As Jason and Billy followed behind them, she shot Jason a quick look. In that split second he knew exactly what she was thinking … What the hell have you gotten me into?

  Chapter 12

  It took Stalls an additional ten round trips piloting the shuttle back and forth between the two Craing warships. Tools and supplies were required, and more help. All twenty-five Craing crewmembers were put to work … first, to patch the gaping hole in the side of the cruiser and then, one by one, to swap out the large, ruined, oxygen exchange filter units. Apparently, one was still marginally operational. It took several days before oxygen was flowing again throughout the ship.

  Stalls’ first night living aboard the ship was spent finding the largest, most well appointed quarters, in accordance with the needs of a warship captain. The pickings were few, but he’d found the best of the cabins and took it for his own. Hot water now restored, he spent a good hour in the confined shower space. He released his long braid and washed his hair, then meticulously combed it out and re-braided it. Finding suitable attire was next on his to-do list. His white, somewhat frilly dress shirt was badly soiled. So were his black slacks. For the time being, he would have Craing crewmembers launder them. Perhaps, he mused, there’s even a replicator on board. He’d have to ask Rup-Lor.

  The main engines were slowly coming back online. Captain Stalls watched Rup-Lor from across the bridge. He’d been the best choice for XO of the lot, but he didn’t trust the little bugger. Nary a one of them. Stalls’ nostrils flared.

  “Lor! Can’t you do something about that smell?”

  Rup-Lor and four Craing crewmembers, sitting at consoles around the bridge, looked up and appeared to sniff the air in unison. Stalls watched their own expressions of distaste.

  “Decomposition, Captain,” Rup-Lor answered, nodding his head.

  “Yeah, I know what a rotting corpse smells like. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Most of the bodies have been found.”

  “Have you checked that eat-in church of yours?”

  Rup-Lor looked back at Stalls with a horrified expression. “You are referring to the Grand Sacellum?”

  “Whatever. That place … all those disgusting caldrons where you people cook God knows what. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe there’s uncooked flesh rotting on those grills. Very unsanitary. Or maybe it’s up in those cages. Have you checked each and every one?”

  “The Grand Sacellum is a sacred place. Raw flesh is not left lying around. The holding cells have already been searched.”

  “Well, if you think I’m going to tolerate that odor wafting around here, you’re mistaken. Take care of it or I’ll find an XO who can.”

  Rup-Lor rose from his console and hurried from the bridge. Stalls was feeling impatient. His eyes settled on the Craing crewmember sitting to his right. “Drig. How long will it take to bring the engines fully online?”

  “Another two hours, Captain.”

  Stalls nodded. “You there … What’s your name?”

  “My name is Trainz, sir.”

  “You’re on comms, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, Trainz, I’m giving you a most important job. I want you to get an intergalactic message back to my home world. Can you do that?”

  Trainz was about to reply when he cut himself short. Nervously he said, “I’d need more information. A recipient, or perhaps a specific ship? Something we can reference in the database.”

  Stalls searched his mind. His first thoughts were of his brother, Bristol. Stalls suspected he was dead, or in an Allied prison cell somewhere. That query would have to wait. Most of his fleet was destroyed, but he was fairly certain a few ships had escaped, more likely fled, when things went upside down battling the Allied ships. Giving it some more thought, he remembered someone who might help. As a young pirate, Stalls had served on his ship. He wondered if the old coot was still alive. Stalls turned his attention back to Trainz.

  “The Rangoon,” Stalls said, nodding his head. “Captain Scratch Bonilla on the Rangoon. It’s a converted freighter. Find the ship and find Scratch, and you’ll be nicely rewarded.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trainz said, getting right to work on the project.

  “I’ll be in my cabin if anything turns up.” Stalls stood and headed toward the exit.

  Rup-Lor nearly ran into him as he reached the corridor. “We found the, um … problem, Captain.”

  “Good for you. Take care of it.” Stalls continued down the corridor.

  “There is a problem. And an explanation why there are so few crew bodies.”

  Stalls stopped and turned back toward Rup-Lor. “What? Spit it out. I have things to do.”

  “Serapin-Terplins. Ten of them are on board.”

  “Dead, right? That’s what’s smelling up the ship?”

  “Yes … No. Yes, there are dead, decaying Serapins. We cannot get to the carcasses. They are being protected by ten living Serapins.”

  Stalls, losing patience with the Craing’s constant back and forth bullshit, thought why can’t these people ever think for themselves? “Look, go to the armory, wherever that is, and arm yourselves and shoot the beasts. Then throw them out an airlock and be done with it,” Stalls ordered in exasperation.

  “Please. You will come with me. Let me show you,” Rup-Lor said.

  * * *

  The light cruiser, mostly unexplored by Stalls, was so big it would take him days to see it all. Rup-Lor scurried along in front of him, eventually leading him to the top-most deck. The air was foul—thick and musty with the smell of decay. Distant screeching noises raised the hairs on the back of Stalls’ neck. Three Craing crewmembers were waiting for them to approach, each armed with a pulse rifle.

  “So what is the problem here?” Stalls asked, then noticed a pair of stubby legs protruding from a hatchway, thirty feet down the corridor. He grabbed a rifle from one of the Craing and slowly moved closer to the outstretched legs.

  “You must be very careful, Captain—”

  In a jerky flailing motion, the legs were pulled from sight. A smear of blood remained on the decking. Stalls looked at the weapon in his hands, making sure he knew how to use it. He did, and saw that it had a full charge. It was a little small for his large hands, but it should be fine. He moved forward as silently as possible until he was at the open hatch. With the muzzle of the gun outstretched, he carefully peered around the corner. Only feet away, one of the beasts was ripping and tearing the flesh from the slain crewmember’s legs. Three more Serapins were rapidly approaching; stringy saliva dripped from long, sharp canines. Jaws snapped open and closed loudly. With their full attention on the crewmember’s carcass, they didn’t notice Stalls’ close presence. Transfixed, his eyes took in the entire scene further back in the compartment. Shredded rags, hundreds of bones, and general filth covered the deck. Seven more Serapins moved about—pacing. But it was the beast in the far corner that made Stalls nearly drop his weapon. Sitting on her backside was a huge female Serapin. Long, stretched teats hung low as Serapin babies suckled. All around the mother, things were moving. At first, he didn’t realize what they were: over one hundred small baby Serapins were scampering about—their screeching overpoweringly deafening.

  Slowly, walking backwards, Stalls stepped away from the hatch. Once he’d reached Rup-Lor, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “How many crew have you lost here today?”

  “That was the fourth.”

  “Take me to your armory.”

  Together Stalls and Rup-Lor walked to another part of the ship. “You must have incendiary devices: bombs. We’ll blow that compartment, with the hatch closed. Problem solved.”

  Rup-Lor stopped in his tracks. Stalls took several more steps before he realized he’d done so. “What are you doing?”

  “Female Serapins are sacred. Very rare, not often found in captivity. Captain, harming her cannot be allowed.”

  “We have barely enough crew to operate this vessel, and you lost four today to those beasts. She’s got to go. All of them must go,” Stalls said, continuing on. Rup-Lor caught up and several minutes later they were at the ship’s armory.

  Racks of pulse weapons lined the walls. There were also small handguns, hardened environmental suits, as well as various explosives. Stalls was in the process of determining which armament would be appropriate when a loud series of sounds filled the compartment.

  “What is that?” Stalls asked.

  “Three gongs—you’re being hailed by the bridge,” Rup-Lor said, pointing to a panel mounted low on the bulkhead. “You can speak with Drig through that.”

  Stalls fingered the panel and acknowledged the hail: “This is Captain Stalls.”

  “Captain,” came the tinny sound of Trainz’s voice. “I’ve made contact with the Rangoon.” “Did you find Captain Bonilla … Scratch?” Stalls asked excitedly.

  “No, sir. Scratch is dead. His son, someone named Crank, is waiting to speak with you.”

  That would do just fine, Stalls thought. Having this important key pirate commander contact was imperative to rebuilding a mighty fleet of his own—one step closer to sweet revenge.

  Chapter 13

  Medical was bustling. The three Allarians hovered quietly in one corner, eyeballs following those coming in and out of the room. Dira and Jason were in the lab area—Dira sat at a counter, in front of a terminal.

  “I didn’t have much warning for today’s procedure, Jason. So I attempted contact with Ricket through his NanoCom. We’re actually not that far from Terplin … I gave it a shot.”

  “How is he? What’s going on with his mission?”

  “He said he and Gaddy were at the Emperor’s Palace; he had excused himself from dinner when he received my hail. So far everything is going according to plan and, depending on the location of The Lilly, we should be able to monitor his movements through his newly installed nano-devices.”

  “What about the procedure?” Jason asked.

  “He said it would be dangerous. Growing a lost eye, or even a severed limb is one thing, but an entire body is quite another. The closest we’ve come to doing that was with Ricket’s own transformation, from cyborg to organic being. He told me where to look in the MediPod database—what organic templates to use as a reference. The Caldurians have an impressive database here in Medical, and there are plenty of templates for both Craing and human, but there are very few templates for Allarian, which are similar somewhat to humans. My only guess is that the original Caldurians had had only minimal past contact with the Allarians.”

  “So maybe we tell them no, this wasn’t such a good idea on my part,” Jason said, now wondering how he was going to back step out of this mess.

  “We’re not starting from nothing. We have their individual DNA codes from whatever bio-mass still exists. The truth is, the human body is comprised of eleven primary common elements: mostly oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen. The MediPod has access to an entire organism’s fully constructed body, from just one cell. The problem comes down to the template that’s stored in the database. How similar is it to these three beings? We have four Allarian templates … we use the wrong one and we’re … they’re … screwed.”

  Jason, looking up, realized the Allarian captain was hovering at the entrance to the lab. He glided forward and stopped in front of the terminal.

  “We will move ahead with the procedure. I understand the risks. For our kind to survive, to live life with any semblance of normality, of what it once had, this must be done.”

  Dira pursed her lips and stared at the hovering Allarian. “One in four odds isn’t great, Captain. Perhaps with more time we can do further testing and make a better determination. Now that I have samples of your DNA—”

  “We will move forward, and do so now, if possible. Understand, the three of us, our lives, would be a small price to pay, in exchange for the procedure’s potential success, and the benefits it will bring to all the Allarian people.”

  Jason understood where he was coming from. Hell, how they’d kept functioning, not wholly living, he couldn’t imagine. The alternative to success, death, was not such a leap. Jason nodded. “Who’s first?”

  “We have discussed this at length and although I believe I should be the first to undergo the procedure, it will be my second-in-command. She will go first, then me, then Phloridaaamict—”

  Jason held up his palm. “Please … Your names are very hard for us, even with translation … for the time being, may we call you by alternate names?”

  The Allarian captain paused, his eye orbs moving back and forth between Dira and Jason. “You may call me Captain, or Chromite; my second is Graphite; and third in command is Silicate. Will that nomenclature suffice?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Jason replied. “Dira, please ready Graphite for the MediPod.”

  * * *

  As the clamshell closed with a sucking thump, Graphite could be seen through the small observation window atop the MediPod. Although her hover prosthetic had been removed, her brain matter still resided within its clear vessel; the MediPod would deal with any foreign material in much the same way it had dealt with Ricket’s cyborg-mechanical materials during his procedure.

  Dira kept her focus on the MediPod terminal and Jason could see stress lines on her pretty face. She was quiet, double- and triple-checking her settings. Eventually she looked up and noticed Jason, Chromite and Silicate staring at her.

  “The process has begun. If everything goes according to plan, in twenty-four hours Graphite will—”

  A muffled splat sound emanated from the MediPod. All eyes turned toward the observation window. There, within the clear vessel, was what looked like pink pudding. Her brain. Graphite was no more.

  Dira stood with a hand to her mouth. Tears swelled and cascaded down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” She looked to the Allarian captain and then to Silicate. “This is too dangerous. There’s too much I don’t know or understand. This was a mistake.”

  “No. Not a mistake. You were clear about the odds of success. She gave her life willingly for a greater cause. She will be remembered as a hero to our people.”

  Jason and Dira nodded, both looking defeated. Jason was unsure how to proceed. He would transfer the two Allarians back to their ship and find some other way, an alternative to receiving sanctuary on Allaria.

  “Please prepare this device for my biological settings,” the Allarian captain said.

  Before Jason could say anything, Silicate spoke: “I will go next. You must allow me to go next!”

  Jason hadn’t heard the third Allarian speak until then and was surprised to hear another female voice. There was strong emotion there. These two were more than fellow crewmembers.

  The Allarian captain turned to Silicate and hovered forward until the clear vessel enclosing his brain was touching hers. Their eye orbs were now as close as they could be and they maintained focus on each other for a long moment. He said, “No, I will.”

  Dira wiped at her moist cheeks and, standing before the terminal, she began changing the settings. The MediPod began to open and soon came to a stop. Chromite, the Allarian captain, hovered in close and used his two robotic arms to pick up the clear vessel that once contained Graphite’s brain. He hovered before Jason, with outstretched arms: “Please take this and destroy it.”

  Jason wanted to ask if he was sure. Perhaps they could take her remains back to their planet—have a memorial service. Jason said nothing; he simply took the vessel and deposited it back in the lab. When he returned, Dira was already placing Chromite’s vessel into the MediPod, in the exact same location where Graphite’s had rested only moments before. Silicate moved in close to the MediPod, her orbs locked onto Chromite. Gently, Dira ushered her back. In moments the MediPod clamshell began to close. Dira’s eyes stared at the terminal. Her fingers held still, but poised to enter the initialization command. She turned to Jason, her expression a mixture of sadness and guilt.

  “Do it,” came the voice of Silicate. “You have to do it.”

  Jason stepped in closer to Dira and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s what they want.”

  With one touch on the terminal the initialization process for the Allarian captain began. The seconds ticked by. Jason tried to remember how long it took before Graphite’s procedure had gone so terribly wrong … He waited, anticipating hearing the same awful splat.

  Three minutes into the procedure no splats were heard—nothing catastrophic had happened.

  “Everything seems to be progressing normally,” Dira said, looking away from the small screen and attempting a weak smile. Silicate continued to stare into the small observation window at the top of the MediPod.

  Chapter 14

  Boomer ran until she felt her lungs would burn right through her chest. Her hair was wet with sweat that kept running into her eyes. She stopped and tried to catch her breath. She listened. She knew he was back there somewhere, in the thick jungle foliage. Boomer stared at the trees. Had something just moved there, off to the right?

  Today was her first out-in-the-real-world test. Woodrow had made it clear—he would not go easy on her. Being only nine years old would not factor into his assessment of her passing, or failing, today’s exercise. His rules were simple. First, track her prey through HAB 4; second, get in close enough to kill it; third, return with the carcass. Oh, and one more thing: “Accomplish this before I track and capture you.”

  She’d never been this far into the jungle, not even riding the big elephant, Raja. Could she find her way back? Something was definitely moving up ahead. Was it the same wild boar she’d been tracking for the last three hours? For the umpteenth time, Boomer checked her trio of throwing knives; each was secured within a leather hilt at her belt. She crept forward, doing her best not to make any undue noises. Mosquito-like insects hovered in a cloud around her face and she instinctively slapped at her cheek—another bite.