Bishop answered him, “How do you know where we can get capital ships. More importantly, how much is it going to cost?”
The man sat down next to Bishop as he eyed the bartender for another drink. “Ya see,” he began, “I'm a prospector. I travel from sector to sector, mapping out mineral asteroids, searching ship relics, and even a little snooping around when I get bored.”
King sighed quietly to herself as she prepared for a senseless story that is common in the trading posts that she had been in a number of times. “You found something I assume,” she spoke with a mild tone of sarcasm.
“Yep,” he boasted loudly, “And boy do I think I have what you need.”
***
Gunthix sat in meditation in the center of the light in the room. The Mayans had left him to himself the several long-cycles since his battle with their oppressors. The question still burned in his mind as to what he wanted to do. His dire nature as a killer was paradoxical to his hosts. He knew he had to leave, but to where he was unsure. Being indebted to someone terrified Gunthix, but he refused to bring any possible harm to their gentle lifestyle.
The most obvious location in his mind was back to the Guntherian Empire; back to its constant wars, Empress Kerrigan, and his treason. He knew he wouldn't be accepted back. They would attempt to kill him again, after they recovered from the shock of his apparent revival. His only hope for a recovery of his honor was the ancient Battle of Champions: pitting him against whatever the Empress choose to throw against him. If he lived, he would be tolerated within the bounds of the empire. His status as Princess Iris's champion would ensure he lived in comfort, and even the possibility for him to regain his honor. The cost would be great; however, he knew he would be forced to kill an uncountable number of Guntherian lives: something he refused to do. He meditated on the exact reason why he wanted to return to his home.
Many Guntherians chose to leave home space. Most of them set up a form of trade on the fringe space. Some that are obsessed with war are hired on as mercenaries. He had even heard of a small colony of Guntherians that live a simple life on an unnamed moon in near uncharted space. Often, citizens move within the Federation and live an unassuming life as a forgotten enemy. Gunthix wanted to go back to the Empire, but he wasn't sure why.
Gunthix suddenly became aware that he wasn't entirely alone in the light. He opened his eyes to see Blue Star and another Mayan. His helmet collapsed behind his head as he waited for one of them to speak. “I am Red Star,” spoke the newcomer, “We are nearing space that is under ownership of the collection known as the Galactic Federation.” Gunthix nodded in understanding that his stay with them was nearing an end. He hadn't given them a destination, prepared more for the unknown than the familiar. “We almost never interact with them, so we have no way that we can prepare you for them,” spoke Blue Star. “The nearest planet is sparsely populated, but it does have several star ports if you desire to leave it by means other than your suit.”
“I have understanding enough of the Federation to speak their common language and understand their customs,” Gunthix spoke as he rose from his meditative stance. “I thank you for everything you have done for me.” Blue Star approached him closer as he examined the impressive armor that he wore. His emotionless eyes followed the curves along his armor and the faint glow of the symbols that traced along his limbs. Red Star flicked his eyes and a glowing sphere rose from the floor into the center of the light. It shimmered for a few moments then tinted to a dull red.
Gunthix began examining the sphere as he slowly walked around it. “Our understanding of the planet,” began Red Star, “Is that is named Three Brothers.” He motioned to an area of the planet. “This area is sparsely populated; which is unusual as they have a local star port.” Gunthix nodded at the abnormal nature of the area. Red Star spoke again, “Is there anything else you would like to know?” Gunthix shook his head and raised his helmet. Both Mayans flicked their eyes simultaneously as they backed into the darkness. The red globe darkened and disappeared, leaving Gunthix alone. The light in the center of the room dimmed into darkness. Small flickers of light began appearing around him as he searched around him to determine if he was still within the ship. He looked to his feet and saw a massive red ball.
No recreation of a planet is as perfect as what it is to see one with your own eyes, Gunthix thought to himself. Minor details and imperfections show their identities as he scanned the surface for the area that he was shown. He slowly flipped himself so the planet was above his head and jetted slowly toward the giant ball. The planet's gravity began to exert its undeniable pull on him and forcing him faster toward the giant ball. Atmosphere began heating up and sending trails of fire off his armor as he sped toward the ground. He began mapping out the details of his intended crash zone, insuring that his entrance would be unnoticed. A flat outcropping on a ridge overlooking a nearby outpost appeared promising to Gunthix as he stopped his jets and flipped into a standing position in preparation for his sudden landing. The sudden urge to activate a parachute surged through him as he his altitude neared collision point. He forced the training out of his mind as he crashed into the hard rock.
Gunthix landed in a crouched position amidst the cloud of dust that his landing had created. After a few silent and still moments, the dust settled and he stood up to survey his surroundings. The small landing was barren except for a small vehicle purposely designed for the planet. It had two large wheels that were aligned front to back with a small open seat sitting above the engine. He approached it to determine if it was still operational. His suit began studying the design of the vehicle as he noticed the body of a native slumped next to it. The vehicle was rendered useless long ago, scans had decided and Gunthix began a personal examination of the corpse.
The skeleton was from a race he was unfamiliar with. Long arms and legs where visible through its clothing. Gunthix reached down and removed the dirty cloth, searching it for any usefulness. It was a simple cloak with a hood, worn simply to keep the hot sun and heat off of its wearer. The cloak was red and worn, made from a fabric he couldn't identify. It had outlasted the body and clothes of the original owner. He put it on and admired at how well it fit, draping simply at his boots but easily concealing his armor. Gunthix looked to the horizon and spotted the small town he had seen from orbit.
***
Empress Kerrigan stared intently through the glass wall at the subject of her visit to the space station Ares. “No damage,” she asked again, “Are you certain?”
Scientist Rutler cleared his throat and spoke, “Although we don't have any of the technical data from the other station, I am completely certain that nothing is wrong.” The Empress crossed her arms and waited silently for some more information.
After several slow seconds, she finally spoke again, “You said there were anomalies in its examination?” He pressed a button on the console and the glass wall pulled up several graphs containing undiscerning information to the untrained eye.
“Apparently,” Scientist Rutle answered her question, “It's development continued even after the station was destroyed. It was exposed to space radiation and suffered a period of isolation from the programming as well as mental conditioning. We were only lucky that it had already developed enough where it could survive without the need for external nutrition.” Empress Kerrigan waved off the data: wanting a better view of the subject. “You're saying what exactly?” she asked annoyed.
He cleared his throat, “We won't know till we start a training regime. I'm certain he isn't lame, but I'm unsure of his absolute ability.”
Empress Kerrigan nodded slowly, calculating the possible force multiplier. She turned to a Belthonian in the room and spoke again, “Show me what you originally brought me here for.”
XX
Gunthix walked down the deserted street of the town as he eyed the simple squat buildings. Among the identical buildings was a larger building with a simple sign out front. He examined the sign, carefully studying
the twin lizards forming a figure eight above the word 'cantina' and decided it was the best place to start a new life. The double doors separated automatically as he approached the entrance as it exposed its dark interior. Gunthix walked in and enjoyed the cool air.
The room was devoid of life aside from a trio of similar cloaked figures talking quietly in a corner booth. They stop whispering for a moment as they studied him, considered him as a negligible threat, and continued their conversation. A large, four armed being emerged from the kitchen behind the bar and spoke, “New in town, buddy?” Gunthix nodded but remained standing in the center of the dark room. The large being cleaned his upper hands on his apron and motioned toward the bar, “Well if you are, buddy, have a drink on the Eight.”
Gunthix approached the bar and sat uncomfortably on the stool meant obviously for Terrans. He placed his hands idly on the bar, but left his hood up assuming it was the custom in the area. The apparent bartender approached him in a friendly manner, setting a glass with a red liquid in front of Gunthix. “Here you go, buddy,” he spoke loudly as he crossed his upper arms and rested them against the bar, “The best that Three Brothers has to offer. Where ya from?” Gunthix thought for several seconds as he sampled the liquid and discovered it tasted amazing.
“Not from here,” Gunthix answered quietly. His apparent friend let out a loud chuckle that shook the bar they were resting on. “OK,” he asked again, “What's your name, buddy?” Gunthix giggled lightly. “It's Buddy,” he answered him with a smile through his hood. Another loud roar of laughter erupted from the large man.
“That's fair,” he responded, “They call me Eight around here. You might've noticed the lizards out front.” Gunthix nodded in agreement. A metallic clicking sounded as he finished the last of the red liquid. He discovered the source of the noise was a metallic spider spinning on its axis along the bar. Gunthix stared at it for a moment to discover that the silver spider was attached to Eight's arm.
Eight leaned in closer. “Where are you from,” he said as he attempted to get a better look at Gunthix. “Wait a moment, you are a---” Eight was cut off in speaking as Gunthix grabbed him by the apron and pulled him close. “I know,” Eight continued in a whisper, “You're a Guntherian.” Gunthix's gauntlet began to glow faintly as the barrels of his Gatling began to emerge. “Calm down, Buddy,” whispered Eight as the barrels began to poke his chest, “You're in the Federation by name sake only. No one here knows what a Guntherian is and the few that do simply don't care.” Gunthix released his apron but maintained the weapon at his chest. “I'm serious,” Eight whispered calmly, “You are very far away.”
The rhythmical clicking stopped as the metal spider stood up on two legs. “Listen here, Buddy,” Eight continued, “Whatever it is, I am sure I can help ya out.” Gunthix slowly scanned the group in the corner to confirm that they were unconcerned by the altercation. Eight leaned closer, forcing his attempted assailant's arm back and spoke calmly again, “You are obviously new to the Federation, perhaps I can help you in some way. Do you even have any debs?” Gunthix relaxed his gauntlet and let it melt back into his wrist. “No,” answered Gunthix quietly.
Eight let out another loud roar of laughter and spoke heartily again, “Well, in that case, here's another round free.”
The spider reached below the bar and retrieved a simple red cylinder. Eight reached for it with his other lower arm and poured it into Gunthix's glass. “It's Ryker.” Gunthix lifted his hood and gave a questioning look. “Oh,” responded Eight, “The drink is called Ryker. It's pretty popular two seventy from here. That's where you are from.” Gunthix nodded and took a deep drink, emptying the glass. The clicking of the spider began again. Gunthix stared at it, studying its origin and purpose. “That,” spoke Eight reverently, “That is my reminder of what it means to serve something higher than myself and the cost of what it means to do what is right.” Gunthix nodded in agreement and stared through his gauntlet at what wasn't his hand. “I know what you mean,” interrupted Eight, “So, you need some debs. I don't give out free money to jus anyone.”
“I'll work,” responded Gunthix quickly.
“What are you good at?”
“Well, I've only done one thing.”
“You good at it?”
“The best.”
Eight sighed and lifted himself off the bar, “I'm assuming so. I have a great idea. We need to go see an Arathon named Roc-Ha.” He walked around the bar and headed toward the entrance.
“What about them?” asked Gunthix as he eyed the trio.
“Oh, them?” chuckled Eight, “He'll take care of them.” He pointed to the bar. Gunthix followed his gesture and discovered the spider had detached from Eight's arm and was resting on the bar. Understanding that Eight was unconcerned, he followed him into the heat.
“You are gonna need more than just debs,” spoke Eight as they walked down the street toward the largest building in the squat town. The building was a large rectangle with a curved side racing toward the outside of town.
“What is it that you have in mind?” inquired Gunthix.
“Roc-Ha is the town's Jack-of-all-trades,” answered Eight, “He runs the launch assist, bounty board, off world communication, and a bunch of other little things that no one is concerned with.” Gunthix stopped walking for a moment, unhappy with the answer that Eight had given him.
Eight stopped walking and turned, “I plan on talking him into giving you a high profile bounty. It'll give you enough debs to keep you occupied for a little while.”
“I don't want to fight anymore,” responded Gunthix harshly.
“You won't have to fight. Jus bring him back.”
Gunthix thought for a moment. He was through killing and was distraught at the idea of him having to kill simply to maintain himself. The Maya didn't demand that he kill their oppressors, but he felt that it was the only way. He questioned if he killed for some internal joy. Before he could answer, Eight shook his shoulder, “You don't have to kill him. Just bring him back.” Gunthix nodded as he resumed their walk toward the impressive monolith of the tiny town.
***
King thumbed a fang as the ugly Terran continued with his backwards story. She would jab her thumb onto the sharp tip to snap her attention to his broken words and her medication would slowly drag her back into a haze of nightmare lies and false truth.
“For the last time, Johnny,” snapped Bishop, “Slow down and get to the point.”
Johnny sighed and took a deep breath. “Ok, ya see,” he continued his broken speech, “I was out in Omi Sig, jus lookin' fer somethin useful. I knew them Breakers were around, but I wasn't worried. I'm never worried.” He stopped for a moment to admire himself. “And I was jus lookin' round and I found one of 'dem orbital platforms that they'd built, but no one was 'round. So I think to mehself and say 'Well, nobody leaves no platform out in the mid' of no where fer no reason,' so I imagined it was 'bandoned. I crept up and landed on the platform to look 'round, jus to look 'round mind ya, and I couldn't believe my cam.”
Bishop began to drum her fingers loudly on the table and sighed. Johnny stared at her in disbelief as she interrupted his story. After a tense exchange, Bishop spoke coldly, “The. Point. Johnny. Get to it.”
“I saw 'em,” responded Johnny with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.
“What did you see?”
“'Dem Breaker ships.”
“How many?”
“I don't know. I'd say 'least twenty. All in dry dock.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know. Them kind with the curved bows. Big guns. Lots of big guns.”
Bishop thought for a moment, flashing the image of hundreds of capital ships through her mind until she settled on the most likely candidate. She smiled at the possibility and what it meant for her and her renegades.
“Ya look like ya know what they are,” Johnny interrupted her personal enjoyment, “Does it sound good?”
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Bishop flashed King a positive signal with her eyes. King nodded in agreement. “Alright , Johnny,” Bishop looked directly at Johnny's pale face for the first time since they had met, “What do you want? A cut of the scrap value? A ship?”
Johnny smiled, revealing short, crooked teeth, and answered, “Oh, I don't want much.” He reached under the table and slowly slid his hand along Bishop's thigh.
“Don't,” Bishop said quietly, glaring powerfully into his eyes, “Get off.”
He smiled another crooked smile and whispered, “Ya ain't the first space lady I've been with. They like it and I---”
Bishop threw the table against the wall, barely missing King, and lifted Johnny by the neck.
King remained seated calmly as she focused on the exchange. Bishop's arm was extended straight out and appeared undeterred by Johnny's weight as he hung in the air with almost a full meter between his boots and the floor.
“You sick Terran,” Bishop spoke slowly, ensuring that he heard everything, “What ever you thought, you have lost any leverage in that position. I'm willing to give you a cut or even a ship, but if you lay your hands on me again, I will personally space you.” She tightened her grip slightly as she waited for his response. His pale skin was becoming blue as it matched her former skin color.
“OK,” he managed to gasp out, “I change meh mind.”
Bishop slowly let him down to the ground and released her grasp. He bent at the waist and gasped for air. King stood up and turned for the door, “I'm going to talk to the group.” Bishop nodded and stared at the Terran. “I'm sorry,” Johnny slowly groaned, “Tell ya what, jus lemme tag along to the platform.”
Bishop nodded and turned toward the door. Just before she reached the exit, she turned her head and spoke, “Don't touch me again. Touch King, and you'll wish you were spaced.”
XXI
Gunthix was impressed with the size of the strange building. The curved side was obviously meant to help assist in launching ships, but Gunthix was concerned as to what else the building might contain. Eight led him through the entrance into a large empty room, lined with data consoles from the floor to the tall ceiling. Gunthix studied the consoles and noted that each had an image on them. “Roc-Ha!,” bellowed Eight, “How have ya been?” Gunthix followed his shout to a short creature huddled behind a large monitor. They strolled across the room to meet the creature.