Zoey and Perra stood outside of their tiny freighter under the watchful eye of Henry. Perra resumed her giddy study of the advanced service bay while Zoey and Henry traded spiteful glances.
Another minion wheeled a final crate of cleaver nukes to the ship. He took extra care to hoist the black box and place it just inside the airlock. A yellow logo adorned each crate, the emblem of a toy company known for bobblehead dolls. Zoey shook her head as the minion climbed inside the ship and stacked the crate upon the others, completing a perfect rectangle of horror. Another pair of minions climbed inside and started the delicate process of latching the crates down without blowing up the entire stealth vessel. After a double-check, triple-check, and quadruple-check, the minions exited the ship and resumed their normal tasks in the service bay. The head minion paused to salute Henry, who responded with a slight nod.
Henry turned to Zoey, then to the airlock, then back to Zoey, then back to the airlock, then back—
“Yes, yes, I get it,” Zoey said, adding an eye roll.
She nudged Perra and they both climbed into the ship.
Henry followed them inside and the door slid shut. He glanced around the cargo bay and decided to stand against the wall adjacent to the airlock. After all, he was a guard and something was going to get guarded, dammit.
Soon after, the hologram image of Nifan materialized in the bay, still cloaked in her silky ensemble. She studied the crate stacks, then turned to Henry. “All set?”
Henry nodded.
“Good.” She turned to Zoey and Perra standing by the cockpit corridor. “As for you ladies, I trust you will handle this particular cargo with the utmost caution.”
“As if you needed to tell us,” Perra said.
“Not to point out the obvious, my dear, but The Omen is known for her shrewd yet reckless demeanor. This is hardly the time to indulge a headstrong nature.”
Zoey narrowed her eyes in response.
Nifan moseyed beside the tidy crate stack. She eyed the belt latches and slid a palm down the side, causing Perra to slack her jaw.
“You can feel them?”
“Yes,” Nifan said in a dismissive tone.
“Holographic sensory?” She turned a stupefied gaze to Zoey. “I didn’t know that tech even existed.”
Nifan rubbed a mote of dust between her fingertips. She flicked it away and glanced at Perra. “Now you do.”
“How does that even work? I mean—”
Zoey snatched Perra’s wrist.
Nifan wandered over to the pair, bringing them face to face. “To recap, Migg will contact you once you are in range of Grondon. Do as he says and mind your lip. He is not one to trifle with.”
Zoey sighed, then nodded.
“Good girl.” She grinned and turned to Henry. “Contact me immediately once—” Nifan caught herself and glanced at Zoey. “Once the crow is in the basket.”
Henry nodded.
Zoey and Perra traded worried glances.
“I leave you with a quote from a cunning vixen.” Nifan steeled her gaze. “Good luck, and don’t fuck it up.”
The hologram crackled away.
Zoey exhaled a weighted breath and stepped over to the stack of horrors. She inspected the latches, making sure that each belt was secured to the floor. Perra joined her with lips taut and arms crossed. She eyed one of the whimsy yellow logos and sighed.
“If only they were bobbleheads.”
“What do you think are the chances we make it there in one piece?”
“Do you want an honest or optimistic opinion?”
“Are either of them good?”
“Not really.”
“Then let’s go with optimist.”
“Well, at least we won’t feel anything. I can take a little solace in that.” She brushed Zoey’s waist and wandered up to the cockpit.
Zoey eyed Henry over by the airlock. “Does it not bother you that we’re all trapped inside a tiny ship full of unstable nuclear weapons?”
Henry blinked.
“Your conversational acumen is exhilarating.”
Zoey hiked towards the cockpit, careful to stay light on her feet. Perra sat in the co-pilot chair with hands folded in her lap. Zoey slipped through the corridor and plopped into her seat. She reached for a drive icon, but the console was dark and lifeless.
“Still disabled,” Perra said.
“Great. So what now?”
“I guess we wait.”
Soon after, Henry squeezed through the narrow tunnel and popped into the cockpit. He twisted around the cramp confines, knocking the backs of chairs like an unruly kid on an airplane. Zoey and Perra grimaced with every jostle. He unlatched the wall seat behind Perra and lowered his beefy body onto a cushion many sizes too small. A fumble for belts and buckles drew pitiful smirks from the ladies. With a final yank and click, Henry latched in for safety. Or rather, the illusion of safety considering the payload. He adjusted his posture, cracked his neck, and met eyes with a bewildered Zoey. She studied the peculiar image, like a hippo perched upon a stepstool. At that moment, the following unspoken conversation transpired.
Do you know how dumb you look?
I can kill you with my pinkie.
Still, you look ridiculous.
I can kill you with the mere thought of killing you with my pinkie.
You look like a He-Man figure in a dollhouse.
I can kill you with—
I get it, jeez. Shut up, you wrinkly goblin.
A red haze crawled across the viewport, hooking their attention. Minions unlatched the titanium tethers, allowing the ship to float free. A pair of large docking doors opened to the blackness of space, its deadly vacuum held behind a transparent energy barrier. The red cocoon floated through with the freighter inside, pushed along by an anchor beam. A slight jostle caused the crates to rattle, forcing Zoey and Perra into tight cringes. Henry stared out into the big empty with zero concern, content to meet his end at any time. The beam detached and a wash of red static crackled across the viewport.
The console pinged to life, surrendering control back to the Mulgawats. Perra checked the system status and spun the main engines. Zoey flamed the thrusters and turned to face the stealth ship, which had already disappeared. She leaned forward and scanned the black abyss, like a curious child searching for her favorite constellation.
“That was something special,” she said. “I mean, yeah, she kidnapped us and all, but I have never seen a ship with that much badassery. I can only imagine how much that set her back.”
Perra snorted. “Nifan? I’d be shocked if she paid at all.”
“Mhmm. She’s been known to shake down the—” Zoey caught herself and eyed Perra.
They turned to Henry, who replied with a blank stare.
“Jeez, dude. I already forgot you were there.”
“That’s a wicked superpower,” Perra said. “You’re just one big info sponge, aren’t you?”
Henry blinked.
Zoey and Perra met eyes and mentally agreed to temper their conversations for the foreseeable future. An awkward silence infected the cockpit as Perra entered the rendezvous coordinates into the nav system. A hologram rendition of the Terramesh appeared above the console. Spheres of all sizes connected to each other via a tangled web of steel.
“Tim almighty,” Perra said. “Take a look at that jumbled mess.”
“Grondon is in the center next to Jarovy.”
Zoey reached inside the hologram and tapped one of the orbs. The display pinged and zoomed to the planet. An info panel of local races and dialects scrolled beside the rotating image. Perra studied the output for a moment, then ruffled her brow and slogged her gaze over to Zoey.
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
“The location of Grondon.”
Zoey bit her lip and glanced at her lover. “I, um ... used to date a Grondo Bromwich.”
“What? You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
“Why would I even think to ask that question?”
“It was well before you, dear. It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”
“Forget that you dated a Bromwich?” Perra cringed and shivered. “They’re just so ... ugh.”
“Speaking of the grotesque, I don’t recall saying a damn thing about you dating that Kuiper weirdo.”
“Like that’s even the same thing.”
“Well, they are known for their shiftiness and sexually aggressive—” Zoey caught herself again.
They turned to Henry, who had lifted an eyebrow.
Perra sighed and slumped into her seat. She crossed her arms and gestured at the viewport. “Let’s just go.”
Zoey tossed her a dirty look and swiped the console with healthy dose of melodrama. She initiated the jump drive and entered the Terramesh coordinates. The power gauge filled to a solid bar and pinged. “You ready?”
Perra shrugged. “Whatever.”
Zoey sighed and thumped the jump icon.
A streak of purple light ripped through the black sea and swallowed the ship.
* * *
Lord Essien gripped the terrace railing, overlooking the perpetual Jarovy cityscape from atop the Varokin tower. A longing smile lifted her cheeks as she watched shuttles and cutters slice through a thick haze of pollution. The tarnished facades of towers rose from the planet surface, resembling rusty knives pointing up to the heavens. Massive planetary bodies loomed in the sky, replacing the blackness of space with the rustic hues of earth and metal. Tangles of twisted steel bound each planet to the Jarovy surface, as if yanked together by a godlike Spider-Man. Twinkling bands of green light crisscrossed the surfaces, pulsing and glowing as giant conduits of perpetual commerce. Gazing up from the surface of Jarovy, one caught the impression of being trapped inside a cluster of grimy grapes.
But that’s how Lord Essien liked it.
Jarovy was home. Or rather, the base of operations to one of the most ruthless criminal empires the universe had ever seen. The mighty Varokins ruled the underworld with an iron fist and quashed any that dared to challenge them. They reigned unopposed for a hundred years, serving as the rightful center of a boundless underbelly. Should the actions of a criminal cohort make universal news, one could damn well guarantee that the Varokins played a part. Put simply, only a fool doth fuck with the devil.
Lord Essien was that devil. That is, until she flushed the Varokin Empire down the proverbial toilet. She had made a tiny miscalculation that snuffed out her entire legacy. In an effort to dispatch her nemesis, she had brought umbrage to the table. A rookie mistake when facing the disarming calm of The Dossier. To put it another way, ninjas do not yodel as they sprint into battle.
Essien and Nifan were opposing forces that differed in almost every way. Essien employed brute force while Nifan wielded subtle influence. Essien dressed like an intergalactic thug while Nifan preferred the posh and tasteful attire of a ballroom belle. Essien liked Star Wars and Nifan liked Star Trek. Needless to say, the resentment ran deep. And as with most imposing adversaries, only one could survive.
For the first time in a long and murderous relationship, Nifan had a distinct advantage. With the Varokins depleted, Essien knew that Nifan would strike hard and fast, hence the burning need to restore some firepower. She had managed to recruit Trevor and the Moreons, so it was time to prep for the ensuing battle.
Jai stood behind her on the terrace, his posture stiff and attentive with hands locked behind his back, like a sergeant awaiting command. An odd sight considering his affinity for leisure suits. But Jai, ever the opportunist, decided to break the lingering silence. He cleared his throat, as if to prep Lord Essien for a dose of unwanted prattle. “Will you need me to command one of the Moreon ships, m’lord?”
“What I need you to command is your upper lip.”
“I—yes, Lord Essien.”
“And yet you continue to not command that lip.”
Jai opened his mouth to apologize, but expelled a muted grunt instead.
Lord Essien turned to face him. She leaned back against the rail and crossed her arms, cloaked by the ceaseless traffic of Jarovy. Her eyes narrowed, as if to study a painting that made no goddamn sense. “It’s like you go out of your way to ignore even the tiniest slivers of decorum.”
Jai clamped his mouth shut.
Essien sighed. “But to answer your question, yes. I will need you to command one of the vessels. It seems you have been promoted.”
“Thank you, Lord Essien. I consider it an honor to—”
She surged off the railing and got into his face, causing him to recoil like an abused dog. “Make no mistake about it, fuckface. You are in command by math, not merit.” Essien grabbed his lapels and yanked him down to eye level. “You are not a Varokin, Jai. You will never be a Varokin. You are here at my behest, nothing more. Understand?”
“Y—”
She slapped him across the face. “Nod.”
Jai nodded.
“Good boy,” she said, then shoved him backwards.
Jai stumbled to a stop and glanced away.
Essien shook her head and returned to the railing. She expelled a heavy sigh and resumed her scan of the planet city. Her black fingernails rapped upon the metal, adding sharp tinks to the background rumble. She lowered to her forearms and glanced down the sides of the Varokin tower. A random collection of boxy vessels floated alongside. No rhyme, reason, or discernible cohesion, just a random mess of mangled hulls. Her precious fleet of Rippers, replaced by hovering trash cans. She bowed her head in disgust, like a Formula One racer forced behind the wheel of a Ford Pinto.
Trevor shuffled out of the main entrance and glided by the black shuttle resting on the landing pad. The short train of his white robe dragged behind, sweeping a path through the grimy platform. He waddled forward with arms folded across his belly and fabric draping from his wrists. His mask and hood were lowered, opting to meet the Jarovy pollution head-on. Just before reaching the terrace railing, he doubled over into a coughing fit. Trevor hacked and wheezed like a house cat working up a hairball. Lord Essien rolled her eyes, refusing to glance back or even acknowledge his presence. When the episode passed, he returned to his feet and carried on as if nothing had happened. He stepped to Essien’s side and gazed out across the tarnished city. They stared straight ahead, like a pair of tourists drinking in the skyline.
Trevor grunt-coughed. “Breathing here is like sucking on a smog nozzle.”
“You can suck on Jai’s nozzle if you prefer.”
Trevor glared at Essien. “You’re not a nice lady.”
Essien snorted and shook her head. “Tim almighty, it’s like I’m partnering with a toddler.”
“Apologies for the strong language, but it needed to be said.” Trevor stiffened his chin and straightened his robe, assuming his moral high ground.
Essien refused to respond. She studied the Moreon fleet below them while running some mental math. “This is cute and all, but I’m not counting enough to mount a reasonable offensive. Hell, this is barely enough to secure the tower.”
“Do not let your eyes fool you, madam. Every vessel you see carries an array of advanced plasma weaponry, not to mention ionic cannons and laser turrets.”
“So you retrofitted dumpsters with battle tech.”
Trevor shrugged. “Better to have a lot of good ships than a few great ships.”
“But you don’t even have good ships.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
Essien facepalmed herself.
“No need for concern. I am confident that the Moreon fleet will prove more than capable.”
“Sweet fucking cheese farts, you haven’t even tested—” She groaned in frustration, then lifted from the railing and gripped her waist. “Doesn’t matter. Even with bomblets and nukes, you are still half a fleet short. Where are your shuttles and cruisers?”
Trevor glanced up to the sky, then returned a confused stare. “Do you not see them?”
Essien squinted as she studied a collection of freighters, cutters, and barges clustered high above the city. “Are you being cute about stealth tech or something? If so, you have earned another shot to the face.”
Trevor stammered. “No, um, those.” He pointed at the giant barges. “The big ones.”
Essien examined the barges again, then closed her eyes and clenched her lips. “Are you trying to tell me that you weaponized trash barges?”
“Well, yeah. Pretty clever if you think about it. They are super strong, easy to fly, and have a bunch of nifty cubbies to hide fighters in.”
“Barges are not battlecruisers, you lumpy dolt!”
“Why not? They’re just as big and nearly as strong. They are cheap to fly, cheap to fix, and even cheaper to service. Plus, nobody suspects them. They are an ideal compromise if you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you! I’m telling you that your fleet is a fucking farce!” She turned to Jai. “Will you talk some sense into this moron?”
“Moreon.”
Essien gritted her teeth and balled her fists.
He raised his palms and took a step back, as if to say hear me out, then hit me.
“Don’t you dare tell me that you agree with him.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate, consider your target. The Dossier expects a polished presence, a worthy foe mentally, tactically, and visually. This might give you an element of surprise that you never had before.”
A tense silence fell upon the group.
Trevor gulped and took a step back.
Lord Essien grimaced as she hate-swallowed a bitter pill of truth. She gazed up into the polluted sky where a fleet of barges floated in the lower atmosphere. With lips taut and eyes narrowed, she dropped her gaze to the platform and barked in frustration.
Trevor chuckled. “I knew you would see it my way. You see, the Moreons have—”
Essien unlatched her plasma pistol and stomped over to Trevor, who stiffened with fright. Her furious gaze dug into his knotted brow, causing him to yelp. He turned to flee, but Essien grabbed him by a skull ridge and started blasting him in the neck.
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Blood and guts showered the platform. Trevor’s flailing body detached from his head and collapsed into a limp pile of flesh. The neck stump oozed green fluid over the terrace ledge. Lord Essien latched her pistol and gripped the head with both hands. Trevor’s twitching eyes locked onto hers in his final moments of consciousness.
“The barges will do.” She smiled, then drop-kicked the head over the railing.