The Bounty Hunters from Arachnxx Three Page 2

  "Humph," said Hank, busying himself with his console—despite the fact there was no longer any helm control to concern him, now that the reactor was out of commission.

  "Disable their propulsion systems." Quasar repeated the hand gesture as he faced the viewscreen. "And fire!"

  A plasma torpedo rocketed forth from the Magnitude and headed straight for the two fighters. They spiraled expertly, moving evasively in opposite directions, as Quasar had assumed they would. When the torpedo detonated behind them, a blue electromagnetic burst erupted outward, with the edge of the blast radius overtaking both alien vessels and halting them in their tracks—just as dead in the proverbial water as the Magnitude herself.

  Quasar shook a fist in triumph. "Nicely done, Commander."

  Wan released a short sigh of relief. This time, their torpedo hadn't destroyed an entire alien vessel with all hands on board.

  A step in the right direction toward ambassadorship and peace in the galaxy.

  Episode 4: Lost in Translation

  "Hail them again." Quasar faced the viewscreen with his thick muscled arms folded across his chest. "Let's see who we're dealing with here."

  The pair of fighters drifted at awkward angles, rotating end over end in a silent slow dance against the black, star-punctured backdrop of space. They were small, wedge-shaped vessels, built for speed in surface-to-air takeoffs with large thrusters and laser cannons mounted behind a cockpit large enough for only the pilot. The exterior of each ship carried a myriad of blast burns from recent battles as well as a large royal blue insignia bearing characters in a language the captain didn't recognize.

  "They're not answering, sir," Wan reported.

  Quasar squared his shoulders and raised his voice. "This is Captain Bartholomew Quasar of the Effervescent Magnitude. We represent the interests of United World Space Command—from Earth." He paused, waiting for a response of some kind. "We come in peace."

  A static-shrouded warble came through the comm system, followed by a full-framed image on the viewscreen of one of the pilots in his cockpit. Unlike the Carpethrians and Arachnoids, who didn't resemble humans much at all, this fellow looked like he could have hailed from Earth—as long as three-eyed mutants were the norm.

  Quasar cringed inwardly at the sight of the third eyeball sprouting from the middle of the pilot's forehead. It was like something from the nightmares Quasar had suffered as a lad. Some children dreamed of skinny, faceless monstrosities slinking under their beds. Not young Bartholomew Quasar. For him, it had always been people with a third eye bulging out from the middle of their foreheads. Oversized poodles also made appearances in more than a few of his nightmares, but they had no bearing on the current situation.

  The alien pilot moved his mouth, yet no words came through the static barrier of garbled audio. Quasar forced a pleasant expression and tried not to stare at the fellow's third eye as it blinked back at him, sending uncomfortable spasms through the captain's internal organs.

  "We appear to be experiencing some difficulties with our language translation software. Please standby." Quasar glanced back at Commander Wan.

  Her fingers flew across the console before her. "Keep him talking, sir. The translator needs to collect samples of his semantics and syntax."

  "How many?"

  "It currently has thirty percent of what it needs."

  "Right." Captain Quasar flashed his brilliant white teeth in a gorgeous smile and raised a hand to the pilot. "I don't know if you can understand me right now, but on our end of things, all we're getting is—" He mimicked the harsh noises coming from the comm. All three of the pilot's eyes widened, and Quasar realized he may have appeared mentally unstable by making such sounds for no apparent reason. "If you can understand me, please nod your head."

  There was no nod in reply. Instead, only more warbling static came through as the pilot seemed to earnestly explain something of grave importance—he just couldn't get his point across.

  "Fifty percent, Captain," Wan reported.

  Quasar nodded and narrowed his gaze as though he were listening with rapt attention to every word the alien had to say. But unfortunately, the captain found his attention continuing to drift toward the fellow's third eye. Wouldn't such a gruesome thing get in the way? When one palmed one's forehead in consternation, for example? Or when one bumped one's head into some low-hanging apparatus in a confined space? Surely this race of humanoids suffered countless black eyes in the middle of their foreheads!

  Oddly enough, despite the grotesque nature of the giant, spider-like Arachnoids or the massive, gelatinous mounds otherwise known as Goobalobs, Captain Quasar found himself most disgusted by this new three-eyed species. If not for their bizarre deformity, they could have been distant human cousins, transplanted onto an alien world across the galaxy by some unknown intergalactic power—

  The pilot had stopped talking. Quasar had allowed his imagination to get away from him, and now he had no way of knowing how long the two of them had been staring at one another like this. It was an awkward moment, to be sure.

  "Commander?" Quasar half-turned toward his first officer without taking his gaze from the viewscreen.

  "We're good, sir. The translator has enough to go on now."

  The captain nodded with a broad smile. Perhaps they could start over. "My name is Captain Bartholomew Quasar of the Effervescent Magnitude. We come in peace. From Earth." He cleared his throat, averting his gaze from the fellow's forehead. "To whom am I speaking?"

  Sudden understanding lit up the pilot's eyes, but he did not smile in return. "Captain, we apologize for firing upon your vessel. We assumed you were a mercenary battleship hired by House Ciliac to destroy our orbital station."

  "No harm done." Quasar chuckled amicably. The fighters' puny laser cannons were merely an irritation, after all. "We, in turn, apologize for disabling your engines. But it seemed to be the only way to get your attention. We are on a peaceful mission of discovery and acquisition—quartz dust, to be exact. Believe me, we weren't hired by anybody to destroy anything."

  The pilot's expression conveyed only partial comprehension, despite the functioning translator. "Yours is a very powerful ship, Captain. With you on our side, our conflict with House Ciliac would be ended quickly. Already, so many of our people have been lost. Your presence alone could stem the tide of bloodshed from this day forward."

  Quasar raised an eyebrow. "Far be it from me to ignore a request for aid. But we're in a bit of a predicament ourselves, you might say. Our propulsion reactor is currently offline, and until we acquire the necessary replacement parts, we won't be going anywhere."

  There were also those bloodthirsty Arachnoid bounty hunters on the way, but he thought it best to leave that part out for now.

  "I will contact my superiors to see if we can work out some sort of exchange—the reactor components you require in return for your assistance against House Ciliac."

  "Sounds like a plan. But tell me, what house do you represent, and where is your planet? We don't see anything on our proximity scanners."

  The pilot nodded. "Our world is protected by the magic of our ancestors. It is not surprising that your technology is unable to perceive that which the Ancient Ones made invisible to all but those of the third eye."

  "Magic," Quasar mused.

  "Humph," replied Hank.

  "We are of House Bromidia, active duty peripheral patrol units that guard our hemisphere of the Homeworld." His gaze wandered as he appeared to tap commands into his console. "We thank the Galaxy for this fortuitous meeting, Captain. We will be in contact shortly with more information."

  Nodding curtly, the pilot ended the transmission, and the screen returned to a view of the two fighters a kilometer out, rotating slowly without navigation control. Quasar assumed the pilot would contact his people, and they would send a larger ship to tractor the fighters back for engine repairs.

  But just a few seconds later, four fighters of similar design appeared on an intercept course
with the Magnitude at top speed.

  "They didn't waste any time," Captain Quasar said, impressed.

  Until they opened fire on his ship.

  Episode 5: A Display of Force

  It was only after they'd begun their barrage upon the Magnitude that Captain Quasar realized these fighters, while the same size, shape, and speed as the pair from House Bromidia, were branded with a crimson insignia instead of a royal blue one. And to provide further proof the newcomers didn't hail from the same house, the two Bromidian fighters opened fire with their laser cannons—a futile effort, of course, as their lack of thruster control left their shots too wide and wild to hit anything. But the fiery threads piercing the black were a well-meaning gesture, all the same.

  "Damage?" Quasar winced as the Effervescent Magnitude shuddered under the impact of incoming fire.

  "Minor," Commander Wan reported. "All systems register normal—besides propulsion."

  The ship's hull plating creaked in protest, sending mild reverberations coursing through the Magnitude.

  "These fighters seem to pack a bigger punch." Quasar signaled his first officer, and she nodded, entering commands into the weapons console. "Hail them and fire."

  "Simultaneously?" Hank raised a furry eyebrow—at least, Captain Quasar assumed it was an eyebrow. It was difficult to tell where the Carpethrian's facial hair ended and his eyebrows began.

  As the four crimson fighters broke off to regroup and target the two Bromidian vessels, a torpedo headed straight in their direction courtesy of the Magnitude's first officer. Simultaneously, Captain Quasar spoke loudly and clearly on an external comm channel:

  "This is Captain Bartholomew Quasar of the Effervescent Magnitude. We are not your enemy. We anticipate meeting you face to face. But in the meantime, we would appreciate a ceasefire."

  Brazenly, the crimson-marked fighters ignored him and continued to fire on the Bromidian vessels until one exploded with a short burst of light. But as the crimson fighters focused their lasers on the remaining Bromidian ship, Wan's torpedo detonated, releasing a blue shock wave that crippled each of them and left them floating in place, firing their lasers impotently as they rotated in slow motion with their propulsion and navigation systems offline.

  "We're being hailed, Captain."

  "Of course we are." Quasar winked at his first officer. "Put them on-screen." He resumed the stance he'd struck when he first made contact with the Bromidian pilot. He liked to think of it as the Confident Starfarer: arms crossed, pectoral muscles flexed, feet planted shoulder-width apart. There would be a statue made of him someday, somewhere. He just knew it. "Identify yourselves."

  The screen switched to a view of one of the crimson fighters' cockpits. Scowling with all three eyes, the pilot barked, "You have declared war on House Ciliac! Prepare to feel the wrath of Princess Sya's orbital forces!"

  "So that's who you are." Quasar tried not to focus on the fellow's forehead-eye. So weird. But the universe was full of all kinds, he supposed. "Are there any other factions involved in your little conflict that I should know about? If so, I may need a few more torpedoes at the ready."

  "Captain, the pilot from House Bromidia is hailing us," Wan said.

  "Put them on split-screen." Quasar nodded at the familiar pilot garbed in blue on the left side of the viewscreen. "Glad to see you're alive."

  The Bromidian nodded grimly. "I wish I could say the same about my brother. But it is the risk we take in defending our planet against Ciliac scum."

  "Your planet?" scoffed the Ciliac pilot on the right side of the screen. "We laid claim to the Homeworld long ago! The Ancient Magic is ours!"

  Ignoring him, the Bromidian continued, "I have spoken with my superiors, Captain Quasar. I have been authorized to make you an offer."

  "I'm listening," Quasar said, intrigued. He strummed his clean-shaven chin to show it.

  "As am I," said the Ciliac pilot with a gruesome sneer.

  Quasar half-turned to Wan and mimed slitting his own throat with an index finger. She nodded and fired a plasma torpedo. Captain Quasar slapped himself in the forehead as three of the Ciliac fighters exploded with blinding flashes of light. The remaining fighter spiraled away from the blast radius, venting gases in sporadic bursts from cracks in its hull.

  "I meant end transmission—not destroy them!" Captain Quasar clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his composure.

  "Starting to get the picture," Hank muttered in obvious reference to the Goobalob incident.

  Commander Wan dipped her chin in apology. Otherwise, she remained stoic, hands clasped behind her back. "The meaning behind your hand gestures is not always clear, sir."

  On the viewscreen, all three of the Bromidian pilot's eyes were open wide. "Yours is an incredibly powerful ship, Captain!"

  "So it is." Quasar squeezed his temples, covering his eyes with one hand. After what had happened to the Goobalob vessel, he'd sworn never to destroy another alien ship unless the lives of the Magnitude's crew were at stake. The Ciliac fighters were no real threat. Yet under his misunderstood command, three of them were now blown to atoms. He released a short sigh and faced the full-screen image of the Bromidian with as much bravado as he could muster, considering the circumstances. "As you were saying?"

  The fellow swallowed, his three eyes blinking simultaneously. "We are prepared to offer you the propulsion reactor components you require in exchange for your assistance in ending our conflict with House Ciliac. After witnessing firsthand the astounding power of your vessel, I believe you will be able to put an end to this war in a matter of hours!"

  Quasar had no doubt about that. But he also had no plans to destroy every ship in the Ciliac fleet.

  "We accept your offer on one condition: that a peaceful resolution may be reached with your adversaries. If there are shots to be fired, ours will not be of the lethal variety." He glanced back at Commander Wan who stared straight ahead at the viewscreen without meeting his gaze. "Not from this point forward, anyway."

  The pilot's third eye squinted for a moment with obvious resignation. "It may be difficult to convince my superiors to agree to such a thing."

  Quasar's brow wrinkled. "Oh?"

  "You see, Captain, in order for this conflict to end, His Royal Highness Prince Barclay of House Bromidia has officially decreed that Princess Sya of the Ciliac must die." He paused. "And you are to be her designated assassin."

  Episode 6: Complicated Negotiations

  Once again, Captain Quasar found himself staring at the Bromidian pilot's third eye without any idea how long he'd been doing so.

  If the Magnitude stood a chance at being far away from this vicinity by the time the Arachnoid bounty hunters arrived, then he had to get hold of those Bromidian reactor coils. Otherwise, the Magnitude wasn't going anywhere. But even though the situation was dire and the need desperate, the captain was not willing to take any more alien lives for his own purposes.

  Years from now, perhaps he would be able to accept collateral damage as necessary in light of his mission; but for now, he had to put his boot down someplace. It just felt right.

  "I'm afraid that's out of the question," he managed, clearing his throat and feeling the eyes of every member of his bridge crew fixed upon him. "We will assist you however we can, but we are not assassins. We are explorers." He forced a dashing smile. "Perhaps you haven't heard of me this far from Earth space, but I have quite a reputation—"

  "Captain, I am afraid you do not understand the position you are in. You destroyed three Ciliac fighters, and the fourth is venting enough air to suffocate the pilot in a matter of seconds. You are stranded here in our space. So if you do not agree to kill Princess Sya of House Ciliac, then we will have no choice but to leave you here to suffer her wrath."

  Quasar held up his hand. "One moment." He almost gestured to Wan to mute the transmission, but instead he strode to his deluxe-model captain's chair and tapped the command on his armrest console. He would need to give his first officer a refre
sher course in complicated hand signals before their next encounter with an alien race.

  "We need those coils, Captain," Hank spoke up. "We're not going anywhere without them."

  Apparently, Carpethrians had a knack for stating the obvious. At least this one did.

  "We didn't come this far to exterminate a princess. That's not in any of our job descriptions." Quasar glanced at his first officer who stared back at him without expression. "But we'll do what we have to in order to get those coils—even if it means a certain level of play-acting."

  He switched the comm back on without waiting for a response from his crew or their Carpethrian helmsman and struck the Confident Starfarer pose once again, gaze narrowed heroically, jaw set. A thing of beauty, when you came right down to it.

  "We accept your conditions on the following conditions: that the reactor coils be transported to our vessel while I lead a team to join you on the surface, that they be installed while we participate in your aforementioned assassination plot, and that our propulsion system be completely operational by the time we return to the Effervescent Magnitude." Quasar raised one eyebrow. "Do we have ourselves a deal?"

  The pilot smiled disarmingly, despite his extra eyeball. "My superiors anticipated such a conditional acceptance of our conditions, Captain. They are prepared to meet your demands upon agreeing to one last condition of our own: We will require a small cache of your handheld weapons—just a sample—so that we may reverse-engineer them to create an arsenal of our own. It is assumed that your handguns are superior to ours in the same way that your ship's torpedoes are far more powerful than our cannons. We will also require a dozen of your best soldiers to train us in how to use these new weapons effectively."

  Quasar could feel his jaw begin to drop, and he halted it before it had a chance to embarrass him. This situation was getting more complicated by the moment, and he couldn't quite remember how many conditions had been imposed by each side. He needed time to regroup, to think things through; but his options were incredibly limited. The Arachnoid ships weren't getting any farther away—quite the contrary.