Scourge of the Galaxy

Chapter 1

Derk Soley,

Scourge of the Galaxy

1.

A dim but insistent buzzing penetrated his drugged stupor, causing the massive man to mutter a slurred obscenity as he struggled to sit up on the rumpled bed. Empty drink canisters lay scattered about the small Hotel room, a foul reek in the air indicating they had once been filled with Sauralian liquor. The man managed finally to sit up, his head reeling from the various mind altering drugs he had been wallowing in for most of the past several months. Long and shock red hair hung haphazardly about his face, some of it sticky with vomit both new and old. He was still wearing the same basic one piece zipsuit he had bought in the Hotel lobby three weeks earlier, which by now was emitting an odour so rank it could almost be seen. The man sat and pondered getting up to urinate, deciding against it at the last moment and flopping back down on the soiled mattress with a groan. There were yellow stains here and there on the flimsy sheets, indicating the precedent of similar decisions in the past.

Beside the bed, the small beacon on the video com flashed incessantly, the screen below it smashed inward with what suspiciously resembled a fist sized hole. The buzzing was emanating from a speaker on the side of the unit, drilled through with laser bursts from short range yet still doggedly giving off a nasal buzz. Then, suddenly, the sound stopped. The man was already passed out again, a slurred snore the only sound in the steel cubicle of the room. Seventy three decks below, in an office just off the Main Lobby, a peevish manager hunched nervously over his video com.

"I'm sorry, there's just no answer. I tried overriding the video link, but it seems to be, er... broken," he said apologetically. "But the computer assures me he is in there... and alive,"he quickly added. There was a slight lag, before the response bounced back several hundred light years from the incoming vessel.

"Mr. Fontaine," a stern looking man in a uniform said through clenched teeth, "we will be arriving at your establishment within three hours. Please have a Class 1 docking clamp prepared for our arrival." With that, the screen went blank, leaving the IJP insignia burning fiercely in the centre. The Hotel Manager nodded sadly to the request as well as to himself. There would be no problem in having a clamp ready, he thought ironically. The Hotel only had one Class 1 clamp, and the only time it had ever been used was when an ore mega-freighter had lost its navigational computer in a meteor storm and needed directions.

"Oh dear oh dear," Fontaine fretted, dialing up his secretary on the video com. When the young female Thidrian blinked on the screen, he shuddered slightly as always - he never knew which eye to look in.

"Yes, Mr. Fontaine," she queried in her clipped accent. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, and she knew he was going to bear bad news.

"Vith, I'm afraid there's a... problem," he began. She nodded. "Please issue a hotel wide video-com stating, er..." he tried to remember how he had put it the last time. "Tell them that the Hotel is pleased to announce the arrival of an Interplanetary Justice Patrol contingent in less than half a day," he said sadly. Vith nodded gravely, three of her eyes drooping with dismay. Fontaine flipped the com closed, and shook his head slowly. Vith broadcast the message less than a minute later, all of her eyes sparkling with even the small graphic of a ship bearing the IJP marks on it's bow beside her. "That's it, Vith," Fontaine croaked unhappily to himself, standing up from his chair and heading to the main desk. He had a job to do.

Within twenty minutes over fourty patrons had decided to depart, most of them actually fleeing through the lobby with mannerless abandon. Fontaine did his best to apologize as they left, but most of them simply nodded and glanced furtively at their time pieces. None of them even tried to get back the money they had already paid for the duration of their stay, perhaps a tip to the Hotel for the kind warning. Still, Fontaine hated to see guests depart in a hurry, as if they hadn't enjoyed their stay. Another twenty seven left before the massive dreadnought lit up the proximity scanner, Fontaine sighing as he bid the last stragglers farewell. Ships of various sizes and legality stopped streaming from the Hotel's docking port, and there was a strange calm throughout the Lobby while everyone awaited the Patrol's arrival.

The entire Hotel shook with a dull clang as the ship locked on to the hull with magnetic grapples, the docking clamps hissing together with authority. Moments later a pair of Gorks stepped through the pneumatic lock, stooping to fit through the door. The greyish-black lizardmen looked around with frightening intensity, tasting the air with their long spotted tongues. Huge fusion blasters hung in loose holsters built into their black plasti-steel armour. Even their large tails were armoured right to the tip, tapping the floor with the occasional clack as they glanced around slowly. A company of officers stepped into the Lobby behind them, all of them dressed in upper rank coloured uniforms of the Justice Patrol. Each of them carried a small but deadly firearm that was snugly zipped into a pocket at their breast. Since they were all Human, Fontaine suspected that the ship was perhaps the Terran Patrol flagship. He waited patiently at the front desk until another small group of officers pushed through the lift doors and headed for the desk. Two burly Security Commanders flanked a tall woman in a blood red uniform that matched her fiery short hair flawlessly. Fontaine recognized the woman's insignia as that of a Captain, and gulped. "Yes, may I help you?" he asked with a faltering smile. He thought he would buckle if his knees turned any weaker. The woman merely looked through him as she surveyed the lobby, reaching out to rap smartly on the real wooden surface of the large desk.

"We're not here to cause trouble," she stated flatly, her icy blue eyes suddenly boring into Fontaine, "we are only here to pick up the occupant of room 73-422A, and leave." Fontaine nodded earnestly, shrugging helplessly with a gesture to his video com.

"I'm sorry I could not contact him for you, er, Captain," he stammered, "he seems to be keeping to himself. The only thing we deliver to his room is alcohol, and I'm sure he locks his door..." he trailed off with a shrug. The Captain nodded briefly, and began looking at the various readouts around the walls of the lobby. Motioning for her two companions to follow her, she headed for a nearby whooshlift. The two men at her sides nodded to the company of men and followed her up into the guts of the Hotel, where only moments later they were standing on the seventy third floor. The lower class section of the Hotel was not carpeted or soundproofed, and they clanged noisily down the passageways as the Captain glanced acutely at the numbers on the doors. Room 422A was in a relatively unused section of the station, out on an odd wing where the main relay station used to be when the Hotel had been a crystal refinery. The Captain of the IJP ship knew that the rooms here would have one thing most of the others didn't - a porthole. Portholes offered a nearby view to the endless void of space, as well as a quick Death with one easy shot or a forceful blow.

Moments later the three figures stood before a door, looking at it for a moment before turning to each other with a meaningful glance. The Captain reached out and pressed the signal beside the door, sounding the dingle within the room. There was no answer, only a long silence broken only by the throb of a nearby conduit in the corridor. The Captain thumbed the signal again, and then again. Finally she muttered something under her breath and reached out to hold it on. The two men stepped back from the door, their hands straying slowly to their chests. After a moment the Captain swore clearly and loudly, proceeding to pound on the door with her gloved fist. The booming thumps echoed throughout the deck, but there was still no indication of a response from within.

"Enough of this nonsense," she snapped, thumbing her wrist-communicator on. "Razzic, get me a reading on this room, directly in front of me," she said crisply. A moment later the Rigellian Bridge Technician responded.

"There's a large human form near the centre of the room, laying on his back and motionless. He's healthy, but not entirely conscious," he described. "Also, his betawaves confirm that he is indeed Commander Derkson William Soley, Human born on Mother Earth at Standard Universal Time..."

"Okay, okay, Razzic," the Captain interrupted, and the Rigellian com operator whistled off with a slightly hurt tone. The Captain nodded thoughtfully to herself, and glanced at her wrist to see the time. With a frown, she turned to one of the guards.

"Can we open this door?" she asked, patting at her fire-arm suggestively. The man shook his head quickly.

"Not recommended, Captain. These are lock down quarters, so the door is probably a good alloy. We would have to get one of the fusion saws from the ship." She scowled and pondered for a moment before lifting her wrist again.

"Razzic, how long before you can give me a one person Shift?" she asked bluntly. There was a bit of a gasp from the Rigellian, who nonetheless punched a few buttons quickly on his console.

"The light infusers are offline now, but parked we could probably do it in less than ten minutes," he explained, "but without a wrist-com we would have to take half the room with him to ensure a clean signal." The Captain smiled to herself, and couldn't help but to laugh.

"No, I want you to Shift me into the room," she explained with a grin. The men beside her lifted an eyebrow each, but said nothing. Razzic made an apologetic sound in Rigellian and reconfigured his estimation.

"Far easier, Captain, but protocol states you have at least one guard with you." She shook her head, frowning.

"No Razzic, I don't want him to start shooting if he sees an invasion. Just tell me when you're ready," she ordered. Razzic bubbled a signal of affirmation before signing off. "I should be out in a minute," she assured her guards with a quick smile. They stood waiting in silence, no sounds coming from inside the room. "He's probably stinking drunk," she muttered, reaching out to press the door signal now and then. Finally her wrist-com alerted her with a pulse against her wrist, and she stepped back into the middle of the hallway. "Ready to Shift, Razzic?" she queried, panting slightly to oxygenate her blood.

"Sure thing, Captain. You will be two meters from the subject, the door less than a meter behind you. Signal when ready," Razzic finished. She nodded, and took a few good deep breaths before crouching down into position.

"Engage Shift," she said into the com, and closed her eyes. The sensation of the Shift is nearly indescribable, the feeling of your very body being disassembled, atomized and stored in a databank, only to pour into form at a different location. During the Shift you could not breath, you could not see, and you could not feel. It was a little like dying, and then being reborn again. Only the mightiest Starships could harness the power necessary for a matter transmission array - the Judgment easily fit that bill.

The two guards stepped back and shielded their eyes from the glare. There was the telltale loud, sickly sucking sound, and then a final popping report as air rushed to fill the void. All at once she had disappeared from the corridor. The guards listened intently at the door, but there was no sound to be heard. "Shift complete," Razzic intoned. All the guards could do was wait.

Inside the room there was a misting in the air, the Captain pouring nearly instantly into form and dropping an inch or so to wobble for a moment on her haunches. Her appearance was nearly silent, with only the small whoosh of a breeze through the room telltale of her arrival. It was enough to stir the few neurons left active in the man on the bed, however. In an instant he was sitting up, groggily shaking his head and already holding the side-arm from under his pillow. He lazily aimed towards the door, and squeezed off a shot at a good high setting. The Captain easily tumbled out of the way of the shot, right into the tiny lavatory that was about the size of a suit locker. She was holding her fire-arm by the time she landed. The shot had put a good scorch into the door, right where she had been standing.

Out in the hall, the two guards had also dropped into defensive positions, their guns drawn towards the door. "Please report, Captain," one of them said quickly into his com.

"I'm okay," she replied with a steady whisper, "remain at ease." The guard dubiously signed off, but stood up again in unison with the other. Down the hall, two long eye stalks crept snoopily into view from the crack of a doorway, and hastily slipped away as they focused in on the IJP guards.

The Captain listened intently for any sound of the man, annoyed when all she heard was an even, raspy breathing that almost sounded like... She peeked around the corner with indignation, biting back a curse when she saw the man laid flat on the bed and passed out once again. "Razzic, is the subject conscious?" she whispered into the com on her wrist, turning it's volume as low as it would go.

"I can't tell whether he is dead drunk or asleep, but he is certainly not conscious," he replied, with a whistle of humour. She nodded to herself, quietly padding to the bed and reaching gingerly for the blaster the man still clutched in his hand. He did not move, snoring slightly as she pocketed his weapon and stood back with her hands on her hips.

"Hey," she said loudly. "Hey, you," she added while prodding the bed with her foot. The man kept snoring, a lisp of drool spilling from his chin as he smacked his lips quietly. The Captain growled and reached forward to tap the man on the shoulder. With a flash his arm reached up and grabbed her by the elbow, tossing her up into the air in a perfect flip. When she landed on the bed he was on top of her, pinning her down easily with steel-like strength. When he finally opened his eyes, he had to blink a few times to break out of his drunken fog.

"Whuusss... Whuss-up?" he said groggily, openly drooling a gooey lob of saliva down onto his captive's face.

"Get off me, you Dergalian bush pig!" she snapped, struggling futilely under his arms and legs. He focused onto her face, and smiled broadly.

"Ooooh, a present from the Casino?" he chuckled deep in his throat, looking her over as if inspecting a slab of meat. "Nice touch, the IJP uniform," he remarked with a touch of bitterness. "So when does the 'punishment' begin, Captain?" he laughed heartily, letting her go and sitting up with a wobble on the edge of the bed. She jumped up with indignation, standing at the end of the bed with a glare in her eyes.

"How dare you assault a senior officer of the Intergalactic Justice Patrol?" she accused him, jabbing a finger for punctuation. He folded his massive arms across his chest, watching her with pitiful amusement.

"Okay, okay," he said when it looked like she expected an answer, "good show. Now strip the 'form and get into bed - I'm getting thirsty." He reached down and patted the bed, giving her a wide grin. The Captain stood looking at him in shock, helpless to stop the blush rising on her cheeks. With a stamp of her boot, she straightened up and lifted her chin. There was a downright evil glint in her eye.

"I will make a note in my report as to the level of your inebriation, Commander. That still does not excuse your appalling behaviour," she snarled. The man looked at her blankly for a moment, rubbing his grizzled chin thoughtfully. He scrutinized her uniform quietly, sobering up slightly as a few little things clicked into place.