“I can’t believe you agreed to having a micro-explosive strapped to your neck.” Leoven said as they started their walk towards the spaceport.
“I didn’t really have much choice.” Fawkes muttered.
“You could have waited until I had finished my shower. I leave for five minutes and you strap an explosive to your head…”
“I. Didn’t. Have—”
“Yeah yeah. Well it shouldn’t be that big a deal. I’m sure old war-era technology still functions perfectly to this day.” Leoven said, knocking the collar twice with an extended claw.
“Don’t do that!” Fawkes yelped.
–
It was nightfall when they finally arrived at the spaceport. Fawkes’ ticket off the planet to an orbital station up above was valid for any shuttle, so they decided to get something to eat.
“You really should have showered.” Leoven said. They ate what tasted like leocat and fish.
“Let’s just eat and get out of here.” Fawkes said impatiently, looking away whenever another Vorchan tried to make eye contact.
“You’ll be on your own from here. I can’t go to the spaceport. I have to head back to my post at the prison.”
“Oh. Will you be alright?” Fawkes asked.
“Yes, of course. I’ll figure something out to tell the guards, don’t worry.”
“Right.”
Leoven paid for the meal, “So this is goodbye, then. It was nice meeting you, ex-Fercius of the Vorchan Empire.”
Fawkes nodded, watching his only friend on Temron walk away.
–
The entrance to the spaceport was awash with red and blue strobe lights. There were several squad cars in front, with armed guards watching the main entrance. They were questioning people as they went inside.
He stopped a fair distance away. Nobody had noticed him yet. He looked behind him, hoping Leoven would be around, but he had left.
I could turn around, he thought. And forget all this. Try again when the police leave. That would be safest. Yes. Fawkes saw one of the officers look at him, then double-take, then look over to another officer. Fawkes stayed frozen, watching the officers. They weren’t doing anything about him, occasionally glancing at him like any other Vorchan.
Maybe they don’t recognize me, Fawkes thought, slowly walking forward. He watched the gauss cannons on their exosuits carefully, making sure they weren’t tracking him. The guards didn’t seem that high on alert. Maybe it was something else that caused them to come here. Not everything was about him.
So he walked by the guards, exhaling quietly as he made it through the two sets of doors that led to the main port. He could hear the familiar sound of thrusters revving up. He could almost imagine himself in Flames’ hangar, away from all of this.
He gave the ticket to the receptionist, and he beckoned to a waiting hall. “A shuttle’s just left. It’ll be a while ‘til the next one.”
“How long?” Fawkes asked.
“A couple hours. Something’s happened in orbit, slowed down the shuttles.”
That sent a chill down Fawkes’ spine. Did Flames do something brash? No, he didn’t even know where he was – it couldn’t be Flames.
“What happened?” Fawkes asked.
“Don’t know. I suggest you grab a seat before the crowd grows. This is a bad time for the shuttles to stop running.”
Fawkes wasn’t liking this at all, claiming a couple of chairs to lie down on. His left wing drooped over the backrest, and his tail snaked around a third chair’s legs. The metal was cold. It made him feel cold. But the chairs were soft, he pressed his face up against one, dozing slightly.
“Vulcan! The chairs are for sitting!” squawked an officer. He was a fair distance away, and Fawkes could smell his fear. He didn’t give the other Vorchan a second thought, digging his horns into the backrest before dozing off again.
There were more Vorchans around when he awoke, but none were paying him much attention. The guards seemed pre-occupied as well, trying to calm the rabble.
“You said an hour! It’s been over four!” exclaimed a Desert wearing a brown vest and a digital recorder around his neck. He had a silver bracer that glinted from the rising sun. Was it really morning?
He looked out what he thought had been walls. The windows revealed several craft. Military craft. He recognized them as heavy transports, but they didn’t bear the marks of any Vorchan detachment he knew of. In front of them were a couple of lines of exo-suit Vorchans. He counted around sixty-three before he noticed someone approaching him.
“You, Vulcan. I thought I told you not to sleep on these chairs.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Fawkes growled.
“Come with me.”
“Or what?”
“Or I tell these guards who you are.” the guard moved closer, snout against his ear. “You’re really making Leoven’s orders difficult.”
“Oh.” Fawkes retracted his ears sheepishly. “Sorry, sir.”
He rolled off the chair, lazily following the guard past the growing crowd and through a set of security doors.
“There’s a shuttle at Pad C. It’s grounded but I can get it to take you up.”
“What’s going on out there? Who are the soldiers?” Fawkes asked.
“You don’t wanna know.” the guard replied, stopped by the hatch that led down to the apron where the spacecraft were.
“Just make your way towards the shuttle, and avoid the soldiers. They shouldn’t give you any problems.”
Fawkes did as he was told. Avoiding the soldiers was very easy, they didn’t even seem to be patrolling. He entered the shuttle without a hitch, and sighed in relief as the hatch closed.
The shuttle would take him to an orbital station, and he could finally speak to Flames.
Second felt like minutes, and the first minute felt like an hour.
They still hadn’t moved.
Fawkes banged on the cockpit door with his tail. “Why aren’t we moving!”
There was no answer. Maybe the pilot wasn’t here. The hatch started to open. Probably the pilot, but instinct had him jump up to the ceiling, inverted, he looked down at the soldiers that entered his shuttle. They had weapons attached to their wing spars, but they weren’t wearing heavy exosuits.
“Where is he.” they all looked up, but Fawkes had already snuck out of the hatch and curled up around a landing strut. He watched one of the soldiers exit the shuttle, looking around for what was undoubtedly his whereabouts.
Fawkes was getting tired of hiding. He skulked over to the lone soldier, a Desert, by the looks of him, and grabbed his neck with both paws, putting enough pressure on his snout to keep him from crying out. The soldier thrashed with his wing, but Fawkes had managed to drag the heaving Desert to the belly of the shuttle, where shadow hid them.
“Listen to me, Desert.” Fawkes growled. “I want to know what’s going on, and why I’m being chased.”
“You’re a collaborator!” hissed the soldier.
“Any louder and I’ll wring your neck.” Fawkes warned. “What’s a collaborator.”
“Someone that—“
“I know the definition. Who am I collaborating with?” Fawkes asked.
“Darwin.”
There was that name again.
“I don’t care about Darwin. I just want to get off this planet and back to my ship.”
The Desert had a nimble tail. It whiplashed at Fawkes’ face, stunning him long enough for the soldier to break free and let out a loud roar. “Don’t move!” The Desert warned. “I have him contained. Yes it’s still inactive.”
“What are you talking about.”
“Quiet!” the soldier’s two spar-mounted rifles beckoned to his left. “Move!”
Fawkes stayed put, fangs bared.
“I said move.” the soldier repeated.
Fawkes took a step forward, and the soldier stepped back, keeping a few meters separation between them at all times.
“You ever shoot anyone before?” Fawkes asked. The Desert kept looking past his eyes, and Fawkes didn’t quite understand why until then. “Oh, right. This.” Fawkes brought a talon up towards the collar.
“Don’t touch that!” the soldier warned, his tail was shaking.
“You think I’m a terrorist? Is that it? I’m just…” Why not. It couldn’t get any worse. “a mercenary.” Fawkes admitted, “But I abandoned the contract. I want to go home.”
“Sure you are, Vulcan. So do I.”
A few other Vorchans were nearby now, their weapons trained on him. One of them was wearing an exosuit.
“Well then let’s go home. Let me on that shuttle.” Fawkes said.
Something started beeping.
“Oh shit.” said the soldier.
“Oh no…” said Fawkes, feeling his collar heating up.
“It’s active! Everyone get clear!” yelled the exosuit Vorchan.
“No wait! Get it off!” Fawkes pleaded, running towards one of the soldiers. He turned tail and flew away, keeping his distance from Fawkes.
The collar started to beep faster.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.” Fawkes couldn’t transfer funds, not on the planet core. He was going to die.
The beeps were almost a consistent tone now. He curled up as tight as he could, hoping it would be quick.
He felt fangs around his neck, followed by a violent yank. He watched the collar fly off, exploding in the air several dozen meters away. That was a good throw. He would have thanked the exosuit Vorchan, but the massive soldier was already pinning him against the floor.
“Got him!” he growled, keeping Fawkes pinned against the floor.
“Not so smart now, are you?” the Vorchan chided, nearly suffocating Fawkes with his augmented body. It didn’t help that the Vorchan was a Terran, an extremely big one at that.
Fawkes was about to explain, but decided against it, too tired to care anymore. He didn’t say anything as they shackled him and took him away on a small mobile platform.
This morning couldn’t get any worse. Or so he’d thought. A few steps away from the entrance to the spaceport, Vorchans started shooting. Unable to move, he sat down on his platform, keeping his ears tight against his head to drown out the sound of gunfire. Nobody seemed to be shooting at him.
Another Vorchan approached him, this time. He saw the amulet, and recognized the voice.
“Tresed.” Fawkes said.
“Well that didn’t work out as planned.” he said.
“Get me off this planet!” Fawkes growled.
“Of course. Sorry.” He started wheeling him back towards the shuttle. Gunfire and explosions all around them.
“A core world? Who would attack a core world?” Fawkes asked.
“Those that think it’s high time Vorchans had a right to choose their own fate. We’re manufactured now, like our ships. Our hopes and dreams are given to us by a corrupt regency. We work to survive like slaves.”
“You sound like someone I know.” Fawkes sighed.
“You haven’t been keeping up with the latest developments in your family, have you?” Tresed asked with a grin.
“They are not my family. They left me for dead when I ran.” Fawkes muttered.
“Yet you helped them?” Tresed asked.
“I stopped Martock and saved my family. My family.” Fawkes said.
“Your brothers haven’t been that intent on giving up the throne, and since your Father’s return, the Vorchan Empire has divided into several parties. There is a lot of in-fighting among your kin.” Tresed explained.
“Can you unshackle me?” Fawkes asked.
“You don’t care, do you?” Tresed laughed.
Fawkes gave a curt laugh back, “Ha no – unshackle me. I have my own family to worry about.”
“What of patriotism?”
“What of the system that would have been the end of my life and that of my ship?” Fawkes retorted rhetorically.
“So you ran?” Tresed asked.
“That’s right. I ran. I ran all the way to the Outer Rim. And that’s where I will run now.” Fawkes said, motioning at the shackles.
“You could have the Empire. Deyloras’ Vorchans would gladly follow you.” Tresed said.
Fawkes looked the Desert in the eyes. “I don’t want the Empire.”
“Then why come here?” Tresed asked.
“I wanted to get my mate a nice house!” Fawkes cried. “That’s why! That’s why I got caught up in all of this!”
Tresed laughed, then guffawed, unable to control himself. He rolled on his side, laughing hysterically.
“I’m serious! Now unshackle me before a stray round ends us.” Fawkes pleaded.
“Oh no, there’s still a matter of my payment.” Tresed said. “While you may not be a patriot, my forces do need funding.”
“I’ll pay whatever you want once you get me off this forsaken jungle prison.”
So the shackles were removed, another collar was placed, and Fawkes was back on the shuttle.
“The shuttle is automated. Nova’s speed to you, Fawkes. Don’t forget to transfer the money when you leave orbit.” Tresed reminded him.
“May we never meet again.” Fawkes hissed, collar rattling.
Tresed’s laugh echoed through the shuttle as the hatch closed, “Oh this is just the beginning!”
As the shuttle left orbit, Fawkes realized it wasn’t heading for the orbital station.
The collar started beeping.
Fawkes could feel the neural net returning as he left the confines of the jamming field. He immediately accessed his account and transferred one hundred thousand Tresed’s account.
The collar continued beeping.
“What? I don’t understand!” Fawkes cried.
He transferred another one hundred thousand.
It was still beeping.
He transferred a million credits.
“That’s enough. Thanks.” Tresed’s voice transmitted.
“What is this? How are you—“
“Beemspace transceiver, inside your collar! Genius I say.” he could hear Tresed’s crackly laugh over the collar microphone. “You see. It turns out I could still use you. And I figure, well, since I got this wonderful collar around you, I might as well take advantage, right?”
“I’ll kill you…” Fawkes warned.
“Fine. I guess not.”
The collar started beeping faster. Fawkes’ wing hit the bulkhead as his body tensed, “Wait! What do you want from me?”
“Nothing, for the moment. But the time will come when I will need your help. You will thank me then. Oh, and try not to take off the collar.”
It stopped beeping.
Then it beeped again, “Oh, and make sure your mate doesn’t bite it either!” Tresed guffawed. The collar went silent again.
Fawkes could feel the overwhelming presence of his ship as it slid up beside the shuttle. Hi Fawkes! So how was the contract?
Tresed’s maniacal “This is just the beginning!” echoed in Fawkes’ mind.
I don’t think it’s over yet, Flames…
Oh?
Remind me never to get involved in Vorchan politics. Ever. Again.