6 - Maxon

Maxon

For Maxon, the three years aboard a pirate ship had dulled the excitement of seeing new planets. In his brief tenure as third almost-equal, he’d seen more than he thought possible. But most turned out to be the same – large, imposing orbs full of people who were either too busy scratching out a living to pay much mind to anyone else or too important to give a damn. Whether terraformed or naturally habitable, they were mostly interchangeable.

Iken IV was something else. The sky was red, impossibly so, and churned with a maelstrom of hues. Lightning crackled across like massive electrical currents set loose. It seemed less a terra class planet and more a gas giant. An angry, unforgiving gas giant. If the locals subscribed religious meaning to this, it couldn’t be good.

Veciennes called from the cockpit. “Captain, looks like the atmospheric show is going to give us some additional cover. Most of the satellites in our vector are weather trackers and they’ve got all eyes on the storms.”

“And Statner?” Wheeler, Maxon, and Ellis were strapped into the seats in the ready room. Per Wheeler, Ellis was not to be left unattended.

“True to his word, he’s dodging the missiles. Quite a number of them too. I have to say, I’m impressed.”

Ellis grunted. “Told ya.”

“What about aircraft? See anything yet or are they just throwing large, explosive sticks at our flyboy?”

“Just the missiles, Captain.”

“Very good. Bring us down quietly.”

“I’ll do my best, but it’s going to be bumpy. Ellis, let us know if this makes you homesick.”

As if on cue, the ship shuddered as it broke through the upper atmosphere. They had done rough weather landings before but never quite like this. The Supersoul buckled in the air, battered on all sides by severe winds. Maxon clenched his teeth and held tightly to his harness. Wheeler grimaced. Only Ellis was nonplussed.

“Yeah, it’s almost like being home,” he said. “Just like being on a Ring Station.”

“How are we looking, Veciennes?” Wheeler was trying to control her voice, but Maxon could tell she was enjoying the ride about as much as he was.

“Twenty minutes, Captain. Should clear up in half that. We’re almost through the worst of it.”

Something in the cargo became unmoored and crashed loudly, the noise reverberating through the ship. Hopefully nothing too important, Maxon thought. Or too messy. Even though Ellis was now technically the newb, he was temp and from another crew. He had no responsibilities apart from being a useful hostage.

The Arkon crackled through the comm. “Wheeler, they’ve either run out of missiles or got tired of them missing me. Looks like two craft are headed my way. Short ranger fighters by the looks of it. I can keep them occupied but there are more eyes out there than before. Be wary.” Engaging hostile local forces was more work than he expected. The braggadocio had left his voice.

“Acknowledged. Wheeler out.” She closed the connection to prevent anyone tracing them. “Suggestions?”

“Make a dash for it?” Maxon suggested.

“I don’t think we can make it down on our own without drawing attention,” Veciennes replied, “but we might be able to disguise our descent. If The Arkon can make it to the cluster of weather satellites we passed on the way down and take a couple out, we could match our descent with the debris. If he doesn’t destroy them outright.”

“That sounds less like we’re going to land and more like we’re going to free fall,” Maxon said.

“Correct,” Veciennes replied. “But at least it’ll make our current situation seem much more tranquil.” He couldn’t tell from where he was seated, but Maxon was pretty sure Veciennes was grinning.

Wheeler was not. She nodded grimly. “Open a private comm to The Arkon and let Statner know what’s expected of him. We do this now or we don’t do it at all.”

“On it.”

“Bet you wished you stayed on The Arkon,” Maxon said to Ellis.

“It’s crossed my mind. This might be the stupidest plan I’ve ever been forced into.”

Veciennes answered, “Akron’s on board and beginning her ascent. She’s got three on her – the two short ranged fighters and one larger craft. No local markings on that last one, so either one of the tourists is spoiling for a fight or they’re subcontracting planetary defense.”

“I don’t care either way, as long as Statner does what he needs to,” Wheeler said. “Maxon, keep an eye on our friend. I’m going to the cockpit to help Veciennes.” She undid her straps and lurched up the ladder, cursing when turbulence threatened to knock her off.

“This is definitely the stupidest plan I’ve ever been forced into,” Ellis said.

####

The Arkon screamed out of the crimson thunderclouds and pivoted towards the satellites. By all appearances, when the ship tore through them with a barrage of laser fire, it seemed as if the ship was creating a hole in which to flee the trio racing to catch up and not paying much mind to if she hit a target or not. One of the satellites exploded, and another was only glanced. It pinwheeled into a third satellite, and those two went offline. As they lost their orbit, The Arkon pushed past the planet, getting to safe distance and engaging its FTL drive. The two Iken IV craft and the third – indeed a bystander with nothing better to do than volunteer for some impromptu combat – maintained their pursuit. Unfortunately for them, The Arkon proved the faster and disappeared into the black.

####

Although heavily modified, the Supersoul was by design a deep space transport. As such, it had little in terms of style. It resembled a lumpen cigar with a collection of jagged sensors and arrays at one end and a haphazard assortment of fins encircling an almost comically large engine at the other. Buried somewhere around the middle were aftermarket missile tubes. It could host a crew of up to ten but could make do – and was better off, given the miniscule berths – with less than half that.

But what it lacked in style it made up for in structure. It was, to use one of Kongh’s euphemisms, built like an iron whoremonger. It was sturdy and could take a beating. Maxon hadn’t experienced much in the way of combat but Veciennes had in the past made offhand comments skirmishes that they survived only by the integrity of the Supersoul.

Maxon tried to focus on that as it plummeted to Iken IV’s surface. A lesser ship’s hull would have crumpled against the pressure, he reminded himself.

“Not much debris left, Captain. We’re losing cover,” Veciennes warned. “No eyes on us yet. Three minutes until we can pull out of this free fall.”

“That’s about four too many,” Wheeler said. She sounded as ill as Maxon felt. Even Ellis had his eyes closed and was trying to control his breathing in tight bursts. It didn’t help that the twisting and turning caused a high pitch whine – almost a scream, really – that reverberated through the ship. Whatever had broken loose in the cargo hold earlier had either gotten itself lodged in a corner or was broken down to bits small enough to not make a sound. That was the only plus to this miserable experience. Maybe going off world wasn’t the best of ideas, Maxon thought glumly as he choked back vomit.

“Two minutes, Captain. Fair warning, it’s going to be rough when we level out.”

“How far from the crash site when we land?”

“Thirty klicks. We’ll be at the edge of the blast site, before the Glass Sea.”

“Scan the area. I don’t want to land in the midst of someone’s party.”

“Already done. We’re clear a hundred klicks in every direction.”

“At least,” Maxon panted, “nobody will see me throw up.” His stomach tied its existing knots into deeper, tighter ones.

Ellis, ever the conversationalist, grunted in response.

“Levelling out, folks,” Veciennes warned. “Brace yourselves.”

The Supersoul, which had been plummeting like dead weight at the mercy of a chaotic atmosphere, abruptly straightened out its flight path. There was a terrifying sound of steel plates grinding against each other as the hull roared in protest to this sudden change. Inside the ship, Maxon felt as if he were crumble into a ball, stretched out, then slammed against the wall before falling to the floor. All while strapped into his seat. He let out a slight whimper.

Ellis simply vomited on the floor.

“Goddamn it, Ellis!” Wheeler shouted as she unstrapped herself. She stepped over the remnants of Ellis’ last meal and climbed up the ladder to the cockpit.

“Sorry, sir,” Ellis replied, wiping his moustache. “Couldn’t keep it in any longer. Okay to get up so I can clean my mess?”

“Do it. If I even catch a whiff of that it’s coming out of your cut.”

Ellis stood up and the Supersoul, almost on cue, sharply veered right. The Bellzatorian was thrown against the supply closet.

“Supply closet’s to the right,” Wheeler shouted from above.

“I think I found it,” Ellis muttered. He yanked out the cleaner and got to work, vaporizing and then sanitizing the area. He scurried back to his seat, right before the ship swerved sharply to the left. Ellis looked at Maxon, who shrugged in response. It could’ve been turbulence, it could’ve been Veciennes fucking with the mercenary. Since it wasn’t Maxon’s vomit and Ellis wasn’t crew, it wasn’t his problem.

Wheeler descended from the cockpit and surveyed the room. She nodded at Ellis. “Sorry it was rough,” not sounding sorry at all. “Gear up. We’re on the skiff and out the door the second VC touches down.”

####

“The fuck of it all!” Wheeler cried.

They were in the cargo hold. The source of the calamitous noise earlier had come from here. It had been the spare fuel pods for the skiff. The magnetic latches had started fading months ago – they were at least five years past due for replacement – and during their creative descent into Iken IV’s atmosphere, they had finally broken down. Having banged around the cargo bay for a good twenty minutes, they had done considerable damage. It was a minor miracle that none of them had combusted before getting wedged under the skiff’s thrusters.

The skiff itself was banged up, more so than already, but seemed functional. The problem that Maxon immediately identified was that if they fired up the skiff, it was unavoidable that one or all of the spare pods would explode. Followed by the skiff. And then the Supersoul itself.

“Ellis,” Maxon said, “give me a hand.” He moved towards the rear of the skiff.

The two struggled to lift the skiff and dislodge the fuel pods but the craft was too heavy.

“Captain?” Maxon asked.

Wheeler sighed and pinged Veciennes. “We’ve got a problem with the skiff. She’ll fly but we have to clear ourselves of the Supersoul first. Instead of landing, angle the ship bow side down and open the cargo door. We need just enough room to clear the cargo bay without crashing headfirst.” To Maxon she said, “Standby to release skiff locks on my mark.”

Veciennes acknowledged and arced upwards before titling back down. “Opening cargo doors, Captain. Safe hunting.”

To Ellis and Maxon both: “Looks like we’re not done falling.”

As the cargo door opened, Wheeler, Maxon, and Ellis shielded their eyes. The Glass Sea was more like a vast mirror, reflecting the heat and light from Supersoul’s engines. It was impossibly bright and Maxon felt as if he was standing right in the midst of the ship’s wake.

“Maxon, release the damn locks!” Wheeler cried.

Maxon complied and the skiff lurched forward, sparks flying as it scraped down the cargo bay. The fuel pods clamored beside them. Ellis, Maxon noticed, was praying quietly to himself, eyes watering either due to heat or fear.

The skiff cleared the cargo bay and arced toward the ground. Wheeler waited for the pods to tumble below and then gunned the engine. As the skiff corrected its descent, the Supersoul veered up. Miraculously, the fuel pods didn’t explode.

“Mark that position. We may need to come back for those. If they’re still usable,” Wheeler said. “Let’s hope they’re not buggered. Pack heavy and only what’s necessary on the first pass through the salvage site and we can check on the second run.”

Once past the Supersoul, their eyes adjusted to the view. The Glass Sea was a marvel. The cataclysmic impact of The Instigator had not only baked the earth but frozen it in place mid-blast wave. It was a disaster stuck in time. There had been massive avalanches in the area, and the majority were petrified into permanent waves that loomed over the landscape. The ground had convulsed with massive ripple effects, forming concentric circles that emanated from the epicenter. The surface of the earth shimmered with the imperfections, causing reflective light to dance as clouds passed by overhead. And even though the crashed ship was visible, a spire in the distance, the ground would lead the way. The glass darkened the closer you came to what remained of The Instigator. It was a guide and a warning.

The skiff sped over the ground on a direct approach to the ship, its internal computer adjusting the altitude to compensate for the uneven ground. The air felt stale to Maxon, even though the maelstrom above was still raging. It felt too still, like they were caught in the split second before the FTL drives engaged and were waiting, just waiting for something to happen.

Finally, the ship, or what remained of it. It had crashed into the earth nose first and miraculously held its form until the core reactor exploded.  The Instigator had cracked down the middle, with one section shattering. The remnants of the hull were thrown across the Glass Sea. What was left was a jagged spire that reached to the sky.

Wheeler decelerated the skiff. The ground was littered with corroded flotsam from the ship. Scattered amongst the detritus were abandoned campsites. Closer to the site was what resembled a makeshift altar, positioned off center from a semicircle of crucifixes, each adorned with a corpse of varying degrees of decay. As they neared the ship, Maxon realized the altar was fashioned out of the command console and a section of the main deck. The crucifixes were also scrap and some, like the bolted remains they hosted, were newer than others. The ship wasn’t so much a guide as it was a lure, Maxon decided.

Wheeler cursed under her breath. “We heard the stories. This is sacred ground. And anyone who thinks this is a place of worship isn’t right in the head. You see someone with the gleam of God in his eye, you shoot him dead. Understood?”

Maxon and Ellis nodded.

“Keep track of your time. Veciennes is monitoring the area. She’ll let us know if someone’s coming, but it’s up to us to get back to the skiff. If you’re lagging, you’re left behind, and you’d better learn how to pray. If we’re lucky, they didn’t realize we’ve landed and we’ve got ourselves a day or two. But let’s assume not.” She pinged the Supersoul. “Veciennes, you settled?”

“Affirmative. Found a quiet spot for the Supersoul. You’ll have periodic drone fly bys but scanners aren’t picking up anything else. Looks like the ships that went after Statner went home. Going silent unless anything changes.”

“Sounds good. Give the cargo bay a once-over. Those damn pods were knocked all over the place. Put together a list for Kongh when he gets back. Wheeler out.”

Wheeler parked the skiff in the shadow of the wreckage, partially concealed behind debris. They would have to ascend the site with grappling hooks to reach the closest access point, a doorway about 20 meters up.

“Okay,” Wheeler said, “Let’s do a quick recon and then get to work. The clock is ticking.”