozen killers. Hardened criminals with soulless eyes. Slade was shackled at the wrists and legs. The prisoners were sizing each other up. All eyes were on Slade—she was the fairest of the bunch.

They were heading toward the
USS Gibraltar
, a prison transport ship that would ferry them to Alpha Ceti 7.

Prisoner 3603762 was twice as large as anyone else. Six foot five, 350 pounds—a thick hulk of a man. Underneath his number was a name—F. Giles. He looked like the kind of guy who could snap through his restraints, if he really tried. Definitely not the kind of guy you’d want to meet in a dark alley. He wasn’t going to have any problems in prison. He certainly wasn’t going to be anyone’s bitch.

He kept staring at Slade with lustful eyes. She just stared back at him. She wasn’t one to back down from a fight. Even one she knew she’d lose.

“I bet you don’t last a day in the big house, Sugar Puff,” Giles said.

“I bet I last longer than you.”

Giles chuckled. “Maybe I ought to come to you for protection.”

“Maybe you should. You look kind of frail. And you’ve got dick sucking lips.”

The rest of the inmates burst out in laughter.

Giles scowled.

Slade was making enemies quick.

The shuttle landed on the flight deck of the
Gibraltar
. A moment later and the hatch opened. An armed cadre of guards escorted them off the shuttle and into the
Gibraltar’s
holding area. They unshackled the inmates and shoved them in the cell.

It was a common area of about 50 inmates. Like a drunk tank of a county lockup, there was one latrine, and a sink. No privacy whatsoever. If you were going to take care of business, you had to do it in front of everyone. And these weren’t the kind of people you wanted to pull your pants down in front of.

All of the inmates were dressed in orange jumpsuits, with digital readouts of their prison number embedded within the fabric.

The guards weren’t in the UP Navy. They were privately contracted corrections officers. From here on out, the inmates would be in the care of the private correctional system.

Slade’s eyes surveyed the holding cell as she entered. As always, she tried to identify potential threats. She knew Giles was one. And there were plenty more like him in this cell.

She strolled over to a corner and sat down. The kid next to her couldn’t have been more than 16. Skinny, pasty faced, thick glasses.

“What are you in for?” Slade asked.

He looked at her for a moment before he spoke. And when he did, the words came low and slow, like he was doing an impression of his favorite movie star. “I killed 9 guys in a bar fight.”

Slade narrowed her skeptical eyes. “You’re not old enough to drink.”

“I’m old enough to kick ass.” He tilted his head back, like a boss.

“You don’t look like the ass kicking type.”

“I can hold my own.” She could tell he was scared shitless, but trying to put on a good front.

“I can see you’re a killer, no doubt.” Slade knew this kid wasn’t a violent offender. He didn’t have the look in his eyes. That cold, emotionless stare that all killers have. Even the serial killers that masquerade as friendly neighbors have the stare. They hide it well, but if you look deep enough, you can see a cold detachment. A separation from themselves and the rest of humanity.

“Damn right. Nobody better mess with me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Prisoner 2936783. But my friends call me Kirby.”

“How long they give you?”

“I’m a lifer,” he said, trying to sound tough. But then his eyes went slick. He covered his face with his hands to hide his tears.

“Looks like we got a little crybaby,” one of the inmates teased. “You can’t run to your momma here, boy.” He chuckled. “That’s alright. I’ll be your momma and your daddy.”

Slade glared at him.

“What you looking at? First time you seen a real man, honey?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were a woman.”

There were laughs all around.

The inmate scowled at Slade. She was making friends quickly.

He stood up and ambled toward her. He was a short stocky guy. And like so many guys coming into the joint, he had something to prove. They were all angling to establish their dominance. Alpha males, each and every one of them. All looking to be at the top of the pecking order.

Slade stood up and got ready for a fight.

She studied the inmate. Watched his eyes. His hands. His posture as he approached.

“That’s some mouth you’ve got on you,” the inmate said. “You better believe I’m gonna put it to good use—“

BAM!

Slade landed a right cross square on his jaw before he could finish. The blow snapped his head back. With lightning speed, she mashed her heel into his knee. Ligaments and tendons crackled as the knee bent sideways. The inmate dropped to the ground. Slade put a hard elbow in the back of his neck.

He flattened against the ground, blood oozing from his lips and nose. He whaled in pain, but he wasn’t getting back up. He wasn’t ever going to walk without a limp, if he was ever going to walk at all.

She scanned the crowd of onlookers with cold eyes. Her little demonstration was enough to make anybody else think twice about messing with her. Right now, Slade was atop the pecking order. And that was just how she liked it.

“Hey! Try not to kill each other before we get to the prison,” one of the guards yelled. “We only get paid for live inmates.”

The fallen inmate writhed in agony on the floor, screaming and whaling. He begged the guards to help him.

“Shut up, maggot,” a guard yelled. The acetate nameplate above his badge read: O’Connor.

But the inmate didn’t stop.

“She broke my fucking knee, man. I need medical assistance.”

“Don’t make me come in there and shut you up,” O’Connor said. But he was just looking for an excuse to use excessive force. He loved his job.

“You can’t leave me like this. I got a right to medical care.”

“You ain’t got a right to shit.”

“This is bullshit, man. I want to file a complaint. I know my rights.”

“Oh, you want to file a complaint?” O’Connor sneered at him. “Let me get you the forms.” He motioned for two other guards to assist him and drew his baton stunner—an 800,000 volt taser. Lightning on a stick.

The guards gathered around the entrance. O’Connor unlocked the hatch to the holding cell and they stormed in, batons ready.

O’Connor hovered over the inmate and jammed the baton into his belly. He zapped him with a charge. The end of the baton crackled and arced. This baton was more than an ordinary taser. It created a powerful electrical field that enveloped the subject in a brilliant, arcing aura. The inmate convulsed and vibrated uncontrollably. After a minute, O’Connor stopped zapping him. “Got any more complaints?”

The inmate said nothing.

“I can’t hear you.” O’Connor cupped his hand to his ear, as if straining to hear. “Oh, you’re not done yet?”

O’Connor beat him mercilessly with the baton. The metal slapped against the inmate’s thick frame. Ribs cracked with each blow, as did the bones in the inmate’s forearms as he tried to shield himself.

The two other guards kept the rest of the inmates at bay as the beating continued.

“What’s that you say?” O’Connor asked. “Still haven’t had enough?”

The other officers couldn’t resist getting in a few hits. Inmate 1109283 was a bruised and bloody pulp.

Giles, and several other inmates, saw this as an opportunity. They tackled the two guards. Others rushed O’Connor.

With fists like sledgehammers, Giles pummeled one of the guards and stripped away his baton. He jabbed the rod into the guards back and let the electricity fly. His body contorted and vibrated.

Giles took the guard’s keys and his gun. Then he glared at Slade and marched toward her.

The holding cell was pure mayhem. Screaming and yelling, hooting and hollering. Inmates were kicking and punching O’Connor, beating him beyond recognition. Everything he had doled out was coming back to him, three fold.

It was a full on prison riot.